Disclaimer:
Anything you recongnize belongs to J.K. Rowling
Saturday, April 12, 2003
Kingswell, North Scotland, near Aberdeen
Justin Moore wiped his forehead covered with sweat, closed fiercely his laptop and lent forwards to rest his head on his hands. He was sick of this bloody translation. Not that Spanish text was on particularly high level, his knowledge of nuclear physics allowed him to translate analyze of fissionable materials just as easily as cheap tear-jerked that he had finished two weeks ago. But today he was simply sick and tired of it. He breathed heavily and squeezed his burning eyes. Damn it, he had to catch a flu, cause he felt thoroughly he was coming down with something.
Very recent soft headache became steady hammering, his throat burned more and more and he wasn't able to concentrate his gaze on anything longer than just few seconds. In addition, he was starting to shiver and he felt as if not only his muscles ached, but also his guts.
Aspirin. Immediately. A mega dose.
He stood up uncertainly and the world in front of him whirled. Somehow he regained his balance and, gritting his teeth, staggered towards the bathroom. The harsh light above the mirror tore his head into thousands of pieces and his soft moan sounded like a deafening scream somewhere in his brain. With a trembling hand he searched for cabinet and tugging at the door, he reached for the bottle of aspirin. Cough syrup, a few boxes of vitamins, sore throat lozenges and a roll of bandage fell with a terrible bang into the sink, but Justin wasn't able to react anymore. Panting, he unscrewed the cap and poured the pills onto his hand. Most of them felt down on the floor, but he managed to catch a few. He didn't count how many. It didn't matter! Faster, God, faster! He stuffed them all into his mouth and, grimacing, turned on the faucet and tried to drink to swallow them.
Suddenly his stomach contracted, he was thrown forward and he vomited violently into the tub.
The fire tore everything inside him, but he barely had time to catch his breath as more vomit wracked him.
Stunned by pain, he dropped to his knees, sobbing and squeezing his head to hang over the edge of the tub. At the same time he felt that he had severe diarrhea.
Gasping for air, he opened his eyes and saw that everything was splattered with blood. As excruciating, searing pain tugged his entire chest, he realized with horror that he can't breathe. He can't, is not able!
Somehow, his body managed to take one more short breath and as he exhaled, the blood spurted from his mouth, nose and ears.
When he started to convulse, all he could do was lie down, choking and stared at the white ceiling. After a few seconds, the white turned gray and darkness swallowed everything.
Two men stood in the half-open bathroom door, grimacing horribly as they stared at the body on the floor.
"Too fast," said one of them, pressing a thick scarf to his nose.
The other one just nodded and jerked his head towards the exit.
"Absolutely. Let's get out of here."
Monday, 14th April, around 5 pm.
London, Powell' Potion Laboratory
Several shining crystal bubbles hovered slowly in the air above a table lined with various potion brewing equipment. A trickle of steam rose spirally from a tin cauldron full of some light brown liquid spreading itching nose, spicy, peppery scent throughout the laboratory. Next to it there was a rack full of empty vials, a flat plate to put away the ladles and pipettes and a little further, among the boxes and bottles of ingredients, there was a closed book with a lot of tabs sticking out of it.
The light from the crystal bubbles illuminated the table very well, however the corners and walls were plunged into a soft twilight.
Yet it was possible to read the labels of the bottles, jars and vials without any problems, to see the dimensions of the cauldrons, piles of which piled up from floor to ceiling, or to try to decipher the already worn, golden titles of books.
Suddenly, the swinging door to the studio burst open, hitting the walls and one of the workers entered. This was evident from the special black work clothes made of dragons leather with the inscription "Powell' Potion Laboratory" embroidered on the chest and a stiff pad with the same logo, which he held in his hand and special protective glasses.
He cast Colloportus to close the door, he strode to the table and stirred the potion with the tin ladle. He studied its texture for a moment, frowned, that highlighted the deep furrow between his eyebrows, then he dipped his face in the hot steam, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The strong smell didn't seem to bother him, because it took a few seconds for him to breathe out, clearly satisfied.
He waved his wand at the book, which immediately opened on the right page, ran his long, narrow finger over the first paragraphs and, finding the correct passage, aimed his wand at the cauldron and began whispering the long incantation.
The potion thickened, a ball of air rose from the bottom and lazily surfaced and at that moment the door opened again and several other men entered the lab. Two of them were just arguing with each other.
"…aw him yesterday!"
The first one waved a hand at them sharply.
