Harry and the Magic Factory
Chapter 13
X-c-X-c-X-c-X
December 24, 1997
Sirius Black stepped into the boy's dormitory at eight o'clock in the morning. The Chosen had had a few hours to recover from their exhausting tests. But the second day was upon them.
Practicals!
Today a number of folks from the Village would probably come watch the testing. It was likely to be fairly entertaining at times. Watching people brew potions or perform lists of spells was fairly boring, but usually the device generated up some very interesting little tasks. Group fights or complex warding scenarios or handling of unusual magical creatures. Stuff like that. And the practical testing was always held behind the Potter School – even in the rain, when a magical tent and weather charms would be used – so that they could be public. Citizens should be proud of the skills that others were learning.
So Sirius set to his first task. "Oy, you lot, wake up, WAKE UP NOW. Breakfast starts in fifteen minutes. Tests resume at nine. Be there or be gone!"
Sirius was laughing to himself as he saw five bleary-eyed boys, with their hair flying in every direction, wake up and attempt to start moving.
He hoped the girl's proctor was having better luck with Susan Bones and Luna Lovegood.
This was all very valuable experience, of course, since these were merely the first group of Chosen. The American crew – nineteen in all – would be invited over in two months. Then the Chinese, then the Russian, then the French, the Bulgarians and Germans, and the other countries. And with some of the later groups of Chosen, Sirius had heard that Harry was planning to bring in Muggles and squibs. The Muggles would already know something about the magical world, probably from having magical siblings. But, that was a kind of revolution in and of itself.
"Let me explain today a bit. It'll be shorter and harder than yesterday…"
The five male Chosen groaned.
"Today you'll be performing practicals based on what your results from yesterday said. We want to confirm your theoretical understanding by having you demonstrate some of what you know. Generally that means you'll be producing two to five potions, going through a number of spells you've learned, tasks related to creatures and plants, designing and implementing wards, all sorts of things. Usually some of the tasks are quite a lot of fun – for you and definitely for your audience…"
This drew more groans. The idea of being watched by 'spectators' while being examined didn't sit well.
"So, you have less than an hour. Potions are usually up first, so dress for that. Then you can take the work robes off. Be sure to bring dragon hide gloves, but we'll supply the cauldrons."
Here everyone looked sheepish.
"Well," Sirius said, "I guess we'll be supplying the work robes and the gloves, too…"
Less than one hour laster, the remaining Chosen were gathered behind the Potter School. There were five officials gathered to watch the proceedings, along with a handful of other people just standing behind the informal fencing erected.
Fred walked to his assigned potions desk and found he was assigned three potions to brew first thing: a hair restoring draught (third year at Hogwarts), the Stopper of Death Elixir (seventh year at Hogwarts, the hardest potion on the NEWTS curriculum), and the vision inducing potion, Spiritu Relashky (normally taught only by alchemists in an alchemy apprenticeship, assuming you could find an alchemist in the first place). Fred set to work. One easy, one hard, and one impossible potion in one hour: directions and ingredients included.
George had four potions to brew: a second year brew for hangnails, a sixth year potion to regrow bones, Amortentia the love potion, and the final, rapid steps of brewing Wolfsbane. That last one was the very hardest: six separate distillations combined together precisely with aconite and other explosively reactive ingredients. It wasn't taught on the NEWTS curriculum, it was only actually brewed by a handful of Potions Masters around the world. No pressure there.
Luna had two potions to brew, but nothing she couldn't handle. Neville had four, and none of them beyond what a fourth-year at Hogwarts could create. Susan Bones had five to brew, one each it seemed from the Hogwarts curriculum between second and sixth year. Fenecule Moody had but two, both ridiculously simple bews. But it was surprising what Colin Creevey was instructed to brew: a silver-nitrate based poison not taught at Hogwarts, a British Ministry-restricted truth serum, and a distillation of the blood of seven magical creatures that was used to dispel the traces of failed Dark Arts rituals. All very difficult potions; all well above Colin's usual level of proficiency.
