Harry Potter and the Chocolate Factory

Chapter Three

When in Rome. . .

Voldemort couldn't contain his glee any longer. "Goo-goo, hee-hee, hah!!!!" he burst.

Several of the Death Eaters inched away.

"Remember we're in disguise, my Lord!" Snape hissed. He felt a right prat already without Voldemort adding to the humiliation. For some reason - perhaps because he'd come up with the scheme in the first place - Voldemort had ordered Greyback to acquire the disguises and Snape had a strong suspicion that the werewolf had pulled them out of the rubbish. At least the outfit he was wearing had a strong whiff of ammonia about it. He wasn't sure they were the correct uniforms for health inspectors either, but he was less certain about this because Snape was a terrible snob when it came to Muggles and never really noticed what they wore.

"None of this 'my Lord' stuff right now," Voldemort chided. "Remember, my name is Mr. Oakumsmokum."

Yes. 'Obadiah Oakumsmokum.' The Dark Lord had figured that name would be nicely inconspicuous. He was even wearing a nametag on his breast with two capital 'O's, like a pair of googling eyes.

"Well, please remember, Mr. Oakumsmokum, that dignified adult public health inspectors do not generally break out in giggles," Narcissa reminded Voldemort. Somehow, she managed to make the creased polyester pants and limp white shirt look rather fetching. Snape admired her covertly. On the day he was acknowledged as the supreme master of the world, he intended to install her as his first official consort. "We're trying not to attract attention."

"Oh, right." Voldemort self-consciously adjusted his nose glasses. "How do I look?"

No one had the heart to answer. Except for Pettigrew, who beamed. "I bets youse could get a job at a Muggle bank, no prob!"

The sad thing was, he was probably being sincere. But aside from Pettigrew, no one over the age of two was going to be taken in for a moment - and it was only the slowest and thickest of two-year-old who wouldn't figure it out after a minute. A pair of cheap plastic nose glasses - with bristly mustache attached! - did nothing to hide the Dark Lord's pale, scaly complexion, his burning red eyes, or his wide, lipless mouth.

And the wig he'd chosen to cover his baldness was ginger.

However Voldemort nodded with satisfaction and gave his shirt a little tug. The cheap material almost tore. "Let's get going, then!" he commanded. "We got ourselves a factory to inspect."

"Yes, my Lord," agreed Snape wearily, trying to catch Narcissa's gaze for some eye-rolling sympathy. She was staring hungrily at the chocolate factory, however, and didn't notice. Snape really wished he had a little more support from one of the others, but they were all almost as eager at the prospect of raiding Willy Wonka as Voldemort was.

The Death Eaters reached the gate. This was the first hurdle. There were still a few people milling about, hoping, perhaps, that the doors would open again and they'd receive a glimpse of Mr. Wonka for their pains. Here was the first confirmation of Snape's fears that their disguises were less than adequate; several people pointed at them and tittered. Bellatrix glowered, and that was enough for the idiots to take the hint and shut up.

Voldemort didn't even notice. He stood before the gates, rubbing his hands together. "Right then," he said. "All right now. Right."

Greyback sniffed the air, then stepped up to the gates and began rubbing himself against the bars in a most disturbing way. Snape winced and turned to Voldemort, who was still muttering 'right' in a tone of false confidence.

"Do you have an idea, my - Mr. Oakumsmokum?"

"Errr. . . no. How do we get in here?" Voldemort tugged ineffectually at the bars.

"Well, at a normal factory, there'd be a box with a little button that you'd press to contact the person inside and they'd open the gate for you. However, this is not a normal factory, nobody ever goes in or out, and I really have no idea what the public health inspectors are supposed to do."

"Useless!" snapped Bellatrix, who'd never held a high opinion of Snape.

"Do you have a suggestion?" he asked her, rather piqued.

"How about we go around to the back where the lorries pick up the boxes?"

"And then what?"

"There's bound to be a door of sorts."

"Is there?"

"We won't know unless we check!" exclaimed Voldemort, revitalized.

So they went around to the back. There was no door. Just a little opening in the wall, covered with a grill. Apparently the boxes simply were pushed out into the lorries on conveyor belts, and that was the end of the story.

"Damn!" growled Voldemort, itching under his ginger wig. "What now?"

"Ask the bloody lorry drivers!" snarled Bellatrix, looking murderous. Snape knew she was just miffed because her back door theory had proved wrong, but he didn't taunt her about it, tempting though the prospect was. It just wasn't safe to annoy Bellatrix too much - the woman was insane. She'd once killed a Hungarian Horntail with a pencil on a dare, and, according to rumor, had a great time doing it as well.

"No one seems to be making a pickup today," Narcissa pointed out.

"Back to the Draco's lunch scheme?" asked Pettigrew hopefully, holding up the mice-in-jumpers box. It smelled of cheap and rapidly aging tuna fish sandwiches.

