"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 357: Scrimgeour and His Table-Slamming Habit
Scrimgeour glared at Douglas Holmes, his brows knotted and those sharp yellow eyes practically boring holes through him.
"What do you mean it has nothing to do with you? Professor Holmes, did you not hear me?"
He slammed his fist on the table with a resounding bang.
"Fenrir Greyback! That lunatic! He's furious over Mr. Lupin's so-called 'betrayal' and is gathering followers for revenge! This is going to cause massive trouble for the entire Ministry of Magic—especially for the Auror Office!"
"Trouble?" Douglas arched a brow, his tone almost bored. That last sentence, he knew, was the real point.
"Director Scrimgeour, is this the Ministry's idea of crisis management? Or are you saying your Auror force can't even handle a single Greyback?"
He took another sip of tea, unhurried. "Besides, didn't we just sell you a whole batch of top-of-the-line magical items? Now's the perfect time to put them to use."
Scrimgeour's face flushed a deep red. He slammed the table again—thud!—making the teacups rattle. "Mere? Don't get cocky! That man's been around longer than either of us. You think your little gadgets can solve everything? We have our responsibilities, and right now, you're just making things harder!"
He jabbed a finger at the table. "The Quidditch World Cup is about to begin. Wizards from all over the world are flooding into Britain. The Auror Office is already stretched to the breaking point. We simply don't have the manpower to deal with Greyback and his werewolf pack on top of everything else!"
Off to the side, Minister Fudge was wringing his hands, glancing at Dumbledore as if silently begging for support. Dumbledore, however, just sipped his tea, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world.
"Oh, I see how it is," Douglas said, feigning sudden realization, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "So you want me to handle this for you?"
"We just want you to understand how serious this is!" Scrimgeour growled, voice low but shaking with effort to stay calm. "Mr. Lupin's plan might look wonderful on parchment, but it's provoked Greyback. He's ready to strike back, and we simply don't have the resources to respond!"
Douglas's smile only deepened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Director Scrimgeour, you're missing the point. The werewolf problem has always been the Ministry's chronic headache. Now that Greyback is out in the open, maybe it's time for those hiding werewolves to see who their real enemy is. As for your manpower shortage…"
He paused, turning to Fudge. "Minister Fudge, surely the Ministry has more than just Aurors at its disposal?"
Fudge blinked, then straightened, trying to sound official. "Douglas, don't believe everything you read in those off-the-wall magazines. While the Ministry does have other resources, this is a special situation. Everyone, not just the Aurors, is working flat out for the World Cup."
Scrimgeour scoffed and cut in, "Don't you get it? Fenrir Greyback has targeted Remus. If he starts a rampage and chaos breaks out in Britain, who's going to answer for it? Do you want the International Confederation of Wizards to see that we can't even handle one werewolf leader?"
He leaned in, yellow eyes glinting with something halfway between warning and command. "Professor Holmes, you received an invitation from the Italian Ministry of Magic this morning, didn't you? They're desperate over their own werewolf crisis. Isn't this a golden opportunity?"
Douglas's smile grew even more knowing as he glanced at Fudge, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh? So you'd like me to take Remus to Italy as 'bait,' lure that madman Greyback out of Britain, and leave you all free to host a grand World Cup in peace—is that it?"
He laid their intentions bare, with no mercy.
Fudge cleared his throat, trying to sound more official and reasonable. "Douglas, this isn't bait—it's a solution. You and Mr. Lupin have unmatched insight and experience with werewolves. If you can help the Italian Ministry resolve their chronic problem, it'll boost the British Ministry's international reputation and ease the threat here at home. It's a win-win, don't you think? And of course, it would help with your new Wolfsbane Potion sales, too—more trust from the werewolf community."
Scrimgeour seized the moment to add, "And Italy's werewolf problem is far worse than ours. Their mountains are crawling with werewolf tribes. If we could use this to draw Greyback over there and let him clash with those local packs, you'd face much less resistance down the line."
Setting his teacup down, Douglas looked at Fudge with a half-smile. "Minister, sometimes I think The Quibbler gets it right after all. But since you and the Director value my problem-solving skills so highly, maybe I should give this 'win-win' offer some serious thought."
Neither man replied. Fudge kept glancing at Dumbledore, but the old wizard just busied himself with a tin of sweets, as if he hadn't heard a word.
The smile faded from Douglas's face, replaced by a sharp, cunning edge. He leaned forward, voice lowering a notch.
"Let's stop pretending, shall we?"
He let the silence hang, gaze sweeping over both Fudge and Scrimgeour, as if weighing just how far he could push.
"If you want a real win-win, I do have a proposal—but it'll require the Ministry's full cooperation."
Fudge sat up straight, hope flickering in his eyes. He rubbed his hands together, eager.
"Douglas, as long as you can deal with Fenrir Greyback and keep the World Cup safe, the Ministry can offer support."
Douglas heard the calculation in the offer, but let it slide for now. After Fudge finished, he glanced at Dumbledore, who was munching on candy and smiling serenely.
"Mmm, not bad. Care for one, Cornelius?" Dumbledore offered.
"Er, no thank you, Albus."
Douglas raised a single finger, speaking with deliberate calm. "My first condition is simple. Given the severity of the werewolf problem, the Ministry must publicly support the research and promotion of the new Wolfsbane Potion, and fully implement a werewolf registration system. That means real funding and manpower, to ensure every cooperative werewolf is properly cared for."
He added, "Of course, Remus will work with you on the specifics. It won't interfere with your grand event."
Scrimgeour's face darkened instantly. He slammed the table again—bang!—his yellow eyes locked on Douglas.
"Douglas, I doubt you'll hand over the Wolfsbane Potion formula, so you're just using Ministry resources to line your own pockets!"
Fudge shot Scrimgeour a look, then glanced at Dumbledore, who simply sipped his tea, looking far too busy to get involved.
Clearing his throat, Fudge tried to smooth things over. "Rufus, now's not the time for that. Professor Holmes's Wolfsbane Potion has real promise. If it helps werewolves rejoin society, it'll be a boost for the Ministry's image too."
Turning to Douglas, he forced a smile. "Douglas, we can consider your proposal, but…"
"No 'but,'" Douglas cut in, his tone brooking no argument.
"That's my condition. If you can't meet it, then I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do."
He spread his hands, the picture of polite helplessness.
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