Harry and the Magic Factory
A/N: Hadn't planned on it, but there are some implied slash relationships mentioned in this chapter. Feel free to skip the 'war orphans' section if this is not your cup of tea. I don't plan to put Harry into any pairings in this story, perhaps I will write in the reasons why in future chapters.
Chapter 16
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Harry walked into Healer Wycross' care room. The only patient inside was, predictably, scowling.
"Happy Christmas, Mister Snape."
The death glare he received for his efforts did not stop Harry. He had some unfortunate news to deliver and a punishment to set.
"I have some unpleasant news for you. Your letter reached your father yesterday. And he was so incensed at your loss of magic, possibly temporary, you know, that he blasted your name off your family's tapestry for being a squib…"
Bracus Snape began to scream in pain and horror. No one had yet used the word 'squib' in his presence. But Harry preferred direct solutions. And breaking through Bracus Snape's walls was necessary. Bracus needed to see reality at least once in his prickly, spoiled life.
"Enough! You're alive, Snape," Harry said. "That's more than any of Tom Riddle's previous victims can say, save me. He's killed more than a hundred himself, ordered nearly a thousand more killings. He possessed your body and mind; you survived. It may even be possible to restore your magic at some point. But not if you're screaming like a banshee in a thunderstorm."
It took nearly a minute before Bracus stopped his wailing.
"Now. We have a few things to discuss as semi-reasonable individuals. You have committed one of the most serious possible crimes here. My council of advisors has been demanding we execute you…"
Here the wailing started again, but it held a different timbre. Fear.
"…but I wouldn't have it. The question is what to do with you now. I can't return you to where you were before, in your fifth year at Hogwarts. Nor can I treat you like one of the children here. You are dangerous and not a little stupid, Snape. But your father has made the situation worse, as I was trying to tell you. He went and tried killing the Oompahs of the Potter Emporiums as misguided vengeance for what you did to yourself. He's currently in a cell awaiting trial for his crimes…"
Harry let the wailing commence. He didn't try to stem it or stop it for a good long while. Bracus was a long way from seeing reality.
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Hermione Granger's portkey deposited her back at her parent's home in Kent. They were dentists and Muggles and she loved them both very much. She was home to celebrate Christmas and to tell them about her plans to get married.
Draco Malfoy would be coming to visit on Boxing Day.
Hermioned hugged her mum when she made it downstairs. Her father was in the basement making a mess in his necessaries room: the place where he kept his bottle of single malt and practiced his taxidermy hobby.
"Well," Ruth Granger said.
"I'm engaged."
A squeal echoed through the house. It had been uncommonly difficult on her parents to let their five, nearly six-year old daughter go off to a half-baked 'magic' school that they couldn't visit. But they'd seen their shy, retiring young lady develop into a heartbreaker. She dutifully sent letters back twice per week, and this Draco Malfoy person had begun appearing in them four years ago as a regular feature.
'And Draco has been so focused on his potions making I can hardly drag him into the library to prepare for our Basic Competency exams. And I know I'll fail unless Draco helps me…'
"Let's see it, let's see the ring," Ruth said.
Hermione held out her hand. "He proposed this morning, first thing. Brought me breakfast to my door. There was a little box mixed in among the dishes he fixed. Oh, he's wonderful, mum. He cooked it himself. He's brilliant and sweet. And I know you'll love him to pieces, everyone does."
Hermione heard the footfalls before her mother did. Ruth's squeals had apparently awoken Daniel Granger from whatever bizarre aspect of his hobby he'd been involved with.
"Is everyone alive? I heard wailing to raise the dead just a second ago, I think…"
Hermione ran to her father and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him tight. She did make it back home every few months during breaks, but she'd missed her family.
"Daddy, don't joke about raising the dead. We can really do things like that, did you know? Anyway, I'm not going to be your little princess for much longer," she said. "My knight has come to take me away…"
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Bracus Snape closed his eyes and refused to look at the lying bastard in the room with him. "You're lying about everything. I know it. You caught me by surprise, but I know you're lying. My father loves me. He'd never 'blast my name' off the tapestry…"
Harry just blinked twice. Then he pulled out an odd magical device from his pocket. The sound that poured out was Severus Snape's voice, his rantings about his own son.
