Harry Potter and the Chocolate Factory

Chapter Six

A Taste of Honey

"Uh--? Oooh! Eeyagh! Woah! WAH!!!!!!!!"

Followed by a series of bumps and ending with a muffled thud.

"That wasn't very nice, Tonks."

She tossed her head, unrepentant. "Don't tell me you weren't tempted, the way he kept bending over like that," she sniffed. She was certain that the only reason Kingsley objected was because he had wanted to push Sirius himself.

"Well, I'm not sure it was the right chimney." Kingsley poked his head in the dark opening that Sirius had just vanished into.

"Oh, stuff it, Kingsley. We've been up here twenty minutes, and the last time we were about to go in, you decided there was a bomb in the vent. As if!"

"Doubt me if you like, but you should be thanking me," said Kingsley darkly. "I saved your life."

Tonks snorted. "And what do you mean by 'the right chimney' anyway? You don't have a floor plan for the factory, so one's as good as another, right?"

"Not necessarily."

"At least this one doesn't have any smoke coming out of it."

"Yeah, well, we'll see." Kingsley stuck his head a bit deeper into the hole and yelled: "Sirius? Can you here me, mate?"

Tonks heard some muffled words echoing in reply. Kingsley pulled his head out of the chimney. "He wants you to come down there so he can throttle you," he reported.

"Sirius can't throttle me; he's a ghost. Or something ghost-like, at any rate. So, what's it like down there? Can we get in?"

"Mm. Probably." Kingsley pulled his head out and frowned. "Although there seems to be a bit of an obstruction. Take a look and see if you think we can get past it."

She stuck her head in the hole. "I don't see anything."

She wasn't entirely surprised when Kingsley gave her a hard shove from behind. A bit disgusted with herself, yes, but not surprised. If I fall on something hard and break my neck, I am so going to haunt him! It seemed entirely possible. She was sliding way too fast for comfort.

And then everything exploded into a haze of white and she began to choke. She couldn't see, she couldn't breathe, and all she could feel was a vague sense of gratitude when someone grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the whiteness.

"Not that you deserve it," said Sirius's voice in her ear.

At least she appeared to have landed safely - she couldn't quite remember the moment she had stopped sliding. "Thanks," she croaked after another couple minutes of coughing.

"Yeah, well, I just didn't want to watch Remus mope around if you snuffed it. Now that he's finally getting some -- "

"Look, just leave it out, all right?" Her mouth tasted horribly sweet and she longed for a drink of water. "What was that -- " She raised a hand, suddenly realizing she was coated in the white stuff. "Powdered sugar?" she asked, after blinking at it a moment.

"The world's biggest mountain of powdered sugar, I'd think," replied Sirius, turning her around. "Or at least it was until we came crashing into it and squashed it flat." A cloud of white powder was still drifting in the air, resembling smoke rising from the mouth of a volcano.

"Ugh." Tonks slapped at her clothes. Unfortunately, the powdered sugar seemed to have embedded itself in the black leather of her coat; the best she could manage was to brush off a few layers. Now her attire was gray, and she suspected her hair was too. "Ugh," she repeated. "Do you think it would come off if I used Scourgify, or would that just make it all soapy and nasty?"

"With your Scourgify? Soapy and nasty."

"Ugh."

"Well, you shouldn't have jumped," said Sirius logically. He was perfectly un-mussed, of course; being dead had its occasional advantages.

"Kingsley pushed me."

"Oh." He shrugged, but clearly felt it served her quite right. "And where is Kingsley?"

"Probably advancing slowly and cautiously down the chimney via his grappling hook."

"Bastard."

"Oh yes."

"You talkin' about me?" Kingsley demanded, appearing on the end of a cunning wire mechanism that unreeled from his belt.

"We sure were, Peter Pan," agreed Sirius.

"You could have killed me, Kingsley!" Tonks yelled.

"Yeah, but I didn't, so stop whining." Kingsley settled to the floor and detached his wire gizmo from wherever it was attached. "And you're inside the factory, just like you wanted."

"And coated in about three inches of powdered sugar," she sulked. She felt grimy next to the other two.

"Now all we gotta do is get our bearings," said Kingsley, ignoring her.

"Oh yeah? And how are we going to do that?"

"Why are we going to do it?" Tonks demanded. "We're in the factory - let's just poke around and enjoy ourselves. It's not like we have a specific goal in mind."

"Sure we do. Not getting' caught."

"That's not a goal. That's just a - uh, uh. . . "

"By-product?" suggested Sirius brightly.

"Well, a something. I mean, yeah, we don't want to get caught, but we also don't want to spend all our time doing nothing but skulking in the shadows."

"I suppose not." Kingsley sounded disappointed. Skulking in shadows was probably his hobby.

"So let's just pick a direction and go for it," Tonks concluded.

