AN: My warmest thanks to all who reviewed and added my story to their favs! I'll try not to disappoint you!
This chapter: we learn something about the Factory's history and witness Harry questioning the only survivor...
Chapter 2. The Cold Factory: Chronicle of Events
The next morning, right after breakfast, Harry said goodbye to the hospitable ufologists and, having politely declined the offer to accompany him to the station, departed. It took him some efforts to persuade over-eager Frank that he would not get lost again, but Harry succeeded at last and finally was left to himself.
His road back was not as full of events as it had been the day before: he made no more stops, nor did he try to find anything in the forest soil. His thoughts, however, were no less intense. Again and again, he repeated in his memory the details of the terrible catastrophe that happened there a year and a half ago and had turned the nearby forest to a deadly trap; the catastrophe probably most immense in the whole history of Magic World.
This catastrophe was the reason for his being here. More than a year had passed since that fateful night, but still, no one was completely sure what had caused the demolition of The Cold Factory, resulting in the awful tragedy which could have taken thousands of human lives at one stroke.
oxXxo
Cold Waters Liquid Time Magic Factory, informally known as 'The Cold Factory', had been built in a record-breaking time: only ten months had passed from the day when the project's creator, Herbert Rosier, presented the blueprints to the Higher Council, till the great and pompous opening ceremony. Harry was not present there at that grand day – he had been invited, of course, but declined, and now could not remember why – but Hermione and Ron attended, and were very much impressed; each because of the different reasons, though. Ron was primarily struck dumb with huge rotating mirrors and some "moving bands on the wheels" (which, as Harry understood later, were just plain muggle conveyors), while Hermione, being true to herself, admired the brilliant and inventive theories behind the process. She even tried to explain them to Harry, telling him, how clever everything was thought and what the amazing people muggles were – "for they invented all that technology by themselves, without any help of magic, can you imagine? They didn't even know the simplest things like…" – and then Harry was fed up with a lecture most detailed, dedicated entirely to the subject of "what muggles did not know"; all theories were explained in a very comprehensive manner, chronologically, and were illustrated with numerous examples and references to the achievements in every branch of magic science. With every minute of that explanation Harry (who was never interested in pure theory - and neither wanted to) understood less and less; and at last, when Hermione moved on to the description of the latest discoveries of some Russian physicists with utterly unpronounceable surnames, he even ventured to change the topic of the conversation. Not that Harry regretted it now, but he thought that it could be useful to ask Hermione for another lecture: he should be familiar with the complex mechanism of Liquid Time making; nothing would come from his search otherwise.
Anyways, launched with such pomp and florid speeches, The Cold Factory started to work, and it worked without rousing a slightest censure. Even the pilot lot of its production – consisted of standard Anesthesiers for 's – was highly praised by those who tested it: according to clinic's healers, factory-made Anesthesiers were by no means worse than the hand-made ones; and, besides, they were absolutely identical – which could have never been achieved by a handicraft making – and thus much more convenient in use.
After the first success, more complex orders followed; they included such things as magical paints for artists, self-filled books, Penseive fillers, devices for retrospective astrology, auto-tuned Crystal Balls, enhanced modifications of Floo Powder – and many, many others. Harry was really impressed with the list of objects that had been produced at The Cold Factory: he had never fully understood how many uses Liquid Time had; it was quite unexpected and even a little strange.
And, which was most important, the production of all this variety cost literally nothing. All Wizarding World could be heaped with that almost-free stuff in a one-week time. Of course, the Ministry of Magic and the chief wizarding financiers, Gringotts goblins, prevented that from happening in a fear of financial crises; but even being restrained by them, the Factory succeeded in filling the market with the quantity of magical devices sufficient to make happy each and every one of British mages. The prices were more than reasonable. It was indeed true: if before a simple Speaking Cauldron, or, say, a Pensieve were so expensive that only a few could afford them (for instance, Molly and Arthur Weasley had not even dreamed of it) - then now every wizard could become a happy owner, be he an ever-poor student or a plain rural warlock.
It went without saying how satisfied everybody was. Timid complaints of some antiquity lovers - and such people are present in every age - were few and far between and soon completely dissolved in an assembly of enthusiastic appreciations of the wizarding inhabitants from all over the world. Of course, there were some exceptions, especially among the so-called 'old nobility', but, first, there were only a few such families left, and, second, the public opinion in those times was not well-disposed towards them.
The foreign magic communities, which at the beginning had taken the wait-and-see attitude – mainly because they tried to be cautious with the idea that was rumoured to be born in the mind of none other than infamous Gellert Grindelwald – now left their anxieties behind and began to work on similar projects in their native countries.