Bracus listened and grew paler and paler. "It can't be true… My dad… Dumbledore… They lo—they need me."
Ah, Harry noticed. Bracus' assertion of 'love' had changed to an assertion of 'need.' And that was probably true. But it didn't change what Snape had done.
"Why do they 'need' you, Bracus?"
The man resting in a hospital bed was silent for a while. "They wanted information. Well, Dumbledore did. Father didn't want me to come at all, but Dumbledore insisted that such a gift, as he put it, should not go to waste."
"Did they tell you to observe?"
Snape nodded.
"Did they tell you to try to steal something?"
Snape shook his head. "That was my idea, to prove my value."
"Snape, a child should never need to 'prove' his own worth. Parents and educators should just see it. The fact that you felt you needed to prove yourself just shows how much is wrong."
Bracus knew he should argue, knew he should defend his father. But those words, that voice. It wasn't possible to fake the way his father swore, the particularly inventive curses only he seemed to use.
"What are you going to do with me? If I'm such an idiot and a squib and totally without value…"
"I never said any of that, Snape. I'm honestly not sure what to do with you. I certainly don't trust you, not at all. But I will not abandon you like your father has. So, that leaves us both with a very small number of choices…"
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Molly Weasley took one look at her beautiful twin boys when they arrived in a jumble on the floor of the house and all hell broke loose. In one moment she was screaming in joy, beginning to scold them for staying away so long without any explanation, demanding that they immediately sit down because they looked perilously frail and thin ("didn't these people know how to cook," she demanded), and squeezing anything she could get her arms around.
Fred was the first to begin fighting off the eight tentacles of his overzealous mother. George started pushing her away shortly thereafter. "You're our mother, you say, but have you forgotten we're twenty now. Really."
Ron walked into the kitchen, saw his mother in high dudgeon, snagged a cold chicken drumstick, and quickly departed. He was hungry, of course, but he wasn't hungry to get between his mother and her prey.
Ron then waved off his brothers Bill and Charlie from going in. "Let her finish her first round of mothering and interrogation…"
The older boys laughed and resumed their seats. They could see Fred and George a bit later.
For the twins, they were both pondering if they could return early to the Potter Estate and face down more dragons and basilisks. At least those hadn't been real. But their mother was a true force of nature, like an all-knowing earth goddess plunked down in the middle of Ottery St. Catchpole.
"Tell me everything," she finally said.
And, like Weasleys, they confessed before the immovable force that was called mum. They told her what they'd eaten, what they'd seen, the testing they'd taken (omitting the more dangerous and interesting parts, of course), and the offer they had to return – to learn the pranking, potions, and charms businesses from the very best.
Molly was in tears before her boys stopped talking. "Oh, you're leaving me…"
It wasn't enough to distract her by mentioning Bill trapped in an Egyptian tomb or Charlie possibly getting eaten by a hungry dragon. No, for Molly, for some reason, this was worse. Her respectable sons, the ones with good, dependable jobs in the Ministry, were leaving for some harebrained school, to learn Merlin knows what.
George just listened. Fred was wondering where his father was – he was the only person to calm Molly Prewitt Weasley down once she'd gotten into one of her spells.
"And then we'll never find your bodies once you're dead and robbed, my beautiful boys. Oh no, you're never leaving again, not ever."
"Mum," Fred tried to say, "they're good people there, very private, but brilliant. And you should see the kinds of spells they've developed. And Dad would love them…they've got a whole division of a company devoted to adapting all things Muggle for wizard use. And they make their students study muggle subjects in depth, like years of muggle science and history…"
"Oh, no," Molly Weasley shouted, "I don't trust 'em. You're going back to the Ministry. You're going back to the Committee on Experimental Charms so that Arthur and I can keep our eyes on you. And you're living here, in this house, until your both thirty. No Egypt or Romania or some hidden estate for you boys…"
Oh, yes, they were leaving, Fred and George both knew. They had a few days to work on their mum. Even if that failed, they were still leaving. There would never be another opportunity like this, not ever.