"All right!!!!" Letting out a whoop that could probably be heard by the loiterers back at the gate, Sirius chose a path and went charging down it almost before the words were properly out of his cousin's mouth. In fact, Tonks stood gaping a few seconds, staring at the place Sirius had been a second before and vaguely wondering what had happened to him.

Kingsley cursed. "Damn fool's gonna alert everyone to our presence!" But he wasn't really angry. Visions of wild chases and daring escapes were flashing through his head.

Tonks recovered. "It was the phrase 'go for it' that set him off," she said apologetically. "I should have remembered - Remus told me that that's what James always said to him right before they did something stupid."

There was a loud crash and a series of ominous rumbles.

"Think that's Sirius?" asked Kingsley.

"It could be serious," Tonks agreed. She sidestepped the kick he aimed at her - she'd expected it. "Guess we should check it out, in any case."

"Yeah. Guess so."

They didn't move.

"Uh, guys?" Sirius's voice echoed down the hall. "You may want to see this."

"Really?" answered Tonks.

"Hmm," said Kingsley.

Neither of them moved.

"No, seriously, guys -- "

"Siriusly," sniggered Tonks.

They still didn't move. Tonks began to whistle. "That door over there looks interesting. Want to try it?" Kingsley inquired.

"Sure."

"No guys, really -- "

They were all ready to ignore him again, but the floor began to shake. A lot. Even Lucius Malfoy, the master of indifference, couldn't have overlooked this one.

"Sirius!" screamed Tonks, "what have you done?!"

"It's not me!" he wailed. "It's -- "

There was a bone-jarring crash and his words were swallowed up in the dreadful thunder and echoing reverberations of the awesome sound.

* * * * *

"Are you sure it's safe around these bees, Mr. Wonka?"

A member of his little flock had come fluttering back to his side. Mr. Wonka glanced into Draco's worried gray eyes, looked quickly away, and sighed.

"Yes I'm a hundred percent sure. Well, ninety - no, eighty-seven percent sure. I haven't had any trouble in years. Of course I haven't had non-Oompa-Loompas in here before, but. . . Eighty-three percent. Or eighty-two percent. The bees can be whimsical."

Draco was not reassured. However, he was also getting the distinct impression that Mr. Wonka wouldn't lift a purple-gloved finger to protect him if the bees should decide to go on the offensive.

So he gave it up and trotted after his father. At least if the bees did decide to attack, he reasoned, dear old Pop was a bigger target.

Lucius was admiring the Oompa-Loompas as usual. These were wearing pale violet outfits. "See how big the apples look in their wee hands?" Lucius commented lovingly. "Isn't it darling?"

"Sure, Pop." Draco watched the bees. Dumbledore, who had already snuffed it and therefore did not have to concern himself about a little thing like getting stung to death, was already at work naming them. It was proving to be a much more onerous task than naming the squirrels. Arthur dug Ron out of his pocket again, explained the orchard to him - rather quickly and disinterestedly -- and then went off for a stroll with Petunia. Lupin had already disappeared among the chocolate apples, and Hermione had stomped off to take a look at the apiaries. Mr. Wonka stood in the clearing, suffering a flashback to his childhood days with his mad dentist father, Wilbur Wonka. It was all the buzzing that brought it on - reminded Willy of his papa's favorite drill. He shuddered and made a note to mention it to his psychiatrist. It was promising to be one busy session.

This left Harry to his own devices - always an inadvisable thing to do. For a few minutes, the Boy Who Lived contented himself with licking bacon grease out of a pocket, but all too soon the last vestiges of piggy flavor were gone and he lifted his head, blinking in wonder at his strange surroundings. Wrapped up in his own little pork-based world, he'd quite forgotten where he was for a moment. But then remembrance settled in with a jolt and he perceived himself to be alone. Shock, then fury settled on him in rapid succession.

How dare they abandon me like this? Bastards! Just for that, I'm going to do away with another of them, see if I don't! Bah!

The trusty Invisibility Cloak was over his head in a flash and this time he remembered to scrunch down a bit so his trainers wouldn't be exposed. Excellent. Now whom should he go after?

The debate was over in less than a second. Why, Draco Malfoy, of course! This time he would procure evidence of Malfoy's misdeeds and rid the world of the evil scoundrel once and for all!

Thus convinced that he was actually about to perform a noble deed and not just being a rotten little shit again, Harry set out on his quest. Dredging the dank recesses of his memory, he recalled the direction he'd seen last seen Malfoy heading in. (Harry subconsciously kept watch on Draco at all times anymore. Sad, but true.) Ah, yes! If his memory served, Malfoy had gone down past the row of toffee-coated apples. Harry tiptoed lightly off across the grass, certain he could escape detection until he reached his quarry. He might have be right too, if only he hadn't forgotten about his peculiar habit of breathing noisily through his mouth whenever he was under his cloak. He passed Lupin, who looked up from a chocolate apple, a faint line appearing between his brows. Was a lightsaber duel was being fought a couple rows over? The werewolf wondered, then realized it was just Harry on another rampage and went back to munching his goodie.

