Harry Potter and the Chocolate Factory

Chapter Ten

A Sweet Ending

Exiting Mr. Wonka's office was more of a chore than it should have been. Mr. Wonka pressed the button on his desk and the computer and monitor receded into the hidden compartment once more. Yelling "No, precious! Don't leave me!" Arthur made a dive for the sliding panel and tried to pry it open with all fourteen of his fingertips.

Then there was Draco. "Carry me, Poppa," he whined, holding up his Harry-bitten foot like a puppy's hurt paw. Lucius was already staring up and down the corridor.

"Do you think Bonnie's all right on her own?" he asked worriedly.

"Pop!" Draco sniveled.

"And you can carry me," Harry said to Lupin.

"That's not going to happen," he replied. But Harry hopped like a flea and clung to his trouser leg. Picking him off would mean actually having to touch him, so Lupin sighed with resignation and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his threadbare overcoat.

Finally Arthur was pried off the desk, Draco was offered a candy-filled cane (which he had no intention of returning) to support his injured foot, Dumbledore was coaxed into shutting up, and Lucius was assured there would be Oompa-Loompas in the lounge. Everyone geared up for the trek as if they were making a run to Antarctica.

The lounge was three doors down from Mr. Wonka's office. They didn't even have to use the elevator. And thankfully, it was not so tacky as Mr. Wonka's office had been. Perhaps this was because it was more commonly frequented by Oompa-Loompas than by the great candy maker himself. Whatever the reason, the décor was in soft shades of cream and gray, the only touch of purple being a thick, fluffy rug on the floor and discreet lavender patterning in the sofa.

Draco heaved a sigh of relief, as if he'd just finished climbing Mt. Everest, and settled himself on the sofa, taking up all three of its cushions and propping his foot up onto a glass coffee table. The rest of the group of tourists took seats in various chairs around the table and accepted mugs of cocoa or tea from a lady Oompa-Loompa in a pink dress. Her name was Molly and Lucius took to her at once.

Mr. Wonka was brought some special cakes. Everyone gave them more than one hard look, for they were bright purple in color and had a little squiggle of icing in the shape of a 'w' on top.

"Those aren't pig-flavored are they?" asked Harry, leaning over for a closer look. The tiny boy had seated himself on the arm of Lupin's chair. Lupin might have objected had he not been busy ferreting out all the chocolate biscuit on the tray and stuffing them into either his mouth or pockets.

"No, certainly not, what an idea. They're a very delicious violet-vanilla-cinnamon-buttercream sort of flavor." Mr. Wonka bit primly into one.

Draco stared at the tray of orange, vanilla, ginger, cinnamon, and (rapidly diminishing) chocolate biscuits he was being offered and pouted. "Those look special. Why can't I have one?" he whined.

"Oh, sorry." Mr. Wonka paused mid-bite. "These aren't for refreshment. They're medicinal."

"Oh, dear. Nothing serious, I hope?" asked Petunia, jumping naturally onto the boring topic of health.

"No, no, it's just my nerves. Without these I'm terribly high-strung." He took another bite.

Lupin nearly choked on his chocolate biscuit. "You mean you're actually more excitable when you don't eat those?"

"It's not that bad," replied Mr. Wonka, sounding hurt. "I'm just a little jumpy and high-strung by nature, I suppose." He giggled suddenly, a not-entirely-sane sound, and people eyed the exits.

"Ain't there no pig?" asked Harry, eyeing the refreshment tray.

"No, Harry," said Lupin curtly. "Don't start it up."

"But I want pig! Pig! Pigpigpigpigpigpigpigpigpig!!!!!!!!"

"You already ate half a giant roast. Lay off the pork for a bit. Here." Lupin dropped a ginger biscuit into Harry's arms. He sulked, but took a bite. It immediately began interfering with his digestion.

"Oh, for -- " Draco threw up his arms in disgust as the rumbles began.

"Whot? I can't help it. Anything what ain't pig disagrees with me."

