"What did you see, Harry?" asked Faraday, taking a step closer. "Did you see where the Factory was in his memory?"
"No, I didn't see its current state," said Harry. "But I did see the factory where Eisenbein worked when he still had a body, and that place must have meant something special to him."
With that, Faraday turned away and sat down at his computer, tapping away at the keyboard. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood mutely behind him, watching what was happening on the screen.
"A factory in the town of Mould-on-the-Wold . . . " Faraday muttered as he typed the words into the search bar, and soon an aerial view of the small town filled the screen. Faraday clicked his mouse on a spot to the north, and the image zoomed in to reveal the debris of steel and cement on a hilltop. "There's an abandoned mill that closed decades ago, but it looks like it's been untouched until very recently . . . "
"Even Hogwarts looks like a moldering old ruin to Muggles, Faraday," said Hermione. "We're talking about magic here, don't judge it by how it looks!"
"Wait a minute. Eyes may deceive, but money never lies. . . " Faraday pulled up another screen and started typing again, and a list of addresses, owners, and large sums of money popped up. "Hmm, this is definitely suspicious. Someone anonymously bought the land this abandoned factory sits on recently."
"When was that?" asked Harry.
"Around Easter this year," Faraday replied. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances.
"That's about the time they converted the Muggle money into Galleons and robbed the Ministry vault of all the gold coins," said Ron darkly. "Well, at least now we know where that gold ended up — the Dawn Breakers bought this land with it!"
"And with the new gold they stole — gold with a lot of people's blood on it," said Harry indignantly. The faces of Susan and the young Aurors who had died in Gringotts appeared before his eyes. "They probably used it to rebuild the factory on their terms, get new weapons and mercenaries . . . "
"Only one way to find out," said Faraday, bringing up a map of the factory on the screen again. "We should go there ourselves."
"But if it's under a powerful protective charm, outsiders like us will see nothing but ruins," Hermione said, her voice more sober. "If we go unprepared, they'll just find out that we know where it is, and we'll surely be caught and chased away."
"Then we have to be the insiders. Or pretend to be," said Faraday, returning to his keyboard. "I've been pulling all-nighters for the past few weeks, and I've managed to get the names and email addresses of some of the Dawn Breakers."
"What's an email address?" asked Ron, looking baffled.
"It's the address you use to send emails over the Internet. You lazy wizards are used to having owls deliver your mail, but the rest of us aren't," said Faraday stiffly. "I used those addresses to send spam, and one took the bait. I managed to find out the identity of the latest applicant for the Dawn Breakers. His name is William Wimbles, and apparently he has a Squib in the family. . . . He's supposed to start his first day at the Wizarding Factory tomorrow, and now that we know where it is, all we need is for someone to disguise themselves as Wimbles and get in."
Faraday printed out a report on his printer, with a picture of a small man with a dark face at the top, and showed it to the other three.
"Here it is. It's got his name, age, and home address — now all we need is a strand of his hair. You have the Polyjuice Potion ready, don't you?"
"Of course — it's always good to have a supply of Polyjuice," Hermione said, making eye contact with Harry and Ron and grinning. "Actually, impersonating other people has been our specialty since we were kids. Ron and I will go and erase this guy's memory and get some hair."
"I also need some Puking Pastilles and Nosebleed Nougat," Ron said, rubbing his hands together in glee. "It's been a while since we've had a chance to use the products from our shop, hasn't it?"
"We'll be back in an hour," Hermione said before leaving. She looked back at Harry as the door opened and smiled. "Reminds us of old times, doesn't it? The days when we infiltrated the Ministry of Magic."
"It does, Hermione," Harry said with a fake smile.
But things had changed since then, Harry thought as he watched the cellar door close behind them. He pictured Pete's ghostly face, watching helplessly as his loved one's life slipped away. Was he in the same position now? Would he be forced to see the light of his family, his friends, and the Wizarding world extinguished under the power of the Fourth Curse that had made Pete what he was? Harry had been sitting next to Faraday for about an hour, lost in thought, when the door to the cellar finally opened and Ron and Hermione returned.