Everyone got to brewing. Even Colin was going well: his poison and truth serum came together very easily. But the blood he was working with did not seem to want to cooperate. In fact, midway through mixing the bloods, the entire unction exploded, the liquid landing on Colin's clothing and dissolving it. But he didn't mind at all, it seemed. He just kept on mixing his potions while he blushed a little bit, completely nude in front of his audience. He didn't don new clothing until he'd finished his two remaining potions.
The reviewers gave the young man extra points for grace under fire.
Fred and George completed all of their potions, although their hardest ones didn't look much like the directions they were given; one was a pale pink when it should have been a shimmering gold. Susan began crying midway through, but did manage to complete three of the five she'd been assigned. Fenecule Moody completed both of his, but neither looked potable. Luna produced mostly acceptable potions. And Neville didn't manage to detonate a single cauldron.
By the time they were done, and Colin was reclothed, the crowd gathered around the testing area was larger. The examiners handed out a long list of spells for each of the Chosen to demonstrate. Offensive magic, defensive shielding and wards, cleaning and household charms (strangely enough, Colin demonstrated a very acceptable personal lubrication spell), post-NEWT level charms, self-transfiguration (George had to turn his red hair into a nest of snakes), healing of animals and simple human injuries and maladies, and then they were done. Every one of them was sweating. Sirius and one of the proctors handed out odd looking jugs of water, but the small jugs had caps on them. And none of the Chosen could place the material, aside from Colin, but he wasn't saying anything. Colin particularly enjoyed pureblooded types get utterly confounded by even the simplest of muggle inventions, like the water bottle.
Every one of them felt seriously magically depleted. But it didn't mean the testing was over.
Not in the slightest.
George Weasley was instructed to enter a small wooden room stationed off to the side of the testing area. Before he walked in, he saw the telltale signs that the space had been altered and enlarged. It also seemed to have a flexible transparency charm embedded into it. When he stepped inside, low lights flipped on and the door behind him sealed up. He saw a fragment of parchment floating in midair. At the top was a kind of counting device, counting down from five minutes. George read quickly.
You are about to be in a combat situation with four level 2-trained witches and wizards (meaning they've passed their basic competency but have not yet begun mastery studies) along with three unknown creatures. You know when your opponents will be arriving. You also know that more reinforcements will arrive to assist you in five minutes. What do you do in your five minutes of solo survival time to ensure maximum safety for yourself and maximum damage to your enemies? Please demonstrate knowledge of non-lethal offensive dueling techniques in addition to at least three types of defensive measures. Assume at least one of the creatures is heavily magic resistant. Assume none of the witches or wizards are trained in mind magics or necromancy.
"Holy shit," George screamed. It was like that goddamned question on the test from yesterday. But this was harder. True, he had more time to prepare, but he had more wizards to defend against and longer to hold them off.
"Holy shit." But he didn't stop there. He decided to try out the answer he'd plotted yesterday. He started to cast the protection ward, the one that would prevent spells from entering or exiting the sphere surrounding and protecting George. But George realized he needed to anchor it to something strong, the damned thing had to last five minutes. He tied the ward onto four different small pebbles he found. To destroy the ward now, someone would have to realize that these innocuous pebbles were something important. In the thick of combat, who would look at rocks? George even stooped down and partially buried one of the ward protection pebbles.
Then he cast more than one spell on himself: the Air Bubble Charm, plus several types of shields that would overlay with the Bubble Charm. Then he released the Noxious Nettle potion into the rest of the area. Then he began transfiguring small pebbles into large stones to surround the spell protection sphere. And he began setting up layers of protective and offensive wards.
When the timer on top of the floating parchment ticked down, George felt he was ready for pretty much anything.
Then he saw and felt what this 'magic resistant' creature was, as promised in the question. These crazy witches and wizards had brought a monstrous dragon.
