Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 8

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Everyone outside the War Memorial, save for Harry, his parents, and his friends, began nearly rioting. Most in fear, one in abject desire.

The most cogent question Harry heard was, "If you defeated him, why is Voldemort still swirling around in that jar?"

Harry took only that question. "You're correct. I defeated him as an infant, but I did not kill him. Voldemort, as you call him, had delved a bit into vampiric magics in a mistaken bid to capture immortality. There is, of course, no such thing, not even with a vampire's soul magics. But it makes him difficult to remove permanently…"

The story took a few minutes to complete, but the gist was simple. The soul magics would need to be destroyed or reunited with Voldemort's spirit before the evil being could be finally destroyed.

"…he stole the knowledge of the worst of the vampiric soul magics to keep himself alive, but as he wasn't undead like vampires, he drove himself more and more insane with each time he used that knowledge. Fortunately, I know enough old vampires that we should have the full answer soon…"

The Chosen were trained on the swirling mist in the glass jar. "Is that what a soul really looks like?" "Does everyone have such a dirty-looking one?" "How does anyone actually know that it can't get out?" "Are they mad? Keeping that nasty piece of thing around in the open?"

"…and the wards here will keep him trapped inside the War Memorial until we can translate the vampiric knowledge into something I or another human can use. Because that's surely what Riddle has done, he was inspired by vampires, but these devices are now entirely a design of his own making. I've got most every researcher at Potter Necromantics working on this problem right now… I do have to say that it's been a long time in coming, but we're all finally about to be free from this Tom Riddle…"

Harry was smiling at the end of his little spiel, one he delivered to every new group of students who'd passed their basic proficiencies. But these Chosen looked decidedly the worse for wear. Some were red-faced and angry, some were green enough to be looking ill, and that odd Bracus Snape looked perfectly calm and undisturbed. Harry didn't like what he saw in this Snape. He was obviously up to something. But, if Snape thought to steal the jar of Voldemort, he'd be sorely surprised. The problem was that Harry wasn't really sure how to complete the soul-magics ritual without destroying any intermediary humans involved. That was the final part he was researching, actually, how to destroy a dangerous, unfettered soul without harming anyone it may have bonded to.

Harry eyed Bracus one more time before returning to look at the other Chosen.

"Now, before we move into the world of the prosaic, does anyone have any questions?"

Silly question. Everyone did. Some went back to getting a sample of the Gift Potion – "No, it has to be earned. Only Potter Estate employees, full citizens at that, may use it." – or permission to use Animagery Toffees – "still not perfected, but getting closer."

Colin Creevey, would-be reporter, asked his question five different ways. But it boiled down to: "Did you steal your idea from the American company Wal-Mart?" Colin loved traveling. He particularly loved traveling in order to go shopping. A place like Wal-Mart was confusing and entertaining at the same time.

"Perhaps the bit on lower than average prices came from Wal-Mart," Harry said. "But I think Sirius Black, who came up with the idea before my second birthday, was more inspired by an American company called Trader Joe's. Small stores, eclectic, delicious merchandise. Constantly changing out products that don't taste right or that don't excite our customers. Employees with a lot of personality, not unlike the Oompahs who work in the Potter Emporiums. But we only use the Emporiums in England and France. We handle sales of our products in other countries differently…"

Lisa Turpin asked detailed, multipart questions that all revolved around the Potter School. In short, they boiled down to: "How do I get a job there?"

"And that, Ms. Turpin, is quite simple. Complete your mastery and you will be qualified to teach your subject at the Potter School…"

Fenecule Moody, who had said next to nothing interesting the whole day and who had only proved interesting when he fell or was pushed into a vat of chocolate, asked a half dozen questions about his great-uncle, Alastor Moody. Fenecule had missed their visit to the Potter School.

Harry's answer was, "Talk to your great uncle if you want to know what he's like."

Susan Bones had peeled away from the main group, as far from the memorial as she could go, and talked with the two ghosts. She was interested to know if they'd ever met her parents, who'd been killed in the war with Voldemort, but not by Voldemort himself.

As Lily Potter had met Diogenes Bones, Susan's father, the pair spent a good deal of time talking.

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had been cornered by the Weasley Twins. The Weasleys had a thousand and one different pranks ideas, many of which had already been attempted by the remaining Hogwarts Marauders. Of course, the conversation nearly ended when the Weasleys started hyperventilating in the presence of two known Marauders, Padfoot and Moony.

Harry had the rest of the Chosen circled around him. The rest, save one.

Bracus Snape had watched the groups forming up to ask questions. He had seemed to circle near one group, then moved toward another. But the entire time he was examining this pavilion and this glass jar holding the Dark Lord's spirit. Bracus would have felt dubious about believing anything this Potter had said, but Bracus could feel the anger and hatred pouring out of the jar. It was a supremely powerful, dark wizard located in there.

Bracus examined the pavilion closely. He also fingered the emergency portkey that Albus Dumbledore had supplied to him. No one exactly trusted this whole Chosen situation, particularly not when Snapes were visiting Potters. No, Severus had insisted upon at least one portkey.

