Harry Potter and the Chocolate Factory

Chapter Two

Welcome, Dear Guests. . . Please Go Away

Ten people stood before the closed factory gates. A respectable distance behind them, a larger crowd waited, some waving flags, others with cameras in hand. The heavy, sweet, seductive aroma of chocolate lay over all like the touch of a velvet glove.

The immense factory was composed of smooth gray stone. Towering above their heads, it conjured images of a fairy tale castle - it seemed perfectly feasible that at any moment a unicorn could emerge, or a dragon with scales all the hues of the sunset. Its tiled roof boasted no less than a dozen chimneys, some of which were emitting smoke in excitingly unusual colors - pink, blue, yellow-green and occasionally, a brilliant burst of violet. The giant courtyard just beyond the locked gate was an empty expanse of cobblestoned gray bisected by a walkway picked out in pale pink brick. This led to a pair of huge doors, also locked, but with an air of expectation about them. Surely this was where the legendary candy wizard would make his appearance.

And, oh my, once again, the smell of chocolate! Mixed in were scents of sugar and butter and cream, cinnamon, burnt nuts and toffee, coffee, and just a touch of honey, but most of all the chocolate! It lingered in the nasal passages, gently blessed the sinuses, and ennobled the trachea before settling in the lungs and making your entire body tingle with the pure delight of being alive. This was air to feed the soul.

Harry Potter ignored it. It wasn't pork. He itched his bum, checked his watch, and grunted in annoyance.

Remus Lupin nudged him. "Stop doing that, Harry."

Harry turned a sour gaze upon his guardian. "Why? I have a right to know what time it is."

"I meant what you're doing with your other hand," hissed Lupin. "You're standing with your back to a rather large crowd of people."

"Oh." Well, his arse didn't itch anymore anyway. Harry took his hand away and shifted impatiently from foot to foot. "When are we going to go in?" he whined.

"Be patient."

"Bah." Harry pulled a Scrumptious Spellcasters magazine from his pocket and began perusing it.

To Harry's far right, Draco Malfoy let out a disgusted snort. "Oh, good. Potter finally stopped fingering his crack."

"Well, you didn't have to watch," drawled Lucius, checking his nails to see if he was ready for another manicure. Who'd have ever thought dementors would be so skilled with emery boards?

"Can't wait to see that on the cover of the Daily Prophet," Draco continued, ignoring his father. "Probably get a nice close-up view for all of us. Probably want us to kiss it, too."

"Don't be crass, Kreckor."

"Draco! My name is Draco!"

"Draco?" Lucius frowned. "What a stupid name. I'm sure I'd never name any son of mine 'Draco' unless I intended to eat him for Christmas dinner."

"Oh, yeah, like 'Kreckor' is a real world-beater."

"Don't be rude! Kreckor is my middle name!"

"Your middle name is Alyosius."

"It is? Oh. Must have been someone else I was thinking of." Lucius began searching for his hairbrush.

"Oooh, look at all the chimabualls!" burbled Arthur Weasley happily.

"The what?" Ron looked stupid.

"On the roof!" Mr. Weasley pointed.

"You mean the chimneys?" asked Ron nervously. Sometimes his father got so wrapped up in his love of Muggle technology that he forgot wizards used the same things.

"Oh, that's right - the chimneys."

Hermione was reeling off facts about the chocolate factory to a rapt audience that existed only inside her own head. Her mouth moved so fast that at times it seemed the words didn't match up with her lips, like a poorly-dubbed Japanese movie. While she went on about when it was built, what it was made of, and exactly how much chocolate it produced in a year down to the last cubic ounce, Dumbledore amused himself by popping back and forth between the bars, just to prove that he could.

Dudley Dursley, uneasy about being near so many wizards, skulked off to one side and pretended no one could see him - which, given his great size, was highly unlikely. Fortunately, he was also farting nervously, which kept everyone except his mother outside of arm's distance. Petunia Dursley, clothed in a prim floral dress with ruffles that managed to conceal half of her neck - a remarkable feat - stood nearby in a posture that suggested a rod had been inserted up a certain orifice.

A couple more minutes ticked past. "Isn't this exciting?" exclaimed Sirius, popping out of thin air next to Harry and Lupin. Lupin jumped, then glowered at Sirius. Harry let out a small grunt of annoyance and turned a page.

"Well, I thought it was exciting," grumbled Sirius, when there was no further response.