At last Harry caught the yellow glint of light flashing off two sleek blonde heads and stifled a goat-giggle. He'd located the Malfoys. Draco was mostly a big, scared pair of eyes, alert for the first sign of an angry bee.

"You know, I'm glad we're having this father/son moment together." Lucius was waxing extravagant. Normally he and Draco couldn't stand one another and both of them knew it.

"Yeah, Pop, it's great." In his terror of the bees, Draco would have agreed to wearing women's underclothes. Of course he might have done that without the threat of the bees to coerce him, but - well, never mind.

"We'll always remember this happy time together when I'm back in Azkaban." Continued Lucius, quite overcome by his own sensitivity. He had to stop and brush a tear from his eye. He laid an arm across Draco's shoulders, and was touched when his son didn't instantly shrug it off.

"Uh-huh. Remember always. Cool." Draco was half tempted to cling to Lucius's hand for support - but how much help would his father be if there really was trouble? Well, maybe he could toss his hair about and the bees would get caught in it. Those long blonde femme-locks had to be good for something.

"You don't think Herbie will miss his friends dreadfully, do you?" Lucius was asking now, oblivious to Draco's true thought process. "I'd hate for him to pine and be unhappy. Maybe I should get two Oompa-Loompas. They seem to like company. Herbie and Hector. That's cute, don't you think?"

Draco could have pointed out that Oompa-Loompas weren't dogs or fish or capybaras and might have their own opinions about becoming Lucius's pets - but he didn't feel like wrestling with his father's midget obsession at the moment. And anyway, he'd heard something skulking around the line of trees. He got ready to panic at the merest hint of hostile buzzing.

Huh-uhh-huh-uhh-huh-uhh-huh-uhh-huh. . .

Draco frowned. Bees couldn't pant, could they? This sounded rather like Dumpy, a very old and very fat house elf of his mother's. When he was little, Dumpy used to stagger up the long marble staircase every morning, bent nearly in two under the weight of a tray laden with Draco's hot chocolate, doughnuts, toast, and jam. And then, after settling the tray on Draco's lap, Dumpy would collapse and get sick all over the floor, usually right before he could serve Lucius. Or in the middle of serving Lucius. Narcissa used to laugh for hours about that.

Draco smiled briefly at the happy memories before sobering again. Yes, these sounds were almost exactly like Dumpy's wheezes, but Dumpy had died four years ago, crushed under the weight of a heavy stone birdbath that had mysteriously tipped over when Lucius leaned on it just as Dumpy was passing by.

Anyway, it couldn't possibly be Dumpy, and he didn't think it was the bees. So what -

A gust of pig-scented air answered his question. Draco prayed that the breeze had shifted, and not that he'd just smelled a Potter fart.

"Potter!" he shrieked, his voice shrill with fear and anger, "stop following me about! I mean it!" God, hadn't the little creep learned his lesson when he'd gotten his nose smashed in and his fingers squashed on the Hogwarts Express? Harry was exactly the sort who'd lick a frozen flagpole twice. Or more.

The annoying noise - and more thankfully, the disgusting smell - vanished at once. Draco knew Potter wouldn't give up so easily, which must mean he was still nearby, holding his breath. At least that meant that what Draco smelled probably hadn't come out of his bum.

Lucius was wrinkling his brow. "Son, who are you shouting at? We're all alone."

"No, we're not. Didn't you hear that panting a moment ago? Potter's nearby."

"Panting?" Lucius's frown deepened. "Frankly, Kreckor, your Potter obsession worries me sometimes. You're not allowed to be a poofter, you know. I didn't go through all the trouble of raising you just so you wouldn't carry on the noble Malfoy name."

"I am not obsessed with Potter!" Draco yelled. "He's here! Under his Invisibility Cloak," he added, when his father continued to look dubious.

"Oh." Lucius's face cleared a bit. "But why would he pant just because he's under an Invisibility Cloak?"

"So people will know he's there regardless. He always gets really clumsy and knocks things over too. Frankly, I don't know why he bothers with it."

"Well it makes me feel all ooky and creepy to think he's spying on me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Pop, it's me he's spying on." Draco located Harry through the peculiar aroma of his polo shirt - a mixture of B.O., pig grease, and pumpkin juice. "Can I borrow your walking stick a moment?"

"Eh?" Lucius cocked his head to one side. "Well, only if you clearly understand that this is a loan and you're not to claim that I gave it to you as a gift afterwards."

"Oh, all right," Draco capitulated. Damn. He'd always liked his father's snake-headed cane, and appropriating it would have been a nice little bonus. He took a good hold of it, conjured up a mental image of Harry's exact location, and then stabbed the seeming air as hard as he could.

"BAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" Harry practically sailed to the moon; the cane must have hit him in a sensitive spot. There was the pattering of footsteps as Harry swiftly made his exit, kicking over rocks and bumping into trees as he went.

"You're right - he really does get clumsy," commented Lucius, watching.

"This really is a nice cane, Pop," said Draco, caressing it.

"Give it back at once," said Lucius sternly, holding out his hand. "Honestly, don't you know that there are hundred of perverts out there who'd get off on a description of you caressing my cane?"

Draco gagged and quickly complied. At least his father had proven to be of some use after all. "Let's go nick some apples now."

"Oh, certainly. What an excellent idea. I wonder what sort of apples Herbie likes?"

And the two Malfoys skipped off to pick fruit.

* * * * *

"Hee-hee! Hee-hee! Hee-Hee! Hee-hlurck! Gack! Cack! Urguck!" Voldemort staggered towards the wall, hacking and gasping for breath. "My, I'm thirsty all of a sudden," he rasped.

"Couldn't have anything to do with the near-constant 'hee-hees,' could it, my lord?" inquired Narcissa dryly. Voldemort was too busy coughing to respond.

Snape sighed and glanced up and down the corridor. He had no idea where they were, but it seemed they'd outdistanced any pursuit and were safe for the moment. "There must be something to drink somewhere in this enormous place," he said aloud. He wasn't worried for himself; he had a hip flask filled with vinegar - apple cider vinegar, umm, umm! But he doubted the Dark Lord would be grateful, even if he were willing to share. And just for the record, he wasn't.

"I could use a drink too," said Bellatrix, patting Voldemort on the back. "But the question is, where do we start looking? I haven't seen a single sign. Do you think Mr. Wonka knows his factory so well that he doesn't need them?"

"I suppose he must," replied Snape, a little abashed that he hadn't noticed this himself but covering the fact nicely. "That makes it a bit trickier."

"To find me a drink?" croaked Voldemort, worried.

"To find much of anything," Snape corrected. "Including the way out of here." For the first time, he was beginning to wonder exactly how large the factory truly was. The biggest one in the world, he'd heard, but what exactly did that entail? And more importantly, did that mean that mean they were doomed to wander it forever, a quintet of lost souls, nothing but chocolate to nourish them?

Snape gagged at the thought. He'd sooner get caught and infected with the orangutan flu. Or even subjected to the wooden puppets.

Well, maybe not the wooden puppets. . . Perhaps it was time to start panicking?

No! He chided himself. They were wizards, dammit, and not a bunch of incompetents. . .

Then he remembered how the basilisk had knocked off half a dozen students at Hogwarts before it was stopped and how Sirius kept sneaking into the school and how the fake Mad-Eye Moody had fooled everyone for an entire year and reconsidered the incompetent thing. But of course, all that had gone on under the auspices of Dumbledore, he reassured himself. The Death Eaters on the other hand -

-- had gotten their asses handed to them by six underage wizards at the Department of Mysteries. Okay, never mind, maybe it was time to start panicking.

"I'm thirsty!" Voldemor whined.

"There, there," soothed Bellatrix in the tone she reserved for kissing Voldemort's ass. "We'll find you some water. Or something even better."

"And how, pray tell, are we going to manage that, Bella?" Narcissa held up her wand. "These haven't been working too well, in case you haven't noticed."

"What?" Snape hadn't. Narcissa studied him from beneath her lashes, as if he weren't quite living up to her expectations.

"Something in here is interfering with our magic," she told him.

"How bloody inconvenient!" he snarled. She just shrugged.

"Think about it. If Willy Wonka hadn't magic-proofed this place, every wizard in the nation would have tried to sneak in here by now."

"But I want a drink!"

"There, there," soothed Bellatrix again. "There may be a problem with our magic, but I'll wager Greyback's nose is working just fine."

"So what?"

"So he can track down some water for us!"

"He's not a bloodhound," Snape reminded her. They all turned to look at Greyback. He was scratching his ear with his left foot. "No, he really isn't!" Snape insisted.

"If he can track down some liquid for the Dark Lord and shut him up, do you really care what he is or isn't?" Narcissa inquired wearily. "It's not like we want to enter him in Crofts."

Bellatrix giggled suddenly and they hoped she hadn't gotten a very bad idea.

"Well. . . I suppose it has a chance of working," Snape admitted. "If we can get him to cooperate." He raised his voice. "Fenrir?"

"What?" snapped the werewolf, irritated at being disturbed in the middle of a good itching session.

"Lord Voldemort is thirsty. Can you locate some water?"

Greyback looked stupid. He cocked his head to one side.

"Water. We want you to find some water."

Another look of incomprehension. Snape was very much afraid he might bark at any moment.

