For Hufflepuff, compared to receiving the full payment in one lump sum, she much preferred the Ministry of Magic to adopt an installment plan. To her, there wasn't much difference between ten thousand Galleons and a hundred thousand Galleons.
Treasures that she and her friends could never obtain—how could they possibly be bought with mere gold?
The truly top-tier treasures were never things money could buy.
But this money would hold great meaning for Hogwarts. One day, she would inevitably leave the school, and before she did, she wanted to leave behind a rich enough legacy for future generations.
Monthly deposits of Galleons into Hogwarts's coffers, along with the ongoing maintenance fees for the automated combat puppets, would be the perfect inheritance—like a hen that laid golden eggs.
One side was willing to accept installment payments, and the other was happy to buy things in installments. The two sides fit together perfectly.
"An advance payment of 10%, with the rest to be paid off over fifty years. How about that? It's a very fair deal." Helga offered extremely generous terms.
If the Ministry intended to buy puppets worth one hundred thousand Galleons, they would only need to produce ten thousand upfront. After that, they'd just pay one hundred and fifty Galleons each month—the equivalent of adding only three lower-level staff positions while enjoying the combat power equivalent to more than a dozen Aurors.
In fact, the terms Helga had given were far more generous than she realized, because she had no concept of "depreciation."
The wizarding world's currency, the Galleon, was depreciating just like Muggle money.
The Galleon first appeared in the mid-13th century, when one Galleon had the purchasing power roughly equal to six thousand Galleons today—the currency of the wizarding world had been depreciating at a steady rate of 1.2% per year.
In other words, fifty years from now the Ministry of Magic would still be paying Hogwarts 150 Galleons each month for the puppets, but by then that 150 Galleons would only be worth the equivalent of 82 Galleons today—in effect, Helga had unknowingly given the Ministry a fifty percent discount.
But she couldn't really be blamed. Expecting a witch from the Middle Ages to understand economics was simply too much.
Not just Hufflepuff—even among contemporary wizards, few had any knowledge in this field.
Amelia Bones was no exception. Still, while she knew nothing of economics, she did possess basic arithmetic skills.
With a quick calculation, she realized that each month they'd only need to spend 150 Galleons, and her eyes immediately lit up.
"Can we do everything on installments?" she asked. Feeling a little embarrassed, she added that for such an arrangement she'd even be willing to accept a slight increase in the puppets' unit price.
Helga had no objections. She never expected to earn too much from the Ministry anyway—real profits would come from the orders placed by the great wizarding families.
Seeing Professor White relent, Bones was overjoyed: this way she could acquire a great number of advanced constructs with minimal initial funding, and spread such a heavy budget out over decades until it seemed negligible.
As the most powerful Department Head in the Ministry, Bones naturally had ambitions for the Minister for Magic's seat, and the Dementor incident had completely ignited her desire.
Having coldly observed all that Fudge had suffered at Hogwarts' gates, Bones felt the time had finally come.
In the wizarding world, there were quite a few people dissatisfied with Fudge. Amelia could secretly make contact with them, then launch an impeachment to drive him from office.
Once in power, she could purchase a batch of Professor White's puppets with zero down payment. If those puppets truly were as effective as White claimed, they would become her political achievement.
It was all part of the plan.
After privately reaching an agreement with Professor White, Bones left the office in high spirits. Next, she needed to meet with the leaders of the pure-blood families and discuss exactly what it would take to secure their support.
Ever since the day the Dementors intruded into Hogwarts, the wizarding world had been like the sea before a storm—calm on the surface, but everyone knew a tempest was brewing beneath.
Time quickly moved to the end of October.
Students gradually forgot about the stormy Quidditch match and the "Parents' Day" that followed the next morning. The new hot topic was the upcoming "Hogsmeade permission day."
Hogwarts students in third year and above could, with a signed permission slip from their parents, visit Hogsmeade Village. Originally, no such rule existed—students could come and go freely to Hogsmeade without restrictions on age or time.
But as Hogsmeade grew, the village became more chaotic, and more and more shops emerged selling things unsuitable for young students. To tighten management, Hogwarts eventually imposed regulations on which students were allowed to visit.
Of course, Rhys found it hard to understand the concerns of later headmasters. In his view, children were merely getting tipsy in places like the Three Broomsticks—was it really necessary to enforce such strict rules? Wasn't it making a fuss over nothing?
But doubts aside, rules still had to be followed.
Rhys's method of going to Hogsmeade was perfectly in line with school regulations: he had his "guardian," Lupet, sign the permission slip for him.
Thus, at the end of October, he was able to walk openly through the gates of Hogwarts and head toward Hogsmeade.
Ever since being surrounded by angry parents, Fudge had rescinded the order to station Dementors around Hogwarts, instead dispatching Aurors and Hit Wizards to guard the area outside the school to ensure its safety.
In his view, without the help of Dementors, relying on just a few wizards to capture Sirius Black was pure wishful thinking.
But failing to capture Sirius would only affect his position in the future, whereas continuing to station Dementors meant he would lose his office immediately—so Fudge compromised.
Fudge might not have been happy about it, but everyone else welcomed the disappearance of the Dementors.
An Auror with brightly dyed, multicolored hair inspected Rhys's permission slip. Although the name Lupet on the form clearly didn't match Rhys's surname, she didn't press the matter. Instead, she pulled out a thin metal rod, intending to finish the security check and then let Rhys through.
But when the rod—used to detect Dark Magic—swept past Rhys, it emitted a sharp, explosive screech, and the entire rod became scorching hot.
Rhys: "?"
Tonks: "??"
"What's going on? Is it broken?" Tonks pulled the rod aside, shook it out, and managed to quiet it down.
Rhys looked thoughtfully at the metal rod.
"Sorry, the Ministry hasn't updated this equipment in quite a while—but this sort of reaction is really rare." Tonks gave Rhys an apologetic smile, thinking she must have scared the poor child just now.
Sure enough, when she swept the detector over him a second time, it made no sound at all.
"All right then, have fun~" Tonks stepped aside and let Rhys and the others leave the grounds.
"What happened? I thought I heard an alarm just now?" Kingsley walked over from not far away.
"The Ministry-issued gear glitched a little."
Kingsley sighed. "Oh.. I'll talk to Strang later, see if we can get a batch of updated equipment."
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