Harry Potter and the Chocolate Factory

Chapter Four

A Sticky Situation

The ducts were dark and musty and cramped and positively reeked of chocolate - although Snape suspected that he was the only one who objected to the last. The Death Eater's stifled groans echoed off the walls as they crawled, slowly and painstakingly, through the metal tunnel on hands and knees.

"I 'ave to go potty," Wormtail suddenly announced. All of the Death Eaters gritted their teeth, but even if they had been in a position to do so, none of them would have dared to kick him for fear something might leak out.

"Shut up and hold it," Bellatrix advised him, her voice drifting up from near the back. Wormtail did in fact shut up, but -- judging by the way the metal floor vibrated - he also began to squirm, which was not much of an improvement. Snape set his jaw. "Well, my Lord?" he inquired of the man in front of him. All he could see of Voldemort was his bony bum, ill concealed by thin polyester pants. It was not an encouraging sight, especially when Snape recalled that Voldemort had had garlic sausages for breakfast.

Well, at least he wasn't stuck behind Pettigrew.

"Did you just say 'Hell, I'm bored,' Severus?" Voldemort called back over his shoulder.

"No, I said 'well, my lord.' It was a question. Do you see a way out of here yet?"

"Umm, no. But any moment now, I'm sure!"

Snape bit back a groan. Right. The Dark Lord had just about the worst sense of direction in the history of wizardkind. When he went to assassinate the Potters, they never knew that they had been granted an extra day of life. Voldemort had intended to come the night before, but had somehow ended up on a bus to Glasgow instead. "Just look for any lighted areas," Snape advised.

"What was that about my area?" Voldemort called back in a dangerous tone of voice. He was rather sensitive about his private bits, mostly due to the fact that he hadn't gotten them quite right when he resurrected himself.

"Not your -- " This was not a good place for an argument. "Just be on the lookout for any well-lit rooms."

"Oh." Voldemort decided that he wasn't being insulted after all and resumed crawling, inch by agonizing inch, through the ventilation ducts. Faintly all around them, the Death Eaters could hear the whir of machinery. The aroma of chocolate was almost suffocating -- Greyback was drooling so profusely that they had made him bring up the rear of the procession, just in case he began to swamp the ducts with saliva.

"Surely public health inspectors don't crawl around in ducts," Narcissa grumbled after another few minutes had passed. "My knees ache. There's dust in my hair. This is so undignified!"

Fortunately, Voldemort was too far ahead to hear her or he might have decided to throw another strop. Snape's heart warmed to her, although he would have found it even more endearing if she had added something like: 'It's not like we really needed to visit the blasted chocolate factory anyway.'

But of course she didn't.

On they crawled. Snape was beginning to feel he'd spent half his life on his knees inside a cramped metal tunnel when Voldemort suddenly stopped - Snape quickly halted too, before he collided with the Dark Lord's unmentionables. "Aha!" crowed Voldemort.

Finally. "A way out?" asked Snape.

"There's some sort of grating right beneath me. We can probably squeeze through it."

Snape did not like that 'probably,' but anything was better than this interminable crawling, especially since Pettigrew's gyrations were growing more desperate by the minute. "Excellent. What's in the room?"

"The room?"

"The one the grating leads in to!" God, he could be thick sometimes, couldn't he?

"Well. . . " Voldemort bent over, presumably to take a closer look at the room below the grate, and his buttocks rose ominously into the air. Snape backed up just a couple inches - not that it would have helped much if the Dark Lord cut loose. "It's not a room precisely," Voldemort reported after a moment. "More like a corridor."

Meaning a larger and less cramped maze. Still, that was an improvement. "Fine. Blast the grating and let's get down."

"Public health inspectors wouldn't blast a grating!" Voldemort objected.

"They wouldn't be crawling around in ventilation ducts either," Snape pointed out.

"They wouldn't be calling about hyperventilating ducks either? The hell?" Voldemort asked, puzzled. Perhaps his genitalia weren't the only things he'd messed up; his ears didn't seem to be working too swell either.

"Just blast the damn grating!" Snape shouted - and winced as his voice echoed through the ducts.

"All right; no need to scream," replied Voldemort, hurt. He turned back to the grating and muttered a few syllables. Although Snape strained his ears, he couldn't quite hear what the Dark Lord was saying. Perhaps it was a new spell?

Ka-BOOOOOM!!!!!

A new, experimental spell, Snape thought as he went tumbling twelve or so feet and landed with a painful thump on the hard tiled floor below. He rolled quickly to one side to prevent Narcissa from falling on top of him. Yes, he supposed he could have stayed in place and gallantly broken her fall, but he wasn't that much of a gentleman.