"Water! Drink!"

"Drink?"

"Yes, drink!"

"Drink! Drink!" shouted Greyback delightedly. If he'd had a tail, it would have been wagging.

"Got there in the end," muttered Snape, dragging a sleeve across his forehead. "Yes, drink. Can you find some?"

"Why should I bother?" growled Greyback, speaking like an actual person for the first time in hours. Everyone stared at him.

"Because I'm thirsty?" volunteered Voldemort tentatively.

"So have some fizzy lifting drink." Greyback returned to scratching.

"And where are we supposed to find that?"

"Right up ahead. Through that door."

""Which door?"

"The one with the bubbles coming out of it!" Greyback scratched vigorously, muttered: "Idiots."

They looked. The bubbles were rather obvious now that Greyback had pointed them out. They floated lazily down the corridor, hitting the walls and bursting with crisp little pops.

Snape was tired of feeling stupid, so he just pointed towards the door. "There you go, my Lord. Drink."

"Oh, good! Hee-hee! Hah! Gack! Hack! Hee!" Chortling and choking, Voldemort made a dash for the opening. Bella followed closely after. Snape and Narcissa, after exchanging a glance and a rolling of eyes, tagged along. Fenrir stayed outside to itch a little more.

Inside was a tall, conical room, about thirty feet in diameter and sixty feet high. A fan at the apex provided a constant breeze and kept the bubbles circulating. Snape didn't know exactly how the fan or the bubbles figured into the making of the drink, but then he didn't really care either.

Nor did Voldemort. "Where is it?" he demanded. "Where's the drink?"

"In these bottles, I presume," said Narcissa, lifting one from a rack. It was a pleasantly cool silvery blue in color, topped with a shiny gold cap. The liquid inside seemed to be frothing madly.

"Oh, gimmee!" Voldemort snatched it out of her hand and bit off the cap with an expert twitch of his jaw. Foam bubbled out of the top and over his fingers and dripped onto the floor. It reminded Snape of corrosive acid, but the Dark Lord didn't miss a beat in putting his lipless mouth to the opening and chugging deeply.

"Mmmm, good!" he exclaimed, coming up for air. "Better than butterbeer!"

"It's probably a little late for a warning," said Narcissa dryly, "but are you certain that was wise, my Lord?"

"Absolutely! I feel so much better now!" Voldemort took another deep drink.

"I think she meant that it could be dangerous to just drink anything that comes randomly to hand," Snape exclaimed.

"Stuff and nonsense!" scoffed Voldemort. "It's a candy factory! These things were made to be consumed. Why, it's probably the safest place on earth!"

If he'd been on the tour, he'd be singing a different tune, but as it was, Narcissa nodded reluctantly. "I suppose it's silly to think Mr. Wonka would have bottles of poison sitting around."

"Hey, here's something else." Bellatrix, who'd been wandering around, uninterested in the discussion, picked up a green-tinted bottle. "Frobscottle," she read, looking at the label.

"What a horrid name. Sound like something you'd squeeze out of a frog." Narcissa wrinkled her nose.

"Frobscottle." Voldemort glanced from the bottle he held to the one in Bellatrix's hand, and no one needed Legilimancy to know that he was considering appropriating hers as well. "Is it yummy?"

"I don't know." Bellatrix shrugged and opened the bottle with her teeth. Snape braced himself, but no cascade of foam emerged. "There's something a bit strange about it," said Bellatrix, but since she wasn't one for keen observation, she only stared a couple seconds longer before lifting the bottle to her mouth.

"Are you sure -- " Narcissa began. Too late again: Bellatrix was already chugging.

"Tastes like raspberries and cream," Bellatrix concluded, swallowing.

"That does sound yummy," said Voldemort, and he was less than a second away from demanding his share when his heels suddenly lifted off the ground. "Aieeee!" he screeched, flailing his spidery limbs about like a drunken skeleton attempting to swim the butterfly stroke in midair.

"He's floating!" cried Bellatrix, perhaps hoping to win the title of Mistress of the Obvious.

"Heellllpppppp!" whinnied Voldemort, attempting to reach the ground and propelling himself into an aerial somersault instead.

"Calm down!" Snape commanded, trying to analyze the situation. There was no one there except for the four of them, and none of them would be so foolish as to cast the Levicorpus spell on the Dark Lord - and magic wasn't working anyway - so -

"Well, what do you expect?" demanded Greyback, slouching into the room. "It is fizzy lifting drink."

"I thought it just lifted your spirits or something." Remarkably, Voldemort had obeyed Snape and calmed down. That was good. What wasn't so good was that it seemed he was beginning to enjoy his little sojourn in the air. He took another drink from the bottle he'd kept clenched in his fist throughout all his aerial gyrations.

