Organizing a Defense (Kingsley and Jemma, if she wants)

Shacklebolt was in a bad mood of late, not that he was an expecially cheerful person who always seemed to be smiling
for no apparent reason, but right now he was in an expecially bad mood. Everyone seemed bent on blaming him for every
single bad thing that was happening to people these days. First, there was the people complaining that he was doing a
bad job as Headmaster. What had he done wrong though? IN his headmastership (or whatever) only two students had died,
only several had been kidnapped and now one or two had become cursed and sent to hospital, but that was hardly his
fault. He swore that he got less criticism while he had been minister. This, coupled with the fact that the Chudley
Canons, his favirote team, had lost for the 137th time in a row, which happened to be an expecially important number
for him, had made him in a bad mood, as he had already said previously in this same paragraph. "Wilson! Hasn't your
mother, or father, or any close relative ever told you about knocking? GO out, then knock, wait for me to say if you
can come in, then come back in," He commanded. He then noticed that this was not necessary, and would only lead to
a waste of time, and time was money. Though Kingsley preferred money in a physical form more than time, oh well.
"Now, I assume you want to talk about the attacks on the students these last couple of weeks?" Shacklebolt asked,
nodding wisely and knowingly. "Or is it something else?"