"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 343: Rufus Scrimgeour the Hardliner
Sirius arched an eyebrow, his demeanor shifting instantly to one of stern, almost comical seriousness. "That's classified information!" he declared.
He had no intention of letting Scrimgeour go straight to Douglas to haggle over prices—that would ruin his little scheme.
Some of these gadgets were the result of Douglas's own research, formulas passed on to them; some were Sirius's own inventions; and even Dobby had contributed a few specialized tools for dealing with goblins. Douglas had generously bought out their finished designs, added some mysterious runes of his own, and then supplied the materials—leaving production to Sirius and Dobby.
Since both Sirius and Dobby were technically Douglas's employees, there was no extra pay involved. However, Douglas had handed over the distribution rights: they could buy stock from him and sell as they pleased, setting prices however they liked. Douglas only cared about his cut of the profits.
Because of his status, Dobby couldn't openly market such sensitive items, so he left it all to Sirius—going so far as to hand over ninety percent of the profits.
Ever loyal to his friends, Sirius had also roped in Moony to help with production, though Lupin stubbornly refused to take a single Knut in wages.
And so, Sirius had his own little plan: shamelessly mark up Douglas's prices tenfold, squeeze a hefty sum from the Ministry, and then divvy up the spoils according to everyone's "contributions."
He knew all too well—if Scrimgeour ever went directly to Douglas, he'd never get away with such a markup. After all, Douglas had said it himself: the more sold, the better. Not out of some noble desire to strengthen the Ministry, but for reasons of his own. Sirius suspected there was something off about this whole batch of products. He didn't know what Douglas was really up to, but he was certain someone was going to get played.
Scrimgeour, catching the secrecy in Sirius's tone, narrowed his eyes and picked up the handcuffs, examining them closely.
"Interesting idea—Muggle inventions mixed with magic. But you only know if they work once you've tried them. In real combat, Dark wizards are cunning and ruthless. They're never as easy to handle as you think."
The open disdain in Scrimgeour's voice made Sirius instantly drop his roguish air. His eyes flashed cold, and his voice lowered, hard as steel.
"Rufus, don't forget—while you lot were fighting You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, we were fighting too. The war wasn't just the Ministry's burden…"
Scrimgeour's lips curled in open contempt. He'd never had much respect for Sirius—or, truthfully, for Dumbledore's entire civilian resistance. He could admit many of them were talented, but instead of joining the Aurors to fight Dark wizards, they'd chosen to follow Dumbledore's lead, sabotaging You-Know-Who's plots from the shadows.
But in Scrimgeour's eyes, their resistance was just that—resistance. Not a single Death Eater had died by their hands. He was a hardliner to the core, believing only in total eradication. Defeat wasn't enough; letting Death Eaters escape time and again only guaranteed the threat would linger. That's why the Aurors had fought so hard for the right to use the Unforgivable Curses.
But Dumbledore's followers—Moody included—always hesitated to kill, clinging to a code of restraint. As a result, the Death Eaters ran rampant right up until the Dark Lord's fall, safe in the knowledge their foes wouldn't cross certain lines, while they themselves had no such qualms.
Scrimgeour had always believed that if those skilled rebels had joined the Ministry and been trained as proper warriors, the Death Eaters might have been wiped out early, and the war wouldn't have dragged on for over a decade.
"Mr. Black, you've spent too long in Azkaban. Aurors are evolving, and so are Dark wizards. The same goes for you—sir, times have changed."
Sirius clenched his fists, took a deep breath, then forced himself to relax. He kept reminding himself that this man was his biggest client. Even if he didn't care about the money, he didn't want to ruin Douglas's plan—who knew what that vengeful Hufflepuff might do if crossed?
He understood perfectly well why Scrimgeour looked down on him. But Scrimgeour didn't understand that Sirius was no longer the man he once was. For Harry, for James, he could raise his wand and kill if he had to.
Since leaving Azkaban, he'd—at his friends' urging—put aside his hatred for Wormtail. But after reading so many Muggle books, and spending time at a Muggle school, he'd done a lot of soul-searching.
He remembered a conversation with Douglas, who'd once said something that didn't sound at all like a typical Hufflepuff:
"Did you ever wonder why the Death Eaters kept growing, and why it was always the innocent who died?"
"Because being a Death Eater cost too little…"
If only they'd been more ruthless, killed more Death Eaters—maybe that cowardly traitor would never have dared to betray them.
But these were thoughts Sirius kept to himself. He knew Voldemort's story wasn't over. The Dark Lord would return. He'd already been branded a murderer for over a decade, so when the time came, he'd do whatever it took to protect Harry and these children—even if it meant going back to Azkaban. He would never regret it.
Pulling himself back to the present, he met Scrimgeour's disdainful gaze and slipped back into his trademark, rakish grin. Instead of responding, he picked up the badge from the table, half-turning so his long hair fell across his face, blocking the glare of the sun.
"Rufus, I heard one of your Aurors was ambushed by a German Dark wizard on assignment… still laid up at St. Mungo's. If Barty Crouch from International Magical Cooperation hadn't happened by and flattened that Dark wizard, well, who knows?
Now, I'm not saying Aurors are getting soft, but look—if that Auror had been wearing this badge, don't you think the Dark wizard would've been caught on the spot? Would've saved International Cooperation the trouble of showing you up, eh?"
He flicked his hair aside, face the picture of earnest salesmanship. But Scrimgeour could see the unmistakable glint of mockery in his eyes.
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