"That was pretty easy, mate. We knocked out Wimbles by handing out sweets, that's all," Ron said, shaking the handful of black hair in his hand. "Of course, the cleaner's going to have a hard time with that, because there's vomit all over the floor. . . ."
"I made sure to erase Wimbles's memory as well, so he won't remember anything about the Dawn Breakers," said Hermione. "We don't want our doppelganger to appear out of nowhere, like when we snuck into the Ministry of Magic, do we?"
"Very good," Faraday said, smiling broadly. "Let's keep this a secret between the four of us until we're sure that the ruins on the hill are the factory we're looking for. . . . So who's going to pretend to be William Wimbles tomorrow?"
"It's something I have to do," said Harry firmly. He silenced Ron and Hermione with a stern look and turned back to Faraday. "I know Eisenbein better than anyone — I'm the one who saw his memories, after all."
"Very well then. Personally, I'm not the type to risk my life for the greater good, but everyone has their own preferences . . . " Faraday took a lock of hair from Ron and carefully placed it in a long, narrow vial. "Let's meet again tomorrow morning in front of the fountain. The time has come for us to find out the true nature of the Wizarding Factory."
Early the next morning, Harry sat up in bed and watched the sun rise over the garden. He rolled his wand in his hand out of habit, then tucked it under his pillow and stood up. He had been a wizard until a few months ago, but since the day he had fallen under the Fourth Curse, everything before that seemed like a distant memory. He walked through the empty manor and out into the garden, where Ron, Hermione and Faraday were already standing by the fountain. The shadows under Ron and Hermione's eyes suggested that they hadn't slept well, even though they weren't on a mission themselves.
Harry felt both grateful and sorry that his two old friends cared so much about him. Faraday occasionally would occasionally check something on his phone with a serious look on his face. Hermione pulled a vial of muddy liquid out of her bag. Ron dipped a lock of hair into the vial and the Polyjuice Potion bubbled and smoked, soon turning a dull gray.
"Urgh, that doesn't look very tasty," Ron said, looking at the bottle. "Now I can tell just by the color . . . "
Harry took the potion from Hermione and downed it in one gulp. He choked as the air was suddenly sucked out of his lungs and grimaced at the pain that tightened his body. He felt himself shrink in stature as his body shrank, and his face puffed up as if stung by something. When the changes finally stopped, he noticed that his vision was blurred through the glasses and had to remove them.
"Be careful, mate," said Ron worriedly. "Don't push yourself too hard!"
Harry nodded solemnly and Hermione stepped forward. "I'll take you to Mould-on-the-Wold.
She grabbed Harry's arm and in an instant they were sucked together into a deep darkness. When the intense pressure on their bodies eased, they found themselves in the center of a small town. Harry had only been to this place once before, to steal memories from Eisenbein, but Mould-on-the-Wold felt quite familiar to him now that he had experienced what Pete had seen and gone through with the Pensieve. Harry looked around and noticed that the village didn't look much different than it had in the late nineteenth century when Pete had been alive, the only difference being that the factory that had stood so majestically on the hillside had all but collapsed and was overgrown with green weeds, and the sky was clear and blue now that it no longer spewed thick black smoke.
"You'd never know it by looking at it, but is this really the Factory we're looking for?" Hermione said, looking at the ruins on the hill.
"Well, I guess I'll have to find out for myself," said Harry. "We've been in the Wizarding world long enough to know not to judge everything by its appearance, right?"
"If it's under a Fidelius Charm, there's no way to check," said Hermione worriedly. "Harry, if you think you're in danger, call Faraday immediately — we'll come get you. You have your cell phone, right?"
"Yeah, it's right here." Harry patted the heavy object in his jeans pocket. He had left his useless wand in his room, so it was his only weapon. "Bye then, Hermione."
"Just be careful! If you think you're in danger, get out."