Arthur chuckled indulgently. "Boys. I remember there was a year where Ron couldn't eat anything other than blood pudding. The mere whiff of a sprout would give him the runs for days."

"We do not need to hear about your family's dietary problems, Arthur," snapped Lucius, his attention temporarily distracted from Molly.

"I'm sure you had you own troubles with Draco."

"Who?"

"Your son."

"Oh, him. I suppose." He fell to admiring Molly again. "Don't you adore her little cat's-eye glasses? And her cute little earring?"

Sulking, Draco took all the remaining biscuits. That was all right. Lupin had already grabbed the chocolate ones, there weren't any pig ones, Arthur was daydreaming about the computer, Dumbledore was practicing his pelvic thrusts, and if pressed, Petunia was prepared to say she was on a diet.

No one pressed. By now everyone had realized that they didn't like each other enough to make conversation advisable.

"Wow, that nearly blew out the seat of my pants," Harry offered anyway. He was ignored. His attempt to start a discussion was surely spite.

So the room was peaceful and quiet when a black-clad Oompa-Loompa appeared in the doorway. It was the same Oompa-Loompa who had come to tell them of the intruders earlier, but only Mr. Wonka and Lucius knew this. "We've rounded up the party in the Sprinkle Room," announced the Oompa-Loompa. "Shall I show them in?"

At first Mr. Wonka didn't seem too sure. "Well, I suppose," he said at last, brushing purple crumbs off his knee. "Seems a bit of a bother, but -- "

"You'll regret it," hissed Draco.

"Probably," agreed Mr. Wonka. "But since Fabio here went through all this trouble, I might as well."

"Hope they brought pig," said Harry as Fabio bowed and exited.

Lord V. and company burst upon the scene like a small circus gone awry not half a minute later. The twins pranced like a pair of clowns while Snape swept in like a cranky fakir. Narcissa could have been the fairy princess and Hagrid would easily have passed for the bearded lady. Presiding over it all was the Dark Lord himself, wafting breezily along, like the world's ugliest balloon.

"I'm finally in the presence of true greatness!" Voldemort cried upon spotting Willy Wonka. He tried to genuflect in mid-air. Meanwhile, Dumbledore and the Elvis Knid exchanged evil glances and compared costumes.

"Wow!" yelled Fred, cavorting to a halt. "Willy Wonka himself! I want to jump up my own butt to preserve this moment forever!"

"Well, you've met the twins," drawled Draco. "Aren't they just fabulous?"

"Faboo-lous!" shrieked Harry.

Sirius located his godson with some surprise. "Harry," he said, "you're -- "

"Smelly!" shouted Fred.

"Dirty!" yelled George.

"Pig-obsessed," cried Tonks.

"Obnoxious," sneered Snape.

"Wormy," decided Narcissa.

"Queer," proclaimed McGonagall.

"Edible!" declared Greyback.

"White!" snapped Kingsley.

"Umm. . . young?" suggested Voldemort.

"Tiny!" roared Lupin. "Yes, he's shrunk, thank you very much!"

There was a silence.

"That one was too obvious," sniffed McGonagall.

"I'm neat!" Harry screeched, jumping up and down like a flea. "Neat, neat, neat, neat, neat!"

"Shut up, Potter."

Unfortunately for Draco, everybody had, just at that moment, shut up. The result was that his words came pinging out into the silence like avocado-sized hailstones. They virtually echoed.

Fortunately for Draco, he was a Malfoy and therefore immured to shame. "What are you staring at?" he snapped.

"I'm staring at Willy Wonka," whispered Lord Voldemort, awestruck.

Oddly enough, it was Hagrid who broke the next silence that threatened to descend. "Mr. Wonka, I love yer Knids," he exclaimed, pushing to the front. Even McGonagall's glare could not stifle his enthusiasm. "Never had I hoped to see such fine an' healthy specimens."

"Why, thank you," Mr. Wonka replied. "Imported directly from Loompaland, you know."

Hagrid's eyes widened and he shivered all over. "You been ta Loompaland yerself, then?"