He looked up at the ceiling. The duct was split for twenty feet, the ragged edges of the tear glowing white-hot. An acrid smoke wafted from the surface of the metal, obscuring the scent of chocolate.

Thank goodness.

"That was a little stronger than I imagined," said Voldemort jovially, standing up and brushing off his pants, which amazingly and thankfully had survived the ordeal. His nose glasses, however. . . Well, the plastic frame was toast, but the false nose had melted and fused to his face, which was perhaps a good thing - it was the closest the Dark Lord had come to having an actual nose since his resurrection. The false mustache, however, was now no more than a perfectly square smear of ash on Voldemort's upper lip. Overall, it gave him a passing resemblance to a German dictator any Muggle would have recognized at once. But since the Death Eaters prided themselves on knowing nothing about Muggles beyond the best places to hit them, no one thought of goose-stepping or muttering sieg heil, although by sheer coincidence Bellatrix was humming 'Deutschland, Deutschland Uber Alles.'

"Was that a new spell?" Snape asked, standing for dignity's sake. Parts of his body screamed at him in protest and he wished he were humble enough to stay on the floor a bit longer.

"Uh-huh. Just came up with it last night, actually. Worked a treat, didn't it?"

Figured. The Dark Lord could never wait a sensible length of time before trying out something new. More Death Eaters had perished getting the wrong end of one of Voldemort's experiments than by any other means. Snape looked about hopefully - maybe he'd gotten Pettigrew this time. But no - Wormtail was piddling in a corner. Damn.

Still - "Excellent, my Lord," Snape congratulated him, knowing he'd sulk if no one said it.

"I liked it," added Bellatrix, breaking off her song. Judging by the glow in her eyes, she was being sincere. Well, why not? The woman throve on destruction.

"Yes, brilliant." Narcissa was noticeably less enthusiastic than her sister. "But not at all quiet. Someone's bound to have noticed."

"Oh, who's going to have noticed?" Voldemort brushed her concerns aside with a theatrical wave of his arm. "Willy Wonka doesn't have any workers, as everyone knows, so -- "

There was the sound of dozens of pairs of feet rushing down the corridor. Narcissa carefully schooled her face so no trace of an 'I told you so' could be seen on it. Voldemort froze, his right arm raised in the air.

The Death Eaters were swiftly surrounded.

"I think your line is 'oops,' my Lord Oakumsmokum" snarled Snape, glaring at their leader.

* * * * *

Hruck-ruck-uck-ugh!!!!

With a pained expression, Lupin waved his wand and Vanished Ron's latest regurgitation before it could touch the chocolate river (which would have been nothing short of criminal in Lupin's opinion.). He glared at Arthur. Ron had become seasick approximately three minutes after setting foot on the boat and had been throwing up regularly for the past ten, but Arthur was apparently too busy chatting to Petunia to notice.

Meanwhile Harry kept trying to sneak sly licks of the planking. Hermione had worked out to her satisfaction exactly one hundred and twenty-eight reasons why the boat couldn't possibly stay afloat - all of which seemed to reassure rather than alarm her. Dumbledore continued to bobble along, although the steady strokes of the Oompa-Loompa's oars were beginning to leave him behind. This didn't seem to bother him however, since he occasionally paused to take a rubber duck out of his pocket and float it on the surface of the river while making happy quacking noises.

But Lucius Malfoy was really having the grandest time of them all, half-reclining on deck with a pair of designer sunglasses covering his eyes. His blonde hair flowed about his shoulders, blowing gently in the wind, and a silk cloth embroidered with little vipers covered his lap and legs. There was a box of bonbons close at hand, and he smelled of expensive suntan oil. Even Draco was awed by the aura of extravagance that radiated from his father.

"Isn't this jolly?" inquired Mr. Wonka, reaching out to rap Harry on the head with his cane for the fifth time. Harry slurped his tongue back into his mouth and sulked.

"Oh, yes," agreed Lucius languidly, glancing up from a copy of Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil. "They don't have anything like this in Azkaban."

"No one should have anything like this anywhere," muttered Hermione, but she was ignored.

Ron barfed again. Lupin waved his wand and glared. "Not meaning to be a spoilsport, but when are we making land?"

"After the big sluice and the rapids," replied Mr. Wonka with perfect equanimity.

Lupin looked ahead and saw that they were indeed coming up on a steep drop. So he cast Petrificus Totalis on Ron and then sat back and enjoyed the rest of the journey.