"Kick him again," advised Voldemort as he studied the grill with a critical eye. The Death Eaters fell over each other in their eagerness to carry out his command.

Snape had the suspicion that the Dark Lord was brewing up a scheme -- which would have been all right if Snape had also suspected that he was going to like said scheme once it was revealed. . .

* * * * *

"I'll tend to Mr. Limpy," Willy Wonka offered, taking Dumbledore from Ron's fingers. Ron released him gratefully and began wiping his drool-soaked arm off on his father's cloak. "You lot can go play while I feed him some of my Double Creamy Ultra Rich Chocolate Deluxe and he'll be plump as Father Christmas before you can say whoops-a-doozle!"

"Whoops-a-doozle," said Dumbledore at once.

"You don't need to take it quite so literally," said Wonka in a slightly miffed tone. He turned his attention back to the others. "Well, go on! Scamper! Play! Enjoy yourselves!" Willy Wonka made shooing gestures at the group with the flaccid Dumbledore and several of them got spattered with spittle.

Dudley Dursley required no further urging. He bolted into the Chocolate Room and dove headfirst onto a large, pink-petaled flower that smelled of raspberry pie. Petunia let out a shriek. "Dinkydums! Don't! You can't tell where it's been!" She hovered over her enormous offspring, prepared to do the Heimlich maneuver at the first sign of choking.

Lupin didn't require any encouragement either, although he stepped into the Chocolate Room as gingerly as if he suspected the floor was seeded with land mines. Perhaps, in a way, it was to him. Each step grew more tentative, and he stopped frequently to gaze warily about. At last he reached a path of bare brown chocolate earth coated with a thin layer of cocoa dust and a few delicate white flowers.

Lupin threw himself onto the ground and began rolling like a dog that had discovered a particularly fine bit of carrion, an expression of ecstasy covering his face.

Everyone took one look then decided to ignore him.

"C'mon, Pop!" burbled Draco happily. He seized Lucius by the hand, and together the two Malfoys began skipping down one of the white chocolate candy paths.

Everyone decided to ignore this too.

Arthur heaved a heavy sigh and sat down in the grass. "This isn't what I expected at all," he said mournfully. "Where are all the machines? Surely he can't make all this candy by himself."

"I expect this is merely a display room," said Hermione, sitting down as well. She watched Ron mutilate some large, colorful jellies that lined a walkway. He was probably pretending they were first-year students; Ron adored abusing first years. "Still, I couldn't recommend actually eating any of this," she continued with a disapproving frown. "It isn't sanitary in the least. God only knows what - oh, Harry! Now stop that! Stop it at once!"

Harry looked guilty, zipped up his pants, and hurried away from the bush he'd been watering.

"See what I mean? You just can't tell what might have happened in here. No control whatsoever. Frankly, I'm -- " She let out a shriek and jumped to her feet. "Oh, my! What's that?"

Her cry alerted the attention of the entire group, save for Dudley, who continued to grub up grass and sweets like an enormous, overfed truffle pig - the word 'diet' had apparently been expunged from his memory. Lupin came hurrying over, shaking off clouds of cocoa dust. "What is it?" he asked, concerned.

She pointed. "Look! There! Chiseling at that outcropping, do you see?"

Hermione sounded furious, even indignant, which puzzled Lupin. Following her finger, his gaze lit upon -

His eyes widened. "It's a little man!" he exclaimed.

Lucius was there so quickly one might have thought he'd Apparated. There were candy flowers tucked amidst his tresses. "A little man? Where?" he demanded. Then: "Oooh!!" A pause as Lucius's face brightened with wonder and delight. "Ahhh!"

"There's another one!" said Draco.

"And another!" Petunia frowned disapprovingly.

Indeed, this was exactly the sort of thing that was simply Not Cricket to Petunia Dursley's way of thinking. The little men were very short indeed, perhaps no taller than two feet high. They all looked exactly the same - dusky complexions, dark eyes, and wiry dark hair twisted up into a corkscrew-shaped tail at the back of their heads. All were dressed in bright orange jumpsuits, and they silently and somberly went about their business of chipping bits of chocolate from the outcropping, taking no note of the visitors whatsoever.

"Oh, oh my!" Lucius was having trouble speaking. Tears of pure joy were trickling down his cheeks. "They're so perfect! So funny! Aren't midgets funny when they try to do things? Oh, look at their little hands, bless them! They're so short! Oh, help, I can't breathe!" He sank to the ground, gasping. For a moment, Lucius Malfoy considered dying right there and then. Surely life couldn't get any better than this.

Hermione also had tears in her eyes, but not from joy. "No! It's impossible!" she shouted, stomping a foot. "There aren't any little people! I've read all about it! The smallest people you get are House Elves and these aren't House Elves!"

"No, they're Oompa-Loompas," replied Mr. Wonka, coming up beside them. The ground shook as Dumbledore came waddling up as well. Mr. Wonka may have overfed the old man just a tiny wee little - well; let's just say that if Dumbledore moved to Japan, he could have embarked upon a career as a sumo wrestler and leave it at that. He belched contentedly and his beard fluttered.