"Oh, it's all right," said Lupin, relenting. "I'm just not entirely happy about my company."

Sirius glanced around. Harry's hand had crept back to his bottom. Except for the frill, Petunia Dursley resembled something you could use to poke up the fire, while Dudley looked more like something you'd roast over the fire. Arthur Weasley was wearing a hideous little shiny brown pointed hat, like the end of a sausage had been cut off and placed on his head. Lucius Malfoy was brushing his hair with an expression of ecstasy on his face while his son pouted and dug a small hole in the ground with the toe of his boot. Hermione soliloquized, Ron blinked stupidly, and Dumbledore had gotten himself caught on an ornamental curlicue of the gate.

"I can see your point."

"Nymphadora wasn't happy about being left behind either. In fact, last night she was talking about mugging Harry and using her metamorphing to take his place."

Sirius snickered. "So why didn't she?"

Lupin scowled. "We got in a row. Harry left one of his damned filthy magazines lying around. It had salacious comments written all over one of the, er, pictures."

"Surely she knew the handwriting wasn't yours?"

"Yes, but she caught me looking at it this morning."

Sirius snickered again.

"Not like that! I just couldn't believe some of the things Harry'd wrote in there." Lupin sighed and glanced at the Boy-Who-Lived. He was deeply involved in leering at a picture of a woman wearing nothing aside from a few bunches of ripe cherries. "Well, anyway. . . "

"Aahhhh, that's better," crooned Lucius, finally putting his silver hairbrush away. Draco pulled a few stray strands off his own shirt and glowered.

"You shed all over the place," he pouted. "Why do you have to wear your hair so long anyway? It's so girly! God, I'm ashamed of you, Pop! Will you buy me a chocolate factory?"

"Eh?" Lucius had trouble following this train of logic. "Why should I do that?"

"Because then maybe I'll forget how embarrassing you are."

"But I'm not."

"Oh, yes you are." Lucius still did not seem to realize how lucky he was to be alive. At least half the Death Eaters had laid traps for him this morning, hoping to get rid of him and take his place. Unfortunately, Amycus had eaten the poisoned oatmeal Pettigrew had set out and Alecto had drunk the poisoned coffee made by Bellatrix. Pettigrew had walked into Amycus and Alecto's own Devil Snare trap, and Nagini had somehow gotten confused and bitten Greyback instead of Lucius. This had infuriated Greyback, who had turned right around and bitten Bellatrix, who had flown off the handle and bitten Lord Voldemort in turn. Narcissa had made special poisoned scones for Lucius's breakfast, but Snape had eaten them and pronounced them delicious.

So Draco was stuck with his father and not at all happy about it. "Buy me a factory!" he repeated.

"Daddy will see about it, Kreckor," replied Lucius absently. He was thinking about how he was missing his morning massage in Azkaban and hoping his muscles didn't get all tense and knotty.

"But I want a factory now!!!"

"I'd like a factory too, Dad," said Ron.

Arthur Weasley looked sad. He patted his son on the head. "I'm afraid that's impossible, my boy."

"But why?"

"We're too poor."

Ron thought about this, his brow furrowing like an ape's. "Why are we so poor, Dad? You work at the Ministry."

"Er, yes, but only in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office."

"It's still a Ministry position."

"Yes, but no one wants it."

Ron's brow creased further. "If no one wants it, shouldn't they have to offer a lot of money so someone will take it?"

"Err. . . "

"I mean, we can't have people going around bewitching Muggle artifacts, can we? Not if we're trying to keep the wizarding world secret."

"Well, uhh. . . "

"When you think about it, it's really quite an important job."

"Yes, of course, but -- "

"So why don't you get paid better?"

Arthur Weasley regarded his youngest son for a long moment. "I suppose you're old enough to know the truth."

Ron blinked. "I am?"

"As long as you promise not to tell your mother."

"Uhh. . . I won't?"

"All right." Mr. Weasley sighed. "For the past twenty-five years, I've been part of an underground vacuum-cleaner racing ring. It's an expensive hobby and I'm up to my ears in debt."

"Vacuum. . . cleaner. . . racing. . . "

Mr. Weasley nodded, his face twisted with inner turmoil. "It's an addiction. I mean, I know I should quit, make a clean breast of it, but -- "

"It's all right, Dad." Ron beamed.

"You're sure?" asked Mr. Weasley, surprised.