Draco whooped and squealed boyishly (or perhaps girlishly) as the boat traversed the rapids. Petunia clung to Arthur's arm, which he seemed rather to appreciate. Hermione was just waiting for the moment when the boat snapped in two - and became sulky when it of course didn't happen. Finally the boat settled down and headed into a tunnel. A number of doors flashed past, some standing open, allowing tantalizing glimpses of the wonders inside. There was a room oozing with fudgey mud, which the Oompa-Loompas were making into pies. Another room was adorned with cotton-candy clouds of all colors of the sunset, while in yet another the Oompa-Loompas were whipping a cow wearing shiny black patent leather boots. Here the group almost lost Harry who, upon seeing something that truly appealed to his tastes, attempted to jump over the side. Lupin restrained him - more because he didn't want the chocolate river soiled than out of any concern for Harry's welfare.

"Ridiculous!" snapped Hermione, glaring back over her shoulder at the room with the cow. "And how cruel! Don't you know how whipped cream is actually made?"

Mr. Wonka blinked at her. "That method has always worked for me. Vera and Mallory give the finest whipped cream the world has ever tasted. And don't talk about cruelty. They love it."

A 'mooo!' drifted faintly to their ears, and it did indeed sound satisfied. Maybe a little too satisfied. Most of the group winced and decided not to think about it, but Harry tried to jump over the side again.

"Anyone who takes Professor McGonagall's Transfigurations class has no right to complain about cruelty to animals anyway," Lupin commented, keeping a firm grip on Harry's wrist.

Hermione shut up. He was right. There was absolutely no point to Transfigurations beyond tormenting something that was smaller and weaker than oneself. Anyone who doubted this needed to get a better look at the glint that came to McGonagall's eye when she lined up a duckling for one of her experiments.

"I want a cow that gives whipped cream," said Draco.

"All right, but only if you promise to whip it yourself," Lucius replied.

"What kind of a pervert do you think I am, Pop?"

"You're a Malfoy."

This was also an indisputable point, so Draco shut up. The boat drifted gently to a halt next to a stoop of gray stone. A door was set in an alcove. "Ah! Here we are at last!" exclaimed Mr. Wonka.

The tourists looked at the door. It was labeled 'The Inventing Room.' Arthur Weasley began to tremble; this sounded most promising in light of his particular obsession.

"Now be careful in here," Mr. Wonka warned, stepping out of the boat and tapping his cane against the ground for their attention. "Don't wander off! Don't mess about! And don't stick your tongue in anything unless I say you may!" This last was accompanied by another rap on the head for Harry, who was trying to steal one last taste of the boat.

"Shouldn't we put on lab coats or something?" Hermione asked snottily as they disembarked. "For hygiene's sake?"

"Well, if you insist. But I only have them in Oompa-Loompa size, so you'll probably feel rather uncomfortable."

"Oh, please let me have one!" Lucius begged, and Mr. Wonka obligingly handed over a tiny little green lab coat. Lucius fingered it lovingly and giggled, visions of all the Oompa-Loompas who may have worn it flashing through his head. Lupin managed a quick gulp of river chocolate before joining the group, but Arthur danced impatiently before Inventing Room door, looking rather like he had to wee and forgetting entirely about Ron, still sitting paralyzed in the boat. Hermione tapped his shoulder and cleared her throat.

"Hmm?" Hermione pointed. "Oh, yes. You can let him go now, Remus."

"Oh, right." Lupin wiped chocolate off his mouth and undid the spell.

"I don't understand!" cried Ron, coming to life.

"Shut up, then," advised his father.

"All right," said Mr. Wonka, turning a key in the lock of the Inventing Room's door. "Please enter one at a time, quietly. Some of the Oompa-Loompas are wrapped up in experiments and you wouldn't want to disturb them."

"BAH!!!!!!" screeched Harry, leaping gazelle-like through the door. There was an almost instantaneous explosion and Harry was thrown back out, his hair green and smoking.

"I told you you wouldn't want to disturb them," Mr. Wonka said, unruffled. He stepped aside so his guests could pass through. "After you."

Despite what had happened to Harry, Arthur entered the door without the slightest hesitation. When there were no further sounds of explosions or mayhem, the rest of the group followed him, Harry first using a couple handfuls of saliva to extinguish his hair. Willy Wonka entered last, closing the door and locking it securely behind him.

Inside. . .

"Oh!" moaned Arthur. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched himself - and then opened them in a panic, thinking that if this was indeed just a wonderful dream, he'd be a fool to wake himself from it.