"There is no such thing as an Oompa-Loompa!" insisted Hermione, stomping again.

Mr. Wonka gazed at her a moment. "I recommend psychotherapy," he said, shaking his head. "I can give you the name of my doctor. He's very good. If a bit short," he added as an afterthought, and sniggered.

"I want an Oompa-Loompa!" howled Draco.

"No, I want an Oompa-Loompa!" Lucius staggered to his feet.

"They're not for sale."

"But I want one!"

"No, I want one!" Lucius pushed Draco aside. "Oh, please, Mr. Wonka, sell me an Oompa-Loompa! I'll feed him and walk him and love him and call him Herbie. And he shall be my Herbie, and Herbie will be mine!"

"Oompa-Loompas can't exist!"

"This is a silly conversation and I want more chocolate," said Lupin, beginning to wander off. He stopped suddenly and stared at the river. "I say, that's all chocolate too, isn't it?"

"Finest quality melted hot chocolate," replied Mr. Wonka proudly. "And you see my waterfall?" He pointed with his cane. "That's the most important bit. It churns up my chocolate and makes it all light and -- " Suspicion came to Mr. Wonka's eyes. "Hang on a second; you're a werewolf, aren't you?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes." Lupin had acquired a glazed expression over the past minute.

"Oh, dear. Must be careful." Mr. Wonka consulted a stack of note cards. "I could have sworn I'd written 'no werewolves' on the tickets."

"See? Told you! Told you!" shrieked Harry, leaping up and startling everyone half to death. He'd been hiding in a clump of red-and-white striped trees that matched his grotty old polo shirt perfectly.

"Do you have something against werewolves?" bristled Hermione, all her old 'SPEW' instincts coming to the fore.

"Oh, no, they're some of my best customers," answered Wonka, still keeping an eye on Lupin. "But they have this thing about chocolate. Makes them behave a little, well. . . "

Lupin giggled. It was not an entirely sane giggle.

"Oh, dear." Mr. Wonka whipped out a purple paisley scarf and wrapped it over Lupin's eyes. "Steady old chap, now, steady. Perhaps we ought to leave the Chocolate Room," he decided pragmatically over Lupin's continuing giggles. "Too many temptations."

"No! I don't want to leave! I love it here!" screamed Harry in a sudden and spiteful reversal of opinion. He scurried across the room and hid himself in another clump of red-and-white shrubbery. All that could be seen of him were his wet green eyes goggling out from behind thick round glasses. It would be virtually impossible to find him as long as there was peppermint around and his polo shirt hadn't yet rotted off his body.

"Dear me," said Mr. Wonka.

"I want to go to the Ooompa-Loompa Room," declared Lucius. "Is there such a place? Oh, please, let's go there! I want to find the perfect Herbie."

"Dear me."

"There shouldn't be Oompa-Loompas anyway!" said Hermione, returning to her earlier grudge. "There are no tiny people like that."

"Dear me." Mr. Wonka had apparently gotten stuck in 'repeat' mode. He stared vaguely off in the distance, perhaps thinking off all the interesting things he'd have to talk about during the next session with his psychiatrist.

"Hee hee hee," giggled Lupin behind the bandana.

"Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!" Arthur Weasley leapt to his feet. "Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!"

There was a baffled silence as everyone wondered if he were attempting to imitate a monkey. But then they heard a slight whirring sound and recognized the true source of his delight. The strangest machine any of them had ever seen hovered into view. It was a plump, silvery, disc-shaped contraption that would be mistaken in a heartbeat for a flying saucer if it ever appeared over, say, Trafalgar Square. Lights flickered all over its surface and half a dozen clear pipes protruded from its bottom.

"Oooh! Oooh!" Arthur danced. "Oooh!"

"What is that?" asked Hermione, wrinkling her nose. She was preparing to disapprove of the answer, no matter what it might be.

"Well, I want to use all that chocolate in the river, don't I?" answered Mr. Wonka practically, keeping a firm grip on Lupin's sleeve. "It's not just for show. So those pipes come around and suck up a few hundred gallons -- " Mr. Wonka made a somewhat obscene-sounding slurping noise by way of demonstration, "--and whoosh it off to whatever part of the factory it's needed."

"Do they?" said Hermione coldly.

"Yes, they do," agreed Mr. Wonka.

A pipe was obligingly lowered into the river and began sucking away, as if to illustrate Mr. Wonka's explanation. Arthur fell onto his knees. It was a religious moment.

"And this is all right with you?" Hermione asked. She still had that sour look on her face. Willy Wonka tilted his head, puzzled.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Aren't you worried about the health inspectors?" Hermione exploded, stomping a foot and waving her arms about. "This is dreadfully unsanitary! Anyone can dip a toe or a tongue or God knows what else into your chocolate! Do you really trust your workers (who, by the way, shouldn't even exist) that much? Are you certain Oompa-Loompas don't carry disease? You could infect millions of people!"

