"Very well, let us continue—Mr. Lint, please come up to the podium." Helga did not let Rhys off the hook just because there were people watching outside.
Once Rhys went up and sparred for a while with the puppet Helga had conjured, the parents outside the classroom suddenly found their interest piqued.
"Do you think these kinds of puppets could be deployed at Azkaban?"
Among those observing Helga's lesson, thanks to Mr. Jamison's earlier screening, a large proportion were Ministry of Magic officials. Naturally, they immediately connected the dots between "combat puppets" and "Azkaban's shortage of guards."
"But these puppets don't seem very strong? They're fighting a young wizard evenly," muttered McNeill from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
Jamison cast him a glance, sneering inwardly.
McNeill's words, however, did plant a seed of doubt in the other Ministry officials' hearts: if the puppets looked impressive but were useless in practice, then they couldn't really strengthen Azkaban's security.
They narrowed their eyes, carefully watching the battle between Rhys and the puppet.
Swoosh!
With a sweep of its arm, the puppet made the air in front of it twist and ripple.
Rhys shifted slightly to the side, his robe fluttering as if brushed by a faint breeze, while a long crack several feet wide appeared on the wall behind him.
Boom!
With a flourish of his wand, as if performing a juggling trick, Rhys sent the puppet flying through the air, crashing heavily into the podium behind it.
The onlookers: "…"
"Are you sure you could beat either one of those two?" someone muttered toward McNeill.
McNeill's face turned pale, then flushed, and after a long pause he muttered in a low voice: "All I'd need to do is close the distance quickly, then duck under the spell, and I could split that puppet in two with an axe."
No one took his face-saving words seriously.
Everyone else was seriously considering the feasibility of deploying such puppets at Azkaban. Judging from the strength it had just displayed, it was more than sufficient to serve as a jailer.
But there were still many questions to consider: would these puppets require wizards to control them? How long could the magic inside them last?
Could they adapt to Azkaban's damp, dark environment? And how much would one of these puppets cost…
Of course, some of the wealthier heads of families were also considering buying a few puppets to guard their own estates.
Dumbledore gazed at the puppet that had just been flung aside, his eyes thoughtful.
The puppet reminded him of Hogwarts' suits of armor and statues, only far more advanced. The armor and statues could mostly only attack through physical means, whereas Professor White's puppet could actually cast spells.
He planned to speak with Professor White later, to see whether such puppets could be deployed within the school or whether the existing armor and statues could be upgraded.
With their own different thoughts in mind, the group outside stayed put and listened through the entire Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. As soon as the dismissal bell rang and Professor White stepped out of the classroom, she was immediately surrounded by the waiting parents.
Facing the eager crowd, Helga showed no trace of stage fright. Smiling broadly, she invited everyone to find a place where they could sit down and talk in detail.
"The puppet just now was only a small appetizer, something I made casually—if you'd like, I can provide stronger puppets with far more comprehensive functions."
Her words instantly lifted everyone's spirits, and they hurried after her to find an empty classroom where they could sit and negotiate.
Of course, there were some parents uninterested in puppets (or unable to afford them), and since it was nearly lunchtime, Dumbledore simply led those who didn't wish to speak further with Professor White toward the Great Hall.
But one figure among the group of parents caught Dumbledore's attention.
"Jamison, don't you want to buy a few puppets for your household?"
"Professor Dumbledore, my family's ancestral manor is protected by defensive magic personally laid down by Lord Salazar Slytherin. Buying such puppets would just take up space."
Dumbledore: "…"
Show-off. With a heritage like that, no wonder they managed to keep themselves unscathed during the wizarding wars.
Mr. Jamison Greengrass, however, deliberately slowed his pace, slipped back a few steps, and made his way to his daughter's side—exchanging a quick glance with Rhys nearby.
Once they arrived at the Great Hall, the group sat down directly in the Slytherin corner.
The moment her backside touched the bench, Daphne impatiently asked why her father was here.
"To check if you've been finishing your homework on time."
Daphne: ???
"Just kidding. We came to find Cornelius Fudge—about the matter of the Dementors. From now on, there won't be any Dementors around Hogwarts."
On the surface, Mr. Jamison was chatting with his daughter, but in reality, he was reporting his work progress to Rhys.
"Cornelius is finished now. The prestige he accumulated after becoming Minister for Magic has been completely lost. It's only a matter of time before he's out of office."
Daphne: Oh. And what does that have to do with me?
Rhys didn't say much, only took a piece of garlic steak from the plate in front of him. It was one of his favorite dishes: the marbled beef slathered in a thick layer of garlic paste, sizzling on the hot iron plate, the high heat roasting out the fat within the beef and soaking into the garlic paste, giving it a fried texture while infusing the aroma of garlic deep into the meat—each bite dripping with juices and filled with the rich taste of garlic.
"So, who do you think the next Minister for Magic will be? Want a piece of steak? The garlic steak here is excellent." Rhys asked casually as he cut into his steak, as if making small talk.
"Of course." Mr. Jamison also took a piece of steak, then shared his view: "Whoever becomes the next Minister will depend on who gains the most support first—to put it plainly, that means the support of us pure-blood families."
Rhys nodded. People like Jamison Greengrass might not hold conspicuous titles on the surface, but their actual influence in the wizarding world was by no means small. Winning enough backing from the pure-blood families was indeed the top priority for any candidate for Minister.
"Hopefully, the next Minister will be someone competent." He sighed lightly, as though voicing a personal sentiment. "The wizarding world doesn't have much time left to waste on fools and mediocrities."
That was Rhys's genuine opinion. After interacting with Muggles, he felt the wizarding world didn't have much time left.
Jamison's heart shuddered: this was Lord Slytherin's requirement for the next Minister for Magic. He would not tolerate a mediocrity remaining in the post.
This demand actually conflicted with the stance of many in their circle.
The pure-blood families naturally preferred the Minister for Magic to be as inept as possible, so they could seize more benefits for themselves.
The sharp and capable ones were always trying to take action and create trouble for everyone. This was the real reason Fudge had been able to defeat Crouch—Crouch's Death Eater son had merely been the trigger.
But the will of Lord Slytherin was also the will of Jamison Greengrass, and he would find a way to see it realized.
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