But he didn't. It was all real - an entire, giant roomful of strange and wonderful machinery, all buzzing and twirling and puffing, blinking with lights, giving off steam or colored smoke. If someone had invaded Arthur's head and tried to make his fantasies into reality, they couldn't have come closer to creating a living paradise for him.

And, of course, Oompa-Loompas were everywhere, operating the machinery, stirring large basins, tasting candy, and conferring in large groups. These Oompa-Loompas were all dressed in bright green lab suits as opposed to the ones in the Chocolate Room who had worn orange, or the red-clad Loompas who had rowed the boat. Otherwise, they looked exactly the same.

"God, they're adorable," sighed Lucius, wiping a happy tear from his eye. "Don't you just love the way they press buttons with their wee little fingers?"

"I'm probably going to want a few things in here, so take notes," Draco replied.

Lupin sniffed the air and noted that the chocolate content here was significantly less than outside. He sobered up several notches and looked at Harry. "What exactly happened to you, Harry? Why is your hair green?"

"Dunno," said Harry who was more interested in trying to stick his tongue in a mass of wildly whirling sticky red stuff. Lupin pulled him away and examined his head.

"I'm not sure this is going to wash off," he noted, peering closely at Harry's tresses.

"So what? Matches my eyes." Harry pulled away, much more interested in all the things he could put his tongue on.

Hermione was closely inspecting the workers and the machinery. "Well, at least they're using gloves," she admitted grudgingly. "Aside from that, it all seems to be awful nonsense, however. Do you keep track of what you're making here? Or do you just dump a bunch of stuff into vats and hope you get lucky?"

Mr. Wonka regarded her with deep suspicion. "You ask a lot of questions," he said. "Are you a spy? Who sent you? Slugworth? Or Ficklegruber?"

"Of course I'm not a spy! I just found a ticket in a chocolate bar, like all the others."

He continued to stare at her. Hermione began to feel a little anxious. "Honestly! I don't want to steal your recipes. I just want to know there isn't anything unsanitary in your candy."

"Well. . . " Mr. Wonka was still dubious, but at least he stopped glaring at her. "So long as I don't catch you sneaking anything into your pockets."

"I wouldn't do that!" cried Hermione indignantly. Draco shoved the twelve Everlasting Gobstoppers, the nine Fizzy Sherbets, the seven Cloudy Creams, the fifteen Perma-Sweet Breathmints, and the pack of Flower-Flavored Butter Toffee a little deeper into his own pockets and radiated innocence.

"All right, then." Willy Wonka relaxed and looked to the rest of his guests. "Please don't press that," he told Arthur Weasley, who was reaching towards a temptingly glowing green button on a panel on the wall.

"Will something dreadful happen?" asked Mr. Weasley, trembling with delight.

"Yes, a bell will ring and all the Oompa-Loompas will go off for a cocoa break and I won't get any work out of them for hours!"

"I could use a cocoa break," murmured Lupin, peering hopefully into a vat of brownish goo. But when he took a sniff, it turned out to be some concoction made of treacle and he sighed with disappointment.

"Never mind," said Petunia, taking Arthur's arm. "I can figure some of this stuff out. Those big twisted metal things there? They're mixers. They get lowered into the basin there and then a machine makes them spin around, and that mixes the candy together."

"You Muggles have such fascinating ways," sighed Arthur.

Ron blinked at one object, then another. His mouth hung slightly open and his hands dangled at his sides. One could have pasted a 'space for rent' sign to his forehead -- had anyone been interested in occupying Ron's skull, that is. His gaze passed slowly over the Oompa-Loompas. They reminded him vaguely of first years, and he wondered if he should shove them or frighten them or otherwise abuse them. But then they weren't wearing Hogwarts uniforms. Short people were only fair game if they wore the uniforms. So he moved on to something else - the biggest, brightest, most ostentatious machine in the entire room.

"What this?" he asked, flapping a hand at it.

Mr. Wonka came trotting over at once. "Ah, yes. This little machine creates one of my most spectacular inventions," he answered proudly, breathing on a smudge and polishing the metal with his sleeve.

"And that is. . . ?" prompted Draco, staring at the contraption and wondering if he wanted one.

"Just watch!" Mr. Wonka pushed a button and the machine burbled into life. Arthur Weasley dashed over and stood with his hands clasped before him, rocking back and forth on his feet as if swaying in time to the machine's bleeps and whistles.

It trembled and gurgled. It whirred and blinked and beeped and shot smoke and steam out of every orifice. It made such a fuss that it attracted the attention of everyone in the room, and soon the entire group was gathered in front of it.

And then it stopped.

"It broke?" asked Ron, who seemed to have lost the ability to speak in coherent sentences.