Meanwhile, British mages, rightfully believing that the resting on their laurels was not the best policy, decided to strengthen their advantage and started to think about the possible improvements of The Cold Factory project. From the official sources, it could be learnt that one and a half year ago the Department of Mysteries' specialists had at least three new proposals prepared, each one developed to a slightest detail and completely ready for implementation.
oxXxo
On the night of 12 of June, at two thirty-five after midnight (the precise time was ascertained later), a dazzle-bright green shine flared over the north outskirts of the Blackwood, and then disappeared within a split second. The flash was absolutely silent and bore no resemblance either to lighting or to the festive fireworks. The population of the farther lands, on the contrary, allegedly saw not a single flash, but rather a vast pale radiance, slowly rising at the horizon – not quite unlike it used to happen before the dawn. Luckily, the shining was mistaken for Aurora Borealis, which could be seen under those latitudes, though extremely rarely – and by that the upcoming work of the Department of Information was made much simpler, for now they would not need to invent some special muggle explanations, or, as they called it, 'muggle-worthy excuses', for the 'unusual atmospheric phenomenon'. The seismic stations around Cold Waters had registered a weak underground shock, but since its characteristics were typical for the local geoactivity, it attracted no attention whatsoever.
The first report on the disaster came to the Ministry only twenty minutes later, and, surprisingly, not to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, but for some reason to the Department of Mysteries. The young trainee who was on duty that night was so shaken by the terrible news that he became completely disoriented, not sure how he should behave in those circumstances; and he could think of nothing better than to send howlers to all of the Department's Heads. That impulsive act had caused a monstrous panic among British wizards and gave a life to the numerous most frightening theories and rumours – which, being widespread by susceptible to sensations journalists, made the things even worse. All that, of course, severely complicated the work of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and of the hastily-made Committee of Investigation.
The subsequent reconstruction of the events showed clearly that the entire Factory had been destroyed in seconds; and that the green shine over the woods, visible several days after and fading gradually, was caused by the simultaneous release of the great amounts of half-processed Liquid Time. As a result of the outburst, the nearby forest was polluted so heavily that it took the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad a full weak to clean it to an at least acceptable level.
Of course, traces of the explosion could not be wiped completely - or at least, not in the nearest future. The largest anomalies, such as unnaturally scorched trees, pools of diluted liquid time or springs with exploding water, were eliminated by the Reversal Squad, but the smaller ones remained. Harry had seen some of them during his walk in the woods last evening. The strange fog and time-mirages that Miranda had seen were phenomena of the same kind, as well as the unexplainable behaviour of muggle watches. But as for the talk Dave had caught on the radio, Harry was still in doubt.
The cleansing of the land, however, was by no manner of means their only problem. When the initial shock was over, very appropriate questions began to arise. What had really happened that night? What had caused the disaster? What, or who, was guilty of it? Could it be sabotage? Or, maybe, it was some unaccounted factor in the project that resulted in the Factory's destruction?
Unfortunately, all theorizations were built on mere guesses – or, at least, that's how it had been in the beginning. No one present at the Factory that night had survived the catastrophe – with the exception of a single man, who was but an unskilled worker and thus was of little help to the Committee. Poor fellow was on shift when it happened and managed to stay alive only because he was transferred in time to the day after the explosion. His tale was very vague, and explanations confused. According to him, everything had been just as at any other day, nothing unusual, no strangers visiting.
Of course this story had not ruled out the possibility of diversion. Former Death Eaters, who went into hiding after Voldemort's defeat, though not great in number those days, were still seen in different places all over the country. However, as far as Harry's colleagues knew, those pitiful remnants were concerned with nothing but their own fate; and certainly weren't hatching out the plots as scaled as their former leader had used to. Still, what if some of them had organized and moved to more active policy? It would have been quite natural if the most noticeable enterprise of the entire Wizarding World had become their target...
The Committee of Investigation had surely considered that possibility as well as the many others – but in the end they came to the different conclusion, a much prosier one. From the memories of the only survivor, it was very clear that the safety rules at the Factory had not been observed as strictly as they should be. Tragically, it appeared that it was him, the mere person who survived, who had made that fateful mistake, which cost so many lives and completely destroyed the Factory.
oxXxo
With these thoughts on his mind, Harry noticed that he had already come to the familiar rusty gate in the station's fence. This time, the gate was closed shut with the big barn lock. Harry smiled to himself and easily jumped over the low fence.
The Station Custodian watched him from his usual place on the chipped bench with clear disapproval. As Harry came closer, he said gloomily:
'The next train is at three fifteen. So you have plenty of time to go sightseeing again.'