"Figured wrong, Butch," said Greyback. He sighed, glanced around the room and sat glumly on the floor. With no chocolate in sight, he was one disconsolate werewolf. Then his roving eye fell on the frobscottle cabinet and he became tense. "No one drank any of that, did they?"

"I did," said Bellatrix. "Yum, yum." She lifted the bottle and drank some more.

Greyback edged towards the door.

"Is that bad?" asked Narcissa.

"With my nose, yes."

"What does that mean?" asked Snape.

Greyback rolled his eyes, as if asking the heavens for patience. "You did notice the bubbles go down instead of up, didn't you?"

"No," said Bellatrix, peering at the bottle.

"How silly!" exclaimed Narcissa, also taking a look.

"So the bubbles go down. What does that mean?" asked Snape.

Greyback petitioned the heavens again. "Bubbles in drink go up, drink bubbles, bubbles come up. Bubbles in drink go down, drink bubbles, bubbles go -- "

Bellatrix farted. It was so sharp and sudden that she astonished herself. Snape and Narcissa stared at her, aghast. Voldemort giggled and twirled.

"Like that," finished Greyback dryly. He stuck his head into the corridor for some fresh air.

Bellatrix recovered. "Wow!" She guzzled more frobscottle.

"Bella!" The horrified Narcissa tried to pry the bottle out of her sister's hand, but Bellatrix possessed the strength of the demented. Plus she farted again, driving Narcissa back. "That's not ladylike!" protested Narcissa.

Bellatrix flipped her sister the bird and farted again just for good measure. Clearly she didn't care. Greyback left the room entirely.

"Just let her be," Snape advised Narcissa. It wasn't that he condoned Bellatrix's behavior, it was just that he saw no point in trying to reason with her, especially since Bellatrix responded much better to brute force than reason. "Help me figure out a way to get his Royal Darkness off the ceiling instead."

"Don't wanna come down!" hooted Voldemort, swooping even higher. A few bubbles spurted out of his blowhole, but he was having too much fun to notice.

"You look ridiculous! What if one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix saw you?"

"They're not here!"

"What if you can't figure out how to come down?"

"I'm the greatest wizard alive!" Voldemort boasted, floating brattily on his back. "I can figure anything out."

Except how to make himself a proper nose, of course. Snape considered pointing this out.

"I'm afraid you'll do yourself a mischief up there."

Bellatrix farted again and both she and Voldemort giggled. "This is fun! Whee!" Voldemort spread his arms and swooped, passing so close over Snape's head that the breeze made his hair flutter. Snape made a grab for one of his ankles, but the Dark Lord pulled it coyly out of reach flew higher. Snape threw his arms in the air. "I give up!" he cried.

"And what does that mean, Sevvie-poo?" asked Voldemort sassily. "You don't know how to get out of here and if those little men catch you, they'll turn you over to the puppets."

"Or give you the orangutan flu," added Bellatrix, grinning. "Do you want a big hairy bum, Sevvie?"

Snape groaned as he realized how limited his options truly were. Narcissa patted his shoulder. "Never mind them. I'm sure we'll find a way out."

"How are we going to find a way out with Voldemort floating around like a kite and your sister -- "

Bellatrix cut another one. They seemed to be getting louder.

"We'll be lucky if she doesn't alert everyone to our presence!"

Narcissa was about to reply when the floor shook. Off in the distance, they heard a series of crashes and rumblings. Snape slumped against the wall, wondering what new sort of nonsense was threatening his sanity. "At least we know it wasn't Voldemort," said Narcissa soothingly.

"No," said Greyback. "It's worse." His face was grim.

"Worse? How can it be worse? Who is it?"

The werewolf sighed. "I'm afraid it's -- "

His reply was drowned out by Bellatrix's loudest gaseous expulsion yet.

* * * * *

Harry stopped a safe distance off to massage the sore spot on his - well, let's just say that it was a very sore spot. Harry savored the pain like a connoisseur until it faded, then straightened and turned his thoughts to more practical matters. He'd failed in his attempt to take out Draco - well, the Malfoy boy was a sneaky little bastard. But that was all right - it was appropriate to save him for last. Or savor him for last, as the case might be.

So that could only mean it was Hermione's turn now.

Wait a minute - Hermione was another one of those people he was supposed to like, wasn't he? Harry thought about Hermione's bossiness, and her air of superiority, and the way she looked down her nose at Harry every time he decided to skiv off and play Quidditch instead of going to class and couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He chewed his lip then decided to shelve the subject for now, because right now he had a far more intriguing question in mind.

What exactly happened when you squirted something with more than one spritz of Mr. Wonka's bee perfume?

He supposed he could ask Mr. Wonka. But then there was another way of finding out. A far more entertaining way. . .