"No, it's just finished," answered Mr. Wonka, pulling a strip of something from a slot on the side of the machine. The whatsit was small, flat and grayish with a dim red stripe. It was so unimpressive in appearance that no one had even noticed it until Mr. Wonka called attention to it. They stood puzzling over it for a moment before Lupin exclaimed:

"Oh! It's gum!" He wondered if he should make it go shooting up someone's nostril, just for old time's sake.

"Seems a lot of fuss and bother for one little piece of chewing gum," said Hermione critically, as she seemed incapable of saying anything positive.

"You would be right if this were any old chewing gum," said Mr. Wonka, holding the gum tenderly in the cup of his hand. "But this is the most wondrous, the most special, the most marvelous piece of gum in the entire world." He waited expectantly.

Silence, and the glazed expressions of cows caught on a railroad track with a train bearing down.

Mr. Wonka waited some more.

Lupin sighed. "All right; I'll bite. What's so special about this gum?"

"It's a three course meal!" Mr. Wonka cried, brandishing his cane and narrowly avoiding giving Draco a concussion. "You just chew this gum and it fills you up, just as if you were eating a nice, hot supper!"

"You mean this gum is. . . food flavored?" asked Hermione. "Soup, salad. . . baked potato?"

Mr. Wonka nodded.

"Can't say I fancy meat flavored chewing gum," said Lupin, wrinkling his nose.

"I like the machine though," said Arthur, stroking it just a little too sensuously.

But Harry's attention had been caught. "Meat flavored? Do you have. . . pork?"

"Pork? Certainly." Mr. Wonka began rummaging through a drawer. "Got to give the people what they want, after all. Ah! Here we are." He held up three strips of gum, varying only slightly in appearance. "This one is cream of mushroom soup, followed by pork chops, mashed potatoes and gray, with cherry pie for dessert."

Harry salivated.

"This one starts with a bean and bacon soup, the main course is baked ham and yams, and Peach Melba for desert."

Harry let out a soft 'bah.'

"And this last one has an apple and walnut salad followed by roast pork and sauerkraut and then ends with a Black Forest torte."

Harry's hand shot out and appropriated all three strips of gum.

"I wouldn't do that!" cautioned Mr. Wonka as Harry opened his mouth. "I haven't got it quite right yet -- "

But Harry didn't hesitate. Popping the pork chop flavored strip in his mouth, he chewed quickly past the mushroom soup. His jaws slowed as the main course came on and his eyes brightened. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "oh, it's delightful! It's just like I'm eating big juicy bites of pig meat!"

"No, no, no!" warned Mr. Wonka. "That gum is dangerous, I tell you!"

But Harry ignored him and kept chewing -

Until the main course ended and the flavor changed to that of cherry pie. Then, disinterested, Harry spat out the gum and popped the ham-flavored strip into his mouth.

Mr. Wonka gaped. "Wowie! He listened to me. Usually they just keep going and turn into cherries or something."

"Turn into cherries?!" sputtered Hermione.

"Well, Harry's only interested in the pork," Lupin explained. "He doesn't care much for dessert."

Harry finished with the ham gum. He paused to belch, then began chewing the pork and sauerkraut piece.

"He's going to feel awfully full when he's through."

"Oh, I don't know. Harry can tuck away an entire roast pig for dinner."

"How fascinating." Mr. Wonka stared vaguely off into the distance again. He was rather hoping he wouldn't have to learn any other personal information about his guests.

Harry finished with the pork and sauerkraut gum and emitted another bubble of pig-scented air in contentment. "That was faboo!" he exclaimed.

"That was what?"

"Faboo!"

"All right." Lupin decided he really didn't want to know.

Mr. Wonka stirred himself and took out a notebook. "How do you feel?" he inquired of Harry.

Harry considered. "I'd like some bacon."

Mr. Wonka made a note. "No bloating? No swelling? No feeling like you might burst?"

"Could that happen?"

"Has before when people chewed that gum."

Harry was a little worried. He consulted his innards. Come to think of it, he did feel a little - nah; it was just a budding fart. "I'm fine."

"Interesting." Mr. Wonka jotted down a few comments. "I think I may have solved the problem - I'll just have to put something else on after the dessert. Something disgusting that no one'll eat, so they'll spit it out after they've had their pudding and be fine."

"Does that make any sense whatsoever?" demanded Hermione.

"The logic flows beautifully," Mr. Wonka assured her. "And if it doesn't work out, something else will. You have to be optimistic in this business."