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The Ministry aurors moved through the nearly deserted section of Diagon Alley. With a few flicks of their wands, the new "Security Substation" was built. Two to three Aurors would be 'permanently' stationed here by order of Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, countersigned by his Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge.
So the Aurors set up their station. Its interior was two meters square in size, designed to house Aurors when the weather was bad, otherwise the Aurors were to be on patrol whenever possible. The thing looked like a right eyesore, crooked and leaning to one side, the white and red paint coming off already in large flecks. It had been pulled out of storage just for this job. No one at the Ministry expected that the Aurors would have to remain here very long.
Their official orders were clear: prevent and contain public disturbances. Rowdy drunks from the Leaky Cauldrons, thieves, shady characters hanging out in Knockturn Alley.
Their unofficial orders were even clearer: light harassment of the patrons of Potter Emporiums. They had built the small little shack so that it mostly blocked off the Potter store from the rest of the Alley and even made accessing its entrance a challenge.
The Aurors didn't care either way what their orders were. The Galleons were made of gold, not dreams or feelings; their wages spent just fine no matter what they did during their daily grind.
All work, especially police work, was political. They were all used to it. Merlin knew they had each staffed so many of Fudge's fundraisers and taken care of any wizards stupid enough to protest outside. Yes. All work at the Ministry was ultimately political; people who didn't see it that way shouldn't work there.
Simple as that.
What the Aurors didn't notice was that a couple of businesses and passersby on Diagon Alley immediately noticed the implications of the new 'security station.' The goblins inside Gringotts were the very first to notice. This change in policy by the Ministry of Magic had the goblins concerned – well, concerned and excited. Goblins knew far more about the Ministry than even most of the wizards and witches who worked there. And they knew a secret that none of them acknowledged, a secret that had been kept for ten years and that was now, because of this action today, likely to come out very soon.
It was a secret that was reconfirmed every time the goblins received an 'official' correspondence from the Ministry. For the last ten years, the goblins hadn't followed a single one. And the Ministry was completely stumped why the magic of Great Britain hadn't forced the goblins to do the wizards' bidding, to do the bidding of their duly sworn government.
'Arrogant wizards' was a very common refrain these days inside Gringotts. But that arrogance was to be short-lived, they now knew.
And wouldn't the world be an interesting place when that happened.
More than one goblin smiled toothily in anticipation.
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Cedric Diggory held open the door to the large common room and started ushering people inside. For the first hour on Christmas, it was to be only war orphans, then other people who had grown up with Christmas tradition might stop by and join in with the celebration.
Rose Zeller and Graham Pritchard zipped inside the room before Cedric let it shut behind him. Cedric looked around for familiar faces. This had been much easier to stage when everyone was younger, but now that the oldest orphans had their masteries and had moved into homes of their own, this was hard to pull together. But very worth it.
For Cedric, Harry and these other orphans were his family, large and unruly as it was.
Cedric was just old enough to remember a bit about that house in America where they'd all been stored away, like so many boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He could remember Sirius and Remus and Alastor coming to free them.
Cedric walked over to the small group with little Jimmy Peakes (who was no longer so little), Kenton Chambers, Barnabas Capper, and Theresa Corner. Growing up, Cedric had shared his bedroom with Kenton and Barnabas at different times. Cedric sort of missed them.
"Happy Christmas."
Theresa turned around and gave him a hug. "Looking good, Ced," she said, the terrible flirt.
"You're already married off, Theresa. You know, eyes only for your husband? Besides, I think of you as among my first mothers. I wasn't even six before I had you chasing behind me, screeching that I should pick up after myself. You were an unconscionable nag."
"And you still don't like picking up after yourself, Ced." That was from Barnabas, another neat freak.
Cedric rolled his eyes and kept talking with the group before he saw Oliver Wood and his group walk in. "Oliver's the St. Nicholas this year. Gotta go get him the presents to distribute."
He walked quickly over to his friend. Terrance Wood, Ollie's older brother, was in front. Michael Corner was walking to Olliver's side. 'Were they together now as a couple?' Cedric didn't know. Oliver was a touch flighty as a person and he switched out his lovers, and even their genders, at a rather alarming rate.