Hermione pursed her lips, wanting to say more, but finally swallowed the unspoken words. She nodded, giving Harry the reassurance he needed, and turned away. Harry walked down the street, checking his surroundings to see if anyone recognized him, even though he was now wearing Wimbles's appearance rather than his own. Fortunately, none of the occasional housewives with baskets of groceries paid him any attention. His breath caught in his throat as the cobbled streets became steeper, and as he approached the hill, all he could see were the ruins of a long-closed factory. The increasingly rare human presence had ceased altogether, and there was no one else on the road. The tidy road deteriorated as he approached the hill, with cracked cobblestones and puddles here and there, until finally it was covered with lush grass instead, leading him into a wide open expanse ahead.
The farther up the hill he climbed over the grass, the more he could see the remains of the factory. Brick columns still stood at the four corners of the site, rising like towers, and the steel roof was a grid against the blue sky, like it had been roughly sifted. But when the old factory where Pete had worked came into view, Harry's hopes of finding the Wizarding Factory were crushed. Either this was not the place he was looking for, or it was shrouded in a powerful Fidelius Charm that hid its true form from outsiders. No wonder he couldn't see the factory, considering he was simply disguised in a Wimbles's appearance and nothing more. . . .
Still, the Fidelius Charm was unlikely to be an effective defense in a place frequented by so many members of an organization as large as the Dawn Breakers. Harry was almost at the top of the hill, staring out at the ruins, lost in thought, when he felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and turned on the screen to find an email from Faraday.
Forward: Notice regarding access to the Wizarding Factory
Harry, this is Faraday. I hacked into Wimbles's phone and found this email earlier. I thought you might want to read it, just in case.
From: Roberts the Puppeteer
Mr. Wimbles, we welcome you as our newest Dawn Breaker. Our headquarters, the Wizarding Factory, is located on a hill overlooking the main street of Mould-on-the-Wold.
As soon as he finished reading the email, something amazing happened. A new factory began to form, walls rising from the rubble of the old factory and the steel beams of the ceiling stretching from side to side. It was as if time was traveling backwards, reversing the process of the factory's decline. Harry stepped back a few steps and watched in fascination as the factory rose, larger and more pristine in appearance than he had ever seen in Pete's memory, and a tall barbed wire fence rose from the ground right in front of him, encircling the perimeter of the facility.
When it was all over, Harry saw no more ruins, but a massive facility with countless people in military uniforms and black robes scurrying in and out of the courtyards and buildings. It seemed that the email he'd received from Faraday was the key the Keeper had sent to unlock the Fidelius Charm.
"Hey, you, what's your name? Is it Wimbles?" a soldier in a black uniform and red beret shouted from a distance. Standing there dumbfounded, Harry quickened his steps toward him, belatedly realizing who he was disguising himself as. The soldier, standing in front of a gaping hole in the barbed wire fence, looked him up and down as he approached and scribbled something on a list. Harry swallowed nervously as he looked at the menacing black rifle slung over his shoulder.
"The description fits our newest recruit, William Wimbles, but you know how cunning these wizard folk can be. . . " The soldier squinted, checked Harry's face and took a step back, revealing a desk behind him, just in front of the barrier. "Now take this wand and do as it says here."
Harry took the wand with trembling hands and looked at the note on the desk. It was written in bold, "Take the wand and say 'Lumos' aloud." Harry deliberately held the wand awkwardly, like a Muggle who had never used magic before, and said the words as instructed, "Lumos!"
The soldier's expression relaxed when he saw no change in the wand tip, and he lowered the muzzle of his rifle. "Okay, so you're definitely a Muggle or a Squib as described here. . . If I'd seen a light there, I'd have had to shoot you, but that hasn't happened yet. . . Now get in!" Stepping over the raised barrier and into the courtyard surrounded by wrought-iron fencing, Harry felt relief at first, but it was soon replaced by bitterness. Now that he was a true Muggle, even the security procedures designed to detect wizards could not identify him as a threat.
After a group of uniformed soldiers passed in front of him, Harry took a closer look at the factory. Built on the ruins of the spinning mill, the Wizarding Factory was huge, almost reminiscent of Hogwarts Castle, with enormous cylindrical chimneys rising from the roof, similar to the towers of the school. Unlike the old factory of Pete's memory, the chimneys now emitted white steam instead of black smoke, and if he looked closely, he could see the occasional puff of red smoke mixing with the steam. A shiver ran down Harry's spine as he realized that nearly two hundred Slytherin students were trapped here. Could this red smoke have something to do with the blood they were draining from the kidnapped children? Harry was so lost in thought that he didn't see the soldier coming from the other direction and bumped into his shoulder.