"Yes, I went looking for exotic ingredients. Brought back the Oompa-Loompas, plus some Whangdoodles and Hornswogglers and Snozzwangers and, of course, the Knids."

Hagrid moaned with delight.

"Whot? You mean you got snozzywaggers and whangdungers, but you don't got no pig?" Harry exclaimed in indignation.

"Pig wouldn't make very good guardians."

"But very tasty pets!"

Hagrid had finally located tiny Harry on the ground. "Bless me, is that Harry Potter?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Lupin.

A thought began ambling slowly in the direction of Hagrid's brain. "But he's so tiny! He wasn't always so wee, was he?"

"No."

"Rather a miracle Pop isn't perving after him," said Draco snidely.

"Give me some credit for taste, son."

The thought was getting within striking range of Hagrid's mind. "But if he's small now, that means. . . " Hagrid paused in confusion.

"Yes," said Lupin. "Either he shrunk or you grew. Which do you think it was?"

The thought aimed, made a shot at the goal, and missed the net entirely. "I sure would like ta see a Hornswoggler," he said wistfully.

"You're welcome to take a look at mine," offered Mr. Wonka, "although I'll warn you they've been sickly. Never adapted as well as the Snozzwangers or the Knids. The Whangdoodles give me trouble too."

"What is the percentage of humidity in their environment?" asked Hagrid expertly.

"Well, it's quite warm and moist in their chamber, but I couldn't say for certain. Are they really so sensitive to such conditions?"

"Goodness, yes," replied Hagrid, warming further to the topic - if that were possible. "And Whangdoodles need a particular type of yellow-green algae in the water to be truly comfortable."

Mr. Wonka was overwhelmed. "Goodness, an expert! How fortuitous! I was beginning to think I was going to lose all my Hornswogglers." He located Fabio standing at attention. "Take Mr. Er, Big and Hairy to the Hornswoggler Swamp at once. After you're done there, you can check in on the Snozzwanglers and Whangdoodles as well. Would that be all right with you?"

Hagrid stepped forward and engulfed both of Mr. Wonka's purple-gloved hands in his huge mitts. They could tell he was choking back tears of pure joy as he was led away.

"My goodness, a useful guest." Mr. Wonka shook his head. "Do you know, I didn't think they actually existed. I thought you had to find people and train them like puppies."

"We're useful!" cried Fred and George in unison. Mr. Wonka turned to regard them.

"Wow! You're really similar!"

"Yes, those would be the twins," Draco informed him snidely. "They're identical."

"No, we're not," corrected one. "I'm Fred."

"And I'm George."

They stopped bouncing and looked at each other. "Or is it the other way around?"

"Oh, I won't remember anyway. So you're the candy makers. The family geniuses." Mr. Wonka scrutinized them. "Did you turn my Knid into Elvis?"

"Technically a piece of our candy turned your Knid into Elvis. But otherwise -- "

"Got it in one, Toots," finished Fred happily. "All it took was one Blue Suede Chew."

Willy Wonka actually clapped his hands with girlish delight. "Blue Suede Chews! That's fabulous!"

"Faboo-lous," corrected Harry.

"You're father's a git, but you two are okay by me," Mr. Wonka went on, ignoring the Boy-Who-Lived. Neither Fred nor George thought to protest the insult to their father. Probably they agreed with it.

"Well, I'm going to dock them a whole lot of house points," complained Dumbledore. "The very nerve of it! I'm Elvis!"

The Knid sneered.

"It's way sexier than you," said Draco.

"I hate you, son," said Lucius.

Draco realized what he had just said and shut up.

"I'm the better Elvis! I am!" Dumbledore insisted.

"Let's take a vote on that," suggested Petunia.

They did. Dumbledore lost 14-3. The dissenting votes came from Mr. Wonka, who secretly wanted to believe his candy was superior to the twins', Fred, who had voted for Dumbledore to balance out George, and Harry, who had hoped to win house points through a bit of arse-kissing. Dumbledore was too senile to vote for himself.