It was a test, George knew, but he felt like he was going to die.
His brother, Fred, was enjoying none of the fear and peril his older twin was. No, Fred was feeling only intense joy at his first project on this practical testing day.
His question had also been very similar to one he'd seen on his written test. Fred found it very amusing that he'd get a chance to try out his proposed solution to the best test question he'd ever read.
"Use the next thirty minutes to design and execute a prank against the spectators of this round of testing. Please be sure to utilize at least three different potions (from the 14 varieties provided), three muggle (or nonmagical) means, two different warding schemes, one conjuration or transfiguration, and one forced shouting or singing charm. Points awarded for originality or inducing laughter or embarrassment out of the spectators. Do not aim to injure or maim any of the spectators. Points lost for broken bones, blood loss, or other injuries. Note bene: Do not go easy on the spectators. They all know that the practical testing involved pranking and that the focus of this testing is usual the spectating crowd. Seeing pranks is one of the major reasons they attend. Let 'em have it!"
It was all beautiful music to Fred's ears. Permission to prank, plus a willing field of prank testers. Yes, Fred could really come to enjoy this.
He opened the box containing his supply of different potions. Yes, some very decent stuff in here: truth serum, projectile vomiting potion, hair color changing, toenail growth serum, the hump backed potion, the Potion of Babel (or one that makes people conversing with each other unable to speak in the same language)… My, my, this was going to be fun.
Fred moved on to how to keep everyone in place: what wards to use. Then he began to think about what kind of story he'd want to pull off. He wanted to make a good impression today, so he decided to go full out. Maybe he'd made them all spectators and participants at a Muggle bull fight? Transfigure something into a bull, have them all running around, taunting it…all the while, some of them were changing in shape or color, speaking in tongues, while others loudly commented (truthfully) how stupid they all looked… Yes, it could really work. Now, how to coat them all with the potions? Maybe a muggle-style slingshot?
Fred was having the time of his life.
Luna Lovegood, dreamy as always, was performing her practical in divination. She had rather pointed comments to make as she read tea leaves. Mostly she accurately explained about people's sex lives—and then added her own commentary to either encourage or discourage their actions. "Yes, please be nice to the mollusks you meet. They're not people and they are rather squishy, but they do have some powerful muscles to clamp down on your more tender bits…" That was but one of her tamer readings. By the blushing and vigorous denials the reviewers were seeing from her 'customers' they knew Luna was hitting her comments spot on.
Still, it was rather an ordeal to listen to.
Fenecule Moody was doing his practical in Magical Zoology. He'd mastered the flobberworms, but was having a rather tough time with Cornish pixies. They rather enjoyed trying to filch his wand.
Colin was enjoying his practical in Magical Botany. Susan Bones was rather terrified about having to duel an unknown opponent for ten minutes, but she hadn't let any of her spell injuries stop her yet.
Neville Longbottom was having rotten luck as he attempted his practical in business and wizarding customs. His job was to negotiate a mortgage from a goblin. So far the goblin had secured the rights to Neville's first three children and hadn't offered any more than forty-seven galleons as a loan.
The audience was loving it. It was like a carnival where the unsuspecting did wonderful things – or failed wonderfully. Even when Fred launched the first prank of the day, they were still enjoying themselves. Some found themselves proclaiming, loudly, their undying love for various other members of the audience. Others were attempting to taunt a transfigured bull. Others were singing loudly in a dozen different languages; they were singing, badly, the words to the Hogwarts school song, it appeared. And George Weasley joined the crowd, in his fire singed clothing, just to be a part of the prank. He'd finished his task, barely, but couldn't stand not being part of a first rate joke.
As the day progressed, and the Chosen moved from station to station, everyone enjoyed themselves. The audience most of all.