"Shhh!" He hissed and they immediately fell silent.
The last one closed the door with a spell, everyone stood on the other side of the table and waited silently for their colleague to finish casting the spell. When the last bubble of air splattered on the surface and the potion finally stilled, the black-haired man took the cauldron from the burner and turned slowly towards them.
"Severus, if you are done…" began the eldest and most imposing of them, Leoncius Powell.
"Yes, I am."
"Then ... I gathered you here because I wanted to inform you about something. Sit down, my dears" he encouraged the others, gestured them into the stools.
The others sat down, adjusted themselves for a moment, then looked at him with interest. Powell unconsciously reached for the waistband of his work clothes and cleared his throat.
"As you probably know, at the moment our Laboratory has only ... what I'm saying, NOT "only"! We have four Drops – that much! which gives us the right to brew most of the 3rd class Non-Standard potions. This, however, does not stand out us from the competition, that's why I applied last year to open the procedure for granting us the fifth Drop." - Powell noted with satisfaction the burst of interest among his employees.
"Have you got permission?" Sebastian Kelly, the youngest of them blurted out.
"If I hadn't got it, would I have gathered you here to bore you with stories?" He replied with a question and nodded, smile on his face. "Yes, I had. The first phase of the procedure did not involve you in any way and until I knew if we could get through it, I didn't tell you anything. However, last week I got an official owl from the Section of Regulation and Authorization from the Department of Education confirming that we were qualified for Second Phase. And I'll explain what it is, Sebastian" he added quickly, before Kelly could open his mouth. "For one month, the Ministry will send us its employee for inspections on selected days. He will have the right to observe the brewing processes, but also to control your documentation, the storage conditions of the ingredients and the storage of potions, salves and pills and to ask you questions about your task at hand."
Snape hold back the urge to wince. He recalled Dolores Umbridge's visit to Hogwarts' potions class perfectly and his overwhelming urge to curse her whenever she appeared or was even within earshot. Then, however, he could limit himself to not showing openly his dislike and now it seemed that it would not be enough and he will have to show his ... acceptance. In add, during one month.
"Does this mean that if we get the fifth Drop, we can brew fourth and fifth class potions?" Asked Gavin Wilson, a black wizard with a short mustache.
Snape gave him a short glance, but didn't have time to comment on his question. Chase Griffin was faster.
"For brewing anything fifth class the Aurors would catch your ass faster than you could blink an eye."
Griffin glanced at Snape and smiled slightly at him, which made the corner of his mouth twitch. Both, however, pretended not to see the indignant expression of William HTB. William's real name was William Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood and he was Muggle-born after his father - aristocrat, but no one in his right mind used his full name, much to his disappointment.
"Oh, you know what I mean" Wilson snorted dismissively.
"We know, we know" Powell said immediately. "Exactly. Nobody but us would have such powers and we would be far ahead of the competition. We could finally brew a Fetal Heart Stimulant Potion, Dragon Pox Potion, Skin Forming Salve and others to which the equations of the Fourth Higher Numerological Theory must be applied."
"That would be extremely brilliant!" William exclaimed, beaming.
Snape could easily guess Griffin's expression.
"By the way, I don't know where the Clinic gets some of the potions from. The more complicated ones" Wilson said innocently, giving Snape a brief glance.
He held his gaze, keeping his face serious. He just narrowed his eyes dangerously, and Wilson turned his head.
Griffin was intrigued by this silent exchange. He will have to ask Severus about it. Now, however, he decided to cut in before Powell did.
"I suppose they're coming from abroad. There are quite a few different potion makers in the Continent and some potions and salves are really excellent."
"They compete with us. It must cost a fortune" Kelly whistled.
"Indeed," Snape confirmed, his eyes never leaving Wilson.
Powell hesitated for a brief moment, but decided to pretend he didn't see anything. Continuing this discussion wouldn't help him at all and it might just ruin what he was about to say. So he just gritted his teeth slightly and smiled broadly.
"Quite possible. Anyway, we can expect the first inspection tomorrow. Therefore, I would like to ask you for exemplary diligence, perfect, clear notes and impeccable behavior."
"So as it always does" commented Griffin and everyone on his side of the table laughed.
"I have no doubts that we will succeed. You are the best of the best and if anyone in this country deserves the fifth Drop, it's you." Powell rubbed his hands together, glanced at his watch and clapped his hands together. "Oh my, I won't keep you here any longer! Have a nice day and see you tomorrow!"
