AN. Traditional thanks to my readers and reviewers!

StarMirage: In this story I used the timeline that is kind of "official": ChoS opened in 1943 (Tom Riddle's 5th y.), Grindelwald defeated in 1945. As to method of Dumbledore's investigation: we'll see! The man is quite resourceful... Just wait for the next chapter ;)

ShadowDweller: Dumbledore is my favourite also, and it's a pity that he won't be in Book 7... And I will certainly write about Tom Riddle, and very soon. There'll be some of him in the next chapter, and much more later in the course of the story.

Chapter 5. The Laboratories.

November 1944, Bernese Alps, Jungfrau Region

Klaas Felsen

Something in the very air of the Laboratories was irritably dreary for Felsen; and due to that he avoided visiting them when possible. But today he simply ought to be in Glass' domain. They needed to talk privately, while in the castle there was no such possibility: Baron Trentius certainly had installed various spying devices all over the castle. Now, Felsen even persuaded himself to find a sort of pleasure in that 'inspection': he would have a wonderful mountain walk – he was always fond of mountains – and, besides that, it could provide an excellent possibility to make closer acquaintance with Potter. The Englishman might be of some use to him – who knows.

Their trio reached the plateau where Laboratories were situated unexpectedly quickly; and the English boy held himself surprisingly well, not worse than Glass or Felsen himself – despite the fact that Potter had been presumably unfamiliar with Jumping Boots. That proficiency put Felsen on his guard even more, and he thought again: somehow this boy had too many talents. In magic, in muggle sciences – and now in physical exercises. Quite unlike the typical turncoats and whiners whom he had seen a great many. It was interesting if the boy –

'I bet you are good in quidditch,' continued Felsen his thought.

'Quite the contrary. Never had enough practice,' Potter's features were restrained as always, but his glance changed intangibly, as if for a moment he had though of something very pleasant. Eh, how young he is indeed, thought Felsen, feeling a strange pity for the boy. If he still could be so happy with simple life gifts…

He cast a glance at edgy snow-covered mountain ridges, so dear to him in his youth age, and took a deep breath. Frosty air was clear and fresh; blanket of snow glared under white rays of the winter sun; and the blue of the sky was unfeasibly deep. It was a truly perfect day; but, nevertheless, its beauty left Felsen untouched. All those – admiring the scenery and deep-drawn breathes – were but a matter of habit; in reality he long ago lost that exciting, almost mystical spirit in which he used to be while in mountains. Another age, and another pleasures. Why the best feelings of one's life were always in the past?

'Well, we are near the entrance now. But you certainly see it already, mister Potter, don't you?' asked Glass, hiding the grin of satisfaction in his eyes – for the entrance was hidden so well that no one of them was able to see it.

To Felsen's surprise, Potter-boy answered without any hesitation:

'Over there, just next to the red rock.'

Glass did not say anything, only slightly strained himself. Felsen decided to play fool for a while:

'Oh, is it so easy noticeable? Glass, dear friend, but you assured us that – '

'I mean, I just thought that it could be there,' said Potter hastily. Hmm, is he nervous? The boy was composed, as always, but that was just how he looked…

'Don't put on a modest air, mister Potter,' said Glass stiffly. 'There is no need of that.'

Potter remained calm at this comment. This steadiness hardly was natural, though Felsen still could not tell for sure if the boy was simply posing. There was something weird about him. That Potter was surely hiding something from them.

Meanwhile, Jurgen Glass was doing something near supposed entrance – which appeared to be precisely where Potter had pointed. Felsen turned away politely – let Glass lift his super-secret wards; he had no need to know them. Instead, he tried to continue his conversation with Potter.

'It appears that your guess was right, mister Potter. Beware, Glass could start to think that you are gifted in clairvoyance as well,' he laughed. 'Though, it is not unusual - for a Ravenclaw student...'

Andrew Potter smiled in response; though, as Felsen noticed, he was slightly surprised.

'People so often took me for a Ravenclaw that it almost came true, it seems… The truth is, however, that I've never attended Hogwarts. My parents decided against it.'

All that Felsen knew already: he had read Potter's dossier, after all. It's a pity that the boy was not a Hogwarts student, for then they would have much more information on him. Anyway, he didn't go there, and that's it. Felsen did not know much of boy's parents, so could not say if the decision in favour of home education was unusual for them. He recalled that the Potters, though being rather old wizard family, were not over-conservative in their beliefs; one of Andrew's grand-grand-fathers even was a muggleborn… And they had a tendency to be sorted in Gryffindor.

'As to me - by the way, I did attend Hogwarts in my time,' said Felsen. Strangely, but it was true.

'Indeed?' Potter's surprise was just as far from indifference as politeness required. 'And to which House you were sorted?'