As if to prove his words, Harry released his fart and felt swell. So swell, in fact, that he decided it was time to off another of his comrades. It seemed to be a perfectly splendid opportunity - the group was caught up in watching Hermione harangue Mr. Wonka.

Except for Ron. Ron had once again lost the train of conversation and had stuck his head into one of the orifices on the side of the giant gum machine, meant to receive ingredients. Harry sniggered to himself - it was going to be the easiest thing in the world to sneak up behind Ron and give him a push -

Hang on; he was supposed to like Ron, wasn't he? Momentarily baffled, Harry paused and scratched his head.

Oh, sod it, he decided, and pushed Ron anyway.

Ron was tall and skinny and clumsy and much easier to move than Dudley. He fell arse over teakettle into the machine, too surprised to even let out a yelp. The whole thing was accomplished so quickly and silently that no one had yet noticed, except for perhaps a few Oompa-Loompas, watching with knowing, glittering black eyes.

Harry watched Ron thrash around in the basin. There must have been something sticky clinging to the sides; poor Ron was having the Devil's own time trying to move. Something that may have been guilt struggled to emerge in Harry's soul, but he quashed it ruthlessly. It was too late to undo the damage by now, so guilt would accomplish nothing aside from making him unhappy, and he certainly didn't deserve that.

To distract himself, he pressed the button that turned the machine on. Just to see what would happen, you understand. No malice intended.

Splursh. Glurt. Harry watched in fascination as Ron was sucked slowly into a revolving mass of goo as the machine once again blinked and whirred into life. This of course attracted the attention of the others. "What's going on?" cried Mr. Wonka. "Who pressed the button?"

"Ron!" cried Hermione, noting her boyfriend's predicament. She dashed over to the 'on' button and hammered frantically at it with her fist.

"That's no good," said Mr. Wonka, calm now. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait out the cycle."

"But what will happen to Ron?" she demanded.

"I'm not exactly certain," he replied. He didn't seem particularly worried either.

"How did he get in there anyway?" asked Arthur, mildly concerned.

Harry was all innocence. "He was just looking at his reflection in the side, and then. . . " He shrugged his shoulders expressively. "I guess he leaned over a little too far."

Hermione shot him a suspicious glance. "That doesn't explain why the machine came on."

Harry itched his head. "Bah?"

"Ron!" called Arthur. "Ron, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

There may have been a response. Or it could have just been a few bubbles bursting.

"It's almost finished now," said Mr. Wonka. The machine went through a few final gyrations and then became still.

Silence.

"Ron?" yelled Hermione. "Ron, where are you?"

"He's right here." Mr. Wonka pulled the strip of gum from the little slot. It was a nasty hammy pinkish color with a maroon stripe.

"Ron always hated maroon," said Harry reminiscently.

Hermione stared at the gum in Mr. Wonka's fingers. A few tears trickled down her cheeks. "You killed Ron," she whispered.

"I did not." Willy Wonka was indignant. "And I have plenty of witnesses to back me up."

"Well, someone killed Ron."

"Wrong again." Mr. Wonka flourished the strip of gum. "I expect all you have to do is chew this gum and you'll turn into him."

"Chew the -- ?"

"Well, usually if people chew this type of gum they turn into blueberries or cherries or whatever there is for dessert. So if you chew this particular strip of gum, you should turn into Ron. I won't vouch for the flavor, however." Mr. Wonka shook his head. "Oh, no. I had no hand in making it. Do tell me if it's delicious, however."

"It's Ron Weasley," Draco sneered. "He's not going to be delicious."

"So who's going to chew him?" asked Harry, interested.

There was a surprising lack of volunteers.

"We can't just leave Ron as a strip of gum!" cried Hermione.

"Then you chew him," Draco told her. "You're his girlfriend anyway."

"But we don't even know if it'll work!" She looked at Mr. Wonka. "Do we?"

"Well, not for certain, no. It's an experiment. Under normal circumstances, I'd have one of my Oompa-Loompas test it out. But since I'm not intending to market it anyway. . . I suppose you could ask for a volunteer."

All of the Oompa-Loompas avoided everyone's gaze and looked very, very busy.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" cried Hermione, stomping a foot. "Mr. Weasley, surely you can think of something?"

Arthur looked momentarily stupid. "Why me?"

"He's your son!"

"I've got five others. Or four and a half, if you don't entirely count Percy. Anyway, It's not a big loss."

"Not a big - What will Mrs. Weasley think?" Hermione sputtered.

"Well, I'm sure she'll shriek and cry for a bit, but after - Well, you don't really believe she's never realized Ron hates maroon, do you? Or corned beef sandwiches?"

