"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 344: Oh, So the Ten-Thousand-Galleon Bounty Was Never a Budget Problem?
Before Scrimgeour could even respond, Sirius pressed on, his tone casual but cutting:
"Or maybe, with this—maybe that traitor wouldn't have slipped through your fingers? Think about it: with these handcuffs, if every Auror was equipped and keyed to that rat's magical signature, then whenever he showed up—even as a rat—you'd have him, wouldn't you?"
The words struck a nerve. Scrimgeour's face flushed with anger, his breath coming hot and heavy, practically scorching the air between them.
It was always the same—these people refusing to cooperate with the Ministry, leading to blunder after blunder for the Aurors. He'd come to Hogwarts expecting to take a swipe at Dumbledore's authority, to let the Ministry shine for once. Instead, they'd made a complete spectacle of themselves.
They'd come to arrest Sirius—only to discover he was innocent. Peter Pettigrew, missing for over a decade, had resurfaced, revealed as the true culprit. But by the time they'd gotten word, it was too late. Pettigrew had already slipped away.
And now, this man had the gall to rub it in.
"Black," Scrimgeour snapped, "if it weren't for your lot refusing to cooperate—especially you—if you'd just told us you were innocent from the start, none of this would have happened..."
Sirius gave a derisive snort. Back then, in that hellish situation, who would have believed him, no matter how loudly he claimed innocence?
Still, he put on a magnanimous air, as if he couldn't be bothered to argue. "Oh, come now, Director. No need to get worked up. As long as we work together from now on, tell me—what Dark wizard could possibly escape you? There'll be plenty of opportunities for the Aurors to shine. Wouldn't you agree?"
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he added, "By the way, I've always been curious about Barty Crouch. Wasn't he once Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? A strong contender for Minister, if I recall. So how did Cornelius Fudge end up with the job?"
The question hit home. Scrimgeour's expression tightened, his gaze sharpening, voice grave. "Why are you suddenly interested in him?"
Barty Crouch was a sensitive subject, especially now. But that wasn't the whole story.
Testing the waters, Scrimgeour continued, "Don't you know? His son—a Death Eater—died in Azkaban. Sent there by his own father."
Sirius feigned surprise, then shrugged with open contempt. "That's pretty weak, isn't it? Far as I know, there are still plenty of Death Eaters alive in Azkaban. So Crouch lost out on the Minister job because of that? Then he—"
But Scrimgeour cut him off coldly: "Black, we're here to discuss magical equipment. Let's stick to the topic. About these prices—aren't they a bit steep? You know how tight the Ministry's budget is..."
Sirius arched an eyebrow, unfazed. "Oh? Funny, the budget wasn't tight when you put a ten-thousand-Galleon bounty on my head, was it?"
The Ministry as a whole had no shortage of funds, but the Auror Office? That was another story. In peacetime, the budget always favored other departments. These gadgets cost more than an Auror's annual salary—no wonder Scrimgeour was nervous about requesting too much.
But if these tools really worked, if they could be mass-produced... If every Auror was equipped, he was certain he could make the British Auror Office the envy of the wizarding world.
"Sirius," he said, "I can't just take your word for it. I need to see if these things actually work."
"How about this: give me one of each item. Once I've tested them myself, if they're as good as you say, I'll sign a long-term procurement contract on behalf of the Auror Office."
As he spoke, he reached out, ready to scoop up the magical tools without so much as a by-your-leave.
It wasn't arrogance—these were clearly designed for Aurors. No one else in Britain would have much use for them. One way or another, Sirius would have to deal with the Auror Office.
But he couldn't agree to the price just yet. What if Sirius really did sell them to someone overseas?
"Hold on!" Sirius snapped, intercepting Scrimgeour's hand.
"I know why you're here today. I'm not about to interfere with your mission, but you can't act until tonight, can you?"
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, chin jutting toward Scrimgeour. "How about a friendly match with the students? Let them play Aurors, you lot play the Dark wizards. I'll loan the students a few of the less powerful gadgets."
"That way, you can see for yourself how these tools perform. Any wear and tear is on me. If you're satisfied afterward, we can talk business."
Seeing Scrimgeour hesitate, Sirius gave a sly grin and pressed harder: "Of course, these are just our small-batch prototypes. Once we ramp up production, prices will drop. But I can't say when that'll be—could be months, could be a year. And with the Quidditch World Cup coming up..."
Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed. He suddenly recalled Sirius's earlier questions about Crouch—was he planning to use Crouch's influence? Was Crouch angling for the Minister's seat again? The more he thought about it, the more certain he became—something was up. He had to get his hands on these gadgets.
If they were as good as Sirius claimed, then at the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, if anyone tried anything, the Auror Office would be the pride of the wizarding world.
"Just tell me straight—what's your real aim?"
Sirius saw the suspicion in his eyes and cleared his throat. "Ahem!"
He pulled his hands from his pockets, stood up straight, adjusted his robes, and put on a face of mock-official solemnity.
"Director Scrimgeour, allow me to reintroduce myself: Sirius Black, first Director of the Hogwarts Administrative Office."
He flashed a broad, almost comically formal smile, his black hair ruffled by the wind, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Director Scrimgeour, welcome to Hogwarts—to you and all your Aurors."
With a flourish, Sirius spread his arms wide, his voice booming with exaggerated warmth.
"Hogwarts has always opened its doors to friends from the Ministry of Magic. Your arrival brings honor to this ancient castle!"
For a moment, Scrimgeour's sharp gaze froze, the corner of his eye twitching. His lame leg instinctively stepped back, cane coming up between them like a shield.
His voice rasped, half wary, half exasperated: "Sirius, what on earth are you playing at?"
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