"Yes, positive." Ron was delighted. After learning his father's secret, he knew no one would have an excuse to call him the family idiot ever again.

" - Mr. Wonka discontinued making the milk chocolate hazelnut praline with crisped rice in nineteen eighty-four," Hermione recited. "He has since come out with a milk chocolate crisped rice and caramel bar, but aficionados are still waiting for a hazelnut replacement. There have been rumors of a dark chocolate bar with hazelnuts and toffee coming out -- "

"I'm gonna thump her," Dudley muttered to himself. "I don't care that she's a girl, I don't care that she's a wizard, if she doesn't stop nattering on, I'm gonna bloody thump her!"

"Are you feeling all right, Dinky Darling?" asked Petunia, concerned.

"No, I'm stuck!" cried Dumbledore, squirming feebly on the center point of an ornamental 'w.' "Please get me down!"

Suddenly the clock in the central turret of the factory chimed. All eyes except for Harry's flashed to the gates. Harry's gaze was locked onto the upper torso of a young witch called Tilda Swankcheeks, whose assets could barely be contained within the boundaries of the photograph.

Lupin dug an elbow into his side. "It's time, Harry." Harry sulked, but folded the magazine up and stuffed it in his pocket after one final leer.

"This better be worth it," grumbled the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," replied Lupin cheerfully - almost gaily, one might say, but then he was getting rather high off the air. Meanwhile, Draco was bunching himself up like a sprinter waiting for the sound of the gun. He wanted to be the first one through the gates.

The last chime sounded. There was absolute stillness in the crowd as the last note died away.

A crackle of static.

"Good morning, honored guests."

Even though they'd been expecting some kind of salutation, several members of the group jumped. The voice was thin and a bit high, distorted by a low buzzing noise, as if he didn't quite know how to use the equipment properly.

"Oooh! He's using a picrotone!" squealed Mr. Weasley girlishly.

"A microphone," corrected Hermione.

Draco and Lucius rolled their eyes in tandem. They didn't agree on much, but on the subject of Arthur Weasley, they were completely united. ""Get a hold of your father, Weasley," Draco told Ron.

"Huh?"

"Shh!" cautioned Hermione. The voice was speaking again.

"I welcome you to my chocolate factory. Please come into the courtyard."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" snapped Petunia. The gates were still closed.

"Ooops!" They weren't sure how, as they couldn't see anyone, but they got a sense of someone fumbling. There were a couple of thumps, an 'oof,' a click, and finally the gates began to swing slowly inwards.

"Wow, clumsy! You sure Nymphadora isn't impersonating Willy Wonka, Moony?" grinned Sirius.

"Believe me, Padfoot, if Nymphadora had access to the biggest chocolate factory in the world, I'd have gotten it out of her before now."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't have spent a whole year wasting your time being noble and refusing to snog her either."

Lupin ignored this.

"You'd have had your tackle out before you could say -- "

Lupin sighed, took out his wand, and pointed it at Sirius. "Exonium!" There was a small 'pop' and Sirius vanished.

It wouldn't last. And, of course, there would be hell to pay later when Sirius took his revenge. But at least for now Lupin didn't have to worry about Sirius regaling Mr. Wonka with tales of his sex life.

The gates had opened wide enough to admit one person. Draco took off, head lowered, eyes narrowed with determination. Dumbledore saw this as a challenge. Whooping with delight, the old ninny charged after him, beard fluttering in the breeze. He had to hike up his long robes with one hand to run properly, so everyone got a good look at his bony old knees and hairy white calves.

"Wait up, Kreckor!" Lucius called, following at a languid pace. "Kreckor, don't over-excite yourself! Kreckor, wait for Daddy!"

Hermione humphed and entered at a dignified pace. Dudley stomped in, the ground all but shaking under his enormous weight. Petunia came after, swinging her purse like a lethal weapon in case any of the freaks got too close. For a moment, it looked like Ron and his father might not even make it inside. Arthur was caressing the gates' mechanism, and Ron was having trouble pulling him away.

"Aren't you pretty, little gears?" cooed Arthur. "Yes, you are, you know you are!"

"Dad!" pleaded Ron. He knew he had to put a stop to this before Arthur began rubbing himself against the machinery.

"Could you please hurry it up, guys?" came the voice over the loudspeaker. There was an earsplitting whine of feedback.

"C'mon, Dad!" urged Ron.

"Oh, let me handle that," said the voice. There was a sudden flash of light and the smell of ozone. Arthur Weasley was knocked off his feet.