"Oh, I never get public health inspectors in here," he replied, waving a breezy hand.

"You're putting the world at risk of contracting some dreadful Oompa-Loompa-related illness!"

"I'll have you know my Oompa-Loompas are more sanitary than any old public health inspector," Mr. Wonka retorted, miffed.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Hermione. "Public health inspectors know all about hygiene."

"You're the one who's being ridiculous. Health inspectors don't know about hygiene, they know about dirt. That's why they became health inspectors - so they'd have an excuse to go around looking for more of it. If they wanted to make the world cleaner, they'd have become janitors." He turned to the rest of the party. "Are we ready to press on, then?"

"Just you wait," muttered Hermione vindictively, "Somehow I'll find a health inspector to raid you and then you'll be in such trouble!"

* * * * *

"He exorcised me! He exorcised me! That bloody werewolf creep!!!!"

"Heard it already, Sirius." Nymphadora Tonks picked crankily at her sandwich. She really wasn't in the mood for lunch. "Personally, I still can't believe he didn't take me along with him."

"Huh?" It took a moment for her complaint to register. "Well, it isn't actually Moony's ticket. It was Harry's choice who to take along, and Harry barely knows who you are. Probably wouldn't have the faintest idea if he didn't covet your Metamorphmagus ability."

Tonks merely grunted in reply. She knew she was being illogical and just didn't care. Sometimes it was fun to live up to the old stereotype about feminine behavior.

"Anyway, at least he didn't banish you from his presence," said Sirius, returning to what he felt was the heart of the matter.

"Cousin, no one who has ever been in your presence for an hour hasn't felt the urge to banish you at least once."

Sirius's brow wrinkled as he tried to figure her statement out. "Thanks."

"That wasn't a complement."

"No, I figured it probably wasn't. Why is everyone trying to hurt my feelings today? First Moony, now you."

"Oh, give it a rest. You were probably saying something obnoxious about our relationship. Remus is still a little shy about that."

"Not my problem," replied Sirius, unruffled. "Remus has to learn to take the bitter along with the sweet."

"That should be easy for him. He adores bittersweet chocolate."

"Hah, hah, hah." Sirius whacked her on the ear, and, in the same motion, scooped up her sandwich. "What we need to do," he mumbled, munching busily, "is figure out a way to break into the chocolate factory."

"Oh, do help yourself. I wasn't going to eat it anyway."

"Eh?"

"Never mind. How do you propose we break into the chocolate factory? It's sealed up tighter than a virgin's knickers."

Sirius practically choked on the sandwich. Then he gaped at his cousin in admiration. "Wow, can I use that one?"

"Sure. I didn't come up with it - it's one of Remus's."

"Well, he'd know about virgins. Until recently, that is." Sirius paced a few more steps, taking care to keep out of Tonks's reach in case she wanted to hit him. He took another bite of the sandwich and made a satisfied sound.

"Got an idea?" asked Tonks, alertly.

"No, I just like the sauce you put on the chicken. Hey, wait a minute!" Sirius brightened. "How about some sort of a disguise?"

"Disguise."

"Yes. As in 'something we might wear to fool other people into thinking we're something we are not.'"

"I know what a disguise is! I'm just wondering what sort of disguise might get us into Mr. Wonka's factory. Nobody ever comes in, and nobody ever comes out, you know."

"Remus went in."

"With Harry. Who has a Golden Ticket." Tonks tapped her fingers against the tabletop.

"Oh-kay. But if Remus can get in, so can I."

"What sort of logic is that?"

"Classic Black logic, cos. Now, disguises, disguises. . . who might have business at a chocolate factory?"

"Werewolves," replied Tonks, watching her cousin with interest as he paced around her kitchen.

"Who might have legitimate business at a chocolate factory?"

"Oh, that's different. A worker, of course. But Mr. Wonka doesn't have any workers because of all the spies."

"Ah, yes, those damn spies," said Sirius reminiscently. "They just thought they were stealing Mr. Wonka's candy recipes. They probably never realized the damage they truly wrought."

"Nearly brought about the end of the world," said Tonks darkly.

"Yeah. Mr. Wonka closed his factory and -- "

" -- the first Voldemort war erupted."

"Thousands wept. Dark times. And you know, we should have seen it coming."

"Really?"

Sirius nodded. "They say the first time the Chamber of Secrets was opened was when Mr. Wonka stopped making a certain gooey caramel-marshmallow-fudge bar."

"Wow, I didn't know that. But I did hear that the day Dumbledore died, they were out of You-Know-Who's favorite Wonka candy at the corner drugstore."

Sirius shuddered. "So no matter what, we can't afford to upset Mr. Wonka. There's no saying what the price might be!"

"That means we can't pretend we're old workers looking for a job," said Tonks. "He might think we're spies and panic and that could be terrible."