"Sorry," mumbled Harry quickly.
"Hey, are you a new recruit?" the soldier looked him up and down, then pointed to the largest building behind him. "Go over there — you'll get some basic training and be put in your proper position."
Harry muttered thanks and made his way to the building. The red brick walls of the factory somehow felt like dried blood because of what he had just thought. Suddenly he remembered the crimson blood running down Ariana's small, frail arm. Pete's determination to strip her of her magical powers had not stopped at the violence he had inflicted on that poor little girl. . . . The unbreakable will of the Boy Who Vanished had been transformed into a cruel and terrifying monster known as the Wizarding Factory, which stood menacingly over Harry, looking down upon him.
"Hello, sir, is this your first time here?"
Harry turned his head at the sound of a female voice. Standing near the factory was a middle-aged woman with blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a white doctor's coat, and in front of her was a line of about a dozen people in suits or jeans and shirts who, like Wimbles, seemed to be new to the place today.
"Yes, that's right, I'm William Wimbles." Harry stepped stiffly forward and shook the woman's hand.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Wimbles. I'm Monica Cresswell, the manager here, but you can just call me Monica," said Monica with a smile. Her tone was friendly, but there was something about being treated like a student that made Harry feel like he was back at Hogwarts. Monica looked down at the list in her hand as Harry got in line. "Now that all the newcomers are here, I'd like to begin your tour of the factory."
With Monica leading the way, they formed two lines and made their way to the glass doors in the center of the main building. All the while, Harry thought the surname Cresswell sounded vaguely familiar, and he remembered Dirk Cresswell, a Muggle-born wizard who had once worked for the Goblin Liaison Office and had been murdered during Voldemort's reign. It was clear that the Monica Cresswell before him was related to this Dirk Cresswell. Monica tapped the security pass around her neck against the keypad and the glass doors slid aside. As they walked through a narrow, dimly lit, white-painted corridor and into a large room, the new recruits to Harry's left and right let out an audible gasp.
Harry looked around carefully, thinking that if he hadn't been through so much, he would have been overwhelmed by the size of the factory. Although built on the same site, the Wizarding Factory was a far cry from the old, dingy spinning mill where Pete had worked so many years ago. The vaulted ceilings were reinforced by massive steel structures stretching horizontally, and just below them, countless drones carrying tools and wooden crates large and small flew in a swarm like a hive of bees. Further down, occupying about half the size of a football field, was an enormous machine that looked more like a small castle of steel and glass than a machine. As the hydraulics and presses puffed out steam and moved up and down, the red liquid in the glass tubes moved and mixed with the other ingredients, eventually ending up in small vials at the other end of the machine and being carried by a conveyor belt.
"Now, everyone, follow me, we have a lot to do," Monica said loudly, and the newcomers who had been watching in awe came to their senses and followed her. They were led to a series of display cases on one side of the factory, on the opposite wall from the machinery, that looked like a small museum. In the first of the cases was a thick black liquid in an ornately decorated crystal bottle with a large opal set into the closure, and just below it were the words THE FIRST MAGICAL EMPOWERMENT POTION INVENTED BY THE VAMPIRE SQUIB. Of course, Harry would have known what it was without the description, since he had found the same thing at home, passed down through generations of the Black family as a trophy.
"Attention, everyone. This very ancient drug is what started our movement." More newcomers approached the display case, interested in what Monica was saying. "Wizards, in their inherent arrogance, divide everyone in the world into those who are theirs and those who are not, the Muggles." Monica continued, her tone still friendly, but with a hint of bitterness. "But there are so many people in the world who are somewhere between wizards and Muggles — those who are Muggles with wizards in their families, or people who were born Squibs. When I was a little girl, my Uncle Dirk was the only wizard in the family, and whenever he came to visit, he would do amazing things, like turn a cup into a gerbil. Growing up, I was insanely jealous of these abilities, but there was nothing I could do about it. . . . Now, thanks to this drug, people like us have a chance."