"Dad!" yelled Ron.

"Electric cattle prod button," said the voice smugly.

Ron ran to his father. Mr. Weasley's hair - what there was of it - was standing on end, but he was moaning happily. "Are you all right, Dad?"

"It hurts me; that means it loves me!"

In the end, Ron managed to haul his father to his feet and drag him through the gates. Harry was having second thoughts about going in at all - his Wicked Witches of the West magazine was due to arrive today, and he feared someone would nick it if he weren't there. But he had an immediate change of plans when something caught his attention.

Draco running.

At once Harry's brain went into feverish overdrive. Obsession kicked in. Draco Malfoy, that evil boy, his nemesis - what could he be up to this time? Swiftly pulling his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket, Harry tossed it over his head and crept through the gates on tiptoes, hoping to overhear whatever nefarious scheme Draco was up to.

Right now Draco was involved in throwing a temper tantrum. He'd lost the race. Dumbledore had popped out of existence one second, and popped back into it a few feet ahead of Draco.

"I won!" shrieked the old man, pumping his arms above his head and doing a despicable little tap dance of victory. "I won, I won! Hahahahaha!"

"Cheater!" howled Draco. "Cheat! I so should have won!"

"Son, son," Lucius patted his arm. "It's best to let old dead people win or they start stinking. Shut up now and Daddy'll buy you a present later."

"Better be a really good present," Draco grumbled, glowering about. His gaze fell on a pair of dirty trainers and an inch of jeans that didn't appear to have a torso attached. "Oh, god no! Potter's spying on me again!"

Harry had once again forgotten that he'd become too tall to fit comfortably under his cloak. Lucius stared at Harry's feet. "Why does he do this?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Seems a little queer if you ask me."

"It's more than queer. It's stalker-ish. There was this one time I was in the lavatory and -- "

"What?"

"Never mind," replied Draco quickly, cheeks flaming.

"Harry, come out from under there." Lupin whisked the cloak off to reveal a rumpled and scowling Harry Potter.

"Bah! He's up to something! I know he is!"

"Well, stop following him. People are going to take it the wrong way."

Harry's ears perked up at the possibility of smut. "What would be the wrong way, Uncle Remus?"

"Do not call me that! I am not your uncle, Harry."

Harry made notes to call Lupin 'Uncle Remus' as often as chance afforded. He was about to press for more details of his relationship with Draco when the voice on the loudspeaker piped up again.

"Welcome lucky ticket finders," it droned with all the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old reading to an audience of doting maiden aunts. "Welcome to my factory. And who am I, you ask? Who am -- "

"You have to be Willy Wonka," Hermione interjected at once. "After all, the factory's been closed down for years and no workers are ever seen entering or exiting the building. Everything must be automated, run by machines -- " (Mr. Weasley squirmed excitedly.) " - so as far as anyone can deduce, you're the only person actually in the factory."

There was a pause, and a rather hurt one at that. Then a crackle and a loud clunk as the microphone was set down and switched off.

"Oh, oh, oh, what did you do, Miss Granger?" demanded Dumbledore, shaking a finger at her.

"He asked a question," Hermione replied.

"If I don't get my chocolate factory visit -- "

"You might as well just come in." Everyone jumped. A skinny, nervous-looking man in a ridiculously tall top hat, purple gloves, and burgundy velvet coat had suddenly appeared at their sides. His skin was so pale as to be almost pure white and his dark brown hair was cut in an effeminate bob. "I'd had a whole display planned for you," he continued, pouting. "My puppets just got out of hospital recently and were eager to give it a second go - look!" He gestured to the double doors, and they swung majestically open, revealing a chorus line of brightly-painted wooden puppets holding bowls, spoons, whisks, and other chocolate-making implements. "They were going to sing and dance for you, but never mind now - my introduction's been ruined!"

Dumbledore burst into tears. "I wanna see the puppets!" he wailed.

"Oooh, can I have a puppet, Pop?" asked Draco.

"Why would you want one of those tacky things?" asked Lucius, wrinkling his nose.

"Well, you've gotten us off to a good start, young lady," said Petunia, staring severely down at Hermione, looking, had she known it, rather like Professor McGonagall.

Hermione was unabashed. "It was the right answer," she sniffed. "I should get points."

Ron looked from one person to another. His stupidity was an almost palpable presence. "I'm horribly confused. What's going on? Who's this guy?"