So, Bracus had that. But this pavilion was something else. He didn't have mage sight or anything like it, but he could feel the humming of the power in the wards guarding over the pavilion. With that kind of power, there was probably a layering of them. Common ones plus whatever that crazy Potter had thought up. Him and all his masteries.

Bracus bent down and picked up a pebble from the ground. He quickly tossed it toward the pavilion. The wards didn't stop it from entering.

What about living things? Maybe the wards only dealt with the living? Or maybe they only dealt with wizards. Bracus walked over toward the entrance to the pavilion. Then he turned around and pretended to be interested in the conversations going on near him. But he kept backing away from the other, moving toward the entrance. He was listening for the wards to change, for them to increase in intensity. He'd seen what had happened to Blaise with a careless theft – Bracus, of course, conveniently forgot that he'd intended to steal as well – and was taking every reasonable precaution. He'd slowly work his way inside, take that jar, then use the portkey. It was strong enough, Dumbledore had said, to burst through any wards.

While Bracus was scouting out his quarry, Harry was attempting to explain some of the details of the apprenticeship to interested listeners.

"It lasts three years. Every participant is given provisional citizenship here and is allowed to work for one of the Potter Estate companies as an apprentice. It's a paid position and housing is also covered. You'll spend maybe thirty hours a week at your employer. The rest of the time will be spent in playing catch up so you can complete your mastery within three years. It's mostly self-directed, as our students here are used to that, but since you lot aren't, you'll also have an apprenticeship director you'll meet with once weekly. We don't want anyone getting stumped or frustrated, of course. So, you'll work, study, and enjoy what we have to offer here. I'll make sure everyone has the outline of the program before you leave. Of course, we will be running the basic proficiency testing starting tomorrow for those that are curious, but it's not required. Each of you have already qualified for other reasons." And Harry added to himself, 'and god help us if we picked wrong.' Personally, Harry had advocated a smaller group of Chosen, maybe five in total, but the Council had insisted that the six best of the Hogwarts students be added to those chosen by the special testing Harry had arranged. "Those that want to start the program will turn up on January 1 next year ready to go. You probably won't get the chance to leave the wards for a year or so, then only for brief visits. You've all likely got a lot of ground to make up with your studies…"

This statement, predictably, started another 'defense of Hogwarts' session. It ended when Harry smiled and said, "We'll just see what the basic proficiency testing reveals, won't we?" All of the remaining Chosen were now obligated, out of pride, to take the tests.

That was also the same instant when Harry felt the wards around the pavilion trigger. He pivoted and saw that Bracus Snape was now clutching the soul jar to his chest. Harry started to shout out a half dozen warnings when the swirling soul inside the jar just seemed to shrink and disappear. Then Bracus dropped the jar to the ground. It shattered. Everyone, save Harry, looked at the glass on the ground. Harry was looking at Bracus.

'Shit,' was all Harry could think. The soul jar had been touched by someone. It had released its contents. Harry watched in mounting frustration as Bracus Snape's black greasy-looking hair seemed to transmute into straight brown hair. His face began to change shape, too. His nose reduced in its prominence. His skin conditions seemed to clear up, too. Bracus' eyes flickered and wavered in their color before finally converting. The one known as Bracus Snape was now in full possession by Tom Riddle. This was a young looking Riddle, the attractive, seductive young man who had charmed an entire generation of Hogwarts students. He appeared to be the man before he'd begun his descent into Darkness and madness.

'Can't anyone understand why it's a bad thing to free a genie? Or the soul of a Dark Lord?' Harry was already recalling and practicing mentally the procedures that would have to follow. This wasn't a good situation at all.

The reborn Tom Riddle stepped over to where his soul jar had rested. He examined the horcruxes laid out as trophies of war. All of them were present. He was angered and impressed at the same time that all his counterdefenses had been subverted. He'd just have to reclaim these, make some additional ones, and then hide them all better. Tom had learned a few things about secrecy charms while confined in that damned bottle.

Then he saw his yew wand resting on a small stand. He picked up his wand, flicked it a few times, and turned to the horrified people standing in front of him.

"If you wish to save your pathetic lives, leave now. I am Lord Voldemort and I have had fifteen years to plot and plan… I have overheard everything all you simpering morons have said. I know what you've done to my Death Eaters, neutering them, making them impotent. But I will reverse it or I will kill them. My followers are always my followers."

Voldemort knelt down and touched the small cage holding the comatose animagus Peter Pettigrew. "My only faithful subject. The only one who didn't betray me…" Voldemort attempted to free the small rat, but couldn't.

So he stood up again, shouted "You will be free to join with me again," and leveled his wand at the cage.

Harry was glad of only one thing at this moment. The wards had come fully into force. Voldemort would be ripped free from his human host if he tried to walk out or leave by other magical means. This Voldemort would not be getting out. But it wasn't just that. Harry had to figure out how to save the life of one who didn't deserve it. Bracus Snape, the fool, was the one Harry was worried about now. This level of possession, where physical transformation occurred in the host, was almost always deadly when it was ended. The host couldn't survive in the absence of its new master…

"Dominus Vocat," Tom Riddle shouted as he pointed his wand at Peter Pettigrew's cage.