"The outfit is over in the broom cupboard, Ollie. Presents are in a massive sack. And the cupboard's only large enough for one," Cedric said.
Oliver whispered to Cedric. "But you and I used to fit into a bed meant for one, Ced."
Cedric laughed. "And I was fine with it until you wanted our bed meant for one to host more than just you and me, Ollie. You're a right cute bastard, but I still consider you one of my best friends. But no snogging in the broom cupboard with your newest 'special friend.'"
Oliver Wood grumbled in amusement for a moment. Then he wandered off to do his quick change act. If Cedric's headcount was correct, the second generation of war orphans would be in attendance this year. Matthew Summers had already started a family with Orla Quirke, even though the girl had only just finished her Basic Competency. So she'd have the fun task of helping raise children at the Potter Estate while working on the stages toward her Mastery.
Poor Orla.
At least she didn't have to raise the child by herself.
One of the rather interesting traditions at the Potter Estate was that children were raised communally, away from their parents, assuming the children had any still living. The tradition had started when there was Harry and more than thirty other children and only a very few adults available to watch after them all.
But it raised better children. That Draco Malfoy had grown up to be a rather nice, brilliant person, completely unlike his worthless late father.
Cedric smiled and went over to greet Matthew Urquhart, William Zeller, and Herbert Corner who preparing for their Basic Competency this year. Cedric loved playing the host for these kinds of gatherings. But he was also keeping his eye out for his own special lady.
Cedric, too, wanted to start a family. He wanted to have the Diggory name continue onward. He wanted to be something more than a Healer; more than a war orphan. He wanted to start up new life, be responsible for someone other than himself.
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"…and your last option is to enroll at our Muggle school, Bracus. All the magical children attend their Muggle classes there. But you won't be coming over here to attend much, maybe magical zoology or botany."
Bracus Snape was quiet for a long time. He didn't like any of his choices. All of them meant he would never live with the magical world of Britain again. He could be exiled to a foreign country with a little money; he could be exiled to this place with a little money. For all the permutations this Potter laid out, it came down to these two choices.
"I'm not deciding today, Potter. And I want to see my father. I want to know for sure that you're telling me the truth."
Harry nodded. He'd expected some fierce counternegotiation. It suggested that maybe Bracus was actually acting like an adult. Maybe he was sensing reality. He certainly hadn't embraced it yet, but it was possible he knew that there was reality just waiting for him to comprehend it.
"That we can do. I will disguise you and you can attend the trial of your father. Your father will be found guilty, I assure you. And it will be awful, but I will let you go."
"So, what happens now?"
"That's up to you. I've given you the choices…"
"No, when is my trial? I mean, if you're trying my father for attacking house elves, then surely I get tried for what I did. I almost let a Dark Lord free…"
Bracus was getting closer to reality, good.
"The fate of the Chosen lies entirely in my hand, as we agreed before we started this."
That angered and terrified Bracus. He swallowed and turned his head away.
"I'll think about it, Potter."
The boy was a tough case. And ungrateful. And sarcastic, prickly, and surly. Just maybe there was something to salvage here. But even Harry wasn't completely sure why he was offering this ungrateful prat a second chance. Was there really anything worth redeeming here?
Harry stood up and walked out of the room. He had a Christmas celebration to attend with the war orphans.
Harry shot one more glance back to Bracus. He was usually a good judge of character. And there was something, something small now, that said that Bracus could be a worthwhile investment.
Harry rolled his eyes at himself. Could, would, should. So much potential in the world; very few promises ever truly met. And Harry was made up of nothing more than hope and dreams.
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Neville Longbottom got a dignified, restrained greeting from his father and a sobbing strangling greeting from his emotional mother. He was glad that Luna hadn't come home with him to see this. No, he'd be visiting Luna tomorrow at her father's house.
He spent a happy morning explaining everything to his parents.