"Right. Forget about disguising ourselves as workers. But there must be something else. Hmm. . . how about machinery repairmen?"

"I don't know enough about machinery to pull that one off for half a minute and neither do you. Besides, he probably already has someone to fix things around the factory."

"Okay, okay. . . telephone sanitizers?"

Tonks looked at him sternly. "You've been reading Douglas Adams again, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Okay, forget that one. But how about people from the public health department? We could say there have been complaints from people getting stomachaches from eating oh. . . crunchy brittle yummy munch bars or something."

"Hmm. . . that's still pretty stupid, Sirius."

"I know. But do you think it will work?"

"Possibly. . . just possibly. . . " Tonks pursed her lips. "We'll need references, warrants, whatever-they-call them. I know! We could get Kingsley in on this. He's good with forging documents and stuff like that."

"Oh no. . . Kingsley's a lunatic."

"Don't be such a drama queen, cousin. Kingsley is very able and intelligent and doesn't shoot people unless he thinks they deserve it."

"I'd prefer it if he didn't shoot people unless I thought they deserved it."

"That wouldn't make the list any shorter."

* * * * *

As if events at the factory weren't already peculiar enough, Harry Potter had to go and experience a sudden brainstorm. These didn't happen often, and he took a moment to savor the experience.

Here he was, on a tour with all the people he hated the most in the world - his cousin Dudley, his Aunt Petunia, Draco Malfoy and his father, Ron and Hermione - wait; he was supposed to like Ron and Hermione, wasn't he? He wasn't sure. . . hmm, well, maybe he could save that question for later.

Anyway, here he was, alone with them in this very bizarre factory, no Hogwarts rules to worry about, no way for the Ministry to discover he was practicing underage magic. . .

. . . what if one or two people kind of, well, disappeared while they were touring the factory? Who would notice? Certainly not Willy Wonka. And who would care?

Certainly not him.

Harry giggled softly to himself - 'softly' meaning slightly less earsplitting and goat-like. Parting the red-and-white fronds of the peppermint fern he'd sequestered himself behind, he scanned the area for a potential victim. At first he saw nothing, but his ears pricked up at an interesting series of sounds, emanating from somewhere quite close to him.

Muffled slurps and juicy crunchings. A few half-choked gurgles followed by a noisy gulp and a satisfied belch.

This time Harry stifled his giggles entirely. He was quite familiar with the gastrointestinal system at work here - he'd heard it in operation many times.

His cousin Dudley was nearby.

All right! Victim number one! Slyly, furtively, Harry put his belly to the ground and oozed, snake-like, over to the source of the sounds. Although, as it turned out, he probably could have stomped into the clearing wearing every piece of armor from Hogwarts' Great Hall and Dudley wouldn't have noticed. Dudley's face was a perfect mask of chocolate, flakes of hard candy, bits of marzipan, powdered sugar, and drool. Moreover, he seemed to have put back on every gram of weight he'd lost over the past two years - a monumental feat, and one Harry would have considered complementing him on.

If he hadn't been planning to kill him, that is.

The question was, how to go about it? Harry looked speculatively at his wand, but no; an Avada Kedavra was not what was called for here. If Dudley was found dead without a mark on his body, the other wizards in the party would have known in a heartbeat exactly what had happened and the fun would be over. So Harry put his wand to work scratching his bum instead while he considered the problem.

It had to look like an accident so no blame would fall on Harry's head. Very well, but what kind of accident? Maybe if he set some extra-large gobstoppers in Dudley's path his cousin would swallow one and choke to death.

Nah. He'd once watched, with mingled awe and envy, as Dudley downed an entire roast chicken in one bite. A little thing like a gobstopper wouldn't give him pause for a moment.

He could try bringing a peppermint tree down on Dudley's head, but Dudley was so fat and bloated by now he would probably just shake it off and keep eating.

If Harry had possessed a little more patience, he would have seen that he could just leave his cousin to quietly eat himself to death. But Harry had no patience and wasn't willing to leave things to chance, so forget about that.

Instead he hit upon what seemed like a really grand scheme.

The river.

Ah, yes! How could Dudley resist several thousand gallons of warm, foamy chocolate? And then all it would take was a little push. . . Dudley had never learned how to swim. . .

Now having serious trouble holding in his giggles, Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over his head. It was only the work of a couple minutes to gather up the most luscious-looking candies available in the Chocolate Room and lay them out in a straight line leading from Dudley's mouth right to the river. Then Harry chose a spot by the bank, sat back on his heels, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

His efforts were quick to be rewarded. As long as there was something edible before him, Dudley kept eating, like some great, blubber-bound, perpetual-motion machine. Harry had to hastily drag a corner of his cloak out of his cousin's path before Dudley chewed it off.

In less than five minutes, Dudley had reached the river's edge. Just as Harry had suspected he would, Dudley lowered his mouth to the chocolate and began to suck it in. He didn't even seem to need to pause to breathe.