"Well, that settles that," proclaimed Snape.

Dumbledore wailed. The Knid did a little gyration of victory. It was sexier than anything Dumbledore had ever managed, although everyone felt the need to scrub out their heads for even thinking such a thing.

"So, two candy makers and an expert on wild beasts," said Mr. Wonka. "Very nice. Any other goodies in the lot of you?"

"Chocolate! Adore!" cried Greyback. Molly had just brought in a fresh tray of biscuits. He and Lupin immediately flew at each other, growling.

"Oh, another werewolf," said Mr. Wonka, watching them squabble. "Always good customers, werewolves."

"I too have ingenious ideas for new candy," proclaimed McGonagall. "I have here a wizard candy called a Chocolate Frog. It's a nice idea, but so much more can be done with it. I propose a line of edible pets."

Mr. Wonka, who had bent over to examine the frog, all but head-butted her with the rim of his hat. "Why, that's brilliant! The perfect pet for children who are allergic -- "

" - or whose parents won't let them have pets -- "

" - or are too lazy to take care of real ones. Yes." Mr. Wonka nodded. "Yes, this will work."

McGonagall almost smiled. She was looking forward to a future filled with sweet, tormentable treats.

"Okay, who else, who else?" cried Mr. Wonka, who was now looking on the intruders as an untapped gold mine. Kingsley stepped forward at once and saluted.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt here, and I'm a security expert. I've noticed several spots where the walls of your factory could be breached by determined spies -- "

"Well we can't have that," said Mr. Wonka, going pale at the sound of the dreaded 's' word. "Okay, you're hired." He located Narcissa. "And you?"

"I look glamorous," she replied, filing her nails.

"So you can be a model. I could use a spokesperson for my new range of candies anyway. Great!" He looked at Tonks. "You're not glamorous."

She sniffed. "I can be much better than that." She grimaced, and then a second Willy Wonka stood in front of the first.

The real Willy Wonka goggled, his jaw practically falling on the floor. "Wow! You're right. That is much better. Although I'm not sure how I feel about the trenchcoat. Or the hair."

Tonks shrugged. "I can't change the clothes, only my looks."

"Your voice is funny too. Kind of high and hmm. . . Girly? Well, you can work on that."

Everyone diplomatically refrained from commenting.

"A double," Mr. Wonka mused. "Wonderful! Someone to do all those boring time-wasting public appearances for me. And take a bullet for me, if necessary."

"I'm not so sure about that -- " Tonks began, but Mr. Wonka was already turning to Snape.

"And what do you do?" he asked.

"I'm intelligent."

Mr. Wonka waited, made little encouraging gestures. Snape took a swig from his flask and ignored him.

"Well, I'm afraid that's not much good," Mr. Wonka sighed, deciding nothing else was forthcoming.

Snape bridled. "My apologies, but I didn't even want to come to this factory. I don't like candy."

"Oh, you're a dentist!" cried Mr. Wonka in a tone of enlightenment. Snape stared, but there was no one there to inform him that in Willy Wonka's strange world 'doesn't like candy' was instantly equated with 'dentist.' "Well, why did you come to the factory, then? Are you sneaking toothpaste and brushes into my chocolate?"

"No!" said Snape, exasperated. "I only came to the factory because the Dark Lord insisted."

"Who?"

"Me," said Voldemort, floated shyly out from behind the Elvis Knid. "I'm the Dark Lord. Voldemort. That's me."

"Oh, the one with the -- "

All the Death Eaters coughed loudly to drown out the word 'blowhole.'

" - right. So, what good are you?"

"I'm your biggest fan in the whole entire world!" Voldemort gushed. "I mean it. I'll do anything for you. If you want to conquer England, just say the word. If there's a specific piece of grass in Africa you want me to pick, just point it out. Anything! I'll even cut off my - oh, right, I wasn't going to talk about those." He blushed momentarily. "I'm the most powerful wizard alive, you know," he offered a little abashed.

"Really?"

