With so many dark wizards, it was impossible for every one of them to have a talent for business.
So what were those without a talent for business supposed to do?
Caractacus came up with a great idea.
Fine, go be a street patrol officer~
The so-called patrol officers were responsible for security in the Heaven Street Commercial District. It was easy work. Of course, they were paid less than the dark wizards working in the shops.
There was nothing to be done about it. What could you expect if you had no talent for selling?
Death Blossom had a huge business and didn't mind keeping a few hundred idle mouths fed. But to the Ministry of Magic, a "private armed force" like this was a real eyesore.
Cornelius Fudge had lost count of how many times he'd complained in his office that the Aurors of the mighty English Ministry of Magic were outnumbered by the commercial district's security guards.
What a disgrace!
He was jealous, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The Ministry of Magic simply didn't have that kind of money.
Compared to wealthy Heaven Street, the Ministry of Magic was like a beggar.
But Death Blossom—or, rather, Heaven Street's good days were coming to an end.
They'd gotten themselves tangled up in the Azkaban escape. Did they really think Soren could protect them forever?
Sitting in his office, Cornelius Fudge curled his lips into a cold smile.
Big taxpayers. Role models for merchants.
Keep pretending. Go on, keep pretending.
You couldn't help showing your true colors, could you?
Anyway, Cornelius Fudge had bigger problems than he could count and had grown numb to them. His reputation couldn't get any worse, even without this Azkaban business.
Now, if he could make amends, perhaps he could