"Willy Wonka!" everyone shouted at him.

Unfortunately, the puppets took this as their cue to start singing a wretched little ditty about Mr. Wonka while they swung their poorly jointed limbs about, out of synch with the music. Their voices were shrill and cloying and the entire group wound up with a headache.

* * * * *

"It just -- " (thump!) " - isn't -- " (thump!) "--fair!!!" (thump, thump, thump!)

"Would you kindly stop trying to batter my house down?" Narcissa demanded irately. The wall was a mess of dents and scuff marks - the Dark Lord's shoes must have been filthy.

Voldemort scowled at her and then went to pacing, shoulders hunched and muttering to himself. Nagini followed on his heels, hissing and looking as worried as a ten-foot-long poisonous snake can look. "I'm the most evil and powerful and dangerous wizard alive, dammit!" Voldemort burst out after a couple minutes of this. "I bought over five thousand bars of chocolate!"

The Death Eaters present all nodded. They knew. Voldemort had made them shuck the candy for him.

"So how is it that I didn't find a Golden Ticket?" Voldemort demanded. "How come that little twat Draco opens one bar - one bar! - and there it is? It's not fair!"

Snape, who was sitting in the corner trying to read, rolled his eyes. The Dark Lord was very keen on the idea of fairness - so long as he was the beneficiary of it. Which, come to think of it, wasn't actually 'fair' at all. "It all comes down to luck, I suppose," he said, wishing everyone would just shut up about the sodding factory, or at least go somewhere else with their complaints. "You should have taken some Felix Felicis before looking."

Voldemort stopped in his tracks. His jaw sagged slightly. "Ooops," he muttered.

Yes, that was a rather stupid oversight, wasn't it? mused Snape, trying to find his place in the book again. Kind of puts a crimp in your reputation as the cleverest wizard alive.

But then Snape knew that he was the one who really deserved that title. One day everyone would realize this fact and come crawling to kiss his ass and fawn all over him, and he had to admit he was really looking forward to it. He intended to charge admission.

"Well, I didn't have any Felix Felicis on hand and it takes a long time to make!" said the Dark Lord, swiftly coming up with an excuse. "And anyway, once Draco found the ticket, he should have given it to me."

Snape sighed and put a finger between the pages of his book. "Don't you think a visit to a chocolate factory would undercut your menace a bit, my Lord?" Snape knew he'd lose all respect for Voldemort if he had to see him standing before the gates of a chocolate factory, bouncing like an over-excited toddler and sucking in great gulps of candy-flavored air.

"No," replied Voldemort, and that was that. He went back to pacing.

"I just can't believe Draco took that creep Lucius with him," hissed Bellatrix. She was polishing her wand in a manner that suggested an executioner sharpening his ax.

"Lucius is my husband!" snapped Narcissa.

"And you have my sympathies."

"Well, don't insult him! That's my privilege. Insult Rodolpho if you like."

"No point. I ate him."

"Was he good?" asked Snape interestedly.

"No. I forgot the garlic."

"Ah, well."

"I want to go to the chocolate factory!" Voldemort screeched.

It was clear that he was just not going to get any peace until the Dark Lord's whim was appeased. Snape marked his place and set the book aside. "Very well. What's the plan, my Lord?" he asked. "Should we storm the chocolate factory and take Willy Wonka hostage?"

Voldemort was taken aback. "I couldn't do that!"

"You're the most evil wizard alive. Why on earth not?"

"Because it might upset Mr. Wonka and he'd forget how to make chocolate and I'd never have a whipple-nutty mallow supreme bar again!" explained Voldemort.

Fenrir Greyback's ears pricked up. "Dark chocolate toffee fudge crunch bar is better!"

"Is not!"

"Is!"

"Is not!"

"Better! Better!"

Narcissa eyed Greyback sourly. The werewolf was still trying to recover from Nagini's venom and had been lying quietly on the floor. She didn't like him getting so worked up - he'd already puked twice on the rug. "Why don't we just say we all have our favorites and leave it at that?" she suggested.

"Better! Better!"

Snape spoke over the commotion: "If Mr. Wonka didn't make any uh, whipple-nut-whatever bars for you -- "

"Whipple-nutty mallow supreme!"

"-- yes, those -- you could threaten to kill him."

"I would not!" exclaimed Voldemort, now thoroughly shocked.