X-c-X-c-X-c-X
Severus Snape woke at six. By six seventeen, he was screaming like the world was ending. By six twenty-two he had floo'd to his ancestral home, Prince Manor, and blasted the name of his son, Bracus, off the family tapestry.
"We won't have any filthy squibs in this family." He muttered over and over again.
He was still clutching the letter he'd found on his desk. He's ended up dragging the thing with him nearly the whole day without realizing it.
It was short:
Dear Severus,
I did something foolish and got myself injured at the Potter Estate. I've been in hospital now for a while. I feel like I'm getting better, but I will be here a while longer they tell me. I'm sorry I dishonored the family by being so reckless.
Your Son, Bracus
Dear Mister Snape,
My name is Healer Wycross. I have been caring for your son since he attempted to steal a cursed object and wound up possessed by a powerful, vengeful spirit. The ritual to expel the possessing spirit showed that the spirit had wrapped itself around your son's magical core. The act of expulsion rid your son of the possessing spirit and also seems to have shattered his magical core. It remains damaged now after a full day of observation. We do not know if it will be restored or if your son will be without the use of magic after his recovery. We do hope for the best. At this time, I cannot offer to transport your son to you due to his sensitive condition. However, I will be glad to share any words of support you may have for your son. Please address any letter you care to send in your son's name. We will send someone by to collect it once you've written it.
In the healing arts,
Healer Wycross
Severus returned with a vengeance to his experimental potion, the one he'd designed to poison only house elves. He wished he had one to test it on. But, he'd have to run a live test instead. After spending most of the entire day finishing three more batches of the stuff, he bottled up a half dozen flasks. The Potter Emporium on Diagon Alley would still be open for another hour. It wasn't too late to start with his revenge tonight.
It was only as Severus moved toward his fireplace to floo to Diagon Alley that Severus realized he'd been clutching that horrible letter all day long. He threw it to the floor then and burned it. Then he burned the ashes. It was a hateful thing.
He'd already planned revenge against the Potters and now he had even more reason. They'd made his son a squib. The rotten lie they'd told about his son stealing a cursed object. Those monsters had captured his son through this stunt – which Albus had somehow conspired with – and destroyed his magic.
Snape wanted to cry. But trained mercenaries didn't cry. Snape sold his services to the highest bidder – or the most powerful, in the case of Albus. But now this job was a personal one. Snape was going to begin exacting some vengeance for destroying his family.
He arrived at the Potter Emporium. It was the first time he'd ever set foot inside something labeled with the name Potter. But today we did it for a good cause. His son was dead to him. He'd have to find a new wench and be forced into carnal relations with her. It was a good thing his last wife had been so frail. She'd had the good sense to die in child birth. Severus hoped to find another frail thing, just strong enough to bear him another son. He could survive having a woman in his life, assuming it was only for a year or a year and a half.
Severus Snape walked to the section of books, plucked a few off the shelves and doused them. Then he wandered around the store and stuck one in a bin of oranges, another in a case of packaged meat, and a third on the lowest shelf of a case of prank items. The elves would have to pick these items up to return them to their proper places. They'd die around eight hours after exposure.
Snape wandered through the haberdashery section, plucking up items, dousing them, and dropping them to the floor. He picked the most expensive assortment of candies, doused the packaging, set it on the floor and stepped on it. He quietly worked his way through every department in the Emporium. He hoped he could kill a dozen or more house elves with this attack. He'd wait a month before his next one. Maybe he'd take a quick trip over to Paris to hit the Emporium there. Then he'd work out a schedule to hit them all, to keep killing off the house elves until the Emporiums were forced to close or begin employing witches and wizards.
Then Severus would have new targets.
He smiled when he walked out of the store. All his flasks of poison were empty and the store would be closed in five minutes. By tomorrow morning, these wretched Potters, the one's who'd killed his own son by turning him into a squib, would be down a dozen house elves.
Snapes knew guerilla tactics. They knew how to punch where it hurt. And they knew never to stop.