William, Kelly and Wilson said "hello" and left immediately. Griffin was clearly reluctant, as if he wanted to stay, so Powell dismissed him with a short nod and sat down on the stool facing Snape.
"Severus ... I have a request to you."
Snape raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded.
"Since we can choose one of us as ... so to speak, a representative of our Laboratory, I would like to ask you for ... this favor." Powell froze, waiting for an answer.
"Are there any special reasons why I should be the one?"
"Oh, you know ... you have incredible knowledge" Powell smiled. "Besides, this representative has the right to accompany the Inspector, explain..."
"And I am the one who, in your opinion, has the greatest social skills, am I not?
Powell throw his hands up.
"First of all, you are the best at explaining... not everyone has a pedagogical talent ..."
"I am not sure if ALL my students would agree with you."
"Well ..." Powell began to be clearly embarrassed and looked somewhere at the table. "Eh, you are a little bit ... intimidating ..."
Snape snorted loudly and shrugged.
"I don't see any reason why any of those old dunderheads from the Committee should be intimidated."
Powell was embarrassed even more and that finally made Snape think.
"That's not all you mean ..." he said slowly. "This is someone I know ..." He trailed off and looked hard at Powell.
The older wizard sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"The inspector is one of your former students and ..."
"Who is this?"
".. I'm sure you finally managed to ..."
"Who is it, Leoncius?"
"... communicate with each other ..."
Snape raised his hand, stopping him from babbling any further.
"Who. This. Is."
"Hermione Granger," Powell blurted, gasped and held his breath.
Snape's eyes widened for a moment in surprise, but then the man grimaced and shook his head.
"Impossible. Granger is a Healer. I have ... a pleasure to see her almost every week when I deliver potions to the Clinic. Either someone has made a mistake, or there are two Miss Granger, that I wish for no one."
One is already enough, he added silently.
Powell also shook his head.
"Well, no. Oh, I mean yes, she is a Healer, but at the same time she helps the Ministry and represents the Clinic in the Section of Scientific Research" he began to nibble at the edge of the page in the open book. "They chose her for this inspection because one needs a good knowledge of Numerology and she is excellent at that. And I thought since she's your ex-student ..."
Snape closed the book with one movement; a loud thump sounded very firmly.
"You thought wrong. No."
"Severus, I remember how wholeheartedly she defended you during the trial," Powell argued. "It was obvious that she felt guilty about treating you badly all the time!"
She didn't feel guilty, but she probably felt a defeat that Miss Know-It-All failed to decipher my double role.
"And you think she is going to turn a blind eye to everything now because she thinks she owes me a debt of gratitude or other such a nonsense?" Snape snorted witheringly.
Powell smirked.
"You will admit that this is the perfect reason for you to lead her."
"It is a perfect reason why I shouldn't be dealing with her. My answer is No."
"Severus ..."
"You know I don't like repeating myself."
Powell sighed heavily.
"So whom should I assign her to?" He asked. "You know perfectly well I cannot entrust this to Sebastian nor William ... oh, neither to Gavin. His knowledge is not ... especially stunning."
"Euphemism. Wilson is a plain fool and I've told you more than once that I wonder what he's doing here." Snapped Snape.
Powell nodded at him quickly, hopeful look on his face.
"Of course, I know, I remember! Well, as you can see, I have no choice!"
"Unless I'm mistaken, you have one more employee," Snape reminded him, leaning slightly towards him. "His name is Griffin and for Miss Granger, his knowledge is high enough."
"Severus, I know Chase would do, but in my opinion ... you are much better."
Snape walked over to the cupboards against the wall. He reached into the basket with vial stoppers, scanned them for a moment, then took a handful and returned to the table.
"You are just wasting your time." He placed vial stoppers next to the cauldron, then rested both hands on the table and bent slightly over Powell. "You have another option. Griffin. And now, if you don't mind ... I have a brew to finish."
Powell stood up as well. He wiped the helpless expression from his face and gave Snape long, sharp look.
"What if I had no other choice?" The voice didn't sound desperate either.
Snape gave him the same look and for a moment they both looked at each other, then Powell made to the door.
"Have a nice evening," Snape said dryly and pulled the cauldron towards him.
All he heard was the click of a spell-locked door.
Snape shrugged, reached for the ladle and rack of empty vials and began pouring a thick potion into them.
He drew the right amount, wiped the excess against the rim and, placing an empty vial underneath, poured the thick liquid inside in one smooth movement. As the last trickle of the potion filled the vial, he tilted the ladle in the opposite direction to avoid the debris dripping, placed the full vial in the stand and reached for the next one.