"Yes, but he wouldn't know you wouldn't," Snape pointed out patiently. "So he'd work for you. You could hold the entire wizarding world hostage - they wouldn't get any more Wonka chocolates unless they did exactly as you commanded."

"Hmm. . . " Voldemort tapped his chin with a long, scaly finger. "Do you really think it would work?"

"It would be a monumentally evil act," Snape assured him.

"Yes. Yes!" Voldemort slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. "I'll do it, by Jiminy!"

Snape winced. 'By Jiminy' was a phrase he had never wished to hear the Dark Lord utter. "Very good, sir."

"But how do we get into the factory? We don't have Golden Tickets."

"We're evil powerful dark wizards!" It must be said that Snape was becoming a little exasperated. "We'll use magic!"

"That might damage the factory!" Voldemort protested. "No way!"

"Well then. . . we'll have to sneak in."

Frankly, Snape thought it was a pretty pathetic idea. But Voldemort bounced up and down on the balls of his feet like a ten-year-old girl who had just received a pony for her birthday. This whole chocolate factory business was really causing him to regress. "Ooh, you're so clever, Severus!" he squealed. "We'll do that!"

"Excellent, my Lord," said Snape wearily. Now he supposed he'd have to be the one to work out exactly how they'd sneak in. But to everyone's surprise, the discussion was interrupted by a cough from Peter Pettigrew. Snape studied the pudgy little man with an eye towards throwing something at him later. He didn't know why, but Wormtail had that effect on him.

"If youse'll pardon my sayin' so. . . " became Wormtail, simpering and rubbing his hands together ingratiatingly, ". . . Ayes haves a bit o' a plan."

Snape waited. This was going to be feeble. But Voldemort swung round on Wormtail and favored him with a disdainful smile. "Yes?"

Pettigrew held up a lunchbox. It was bright yellow, with the picture of happy mice in jumpers on the lid. "We'll go to the factory an' tell Mr. Wonka that Draco forget to take his lunch along."

Snape nodded. Feeble. Voldemort sighed, picked Wormtail up by the scruff of the neck, and drop-kicked him into the kitchen. "Anyone have a plan that is not entirely stupid?" he inquired.

"Invisibility Cloaks?" suggested Snape.

"They're being washed," Narcissa told him. "Some were really beginning to stink."

Women and their damned hygiene, Snape scowled to himself. Cleanliness was overrated - he hadn't washed his hair in years and it was doing fine. "Perhaps a Disillusion spell then?" he suggested.

Bellatrix shook her head. "We could still be seen, and if anyone catches sight of us, there'll be a lot of questions. They'll know we intend to cause trouble."

"Besides, it's not fun," added Voldemort, who seemed to be missing the point of this exercise.

"Health inspectors!" volunteered Greyback unexpectedly, earning several startled looks.

"Health inspectors?" repeated Voldemort, confused.

"Yes. Pretend. Dress up. Inspect factory. Take Mr. Wonka hostage. Eat chocolate. Adore!" Greyback smiled, clearly very pleased with himself.

Snape mulled the idea over. It was still a dumb plan, but unlike the other dumb plans that had been suggested thus far, this one had the vague possibility of both working and satisfying the Dark Lord's craving for subterfuge at the same time. "We might be able to do that," he said slowly. "We'll have to forge certificates to establish our credentials, but that shouldn't be too hard."

"Oooh! And he'll have to let us in so we can poke around!" chirped Voldemort, clapping his hands. "Yes! Yes!"

Bellatrix shook her head. "I never would have expected Greyback to come up with such a scheme."

The werewolf looked offended. "I've often been accused of being a threat to public health."

"I still liked the lunchbox scheme," called Wormtail from the kitchen.

Voldemort nudged Snape. "Go kick him again."

Snape grinned. That was the kind of order he liked receiving.

* * * * *

A few Incendio spells later. . .

"Just drop your hats and coats anywhere," called Mr. Wonka over one shoulder as they left the smoking ruins of the puppets behind and finally entered the factory proper.

"It's summer," Hermione reminded him immediately. "We're not wearing hats and coats."

"Oh." Mr. Wonka blinked for a moment, confused. Then he shrugged. "Well, if there's anything you want to take off, now's the time to do it."