Wonderful. Now to put the second half of his plan into motion. . . after checking to make sure there were no witnesses in view, Harry tiptoed up behind his cousin, still concealed under the Invisibility Cloak. One good push was all it would take. . .

Harry put his hands to Dudley's rump. Harry pushed. . . .

. . .and kept on pushing. Harry sweated. Harry panted. Harry let out a muttered curse of frustration, but Harry could not budge Dudley. Dudley had gotten too heavy.

"Oh, flooperpoo!" Harry screamed, stomping a petulant foot.

And the bank caved in.

This shouldn't have come as a shock - Dudley's weight really was more than any patch of earth should have been asked to bear. But Harry was taken completely by surprise. He opened his mouth to emit a 'bah' - but it was choked off as the liquid chocolate closed over his head.

Harry had never learned to swim properly either.

* * * * *

"What's that racket all about?" Lupin wondered, cocking an ear. Blindfolded, his hearing seemed keener than usual.

Everyone listened. From somewhere off to their left came sounds of muffled gurgles and thick, clumsy splashes.

Willy Wonka heaved a martyred sigh. "I suppose someone's in the chocolate river again." Dammit, what was it about people and their inability to keep away from that thing? Like moths to a candle -- he couldn't count how many bodies the Oompa-Loompas had pulled out of it. In fact, it sometimes seemed that the Oompa-Lompas were the only ones with the sense not to drown themselves in the chocolate river.

Of course this started Hermione up again. "You mean someone's swimming in the melted chocolate? How filthy!"

"Yes, it really is rotten behavior," Mr. Wonka agreed, glad that she was finally sympathizing with him. "Well, I suppose we ought to see if we can pull them out before the pipes get them."

He didn't move. But Arthur Weasley was narrowly prevented from throwing himself in the river just so he could experience the thrill of getting sucked up a pipe. Lucius managed to trip him just before he could dive.

"You'll have to scrap this lot of chocolate," Hermione pressed.

"I will?" said Mr. Wonka, surprised.

"Of course!"

"What a waste that would be." Mr. Wonka stared somewhat vacantly at the floating pipe machine, which appeared to be zeroing in on the sound of splashing.

"But you can't sell chocolate that someone has been swimming in!" Hermione protested, her skin turning a delicate shade of green.

"Don't be silly. The chocolate gets filtered before it's made into candy bars." At last Mr. Wonka began slowly meandering towards the sounds of distress, one hand keeping a firm grip on Lupin's elbow. "Of course I don't want to sell chocolate that has bits of someone in it. For one thing, if it turned out to be delicious, I'd never get the flavor exactly right again."

"That's not. . . I mean. . . Oh, really!" Hermione spluttered.

"Hey! Harry's in the river!" cried Ron, suddenly awakening to the realities of the situation.

"That's not Harry," said Lucius, leaning over for a closer look. "It's far too big."

"Dinkydums!" screeched Petunia, running up the path, her prim, square-toed shoes slipping on the candy grass. She'd been dusting a clump of licorice bushes when the tragedy struck. "Oh, Popkins, swim to Mummy!"

She'd forgotten that he didn't know how to swim. Dudley made a valiant effort before Harry, in a panic, grabbed at him and the two cousins went under together. Petunia shrieked louder.

"Do something!" she yelled at Mr. Wonka.

"Hmm. . . this one's a little big to fit up the pipes," Mr. Wonka mused. He emptied some of the candy from his walking stick into his mouth and chewed, rather like a movie patron taking a sustaining munch of popcorn.

"Up the pipes?" Petunia cast the floating monstrosity a wild look and squawked. "Oh no! No, no, no! Somebody help him!"

Hermione attempted a Wingardium Leviosa on Dudley, but he was far too heavy. Her wand bent alarmingly. "He's too big!" she cried. The pipes were hovering ominously close. "Someone's going to have to go in and pull them out."

"I can't swim," said Arthur, staring longingly at the pipes..

"I can, but I'm not going in there!" Lucius wrinkled his nose. He didn't like to contemplate what all that melted chocolate would do to his clothes, not to mention his hair.

"Who cares?" Draco shrugged. "It's only Potter. Let him drown."

"I don't care about him!" yelled Petunia. "Save my Dinkydums!"

"Chocolate river?" Lupin's ears perked up again. "I'll go in! Adore!"

"Oh, no you don't!" Mr. Wonka tightened his grip on Lupin's arm.

"I can swim! I'll do it!" called Dumbledore. It had taken him all this time to waddle up to the scene of distress. Before anyone could cry a warning, the old man had put his arms over his head, bent his knees, and sprung into the air. The ground gave a nearly palpable sigh of relief as his massive weight left it. For a brief, heart-stopping instant, Dumbledore appeared to gently hang in the air over the river, like a meteor poised to strike.

Then he struck.

A wave of chocolate surged over the group watching by the river's edge. It seemed as if nearly half the river was displaced by Dumbledore's awesome bulk. Lupin's giggles increased as he was doused. As for the pair floundering in the river themselves. . .