Hermione paused. "Are you saying," she asked carefully, "that your wife doesn't love Ron?"

"Oh, no. Not exactly. It's just that he's well below Bill on her list of favorite children. Or Charlie, or Fred and George, and certainly well below Ginny."

"Who?" asked Harry as the name rang a bell in his mind.

"My daughter. You used to date her."

"Oh, right." Harry waited for the monster in his chest to act up, but it was busy thinking about pork and didn't let out so much as a peep.

"But maybe we can get Percy to chew the gum and turn into Ron," Mr. Weasley continued. "I'm not too keen on Percy right now, to say the truth. In fact," he lowered his voice, "the boy's a bit of a prat."

"Oh, you poor thing!" sympathized Petunia. "To think you work and you slave for them and then -- "

Arthur sighed, clearly enjoying her attention. "Yes, well, I do have seven children. I suppose it's not surprisingly that a couple of them turned out, well -- "

"Still and all, you'd think they'd show the proper respect. My Dinkidums -- "

"So you're not going to do anything about Ron?" Hermione demanded.

"No one seems to want to chew him," said Mr. Weasley, rather annoyed with her constant interruptions. "Including yourself. And I don't know any spells for changing a stick of chewing gum into a person. Perhaps Dumbledore -- " He glanced around. "I say, where did Dumbledore get to?"

"He was bobbling around in the chocolate river," Lupin reminded him with only a trace of envy.

"Ooops!" Mr. Wonka pushed several of his guests aside as he bolted for the door. Now that they were paying attention, they could hear the sound of fists being beaten against it over all the other noises in the Inventing Room. After fumbling with his ring of keys for three minutes or so, Mr. Wonka selected the correct one and inserted it in the lock, revealing a very weepy Albus Dumbledore. At least his exercise in the river had caused him to lose some weight.

"You left me behind!" accused the old man, hanging feebly off the knob with tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking into his beard.

"It was just an accident," Mr. Wonka assured him. "Come on inside now, there's a fellow," he urged when Dumbledore seemed more inclined to hang about on the stoop and pout.

"Will I get a prezzie to make up for it?" Dumbledore begged.

"A prezzie?"

"A present," Lupin translated.

"Oh." Mr. Wonka shrugged and grabbed something at random out of a machine. "Sure. Here you are."

"Oooh! Oooh! I got a prezzie!" Dumbledore capered inside, waving his prize over his head.

This of course set off several of the others.

"I want a present too!" howled Draco.

"Why didn't I get anything?" cried Harry. "I just lost Ron and he was my best friend!" He sniveled meaningfully.

"I want an Oompa-Loompa," said Lucius. "Can we go look at some more? I don't think Herbie's here."

"I think it might be wise to leave the Inventing Room soon, yes," agreed Mr. Wonka.

"Good! We can go see more chocolate! Adore!" Lupin giggled madly and everyone gave him a strange look and a wide berth.

"Professor Dumbledore, look what's happened to Ron!" cried Hermione, grabbing the gum out of Mr. Wonka's hand and flourishing it in the ex-Headmaster's face. Dumbledore peered cross-eyed at it a moment, then his lips began quivering again.

"My breath is not that stinky!" he wailed.

"No, you don't understand -- "

"It's Ron Weasley gum," Draco drawled. "It would not improve your breath."

Hermione shot Draco a distracted glare and then turned back to Dumbledore. "Yes, it's Ron. He got turned into a piece of gum!"

"Oh, well done!" beamed Dumbledore, cheerful now. "That's one I don't know. Fifty points to Gryffindor."

"Bah!" exulted Harry, pumping his fists in the air. "Yes! Yes! We rule! Bahahahahaha!"

"No fair!" pouted Draco. "It was Mr. Wonka's machine that did it anyway."

"Well, I can't give points to Mr. Wonka, so I'll give them to Gryffindor because that's Ron's House," said Dumbledore, feeling he was being very logical.

"You're dead, so you shouldn't be able to give out any points whatsoever," Lupin reminded him.

Dumbledore puckered up and began wailing again and wouldn't shut up until Mr. Wonka thrust another present at him.

"But what about Ron?" Hermione demanded of all and sundry.

Mr. Weasley sighed and took the gum from her hand. "I'll take charge of him," he told her, stuffing the gum not-too-carefully into a pocket.

"But -- "

"Look, don't fret about it. Frankly, I don't think Ron was getting much out of the tour anyway. He's not the brightest wick in the candelabra, if you know what I'm saying. Don't know how the boy made prefect -- "

"It was all a big, stinky mistake," explained Dumbledore, looking up from gloating over his presents. "I got my prefect list mixed up with my 'please buy a new brain' list."