"Yep!" Feeling a demonstration was in order, Voldemort located Snape and whipped out his wand. "Just watch!" The motion was so sudden that Snape didn't even have time to think about ducking. "Cocoadorifico!"

A thick, choking smoke whooshed out of Voldemort's wand and enveloped Snape, like the coils of a hungry serpent. For a few seconds he was completely hidden from view. Then the vapor turned milky, then transparent, then vanished entirely, leaving only a sweet aroma behind. Snape stood as if petrified.

"Is he going to die?" asked Sirius hopefully.

As if Sirius's words had galvanized him into life, Snape shook all over. "Adore!" he cried, springing lithely across the room, right between Lupin and Greyback. He tore the chocolate from the astonished werewolves' grasps, ran into a corner, and began devouring the lot.

Voldemort turned beaming to Mr. Wonka. "That spell will make a chocolate lover out of anyone."

"Wow. I didn't think magic worked in my factory."

"I am the Dark Lord," Voldemort reminded him.

"Oh, of course. That does make a difference. Hmm." Mr. Wonka settled back into his chair, a look of deep concentration on his face. He tapped the knob of his cane against his lips as he pursued awesomely deep and life-altering thoughts. Voldemort, not wanting to disturb his idol, fell silent.

The room was pretty quiet, actually. The Oompa-Loompas had brought in a mound of hamburgers for Dumbledore and the Knid, and they had actually fallen into a truce, companionably munching away. Fred and George had been given a box of candy ingredients, which they were eagerly sorting through, and Arthur had been given a toy remote to play with. Tonks and Sirius were making bets on which werewolf would eat the most chocolate - or if Snape would win the lion's share. Kingsley and McGonagall worked on blueprints for a new and improved factory. The canons were a nice touch. Narcissa cooed over Draco's hurt foot while her husband played gin with Molly. He was losing badly, but didn't care.

Harry was deeply buried in his left armpit, but everyone was ignoring him.

"No, no. . . I'm just not sure," Mr. Wonka muttered to himself. "Can I? Should I? I just don't know. Perhaps I should wait until after I visit my psychiatrist."

"Sir?" asked Voldemort hesitantly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"What?" Mr. Wonka glanced up, then shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"Would killing someone resolve your dilemma?"

"Maybe. Hmm, yes. That is, probably no. You wizards do have a tendency to hang around after you've snuffed it."

Dumbledore belched contentedly and reached for a double cheese with bacon. Sirius whooped and egged on Lupin. "You got a point there," admitted Voldemort.

"So I guess I just have to figure it out on my own." He put both hands under his hat and gently shook his head. "Seems an awful bit of a muddle though."

"Well, at times like these, I always find it best to follow my instincts."

Mr. Wonka looked up into Voldemort's friendly, slit-pupiled, glaring red snake eyes. "Your instincts?"

"Yeah. Right or wrong, I do what I feel is best." Voldemort nodded firmly. Amelia Bone's murder, in fact, had been carried out because Voldemort had suddenly developed a gut-level feeling that he really didn't like monocles.

"Even if it's not what other people may feel is best?" Mr. Wonka prodded, oblivious to Voldemort's dubious record of ethics.

"Of course! Hell, it's your factory!"

"By golly, that's right!" Mr. Wonka slammed a fist into his open palm and winced at the impact. "That's absolutely right. Thank you, Voldy."

Voldemort flushed bright green with pleasure. Mr. Wonka turned to face the room. "Listen up, everybody! I have an announcement to make."

A few people glanced up with vague interest. Harry switched his attention to his right armpit.

"It concerns the lucky finders of my Golden Tickets -- "

"Oh yeah?" said Draco, pushing his mother away. "Are you finally going to give me my grand prize?"

Harry's head jerked up. "Your grand prize? Anything special rightfully belongs to me! I'm the Boy-Who-Lived! You're just a little toffee-nosed wanker."

"Right now you're just a midget," retorted Draco.

"He is not!" said Lucius, deeply offended.

"All right, all right; he's a, uh, little person right now. Anyway, my point is that I'm the only one who hasn't been altered. The prize should be mine."