"And they've got the best collection of magical plants I've ever seen. And the nonmagical ones, they've got everything. I never thought such a place could exist. And when I took my tests, I did really well on Charms and Magical Botany. And their heads of Botany research agreed to help me plan out my research and direct my mastery project. It's like I have a reason and a place to be now…"
Neville, of course, didn't get the chance to finish his story for a long while once his grandmum came into the room.
She looked as angry as a fire-breathing dragon. The wobbling vulture on her best hat didn't help to make her look any less intimidating.
But Frank was willing to wade right into the situation. "What in the world has you so wound up? And why are you wearing that mouldering beast on your hat?"
Augusta Longbottom looked around for some tea. Then she sat down, harrumphing on the way down. "Those people, I swear to Merlin, the next time they show up here, I'm going to kill them first then feed them to Neville's man-eating bog…"
That set Alice off. "Neville, I thought I told you to get rid of that nasty plant… I won't have you risking your neck and your limbs just so you can have a Peruvian Jungle Nest in your greenhouse. Get. Rid. Of. It."
Neville rolled his eyes. Leave it to his grandmum to spoil things when he should be buttering his folks up. He had to announce that Luna would be going with him back to the Potter's…and that they'd be sharing a room, and a bed, from here on out.
Frank returned the conversation back to sanity.
"So, mother, why exactly are you threatening to kill people and feed them to a plant?"
"Reporters," she spat. "Camped out in front of our home. Don't they know they're trespassing. I could use anything short of Unforgivables on them and they'd be the ones in trouble…"
Frank rolled his eyes. "If anyone would know that, mum, it'd be you. I suspect you wrote those rules, didn't you?"
"Well, of course I did." August sighed. Her poor, slow son… "During the war. Never allowed them to be suspended, did I? Decent people should feel safe in their homes. Terrorists and Death Eaters shouldn't be able to claim any kind of defense if they're in someone else's home attacking them, should they?"
Neville tried to insert himself into the conversation. But Augusta wasn't finished.
"Damned reporters wouldn't leave until they'd talked with our 'Chosen,' wouldn't even call him Neville. No, he was just some empty title to them. Really! The nerve of those slimey curs…"
Neville didn't thing dogs, or curs, were usually covered in slime. But he wasn't about to argue with his grandmum when she was in one of her moods like this.
"'What did the Chosen see? Why did they want him?' Well, of course any intelligent folks would want Neville to come visit… 'When will he be giving a statement?' Why would any decent person want to speak with such vultures…"
Neville kept his patience and hopes that his grandmum would eventually wind down. He opted not to remind her that she herself was wearing a vulture on her head.
It could take a while, though, for grandmum to settle down. Neville was prepared to wait it out. He had a lot of things to explain. He had a lot of things to look forward to now.
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Susan Bones walked into her aunt's kitchen to the interrogation of her life. Of course, it made sense. Her aunt was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. But the kind of questions that Amelia Bones was asking were unexpected.
"So, you think these people are as pure and honest as they say they are?"
"This guy, Harry, he had Voldemort's soul in a jar for fifteen years. He kept it there without revealing the spirit's existence until he could gather the objects needed to destroy Voldemort once and for all. I'd say that's about as good a character recommendation as I've ever seen… He didn't want credit or rewards, he just wanted Voldemort dead. He's saved people's lives who didn't even know Harry. He even saved the person who tried to set Voldemort free again. I didn't think people like him existed."
"They don't," Amelia Bones said. "At least not in our world. We're full of other types of folks… I don't know how to say this, Susan, but I'm leaving the Ministry. I can't stand what it's become. And I won't support it any longer…"
Susan perked up then. She finally understood why her Aunt had asked all these bizarre questions. She wanted to know if there was another choice.
"Maybe you can just come with me? Or maybe we can get a letter to them from one of the Potter Emporiums…"
The brainstorming lasted a good while. But Amelia and Susan both felt infinitely better at the end.
"You know, Susan, I think this opportunity is just about perfect for you. I'd love to join you, if I could. I won't be safe, I think, once I leave the Ministry. So let's contact them. And see if they'd be willing to invite me for a quick discussion. I'm very interested in hearing more…"
Amelia had hope in her voice once more.