"Oh? And who got Ron's letter?"

"Seamus," admitted Dumbledore gloomily.

"That explains why he was in such a bad mood that year," said Arthur.

"And Parvati got the letter meant for Hermione," Dumbledore added.

"What?!" demanded Hermione, outraged.

"Bahahahaha!" chortled Harry.

"Wait a minute," said Draco, "does that mean. . . ?" He paused. His face began to darken.

"I think it really it time to move on," decided Mr. Wonka judiciously.

* * * * *

"I really don't think this is what public health inspectors wear," said Tonks, examining her ankle-length black leather coat critically.

"Who cares? It looks cool!" Sirius had become much more enthusiastic about the mission - dangerously enthusiastic -- since he'd seen the garb Kingsley recommended.

"Ain't nobody gonna question your business when you wearing this," agreed Kingsley, putting on a pair of mirrored shades and running a hand over his sleek scalp. Everything about him looked cool, dark, and lethal. Sirius allowed himself a brief moment of envy.

They had met at Kingsley's flat. Everything about it was cool, dark, and lethal too - Tonks didn't dare sit down for fear something might bite her or explode. It was all done in shades of black, silver, and gray with the occasional splash or red just to make the point -- and a very nasty, violent point it was too.

Tonks was still dubious, but she had to admit her fellow Auror had a point; no one was going to mess with the three of them without a very good reason. Like a death wish. She put on her own dark glasses, decided that pink hair didn't really go with the outfit, and after a moment's concentration, shifted to a neat, chin-length black bob.

"Pretty slick, coz," Sirius admired, tying up his own hair in a kicky little ponytail. He flashed a wicked grin. "Think Remus would like the look?"

"Remus thinks I look fabulous in anything," she told him haughtily.

"Better still in nothing at all?"

"Don't go there. Pervert." She ran a hand down her coat and turned to Kingsley. "So, okay, we're dressed up and ready to go. What's our next move?"

"Now we break into the factory," replied Kingsley, dropping several heavy-seeming items into his pockets. Tonks caught the gleam of metal and wondered exactly what the objects were and why they were necessary for the mission - but she assumed he knew what he was doing and didn't question him. Except -

"Break into the factory?" she queried. "Not, uh, ask to be let in?"

Kingsley snorted at her ignorance. "Listen, girl, all these corporate clowns try to hide their misdeeds. We ask to be let in, they'll run lines of bullshit around us until we can't think straight. No, you wanna see the factory as it really is, ya gotta go in unannounced."

"Oh, okay," said Tonks, now utterly confused. Sirius just snickered; she suspected the thrill of play-acting was getting to his head. Or maybe it was just something about being dressed head-to-toe in black leather. "Shall we go, then? Umm. . . how are we getting there, now that I think of it?"

"Motorbikes," replied Kingsley. Sirius snickered louder. The expression on his face wasn't so different from the one that had gotten him carted off to Azkaban in the first place.

"Motorbikes," Tonks repeated. Well, they were a form of Muggle transportation, so she supposed that was all right. . . although a few nagging doubts remained.

"Can I use my flying motorbike?" Sirius asked hopefully.

"No. You willed it to Harry."

Sirius's face fell. This was not something he cared to be reminded of. "But Harry doesn't use it, does he?" he whined.

"No, Harry prefers wedging a broomstick wedged between his cheeks. But you know that as soon as someone wants something of his, it's his most precious possession."

"Flyin' motorbike's too conspicuous anyway," added Kingsley, dropping a final item into his seemingly bottomless pockets. He gave his coat a little shake to make sure it was hanging correctly and smiled with satisfaction. "We'll use proper Muggle motorbikes."

"And where will we get them from? I don't own a motorbike and I don't really have the means to buy one, let alone three."

"Especially since you're supporting Moony as well, right, coz?"

"Sirius. Could you please stop commenting on my relationship with Remus for an hour or two?" she sighed.

"It's not really a question of 'can I' -- "

"Just do it." She looked back at Kingsley. "So, where can we rent motorbikes?"

"Rent them?" Kingsley smiled, his teeth flashing white and predatory. "We gonna steal them!"

"Steal them?!"

At last, far too late, Tonks recognized the truth. The mission had gotten completely out of hand and there didn't seem to be anything she could do to stop it.

Sirius laughed and laughed, and if anyone from the Ministry of Magic had seen his face, he would have been hauled off to Azkaban again on the spot.

"Stealing motorbikes. Cool!"

Nothing she could do to stop it at all.