Stifling giggles, Harry reoriented himself, peering about the orchard for that telltale splash of purple. Ah, there he was, leaning on his cane and staring drippily off into the distance, looking perfectly daft, to say the truth. (Willy Wonka was actually caught up in yet another flashback, this one involving his father and a large, wobbly pile of blancmange, but Harry wasn't to know that.) It was going to be the easiest thing in the world for Harry to stroll up and pluck the atomizer containing the perfume from Mr. Wonka's nerveless hand. Harry hesitated, staring into Wonka's unseeing purple eyes. Perhaps he should spray the great candy-maker himself? But no - Harry didn't know the way out of the factory, and he certainly didn't want to spend the rest of his life here. No dirty magazines, for one, and no pig either. He didn't think the Oompa-Loompas would taste much like pork, should he grow so desperate as to eat one.

No, it was going to have to be Hermione. Anyway, he told himself as he began to tiptoe off, she'd appreciate being part of such a grand experiment much more than Mr. Wonka would.

Now - to snatch the perfume. Harry carefully covered himself with the Invisibility Cloak until not the slightest trace of his grotty red-and-white striped polo shirt or dingy red trainers was showing. Then he picked an apple and broke it open. This was a sacrifice, but, gritting his teeth, he rubbed the fruit over the more pig-scented areas of his body - avoiding, of course, the spots where he'd been spritzed. He sniffed himself, as a test. Well, slightly less piggy now. It wasn't possible to remove all his pig odor in one minute; the smell came seeping out of his pores by now. He squeezed a little more apple on himself, rubbed a bit of chocolate under his arms. There, that should do it. Now to perfect the rest of his disguise.

He cleared his throat. "Buzz-zz-zzz-zzzz. . ." It came out a little high-pitched and squeaky. He coughed up some phlegm and tried again: "Buzz-zzz-zzz-zzz. . ."

Ah, yes, perfect. That would fool anyone.

Confident in his acting skills, Harry crept up to Mr. Wonka, who was still absorbed in his childhood recollections. Extending an eager hand, Harry reached for the little atomizer bottle -

-- only to have Mr. Wonka's fingers fold about it. "One spritz each, silly boy," said the chocolate maker, coming back to reality - or as close to it as he ever managed to approach it.

So Harry's disguise wasn't quite as brilliant as he thought. "It's not for me," he squeaked, deciding that a scrap of honesty was the best policy. "It's for Hermione. She wasn't sprayed enough."

"Hmm?" The wheels turned almost visibly inside Mr. Wonka's head. "Are the bees troubling her?"

"Well, not exactly. It's just. . . " Harry took a risk and lowered his cloak from his face. ". . . I think she could use a bigger dose.," he said. And winked.

"Aha." Willy Wonka struggled with his baser instincts. He wrestled heroically, like Isaac with the angel (or had that been Abraham?), but was undone at the last moment by the memory of the pruney, disapproving expression Hermione got on her face whenever he displayed one of his marvelous creations.

"All right, here you go," he said, handing the bottle over. The angel did a little jig of victory.

"Thanks!" cried Harry, beginning to skip off.

"Bees don't skip."

"Oh, right. Ta." Harry began to skulk instead. "Buzz-zz-zzz-zzz-bahahahah!"

Mr. Wonka shook his head and, dismissing Harry from his mind, slipped into a reminiscence of the time his father had tried to have the local sweet shop condemned.

As luck would have it, Hermione was positively the last person Harry managed to locate. He knew approximately where Lucius and Draco were, and it seemed he kept bumping into Lupin, munching on chocolate apples. He came across Arthur and Petunia strolling amongst the trees and discussing all the things that were wrong with nature, and then he found Dumbledore, who was sticking his finger into apples, sucking out the core, and then tossing them aside.

But Hermione just had to wander to the most distant corner of the orchard, hadn't she? Harry was quite annoyed by the time he discovered her, turning a cinnamon apple over and over in her hands and muttering to herself. His throat was sore from all the buzzing.

Oh, well. It would just make what came next all the sweeter.

"Buzz-zzz-zzz-(bah-hah-hah!)-zz-zzz-zzz. . ."

His bee disguise hadn't improved, but fortunately for him, Hermione was utterly absorbed. "Silly stuff," she was grumbling to herself. "If there are no seeds in the core, how do you get new trees? And candy coating my foot! It's obviously just a genetically modified peel - anyone could. . . " Her brow wrinkled. "I say, what's that sound?"

Harry had drawn so close that she really couldn't ignore him. For all his efforts, he didn't sound much like the bees he was trying to imitate - even without the added 'bahs.'

But alas for Hermione, he had also drawn so close that it was too late for her to do anything to stop him even as she realized it was him. Before she could step back or make a grab for the Invisibility Cloak, something cold soaked her neck and shoulder. "Urgh, Harry, what -- " she began - but again she was too late. There was a series of bah-ing giggles as the Boy Who Lived beat a hasty retreat, clumsily trampling a dozen or more delicate plants underfoot as he went.