Harry smiled broadly and answered, still playing the dumb-witted cheerful tourist:
'Oh, thank you for your advice, sir. But I'd rather stay here, with you.' He sat on the bench just beside the Custodian. 'We have so much to discuss, really,' he added most enthusiastically.
Mr Slopey cast a sidelong look at the unwelcome intruder: 'Sorry, mister, but I'm not in the mood for the chit-chat. So you're just wasting your time here.'
'Wasting my time? Me?' cried Harry with an overdone surprise and exclaimed pathetically: 'Never!' Then he lowered his voice and added: 'Though I'm not so sure about you, my dear Mr Archibald Slopey.'
The Station Custodian sprang to his feet on the instant.
'What – How did you know – Who are you?'
Harry had also got up and was looking narrowly at the Custodian; the smile completely vanished from his face. And then poor Mr Slopey understood.
'You! You're a blasted Auror!' he exclaimed furiously.
'At your service.' Harry bowed archly, no more pretending. 'But let's better get inside your house. I think it will be much more convenient to talk there.'
'I must watch the trains,' said the Custodian sullenly.
'The next one is at three fifteen, so we have plenty of time,' reminded him Harry. 'Come on, Mr Slopey; the sooner we begin the sooner it'll be over.'
There was nothing to be done, and Mr Slopey, the very factory worker who survived, silently proceeded to his house, accompanied by Harry Potter, an Auror.
oxXxo
The interior of the small apartment matched Mr Slopey's image perfectly: dark and shabby, it had a distinct air of negligence about it. Harry looked warily at the ancient couch padded with extremely dirty chequered cloth, but since the only other piece of furniture suitable for sitting – the three-leg wooden stool – was already occupied by the Custodian himself, he had no other choice than to sit down at the suspicious couch and hope that it was at least bug-free.
'I hope that you are not treating other people in the manner you showed me, Mr. Slopey,' Harry began.
'Muggles, not people,' said the Custodian bitterly. 'Those oafs notice no difference.'
Not the best start, Harry thought. But at least now he knew how to conduct a conversation with this man.
'The Muggle Abuse Committee will be happy to hear that,' he said coldly. 'In case you've forgotten, the term of your staying here depends on their recommendation. As well as on ours.'
'I'd rather be in Azkaban! Just a year there – still much better than this shameful exile.'
Harry felt a sudden flow of anger: Slopey had certainly no idea what he was talking about. Had he met a Dementor even once…
'Azkaban was closed for good five years ago. It will never become a prison again,' said Harry firmly, forcing himself to remain calm. But he could not help adding: 'Anyway, I really don't think that you'd prefer being there. You may not be overjoyed with the muggle society, but I assure you that Dementors would make much less pleasant company than the local folks.'
Slopey raised his bloodshot eyes and looked at Harry with undisguised hate.
'I wish you knew how I feel now,' he muttered. 'I wish you knew, what it means, to be stripped of everything; of your life; of your heart; of your very essence. I wish that you lived in this nightmare –' overwhelmed, the Custodian broke off.
Harry sighed and answered patiently: 'Mr. Slopey, please, listen to me. I came here not as your enemy. There is no need to be angry with me. You will gain nothing from it. If, on the contrary, you choose to help – then, probably, something could come out from that.'
'I was not guilty,' the Custodian said with a spiteful stubbornness. 'I just happened to be the only one who survived, that's it. I've told you that thousand times. You've made me drink that Truth potion of yours, so you know that I'm not lying.'
As far as Harry could remember the case, there was no mentioning of the interrogation under Veritaserum. Though, watching Slopey's helpless swearing, he somehow perceived that the Custodian was telling the truth and was not trying to fool him. Well, it was worth to ask someone in the Ministry about it…
'That's why there will be no harm if I ask you several more questions,' said Harry with the calm friendliness.
'Fine, go on,' Slopey grumbled, giving up.
'I've watched your memories of that night in the Pensieve,' Harry said. 'It seemed to me that you were quite relaxed, even joked with your fellow co-workers. Had the order that was in the production demanded so little efforts?'
'Well, it was an easy one. Two barrels of Developer for the Experimental Charms. A child's play. Almost no additional processing was required. You see, Developer is the same Liquid Time, only concentrated. We expected them to be ready at the dawn, if we're lucky.'
'What does it mean "if you were lucky"? Wasn't the production strictly scheduled?' Harry frowned, not quite catching Slopey's explanation. From the process description he had read while familiarizing himself with the case, it clearly followed that the producing of a certain unit required a precisely estimated amount of time. Right timing there was essential.
Slopey gave a short laugh: 'Well. It's supposed to be. On paper, that's it. But in real life it all was different. Time is a complicated thing, you know. It depends on plenty of stuff. The Moon phases. The weather. The season of the year. The Sun, the stars, the people around, their mood, their movements, or what they've eaten at breakfast or Merlin knows what else. There always were those… deviations,' he produced at last, proud that he had found the right word.