Felsen did not have time to answer: Glass, at least, finished fiddling with the wards and told them that the entrance was open.

Andrew Potter

Andrew looked around attentively, trying not to miss anything and at the same time not to look over-curious. There should be a fine balance in all his actions and statements; he made a mistake already outside with the entrance. He knew that these people would test him and expected that; but he failed to understand what the test would be exactly. Felsen should certainly suspect him now. But there was nothing to be done with it, at least, for time being; so it's better to pay attention what was going on now.

At first glance, everything was not as it should be. The large room bore resemblance to a muggle factory rather than to a mage's laboratory. There were no cauldrons, no retorts, no cabbalistic writings on the walls, and no ancient scrolls on the shelves. Instead of them – an abundance of shiny chrome-plated metal: levers, clock-faces, buttons with unintelligible inscriptions… At last he managed to spot several places where so-called "common" magic was implemented; but even there, as far as he could understand, its function was auxiliary.

To be honest, he expected something of the kind, and thus was not surprised. All those impressive muggle devices was but insignificant details – a supplement – for a true, real power that underlay them. They were not interesting for him by themselves, and their tinsel splendour just confirmed his thoughts about the nature of magic hidden behind: it should be something truly grand, something that no one had seen before. And he came there not because he wanted to admire all those enormous tubes and cauldrons, glittering in bluish light of the invisible lamps. He was to reveal the very essence of it all, which had breathed a life into this mechanic and metallic performance.

But thus far, no matter how hard he tried, he failed to sense at least a slightest sight of real magic which should be hidden under all that machinery. Glazed tiles, a lot of metal, even more wires and strange vapour, smelling of something warm and sour. That was all. Nothing veiled. Andrew forced himself not to lose his spirits: his temporary failure meant that the master of Laboratories could keep his secret… He had to be very patient and very cautious if he was going to uncover it.

'Everything is so… technological,' he said at last; he had to say something just because he felt that his companions were expecting that.

'We are not some warlocks from Middle Age, mister Potter. Though you are right, it could be quite unusual for wizards who see it for a first time. They are expecting to see something more – ' Glass paused, trying to find a suitable word.

'It looks like a distillery,' Andrew continued. 'A simple muggle distillery.'

'Well, you guessed the main purpose correctly,' Glass nodded.

Really, Andrew thought. And he said it for no particular reason. He could never quite understand why it always happened that some of his odd guesses and fantasies somehow appeared to be true. It made a proper impression on those around him, however.

'And what about the muggle look of it,' Glass continued, 'it is of no importance. A true science should be free from prejudices. Its ultimate goal is functionality.'

'Oh, I see you are a muggle-lover, Glass,' Felsen laughed.

'Not more than you are,' Glass answered coolly. Andrew noted to himself that Felsen's attempt of teasing missed the mark – or, rather, remained unnoticed by his opponent. He looked at Felsen again – he was busy with inspecting some plain clock dial, the same as just any other here. What was so special about it?

'And this method is indeed more… efficient?' Andrew stressed his doubt purposely.

'When it comes to mass production – definitely yes,' Glass answered. 'And since we did not invent anything alternative to what Muggles had created – why not just borrow their findings?'

'Ah, Glass, thus you'll come to the fact that magic is not necessary for your work at all,' Felsen laughed and gave a wink to Andrew, as if inviting him to be his ally.

Glass looked at Felsen briefly, showing his discontent, but his answer was quite polite:

'This is only the first impressions. As time goes by, you'll understand, mister Potter, what is going on here.'

'And this is almost a promise,' Andrew said to himself, feeling a strange satisfaction. Because Glass has just admitted that all this shiny machinery is no more than a shell, a fiction. It is necessary, but not the most important. And with time he'll certainly find out what is going on here, in that Glass was absolutely right.

He will understand the purpose of the entire system they had built; to its slightest detail, to its smallest minutiae…

Jurgen Glass

Jurgen Glass noted to himself with pleasure that Potter was indeed impressed with the spectacle, though the boy, true to his secretive nature, tried to conceal his feelings. He purposely began their tour at the First Chamber, where the scale of the processes was seen at best. Probably, it was a way too theatrical; after all, the entire complex of the First Chamber was in fact just "a simple distillery", as the boy had said. There was nothing special or innovative in that distillery – maybe, with the exception of its gigantic size. Chemical processes there also had nothing extraordinary and promised no scientific breakthrough: it was just the prefiltering and distillation of the incoming raw materials; neither complex magic nor energetic streams were used. The reactions yield was paltry; no more than ten millilitres from ten litres. At the following stages – even less than that… The sum of their work literally could not be seen with unaided eye…

'…And now there, if you please,' he said, inviting his guests into the Second Chamber.