Such simple activities required no special focus, not for the Potions Master, so his thoughts drifted away to the conversation with Powell.
He didn't like the idea of an inspection itself, but the fact that Hermione Granger was to be Inspector made it much worse.
Hermione Granger. Miss Granger of the Cursed Trio, a friend of Saint Potter and Weasley. Until now, it was he who evaluated and supervised her and it was he who had the right to ask questions and she was obliged to answer them correctly. Not that she couldn't. Granger was Miss Know-It-All after all, even in his class. She always knew the answers, always brewed potions correctly and yet tried to help others. Such as the foul Longbottom. Her essays were always twice the length he required.
The idea that SHE could now judge HIS work, comment on what HE was doing disgusted him very deeply.
He understood Powell perfectly. The Fifth Drop was worth sacks of galleons. He would be ahead of the competition, he could start imposing exclusivity in exchange for some special potions or salves, which in turn meant more bags of gold each week.
To do this, Powell could throw the code of ethics and indulge in all sorts of dirty games. He probably thought that, first, Granger would be intimidated by the mere fact of talking to him and second, she would want to pay back somehow for all those years of accusing him of the worst, so she would turn a blind eye to various deviations from the norms. At the same time, the same code of ethics did not allow any relations between the Inspector and the inspected entity, going beyond his official duties, under immediate threat suspension of rights to practice the profession. So Powell had the guarantee that Granger would be extremely discreet.
Next stage done, Powell. That's exactly what you want.
Yet his own position could benefit a lot from the Fifth Drop, too. He would just have to force himself to tolerate Hermione Granger.
He set the last vial aside and thought back to the past.
After the Battle of Hogwarts, he woke up in St. Mungo. He could consider himself lucky, both for surviving Nagini's bites and for the disappearance of the Dark Mark. He learned later that a few hours after the Dark Lord's death, the disgusting tattoo began to fade until it disappeared completely, but it was accompanied by such a terrible pain that all day long Death Eaters howled in agony in Azkaban and some died in shock. He was unconscious for over two days - Nagini's venom struck his entire nervous system and he felt nothing at all.
After a week, the Healers somehow succeeded to stabilize him, but his condition was still bad, so when the Aurors showed up, instead of to Azkaban, they took him into custody at the Ministry. He spent three weeks there waiting for the trial and another two weeks to be transferred between the Wizengamot and his cell.
The list of allegations was long and almost entirely untrue. Since he had personally killed one person who knew the full truth about his role as a double spy and he only expected hatred from the other, he was convinced he would be found guilty and sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss.
Then, however, beloved by everybody, Chosen One and Savior - Harry Potter mustered up the act of pure heroism. He revealed to the world the memories he had received in the Shrieking Shack, appealed for his complete acquittal and, when that did not fully convince the judges, began demanding his own trial and throwing in Azkaban for multiple use of Crucio and Imperio. Hermione Granger and Weasley joined him and Granger started a campaign to defend him. Teachers joined the Golden Trio as well as some students and the world went crazy. He was acquitted, declared a war hero, awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class and for more than a month he saw his pictures everywhere.
Minerva McGonagall proposed him Headmaster position at Hogwarts or if he wished, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was flooded with various other proposals, including writing an autobiography or even recognizing his biography written by many inspired idiots.
He was fed up with it all, so he got away to Spinner's End. He had a small lab in the basement of the building, so he brewed a polyjuice potion and for a while he did not
appear anywhere in his own form. To avoid visiting Gringotts' bank, he began brewing a variety of complicated potions and selling them under a pseudonym Richard Gray. Neither name nor surname mattered to him - he saw it in some Muggle newspaper thrown in the trash and decided it was much better than Stephen Prince or something similar.
Eventually, the fuzz around him subsided. And suddenly, almost two years ago, he was offered an Independent Investigator-Inventor position from the best English Potion Maker. He hesitated for a long time, but Powell pushed and at the same time waited and finally Snape signed a contract with him for an exorbitantly high salary, making sure that there was no exclusivity clause for his services anywhere.
And during his first visit to St. Mungo he ran into Hermione Granger and found out that he would have the dubious pleasure of seeing her more often because Granger had just started working as a Healer in the Poison and Plant Poisoning Ward, for which he had brewed more complicated potions.
They saw each other quite often since then. They managed to maintain proper relations and never went beyond professional agreements. Sometimes he felt as if Granger was trying to make some kind of friendship, but he immediately cut off any such attempts.