Ron obligingly began stripping. Harry wondered if he should leer, just to keep in practice. But Draco lifted a hand to scratch his nose and the motion instantly caught Harry's attention. Oh, what was that evil Slytherin boy up to now? Narrowing his green eyes, Harry affected a cat-like stalk as he slid up behind the Malfoys. Dudley watched Harry somewhat nervously. When he'd made that crack about Cedric beings Harry's boyfriend two years ago, he hadn't really believed there was any truth behind it. Now he was thinking he might have been sharing space with a deranged sex-criminal for the past sixteen years.

"My, it's warm in the factory!" commented Lucius jauntily.

"Yes, my workers can't stand the cold," replied Mr. Wonka in the tone of a man who has answered the same question one too many times.

"Your workers?" Hermione's jaw nearly dropped, but she quickly got it under control. "You can't possibly have any workers. No one ever comes into this factory."

"You've come in," Mr. Wonka pointed out.

"Bah-hah-hah-hah!" chortled Harry, delighted to see Hermione put in the wrong. Draco jumped nearly a foot - the annoying, goat-like sound had erupted right behind him.

"Knock it off, Potter!" he snapped as he landed.

Lupin took hold of Harry's shoulder and steered him to the other side of the group. "Leave Draco alone, Harry."

"YOU NEVER BELIEVE ME!" Harry screeched. "BUT I KNOW HE'S UP TO SOMETHING EVIL!"

"I thought you'd outgrown capslocks," winced Lupin, rubbing his ears. "And anyway, Harry, Draco's here to tour the chocolate factory, just like you."

"He probably intends to put a potion in the chocolate that will turn everyone into mindless followers of the Death Eaters!"

Willy Wonka's ears perked up. "Will it taste good?" he asked.

"God, you're stupid." Harry thrust out his lower lip. Lupin gave him a light shake.

"Don't be rude."

""Why not? God, I'm always right and no one ever pays any attention to me until it's too late!" Harry indulged in a bit of self-pitying sniveling.

"Always right?" sniffed Hermione. She felt that title more rightfully belonged to her.

"Yes, I am!" beamed Dumbledore.

"Oh yeah," said Draco snidely, "you were really right about Snape. Good job trusting him and all. What's a little Avada Kedavra between friends?"

Dumbledore took a moment to straighten out his robes, which were betraying an alarming tendency to hike up around his knees. "I trust that Severus is still on my side," he replied with dignity. "You'll find out that he's a nice guy in the end."

"Um." Lupin paused, then shook his head and went for it. "Even if it turns out that Snape is somehow working for the Order, I don't think he can be called a nice guy by any stretch of the imagination."

"And if you do call him a nice guy, be prepared to take one of his bladder-bursting hexes in return," grinned Draco. He was rather proud of his mentor.

"I know about Snape's hexes," said Lupin. "I went to school with him."

"He should have finished you off then."

"Be nice, Draco," Lucius chided languidly.

"It's only a werewolf."

"Oh, I see your point. Insult it all you like."

"I am not an it," said Lupin.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You're not exactly the poster child for masculinity either."

Lupin didn't reply. He merely stared meaningfully at Lucius Malfoy, who was busy tying his butt-length blonde hair up with a natty little bow.

Draco took the point and shut up.

"Bah-hah-hah-ha-ha!" cackled Harry again.

"I hate wizards," growled Dudley.

"You mean you're not one?" asked Mr. Wonka, astounded.

"Certainly not!" replied Dudley. "I'm an inter-school boxing champion."

Mr. Wonka nodded, tacitly agreeing that the two were mutually exclusive. He began fiddling with a ring of keys attached to his waistcoat. The corridor they'd been walking along had abruptly ended in a wall with nothing but a tiny wee door set into it.

"Surely nothing can get through there!" cried Hermione.

"Except for midgets," added Lucius dreamily. One facet of Lucius's insanity was that he found midgets to be the most hilarious creatures ever put on earth. During his Hogwarts years, he'd giggled his way through Professor Flitwick's classes, and as a consequence, still didn't know how to perform some of the more basic charms.

"It's too small for midgets," said Hermione. Indeed, the door was only about eight or nine inches high.

"I bet I can get through it!" cried Dumbledore. Hiking up his robes yet again, (everyone averted their eyes) he made a run at the wall and the tiny door.

He squished like a bug against the window of a Formula-1 racer. Willy Wonka carefully peeled him off the wall and passed the paper-thin codger to Hermione.

"That won't work," he said apologetically. "I've ghost-proofed it. Can't be too careful with all the spies about."

Draco immediately assumed an air of great innocence.