They entered and stopped at the door, wonderstruck: the mirror-like ball-shaped room caused nervous shock even in him, not to mention the strangers.

'This is the Second Chamber. Not so muggle as before, isn't it, mister Potter? And nevertheless here, as it was in the previous chamber, the majority of the processes are just the simple chemical reactions…'

Potter looked at him rather distrustfully, but did not say anything.

'Yes, of course, the magic is present here, but it is needed only for guidance, not for transformation itself. Here, look at this device,' he pointed to one of the Dividers. 'What is it, how do you think?'

That he will never guess, that deceptively modest Andrew Potter. He did not even try.

'And what it is, indeed?' Felsen inquired.

'It's one of the separators; a device for sorting of prefiltered materials. My assistant, Herbert Rosier, will explain you everything in detail.'

Rosier heard him at once, though Glass was speaking rather quietly, and raised his head.

'Rosier, this is Andrew Potter; you know about him. Show him everything here… The Third Chamber too. I'd like him to begin as soon as possible.'

A silent nod in response. Then Glass turned to Potter:

'So, Potter. For the rest of the day I consign you to my assistant. Have a look around, and don't hesitate to ask anything. You should be familiar with all our standard procedures and devices. Tomorrow you are to start working.'

It seemed that Potter was slightly bewildered. No surprise: had Glass more time, he'd have Potter to study Laboratories properly, but now it was out of question.

'Yes, you may though that it is somewhat… untimely…'

'No, not at all,' said Potter hurriedly. 'I understand.'

Glass smiled. He understands. What a lucky boy. Glass himself, for instance, was far from understanding. For example, he did not see at all what the hell Felsen had decided to go with them here today, and what he's going to tell him so urgently. But that he would discover in a few minutes.

After exchanging brief glances, Glass and Felsen departed. The door, having closed behind them, turned the Chamber's inner surface into a perfect mirror.

'So, I see you are satisfied with your latest acquisition, Jurgen?' asked Felsen.

'Completely,' Glass nodded and looked straight into Felsen's eyes. As usual, his gaze did not express anything. Another one… political figure… Luckily, this one is not as stupid as others. His habit of obscuring the issue, sadly, was not different.

'Well?' hurried him Glass.

Felsen laughed.

'I admire your straightforwardness… Unfortunately, you must have misunderstood me. I'm far from discovering some secrets to you – nor am I going to invite you to join in a conspiracy.'

Of course; he is not an idiot: to hatch a plot and to believe that he, Glass, will fall for the bait.

'I have little time,' he said stiffly. 'What can I do for you?'

'What can you do? Well, you can tell me, if you please, at which stage the project is now. And that is all.' Felsen looked almost guiltily.

"At which stage? Why, at the same stage as it was the last year. Or the year before last. Or three, or ten, or twenty years ago," Glass thought; but aloud he said:

'Everything is according to plan.'

'Oh, that is very reassuring,' noted Felsen philosophically, 'According to plan. Our inevitable loss is not worth worrying about – and why should it be? – for we had planned it in advance; and everything goes according to plan…'

'No need to enact a farce, Felsen.'

'Me? Listen, Glass, I'm talking now with you, and not with Eisgrotte or Baron; and exactly with you, because you are able – unlike them – to realize our circumstances and are able to regard things in a sensible light. You might not think highly of me, but nevertheless you don't hold me for an idle-headed chatterer.'

'Do I, indeed?' Jurgen could not help asking.

'I am sure of that, Glass. Absolutely sure. I'm tired of muddling. It is of no use now.'

Yes, he was right in that. All those backstreet intrigues put him out to no end. Because of them their collaboration, once sealed with blood, now was dissolving to nothing. A good expression – 'sealed with blood'… Especially for those who knew what their so-called project was about. He smiled.

'Well, Felsen. I agree with you.'

"Though even if I tell you what we are doing here, nothing will come of it…" he thought.

'I will tell you what's happening here; I have nothing to hide. Only tell me beforehand – as a politician,' Glass did his best trying to say this word without a jeer, 'what could be expected if we suppose that we won't have the results of our research?'

Felsen made himself comfortable in his armchair and crunched his fingers.

'If you please. In two days Stavrogine is signing the pact with Ollan… we can not prevent it anyway… Then let's assume that they need about three weeks in order to coordinate their action and resolve the difficulties with Resistance general policy. After that, the final treaty will be signed. Then let's put half a month for an inevitable in the organizational questions delays. Altogether we have six weeks. This is an estimate of a realist. Had I been an optimist, I'd say two months; had I been a pessimist – a month. That's all.'

Yes, it was all, indeed. The end. They would be simply suppressed by quantities; it is always happening when former rivals unite in order to strike at their common enemy… On this occasion – at them.