Will he be able to act with the same professionalism now? Or would his infernal character raise its ugly head and he will start snarling at her and ...
"Are you done with pretending you are working or you are not?" He jerked violently as Griffin's voice put him out of deep thoughts.
Griffin took a stool, placed it near Snape and sat down comfortably, leaning on the table, his pale gray hair gleaming at his temples in the light of nearest crystal bubble.
"Did you lost something?" Snape replied with question. "I can't see anything here".
Griffin laughed and he shifted the book with a soft shuffle so that he could better lean on his elbow.
"I wanted to stay for a chit-chat with you, but old Powell called me to his office for a brief discussion and I must admit, I'm surprised."
"A chit-chat?" Snape echoed.
Griffin shrugged.
„Never mind. Why don't you want to lead this little girl? I've seen her a few times, she's really good-looking!"
Snape stared at his colleague's face for a moment, as if considering the answer.
"Let's say I don't want to revive the past."
Griffin opened his mouth, baffled.
"Was there something between both of you? Yet…"
"One more idiotic comment and you'll deeply regret coming back here" Snape snapped, interrupting him.
Griffin straightened up and tightened his hand on his wand.
"Sorry, sorry...! But I don't understand. You were talking about the past."
"Think, Griffin, think. It is not forbidden."
"If that's not the case, then ... you mean ... your ... history?"
"At this rate, I believe you can really replace Wilson."
Snape stood up, took off his glasses and started clearing the table. He always left the lab in perfect order, whether anyone could see it or not.
"Have you agreed?" He inquired over his shoulder.
Griffin started helping him. He sent the jar with the cockchafer eyes back with his wand and gathered Jabberknoll feathers. The delicate down was very pleasant to the touch.
"And what was I supposed to do? You know that Powell is right. Either one of us takes care of her or Powell is screwed. I have heard a little about this girl. Apparently she's the most intelligent witch of our time." Griffin pretended not to notice Snape's scornful snort, he already knew that his various reactions should not be taken literally. "She would eat that idiot Wilson for dinner. And she would have kicked Prince William's ass on the first day for exaltation ..."
"Possibly even faster if he had said something bad about the house elves" Snape added tartly.
"You mean her S.P.E.W, don't you?" Griffin chuckled. "And handsome Sebastian would immediately try to pick her up. I don't think she would like it."
Snape grunted Evanesco and Tergeo to clean the cauldron before placing it with the others. The smallest cauldrons at the very top rocked, but he managed to hold them.
"Do me a favor" he raised his voice a little, because Griffin had just shaken the bucket for ladles, spoons and pipettes which rattled loudly. "Keep her busy so that she doesn't have a chance to come to me."
"Oh, don't be afraid" Griffin shook the bucket again. "I will ask her what the lessons with Professor Snape were like."
Snape took the bucket out of his hand and set it on the shelf.
"When you've finished playing, put the book back in its place."
He recalled the labels, the ink bottle and the quill and wrote 'Pepper Salve Base' on the first, then duplicated it with a spell.
Once all the vials were labeled and the lab was in perfect order, Snape extinguished the shinny bubbles with his wand and stopped the air exhaust.
They both stepped outside the building, Griffin muttered Colloportus and the glass door decorated with a sophisticated grille closed with a click.
For a moment the soft clink of glass against the contorted old bars could be heard.
"Gather your strength for tomorrow" Snape advised Griffin.
"You as well. Something tells me you're going to need it."
Griffin grinned broadly and Snape twisted his lips slightly and nodded.
"Until tomorrow" he said mildly and apparated to Spinner's End. Before he disappeared, he saw Griffin wave him goodbye.
Mitchelstown, South Ireland,
Cork County, 19:00
It had stopped raining a while ago, but there was still sticky moisture in the air. It fell slowly, almost imperceptibly over everything, muffling all sounds. The rumble of cars coming from the nearby street was barely audible, the crushing and hooting of birds trailed off and the trees failed silent. The world was shrouded in an icy cocoon, as if some invisible fist had clenched relentlessly around everything.
Two men were standing among the trees on a small mound, next to a modest house. They both looked at the woman's body lying in front of the front door - this time they didn't have to enter the house to watch the final stage of her death, which was a plus. The downside was the fact that she died within 24 hours. It was way too fast.
"Let's go out of here" the taller, biggest blonde said.
"Maybe we should get rid of her body" the other stopped him.
The other hesitated, then shrugged.
"Looking where she lies, no one should find her for a few days."