Harry saw Monica's eyes light up wondered if she was really as friendly as she sounded. But the other newcomers looked just as interested, their eyes gleaming with desire.
"So you're saying that with this drug, even people like us can use magic?" a young woman with long black hair asked, raising her hand.
"Not everyone, but for Squibs or Muggles with wizards in their family, the drug can be administered to temporarily awaken magical abilities imprinted deep in their genes," said Monica. "The original inventor of the drug in the Middle Ages, the so-called Vampire Squib, wasn't even a vampire. He was just a clever Squib who stole the blood of wizards and tried to use magic himself, but because he was dedicated to the greater good, he was hunted down by wizards who couldn't stand the sight of ordinary people using magic. What was left of the drug ended up scattered all over Europe, but we managed to salvage some of it and continue his work, and it got to the point where it was mass-produced."
"But what about Eisenbein?" Harry blurted out, immediately regretting it as a mixture of curious and suspicious eyes focused on him. "Oh, I heard something about Eisenbein, and as far as I could tell, he wasn't related to any wizard or Squib. . . . So how does he do magic?"
"Oh, you've done your research well," said Monica with a sweet smile. "Our leader, Eisenbein, is not related to any wizards by blood, of course, but his knowledge of magic exceeds that of any living witch or wizard. . . . In addition to his original arms, Eisenbein created two additional arms with a potion of unicorn blood and snake venom, and he uses his magic by administering these drugs to his temporary magical flesh."
At this point, Harry could see why Eisenbein would use the two extra arms with silver hands attached to them. Sure, four arms would allow him to cast more curses faster than two, but that wasn't the only reason.
"But what about us?" asked a young woman eagerly, raising her hand, "Can we use magic in the same way? Because none of my close relatives are wizards."
"I'm afraid that's not the case — no drugs will give you magical powers at this point. . . . Unless you have a strong life force like Eisenbein, your body would immediately become poisoned and die if you used the same method." Monica clasped her hands apologetically, and the faces of several of the newcomers darkened. But then Monica smiled broadly to show them it was too soon to be disappointed. "Don't despair yet, I'll tell you more in our next display."
Monica led the new recruits to another display case, similar to the previous one, but with four smaller glass bottles instead of one large crystal one. The liquid inside was also reddish, but unlike Vampire Squib's ancient potion, it was rather clear and seemed to glow with its own light.
"The four vials here are also made from the blood of wizards and can give someone magical powers, but this prototype drug contains the Elixir of Life, so its effects are incomparably powerful," said Monica enthusiastically. "For example, if it's used on a child, even if that child is a pure Muggle with no magical bloodline whatsoever, a single dose can turn him or her into a whole wizard whose ability will be passed down through the generations. And if it's used on an adult, unlike a child, the effect isn't permanent, but it does allow them to use unimaginably powerful magic for a short time. This is possible because the Elixir of Life works by modifying genes from the within."
The newcomers stared at them with eager faces, pressed against the display case as if they were about to break the glass and steal the vials of prototype potions.
"Then why don't you make a lot of them?" said a man, this time dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, with a clean-shaven head.
"Oh, that would have made things so much easier for us," said Monica regretfully. "But there was only enough Elixir of Life left in the world to make four of them, and the only way to make more Elixir of Life — the Sorcerer's Stone — was destroyed and is lost forever."
The information about the Sorcerer's Stone was not new to Harry; he and his friends had traveled to France and searched the home of its original creator, Nicolas Flamel, in hopes of making gold from it, but the Stone and its recipe had been so thoroughly destroyed by Dumbledore that there was no trace of it. The faces of the newcomers darkened, and the dark-haired young woman raised her hand again. There was a hint of hysteria in her expression, along with a sense of desperation, for she had already suffered two setbacks in her hopes of being able to use magic.
"So you're saying there's absolutely no way for normal people like us to use magic?"