"I don't see how being altered puts you out of the competition," argued Harry. "Anyway, it's only going to take a single enlarging spell to put me right."

Draco sneered. "There's not a spell in the whole world that can put you right, Potter."

"Well, I don't see how, how, err, the little red-and-white striped boy's condition makes a jot of difference in this situation," broke in Mr. Wonka before Harry could fly at Draco and bite him again. "I don't discriminate against short people, you know."

"Of course you don't," agreed Lucius, gazing fondly at Molly. She set down three sevens.

"Pop! You're supposed to be on my side!" Draco whined. Narcissa backed up her son's complaint with a swift clip to Lucius's ears. He sought consolation in Molly, who took the opportunity to sneak a look at his cards.

"Bah-hah-hah!" chortled Harry. "So it's between me and Draco. That's brilliant! I always beat Draco! It's in the script." He prepared to do a jig of victory.

"Not this time, cousin," said a thick, thuggish voice.

Everyone's eyes turned to the doorway. Nearly half a minute elapsed before Petunia cried: "Dinkydums!"

It was indeed Dudley Dursley, but he presented a most peculiar sight. He had lost a full foot in height and his weight was evenly distributed from shoulder to calf. If he'd been painted white, he'd be a dead ringer for a Roman column. A short, squat, walking Roman column.

"Hmm, the candy stick machine worked well," observed Mr. Wonka, who had probably forgotten Dudley's natural shape by now anyway. Petunia was too busy cuddling her son to argue.

"Oh, Diddlydums!" she cried, "are you all right?"

"A little seasick," Dudley replied - which explained the greenish cast to his complexion. "But well enough. Well enough to claim my share of the grand prize." He glared at Harry, who pretended to be a piece of peppermint candy.

"You fell in the river because you were guzzling it like a greedy sod," Draco pointed out. "My claim is still the best, admit it."

"He's right. You were drinking out of the river," agreed Lupin. It was probably just jealousy speaking.

"It's not Diddy's fault the bank wasn't strong enough," Petunia said, glaring.

"What is it with parents not being able to get their son's names right around here?" drawled Draco.

"What are you complaining about now, Kreckor?"

"Anyway," Draco continued, ignoring his father, "it's his own fault he fell in the river."

"But it's not my fault I was assaulted by bees!" cried a new voice. All eyes turned to the doorway once again - it was just one of those scenes. There stood Hermione, covered from head to foot in a thick yellow layer of pollen.

"Oh, well done Ms. Granger!" Dumbledore beamed around a mouthful of beef. "You outwitted the bees! Ten points to Gryffindor."

"I out-waited the bees," she corrected, stepping into the room. Greyback started sneezing at the puffs of pollen her every movement raised. "They finally got exhausted and went back to the hive." She located Harry and glowered. "It was you who sprayed me with an excess of the bee perfume. It's your fault I was attacked. Therefore, I think you should be disqualified and I should win the grand prize."

"Bah!" Big tears began falling from behind Harry's thick lenses. "Et tu, Hermione? Et tu? Why does everyone always blame me for everything?" He sniveled softly and blew his nose on his sleeve.

"Well, it was your fault!" retorted Hermione, exasperated that Harry seemed somehow to be winning the sympathy vote.

"You don't even like the factory," said Draco, cutting to the chase. "So why should you win the prize?"

"I found a Golden Ticket, same as you. That's why."

"That's a point," agreed Lucius.

"So only poor Ron is left out," said Arthur sadly.

"Ahem."

Their well-trained gazes flew to the doorway. This time it was Fabio who stood there, but it was the object in his right hand that drew the curious gazes. It was large and it was hairy. It was lumpy and bloated and almost exactly the color of fresh baby poo. Something that resembled a fat, shiny worm protruded from one end.

It was Peter Pettigrew.

"We have located the object that blocking the pipes in the Syrup Room," Fabio announced. He held it up. "This."

"Ewww," said Mr. Wonka. "Throw it away."