Dumbledore saved them from drowning. Although not in the way he intended.

The enormous splash of Dumbledore's immersion sent both Harry and Dudley flying. Harry, arms and legs flailing wildly, tried to grab onto a nearby tree branch with his tongue, failed miserably, and plummeted into a patch of candy pumpkins. This, incidentally, saved him from bursting open like a rotten grape, for the pumpkins were filled with a soft, creamy nougat that broke his fall.

Dudley was not so lucky. His flight pattern brought him down squarely on top of an old, rickety, picturesque house with wooden tiles on the roof and a long and crooked chimney. It was the only structure in the room not made of candy - the last remnant of the Bucket family's residence.

Crash! Dudley hit the roof. . . and kept going. The walls of the old building quivered a moment, then gave up the ghost and collapsed inwards.

"Oh dear," said Mr. Wonka. Grandpa George, the last survivor of the Bucket clan, had been living in that house - a lonely, bitter old man, but quite skilled at cards. Mr. Wonka suspected that this was the end of their late night gin rummy sessions, however.

"Dinkydums!" shrieked Petunia, racing for the rubble. The rest of the group shook themselves, cleaned off the chocolate with either tongues or spells, and followed after.

The crater was very large. It led straight through the floor to another room below. There was a hole in the floor of that room as well.

And so on and so forth.

"Popkins!" wailed Petunia, falling to her knees. "My baby!"

There were giggles from the watching Oompa-Loomas who were considering starting up a musical number. Fortunately for Lucius Malfoy they didn't, because the sight of so many cavorting little men would certainly have been the death of him.

"How far down does it go?" wondered Hermione, peering over the edge.

Mr. Wonka mastered a sudden, intense urge to push her over the side and replied: "I'm not quite sure, actually. I keep hollowing out space as I need it."

She fixed him with a beady eye. "And where do you put the dirt you remove?"

"Into my chocolate. That's a joke!" he cried as she swelled up, making ready to remonstrate. "No, the fact is, I've bred some extra large earthworms."

"Earthworms," repeated Hermione in a tone that said she did not entirely believe him.

"Oh, yes," replied Mr. Wonka. "They eat out what space I need for a room and then they go, uh, 'make' elsewhere. Queensland, Australia, to be exact. I fancy they'll have themselves a new mountain there by and by."

"Dudleydums!" Petunia continued to shriek. "Dinky precious! Can you hear Mummy?"

Harry wandered over, coated with chocolate and pumpkin nougat. Lupin, who'd worked off part of his blindfold, glanced at him as if he were considering licking him, but decided against it. "Wow! He really fell a long way!" chirped the Boy-Who-Lived. "I wonder if he burst into pieces when he hit bottom."

There was a distinct note of hope in his voice. Petunia shrieked again.

"The Oompa-Loompas are checking up on it," assured the strangely calm Mr. Wonka. He stared at the tattered remains of the Buckets' old home and had a sudden brainstorm. "I think I'll replace it with a gingerbread one!" he said brightly. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

Hermione whirled on him. "Dudley Dursley could be dead and all you are worried about is the décor?"

"If he's dead, there's not much I can do for him, is there?" answered Mr. Wonka pragmatically. "We'll just have to see what the Oompa-Loompas find." He looked at the house again. "Yes, definitely gingerbread. Perhaps with life-sized marzipan people inside, ooh, yes!" He whipped out a memo pad and began taking notes.

"I think that'll be nice," said Lucius, who quite naturally didn't care what happened to a Muggle boy anyway. Draco tugged at his sleeve. "Yes, Kreckor?"

"Draco. Can we get a life-sized gingerbread cottage? We could put it in the garden."

"The birds would crap on it."

"Mum poisons the birds."

"Yes, but there's always one or two that gets clever and won't eat the seed she sets out. I really don't think a poopy gingerbread hut would be very pleasant."

Draco pondered. "We could put it in the ballroom. We never have balls anyway."

"Voldemort would probably move into it."

"That'd be okay. We could lick it while he wasn't looking."

"Hmm. . . it might also get stale."

"Oh, no," said Mr. Wonka, looking up from his memo pad, "I've invented a type of gingerbread that never goes stale. It's always warm too. I could supply you with some if you're planning on a cottage."

"Hmm," Lucius considered. Well, well. Maybe when he got back to Azkaban, he could request that his cell be made out of warm gingerbread. That sounded quite cozy, and it would be nice to not to actually have to get up whenever he wanted a midnight snack.

An Oompa-Loompa came trotting up with an air of importance about him. Mr. Wonka bent over to allow the little man to whisper in his ear.

"What's he saying, what's he saying?" begged Petunia, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

"My goodness, your boy made it all the way down to the Rock Candy Room on the bottom level!" said Mr. Wonka, straightening. "Cracked one of the major crystals into a thousand smithereens too." He clucked his tongue. "I don't suppose you have any idea how long it takes to grow a two hundred foot long sugar crystal?"