"Oooh, this is interesting!" said Dumbledore from where Hermione was holding him distastefully between thumb and forefinger. "I've never been flat before!"

"You could wear him like a cloak!" suggested Ron brightly. Apparently he'd forgotten what Dumbledore smelled like up close. Or maybe it was just that he'd gotten down to boxers, socks, and trainers and was finally feeling the lack of clothes.

"No thank you." Hermione tried shaking Dumbledore in the hopes that he'd inflate, but he just wafted lazily, like a tissue. She scowled. This was not a subject that had ever been covered in any of the library's-worth of books she'd read.

"Try blowing in his mouth," suggested Lupin, the old Marauder gleam coming to his eye.

"Bah-hah-ha-ha!"

Hermione glared at both of them. "I'm sure he'll re-inflate when he's ready," she said.

"And until then, you can cut out paper clothes for him," said Lupin. He was really treading a thin line.

"Oooh! Oooh! I want a pink nightgown and bunny slippers!" squealed Dumbledore.

"One more wisecrack out of you, Mr. Lupin, and I'll let you wear him as a cloak! You're the one who could use a new one, after all."

Lupin put on one of the hurt expressions that Sirius had taught him.

"Never mind, never mind!" Mr. Wonka was suddenly all cheerful good nature, as perky as the man in the 'after' shot of a laxative commercial. "We'll simply feed him some of my ultra-creamy rich, scrumptious melted chocolate and he'll plump up in no time!"

Dumbledore's eyes opened wide, then he began to salivate. Copiously. A small puddle formed on the floor. Some trickled down Hermione's arm. She shrieked.

"Here, take him!" she commanded, thrusting the Dumbledore-sheet at Ron.

"Err. . . " Ron cast desperately about for an excuse, but alas, he was not clever and pretext came there none. Recalling too late why it was sometimes better to be single, he gingerly accepted the drooling old ninny.

"You still haven't told us how we're going to get through that little door," Petunia reminded Willy Wonka. She gave him a beady look, as much as to say if he suggested anything to do with magic, she was going to make him eat his stupid hat.

"Well, that's the fun part about it," said Mr. Wonka showing all his teeth in something that could almost pass for a smile, "it's not a little door. . . "

He twisted the key in the miniscule lock. There was a soft 'click' and the entire end of the corridor swung outward.

". . . it's a big door!"

And again the aroma of chocolate engulfed them. This time it was practically an assault, a smell so thick and luscious it was nearly physical. The puddle of drool doubled in size, then abruptly tripled as Dudley added his contribution.

Revealed beyond the door was an entire world made of candy. Minty green grass waved gently in the breeze created by unseen fans. Fragile, colorful flowers peeped through the verdant carpet, their petals glimmering with encrusted sugar. Trees of all shapes and sizes - tall and graceful, short and twisted, thick and stumpy - bore candy fruits of every possible description. The earth itself was a deep, rich loamy brown - slabs of pure, creamy chocolate. Through it all ran a foaming brown river that smelled as heavenly as nectar created to nourish the gods themselves.

"Oooh. . . pretty!" crooned Lucius. Wow, they hadn't had anything like this in Azkaban! He would have to make some suggestions to the dementors when he got back.

Draco wordlessly clasped his hands before his heart as he stared. Something deep and warm and fulfilling welled up in his soul; he wanted to own everything he looked at. Dudley, for his part, merely wanted to devour everything he saw.

Lupin giggled softly. He was on the verge of a sensory overload. "Adore!" he whispered to himself. "Chocolate! Adore!"

Willy Wonka turned to his guests with a sweeping motion of his hand. This room was his pride and joy and it never failed to impress. Sometimes he felt it was worth the bother of having people in just to see the expressions on their faces when he revealed it to them. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls - the Chocolate Room!"

Petunia frowned. "Doesn't it get dusty?" she asked.

"Where are the machines?" asked Arthur, disappointed.

"This is not a hygienic way to store your candy," Hermione said severely.

"I don't understand!" cried Ron. "Why are the trees funny?"

Harry grunted and let out a small fart. That seemed to be his opinion on the subject.

Willy Wonka just stood there, his arm still lifted. This was not the reception he had expected, and although he didn't know exactly how to sum up his feelings, he knew they were rather hurt. Maybe he had been wrong about wizards after all. . .

Ah, well. He had ways of dealing with his mistakes. Just ask the Bucket family.

That is, if you could find a member of the Bucket family to ask. . .