'Six weeks…'

A year, or two, or ten changed nothing; so what could possibly happen during those short six week? Nothing.

'Your silence is eloquent,' Felsen nodded. 'How much time do you need?'

'At least ten months – and this is on condition that we'll have all our machines in full operation and if there are no stoppage with the… raw materials.'

They needed thirty thousands units; probably, some hundreds more. That was minimal requirement for qualitative leap.

'Impossible,' said Felsen.

'I know,' Glass nodded.

Quantity turning into quality – one must see it in order to understand. That's why he didn't like the First Room; for there this transition was shown in flesh. A distiller for purifying the blood, that's what it was; hundreds, thousand of litres – for just a few precious drops. A mincing machine. Muggle mincer. But there's nothing to be done; they had no other possibility.

'I could not understand,' Felsen shook his head. 'It's just beyond my comprehension. All thinkable and non-thinkable magic creatures; all oldest wizarding families of Europe, and not only Europe… And it's still not enough?'

To gather is much harder than to throw away.

One source, one beginning. It is so simple – to return to the beginnings. It is so hard… But they almost succeeded. They were lacking of just one small thing. A single man or thirty thousands another ones instead…

'As I recall,' Felsen began very quietly and somewhat pensively, 'you were ready to give anything in order to find somebody from descendants of the Elder Branch…'

Glass almost felt that his heart missed a bit, and did his best trying to conceal his agitation.

'Wait, Felsen, you – You – You managed to find out something?'

Involuntarily his voice faltered. Felsen just waved his hand.

'Nothing. After that incident in Hogwarts… Do you remember it?'

How could he not remember. Glass recalled his feelings when he saw that article in "The Daily Prophet", which was telling that in the most-known British magic school, in Hogwarts, "Heir of Slytherin" had been caught recently. The article was absurd to excess, of course; but that did not matter, for nothing could be expected from those scribblers… But there might be a true fact under all the nonsense. Just might.

At that day he – for the first time in his life – made a request for Felsen. He needed to know exactly what had happened there. Yes, it was stupid and even ridiculous – but what if?.. Felsen agreed easily, though probably became thoughtful: what reasons did he have when asking for such a favour? So be it. Two days after, Felsen himself contacted with Glass, and, laughing in his sleeve, told him about that supposed "Heir". The entire story was not to be worth beans. Some dull-witted boy, what is more, a half-giant, decided to set free an Acromantula – just to "have a walk" – and, no surprise, the Acromantula in question had had a long walk indeed, truly to his nature. Why the newspapermen decided that this silly boy was non other than the Heir of Slytherin, was a mystery. It could have been a provocation; but Felsen did not think so: it was too stupid even for a provocation. Upon a fair balance, Glass agreed with him and even did not ask Eisgrotte to bring that half-giant boy for tests as he had previously intended.

And still, that incident left an unpleasant aftertaste behind; he could not stop wondering how stupid he had been, to fall a victim to an absurd newspaper-hoax. Felsen, no doubt, began to suspect him: he was not a fool and was able to do simple facts comparison. He for certain understood that this Heir of Slytherin, whatever it is, was extremely important to Glass; and since everyone knew that the only thing he, Jurgen Glass, was interested in was his project, it meant that to have here Slytherin's heir was essential for the success of the project…

Glass was deep in thoughts, deciding what he'd had to do. Had he told Grindelwald, there'd be no doubt that Felsen would be exterminated at once. But he could hide from Grindelwald their main politician's familiarity with the subject and tell Felsen more instead – and, by doing that, to increase their chances of success. Success is never blamed, as everybody knows. Or, rather, it is blamed not too harsh.

He chose the second option. Peculiarities of the magical energy of some old wizard families could possibly improve the power of battle spells that they were inventing in the Laboratories. Thus, a blood of Slytherin's direct descendant would be rather precious for their work. Felsen, having shown an ultimate understanding and given his promise not to tell everyone, had never touch the subject ever since. Till this day.

'You know something, Felsen,' said Glass. 'Do not deny it.'

Felsen shook his head.

'Believe me, Glass. What purpose is in hiding? I have always been open with you.'

Jurgen Glass yet again had tried to decipher Felsen's thoughts – but yet again failed.

'Yes. I've always been open with you,' Felsen repeated. 'And you have not.'

Glass remained silent.

'What do you want?' he asked at last.

'I want you to tell me about the true purpose of your project, Glass.'

He would never understand it. What is it for him – just another super-weapon, not more. A universal button; push it – and everything would fall head over heels. But does it matter now, anyway?

'Good. I will tell you.'

Maybe there was a sense in that after all – and most of all now, when everything around them was losing its sense at catastrophic rate.

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