"No, our research on the prototype potion was not in vain!" Monica smiled brightly, lifting the spirits of all the newcomers, including the questioner. "A group of researchers, including myself, have been working day and night on the potion, and we have succeeded in replicating some elements of the prototype to create a recipe for a potion that can be used by all. Simulations and chemical experiments have shown that it is theoretically perfect, and if we were to make the potion that way, any person, not just those with Wizarding relatives, would be able to use magic freely for a period of about a month following each dose."
"What do you mean, theoretically?" said Harry, raising his hand. "You mean we don't have such a thing now?"
"Oh. It's perfect in theory, but we don't have it now because of a lack of ingredients. . . . It's a complicated matter," Monica said, her smile fading. "Well, let's look at it this way: let's say that the condition that has plagued us since birth, the inability to use magic no matter what, is a form of poisoning. We need an antidote to cure it, and that's what we're trying to create." As she explained her specialty, Monica lost her cheerful demeanor and became much more serious. Her forehead furrowed, her bright blue eyes narrowed, and she looked like a different person. "According to Golpalott's Third Law, a famous Potions scholar, the total amount of antidote for a blended poison must be equal to or greater than the total amount of antidote for each of its components."
It was very difficult to understand, although Harry had the feeling that he had heard something similar in Horace Slughorn's Potions class a long time ago. It became more and more regrettable that Hermione was not present. "So what is the poison in our blood in this case? It's the genes of our Muggle ancestors, and they're the poison that forces us to be born and die normal, never to use magic." Monica made eye contact with each newcomer, and everyone in the room nodded in agreement. In fact, even Harry, stripped of his magical powers, could sympathize with their misery and despair on some level. "To counteract this poison, we need a powerful antidote that also contains the genes of all these Muggle ancestors. . . Anyone with me so far?"
Harry looked around and only one of the new students, the short-haired man from earlier, raised his hand.
"I am also from a pharmaceutical company, so I understood the gist of what you said. If I guessed correctly, the antidote must contain the genes of all our ancestors, while it must be made with the blood of wizards, so we must mix the blood of a large number of wizards to make the potion."
"Exactly!" Monica exclaimed, and the newcomers clapped for the man. "But according to our research, that number is about five hundred, because when you get that many people together, no matter how far back in the line you go, you're bound to have overlapping ancestry with someone. . . .
So if we mix the blood of about five hundred different wizards, we can make a Magical Drug that will work on pure-blood Muggles. That's why we can't stop until we have those ingredients!" The new students roared and clapped thunderously, and Harry couldn't help but join in. "Make everyone a wizard!" a young woman with black hair shouted, and the others responded with even louder applause, chanting the same phrase. Monica Cresswel looked over the new recruits to her organization like a loving mother. A chill ran down Harry's spine as he remembered that the ingredient they were all so desperate for was the very blood they were going to forcibly drain from the people he loved so much.
When the tour was finally over, the new recruits walked out into the courtyard and were sorted and moved to different areas. Taking advantage of the commotion, Harry slipped away from the group and made his way to a secluded corner behind an empty guardhouse on one side of the courtyard. He walked cautiously, looking left and right until he spotted a tin and concrete outbuilding in the shadow of the Wizarding Factory. It was much smaller than the factory, but still large enough to hold several buses. The outbuilding, with its thick, red-painted iron gates locked with strong chains, looked very suspicious at first glance.
Deciding to take a look inside if he had the chance, Harry hid in the shadows behind the guardhouse, checking the barbed wire for any other way to sneak in besides the main entrance. He was frantically studying his surroundings when he suddenly bumped into someone, knocking him to the ground. Harry scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his glasses that had fallen to the ground out of habit, realizing that he wasn't wearing them at the moment and that he was in disguise. In front of him stood a man in his early thirties with short blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses, frowning.
"Sorry, sir," mumbled Harry. Then he realized that the man in front of him was Jimmy Roberts, one of Eisenbein's three lieutenants and commander of the Manipulation Troop.
"Isn't your name Wimbles, by any chance? I have a new recruit joining my unit today . . . "
"Yes, I'm Wimbles," said Harry. His heart sank, wondering if he was about to ask a difficult question.
Roberts, still frowning, looked Harry up and down and said, "Well, you're in luck! Come on, there's somewhere we need to go."