"But how's Dinkydums?" wailed Petunia. "Is he all right?"

The Oompa-Loompa whispered again. Mr. Wonka listened, nodded, and turned to Petunia. "He's all right. . . apart from being a little flat."

"Flat?!"

"Now don't get over-excited," Mr. Wonka soothed. "Yet, flat. I'm afraid he's lost a little height. . . if not weight."

"What do you mean he's lost height?" demanded Hermione.

Mr. Wonka regarded her coolly. "Like the proverbial cat, it appears that your son what's-his-name the fat boy landed on his feet. Unfortunately, because he was falling so fast. . . he compacted a little. He's about. . . two-and-a-half feet tall now. But quite wide!"

Petunia shrieked and fell to her knees.

"You needn't take on so," consoled Mr. Wonka. "It's really not so bad. The Oompa-Loompas may even be willing to take him on if he promises to lose a little weight."

"But. . . but. . . how is he going to be the Inter-School Boxing Champion if he's only two and a half feet tall?" Petunia sobbed, wiping her eyes. "There's a 'below the belt' rule, you know!"

"There, there." Mr. Wonka patted the air near her shoulder. "There, there. I have an idea. We'll put him on the rolling machine."

"Oooh! Oooh! Can I be put on the rolling machine?" Arthur jumped up and down, virtually wetting himself.

"What is the rolling machine?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"It's the machine that rolls out my hard candy sticks," replied Mr. Wonka, waving his cane in the air delightedly. "I make over two hundred flavors, you know. And I can't abide crooked candy sticks. Look at any other candy-maker's candy sticks and you'll see they're all crooked and uneven! But not mine! Oh, no! Mine will roll straight down a hill if you let them go! Anyway," he returned to the question at hand. "We'll put Mr., uh, Dumpy in the rolling machine and let it have at him for half an hour or so. Why, chances are he'll elongate beautifully!"

"You mean he'll go back to normal?" Petunia asked, wiping her eyes.

"Or something close to it," replied Mr. Wonka, shrugging. He gestured to the Oompa-Loompa still waiting alert nearby. "He'll take you to see your little boy -- "

"Certainly not!" snapped Petunia, drying her eyes and standing. "I came here to tour the chocolate factory. I'm not going to stand around watching Dudley spin around on a candy stick machine."

The rest of the group was completely taken aback.

"You're, uh, just going to leave your son to the mercy of Mr. Wonka's machines?" asked Lupin, temporarily forgetting the proximity of so many tons of chocolate.

"I leave him to the tender mercy of Smeltings for nine months every year," Petunia pointed out. "I don't see how half an hour in a candy roller could be much worse."

Lupin, Lucius, and Arthur all nodded their heads. "That's true; going to school is much more dangerous," agreed Arthur, looking at the Muggle woman with new respect.

Willy Wonka was impressed as well. It seemed like someone had finally gotten their priorities straight. "Well, since you're willing to leave him to the care of the Oompa-Loompas, why don't we go on with the tour?" he suggested. He waved his hand in the direction of the river. A dark, glistening form could be seen emerging from under one of the bridges. "We'll boat to the next section, as it's rather a long walk."

The object came into view. It was a long, narrow-bodied boat, a brilliant shiny red in color. Its prow was shaped like a seahorse's head, and judging by the scent that wafted from its sides, it was entirely made from a single large cinnamon sweet.

Hermione's face turned sour and she muttered something about how such a craft shouldn't be able to float.

"Oooh!" said the rest of the group dutifully. The Oompa-Loompas manning the boat giggled and Lucius scanned their faces, searching for the perfect Herbie.

"I want a candy boat," said Draco.

"Shut up and get on board," his father advised.

Draco pouted but complied, Harry Potter nipping at his heels - Harry had once again been overcome by his obsession that Draco was Up To Something.

"Cut it out!" Draco snapped, giving Harry a shove. Lupin took Harry by the shoulder and guided him to a seat at the back. Seething, Harry cast venomous glances from side to side, hoping the boat ride would afford him a chance to do in another member of the party.

"All aboard?" asked Mr. Wonka, doing a quick and not very thorough head count. "Good! On we go!"

The boat pushed off from the shore, the Oompa-Loompas dipping their oars rhythmically into the smooth, gently undulating chocolate. Dumbledore, who was too large to fit into the boat, bobbed along behind it like an oversized bath toy. Slowly they passed banks of green candy grass and translucent yellow flowers, bridges ornamented with rock candy gems, and gazebos made of dark chocolate and dusted with powdered sugar.

Arthur Weasley noted Ron wiping tears from his eyes. He put a fatherly arm around his little boy's shoulders. "It's all so beautiful, isn't it, son?"

"I don't understand a thing!" Ron wailed.

The boatload of people sailed on, blissfully unaware of the travails that awaited them further down the river.