Hermione brushed at her sleeve, wondering what on earth the wetness could be. Knowing Harry, the possibilities were infinitely disgusting. She didn't have to wonder long. Not so much as a minute had passed before she became aware of a loud buzzing noise, ominously close at hand, rather like a thousand kazoos being blown simultaneously. Heart pounding, already dreading what she would see, Hermione lifted her head to behold an almost solid mass of gold hovering before her.

She estimated that it had to be composed of at least five million bees and the scream that was building up in her throat died away into a whimper.

Safely hidden in a grove fifty feet away, Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak, plucked an apple, and got ready to pretend he'd been innocently munching away when the tragedy struck - although the eager way he peered through his round glasses belied the pose.

Hermione found her voice. Her scream seemed to shake the entire orchard, and it drew the instant attention of the rest of the party. "Not another one?" sighed Dumbledore, wafting up, an apple clutched in either hand. His beard was matted and sticky with caramel.

"Gee, I guess Hermione must have done something to anger the bees," said Harry, all innocence. Draco and Lucius turned up just in time to hear this comment. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Bet you anything Potter set her up," he muttered. Not that he was exactly upset - he'd never liked Hermione, and the fact that the bees' attention was off him quite entirely was an added bonus.

"It's not one of the Oompa-Loompas," said Lucius with obvious relief.

Arthur and Petunia arrived together. "I told you the obnoxious girl would go next!" Petunia cried triumphantly. "Pay up!"

"Oh, damn. I was so sure it would be Malfoy." Arthur fumbled in his pockets. "Um, I don't seem to have a pound. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure what one looks like. Would you take a Sickle instead?"

Lupin showed up with chocolate smeared around his mouth and an air of weary resignation. "Should have known we wouldn't get out of here unscathed, the way things were going." He took a look at Hermione's predicament. "But this is rather over the top! She could get stung to death!"

Harry and Draco giggled.

"Oh, no fear of that," said Mr. Wonka, coming up last of all. He may have been suffering pangs of remorse over his part in Hermione's predicament, but it was difficult to tell beneath the pale white skin and enormous teeth. "A heavy dose of the perfume doesn't anger the bees exactly."

He seemed inclined to stop there, so Lupin gave him a nudge. "Well, what does it do, then?"

"I think it makes the bees believe you're their queen."

"What?!" demanded Harry and Draco together, both righteously annoyed. Each felt they had more right to be a queen than Hermione - or perhaps a princess in Draco's case. Harry might well have sprayed himself again right there on the spot if he hadn't emptied the bottle on Hermione.

"Yes," nodded Mr. Wonka. "Those are all the worker bees, trying to protect her. Next will come the drones and they'll. . . " Mr. Wonka trailed off as his face flushed a delicate shell pink. He tittered nervously. "They'll try to get very friendly," he finished.

"Oh dear," said Lupin.

Harry's ears pricked up at the thought of bee sex. "Can we stay and watch?" he asked hopefully.

"I'd rather we didn't." Mr. Wonka turned his back on the scene, swinging his cane jauntily. "Besides, we still have loads to see. I suggest we get going."

"And just leave Hermione here?" asked Lupin.

"Oh, she'll be fine. Eventually the perfume will wear off to the point that they'll just think she's a regular bee again. It could take five or six hours -- "

"That's rather long."

"Isn't it?" Mr. Wonka agreed, as if Lupin had made a brilliant point. "And I don't think they'll appreciate our watching them either. They might get annoyed with us."

"Leaving sounds like a really good idea," said Draco, remembering his paranoia of the bees.

"It seems a little unkind to me," said Lupin.

"It's okay by me," said Dumbledore, sucking on an apple. "Less work for her guardian, I say."

"The Oompa-Loompas will bring her out when it's safe," Mr. Wonka reassured his guests. "Or not, if it isn't."

"Wouldn't want the Oompa-Loompas to get stung," said Lucius.

"Exactly," Mr. Wonka agreed. "Shall we forge ahead, then?"

"Don't leave me!" wailed Hermione. They could only catch brief glimpses of her through the whirling swarm of bees. Likely she couldn't hear a word over their droning. But Draco couldn't resist calling:

"Relax, Mudblood. Just think of all the fascinating things you'll learn about bees from this experience. Probably get a couple books out of it."

"Bye Hermione." Harry waved limply. He'd suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be his friend. Oh, well. She'd forgive him. Harry stomped on his budding feeling of guilt and followed Mr. Wonka, whistling. Perhaps there'd be candied pig in the next room. Silly to feel sorry for Hermione - she was getting to be the queen bee. Really she should thank him. Yes, he'd have to demand money or a card or at least a couple pork chops from her later on, to prove her gratitude.

"You're going to really like what comes next," Mr. Wonka told them. "Just love it."