'And how big exactly were those deviations?' Harry asked. 'Or rather, how long they were?'
Slopey shrugged. 'Well, it depends. Could be just ten minutes. Could be an hour. Could be a day. Who knows.'
The report of the Investigation Committee touched the subject only briefly and certainly did not mention that the errors were so significant. But still, Harry wasn't sure if his predecessors deliberately decided to omit the problem.
'So you're saying it was all in the day work,' he repeated as if in doubt, 'but I think that there were some people who still worried about that, weren't there?'
'I guess they were. More so later, when the delays became much longer. The foremen, the bosses. Those blokes from the Ministry. Of course they were not happy. Were checking the machines all the time, calculated something, and even invited an astrologer once. That one grappled with our clairvoyant. What a sight it was!' and Slopey burst into an unkind laughter.
'Did Herbert Rosier, the project creator, come to the Factory when the troubles began?' interrupted him Harry. 'You know him, don't you?'
'Never seen him. I heard that they invited him in the end – as a last resort. But he never came. Had died, I heard. Some accident. They promised to send us somebody from the continent instead, the guys from the Ministry I mean. Didn't have time, though.'
Slopey's words implied that the Ministry was aware of problems at the Factory, Harry thought. It seemed that they simply chose not to talk about it. Hmm, very interesting.
'I see,' he nodded. 'You were left to yourself with those troubles. So what measures had been taken? Had your bosses implemented any additional precautions?'
'What for? They were just occasional delays. Well, maybe we used too much power sometimes; more than we should. But it was easy to obtain: even if there were no things produced, the Factory was still operating and consuming power. It's all in the books that you found, all the figures. Or you think that I blew up the Factory and stole the power as well?'
'Speaking of the latter possibility – I really don't know; and, to say the truth, couldn't care less,' said Harry. 'But as to the fact that your actions that night had caused the Factory destruction – '
'No they hadn't!' roared Slopey. 'Yes, I did not follow the instructions – so what? You think that any of us was working by the book? With all that stupid rules and procedures? Quite wrong! In our job, only important things mattered – not all that rubbish. And I knew how to do my job; I wasn't born yesterday, you see. I was working here when this Factory was being built. I was building it! And I knew every damned bit about it – more than all those Unspeakables taken together!'
Well, that was clearly an overstatement, but Harry understood Slopey's feelings. Which did not mean, of course, that he failed to apprehend the extent of his guilt.
'Please, calm down, Mr Slopey,' he said. 'If you didn't know what caused those, as you said, deviations – how could you be so sure that it wasn't some of your actions?'
'Well, I say you this. I may not know who or what caused that damned factory to blow up. But I did know that I have nothing to do with it! You could gather as many Committees as you like. Invite all your Auror friends here. It's so easy to find who's guilty - because, hey, there's the only one who could be made guilty. A nice excuse, don't you think? You believe that I'm just a poor foolish scum? But I know I'm right. All those clever wizards from the Committee weren't there. I was. And I knew better.'
'So what's happened here then?' inquired Harry.
He did not expect Slopey to answer – and the man had not indeed. But it didn't matter anyway: he had already mentioned some quite interesting things in his story. Harry doubted that Slopey could give anything more than that. He had a single question left:
'And tell me, Mr. Slopey, had anybody at all there expected that the Factory might explode? Maybe you heard some talks? Not?'
The Custodian remained morosely silent.
'Well, thank you for your efforts, Mr. Slopey,' Harry said, rising. 'You were most helpful. We'll inform you if something could be done in regard to your… circumstances.' And he headed towards the door.
When Harry was already at the threshold, Slopey suddenly put his hand against the doorframe, blocking the exit, and then moved his face very close, nearly assaulting Harry with the smell of garlic.
'This thing had to blow up sooner or later,' Slopey whispered out, looking at Harry like a madman. 'That's how it's made, the bloody thing. Not the real magic, just some filth. You asked who'd been expecting that - well, I had. I was expecting that every minute. When my shift would come, I was frightened to death. Even made me an amulet. Ha! As if it could've helped. Worthless, completely waste of time. Indeed. What a waste of time, ha-ha! They should not have built it at all,' and he silenced, breathing heavily, his mad eyes still upon Harry.
The latter sustained Slopey's long, heavy glance without a flinch. Then he nodded and said, nothing but politeness in his voice:
'Have a good day, Mr Slopey.'
Slowly, as in a dream, Mr. Slopey took his hand away and let his visitor out.
So the intrigue has begun... R&R, please!
Next chapter: Harry studies some interesting documents from The Cold Factory case...