They both looked towards the house for a moment, then the shorter one adjusted his scarf.
"I'll see you in the lab in three hours."
His colleague looked at him with interest.
"Today? Do you have any idea? "
"Maybe. I do not know. But we have to try. Remember that the old man gave us just a week to solve this problem."
At that moment they heard a long, grim howling of a dog nearby. The taller man flinched in surprise.
"Until tonight" he said hurriedly, spun on his heel and disappeared with a loud crack.
The dog howled once more and the other man shivered involuntarily.
"Idiocy" he muttered, trying to belittle it and dissaparated as quickly as possible.
.,.,.,.,.,.
A few hours later they were both standing at a large, wide table on which there were two large cauldrons on burners. There was a bit of liquid in each of them. There was also a faint steam rising from both of them, which the two men clearly avoided, despite the goggles and face masks. To the left there was a neat row of bottles, jars and a small brass scale and in the center there was a large canvas bag in which something moved sometimes.
The shorter man stirred carefully in the first cauldron, set the spoon on the porcelain stand and reached for another cauldron to work on the second brew. The taller man obviously didn't know much about brewing, but they were still quite a duo. When his colleague put out his hand without a word, he immediately handed him a bowl of powder. After a while he picked up and sent it to the sink with a spell, handing out a jar of a very thick, greenish liquid. As the lower one added the first batch of it to the cauldrons and the boths began to boil and sputter, he stepped back, but instead of just standing and watching, he began to sort out the ingredients his colleague had used.
When the brewing was finished, the shorter one turned off the flame and put carefully the two pots together.
"Harris, give me the chocolate" he said softly.
They both crushed the tablet into small pieces and poured half into each cauldron. The shorter one began to stir in both at the same time and Harris set a row of trays on the table, untied the knot in a canvas bag and began to pull out chocolate frogs. To keep them from running away, he cast a Stupefy on them, then put one by one on the tray.
"Done, Peter" he said in an undertone.
"Divide into two the trays and give me the first half."
Harris immediately set the scale aside and pushed forward the first six frogs. Peter scooped up a very thick chocolate and carefully poured a thick layer over the first frog. The chocolate smoothed out unexpectedly quickly. He did the same with the others and they both peered at them.
"Let's wait until it freezes" Harris finally muttered. "They look pretty nice. Beside, even if people notice that they are not perfect, they won't know that there is something wrong with them. And if they eat even just one ... "
Peter nodded, as if still not entirely convinced, cast Evanesco onto the first cauldron and pulled the second one towards him.
"Hopefully you are right. Give me another one. Just make sure they don't jumble, the second potion is twice as strong."
The second potion was only enough for five frogs, so Peter put the sixth in his pocket and they started cleaning up. He put it on a little crookedly, just to the edge and as he took a few steps, the frog slid out and fell to the floor. Neither of them paid any attention to it; Harris was just sliding trays across the table as Peter began cleaning the cauldrons, spoons and stands and the shuffling and rushing of the water muffled a soft splash.
When everything was cleaned, Peter turned to the ingredients for the potion. He remembered perfectly well where they stood and now put them back, trying to get them exactly in the same position. Harris packed the chocolate wrappers, the jar with the base for the potion and tucked both cauldrons on top of pile of the sames as quietly as possible.
At this time, the Stunning Spell began to wane. The first frog moved, at first just a little, then harder, as if to try what it could do, froze for a moment, then gave a long leap and jumped off the table to the floor. It hided behind a large table leg and stopped as if exhausted by the effort.
Harris walked over to the table and gazed on empty space where the frog should have been.
"Bloody hell" he cursed under his breath, and looked around for the fugitive.
"What happened?" Peter froze, a wet spoon in his hand.
The table was empty so Harris glanced at the floor and saw a frog halfway between the table and the sink.
"Nothing, one tried out, but I have it."
"Wash your hands, NOW!" Peter hissed. "I told you, you can take off gloves only when you leave!"
Harris rushed to the sink and began to scrub both hands furiously.
Then they put the frogs in two different bags, Peter marked them, made to the doors and glanced all around.
"Everything looks perfect" whispered Harris.
They cast a chameleon spell and went downstairs carefully. Harris pressed the normal door-knob, opened the door silently and they quickly went outside.
"Just hit the frogs with a spell so they don't move at Muggles. Tomorrow morning I'm going to Old Man, and then we will watch them" Peter handed his colleague a sack of frogs.
They waved goodbye and apparated almost simultaneously.