But before Fabio could reply, the unpleasant furry mass began to wobble and shift. A moment later, a short, balding fat man with a silvery hand lay quaking on the floor. "Ooogh," groaned Wormtail, "I cain't believe I et the 'ole thing. Brrrcckkcht!"

"Drop the stupid accent, Peter," Sirius demanded coldly.

"Fair enough," he agreed.

"So you're back, Wormtail," said Voldemort with distaste. "How wonderful. Someone give him a kick."

Snape was too busy gobbling chocolate to oblige, so Lupin did it instead. "Ow!" squealed Wormtail, rubbing the bruised portion of his anatomy. "What you gone and done that for, Remus?"

"Let's just say the desire has been building in me for a while."

"But you're supposed to be the nice one!"

"Am I?" Lupin thought about it. "Oh, right. Sorry about that, Peter. Let's make it up. Have some gum."

Wormtail popped it into his mouth without blinking. "Cor, urgh, whot a nasty flavor!" he complained, jaws working away.

"Keep at it. It gets better."

Wormtail obliged. In fact, it may have been impossible for his jaws to stop once they had been set in motion. "Cain't possibly get any worse. It's really nasty. Mushy an' a bit piggy -- "

Here Harry had to be physically prevented from wrenching Wormtail's jaws open and taking the gum for himself.

"And I just cain't say that I. . . that I. . . " Wormtail's pasty skin began flushing pink. "Blimey, I feel a bit queer."

Sirius, who had noticed the distinct maroon stripe on the piece of gum Lupin had handed him, chuckled grimly.

"Oh, urgh. . . I, um, I, um. . . " Wormtail trailed off as red hair began growing over his bald patch. His bones crackled as he grew several inches. The lard around his midsection vanished, and his small pointed nose grew long and thin. "I don't understand?" he finished in a distinctly changed but familiar voice.

"Oh, son, you're back!" cried Arthur in a hearty voice of feigned delight.

Ron stared around the room. He gazed at the ceiling and the floor with equal bewilderment. The very furniture seemed to mystify him. Slowly he located first the thick, tubular Dudley, then Hermione in her coating of yellow, and finally the five-inch Harry. His face cleared. "I see," he said in a tone of great relief. "None of it is supposed to make any sense whatsoever!"

"Oh, well done, Mr. Weasley!" Dumbledore beamed greasily. "Fifteen house points to Gryffindor."

"You can't give house points any more you senile old coot!" Harry cried. Harry was not going to allow anyone to get anything he couldn't.

Meanwhile Sirius was staring at Ron. "Do you think it's permanent?"

"No idea," replied Lupin. "You're not sorry are you?"

"No, not really. Ron's loads better than Wormtail. But now there's no chance of Peter dying a horrible, bloody, excruciatingly painful death."

"If Peter had died, he may have just hung around with you. Would that have been any better?"

Sirius reconsidered. "Maybe this is for the best. Anyway, it means that all the Ticket finders are back in contention, doesn't it?"

Sirius's words set off a flurry of claims. "I'm still the only one who wasn't shrunk or molested or transformed," insisted Draco. "It should be me."

"Duddders missed most of the tour," said Petunia. "He should get the special prize as a consolation."

"I'm the smartest and it wasn't my fault that I was cornered by the bees." Hermione sniffed loudly. "I should get the grand prize."

"Oh, give it to Ron," said Arthur. "Otherwise he'll sulk for hours and go on about how life isn't fair and he never gets anything good."

"Yeah!" agreed Ron, preparing to do just that.

"Sorry mates," said Harry. He was gloating so hard that slimy little ripples were practically emanating from his body. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. In the end, I always get what I deserve."

"It's not your decision," Voldemort insisted. "It's Mr. Wonka's. Everyone shut up and listen to him."

Everyone's attention shifted to the great candy maker, who put his hands behind his back and fidgeted. "Yes, precisely," he agreed, giggling a bit with nervousness. "You see, the reason I held this contest thing is because, well, some day. . . " His eyes took on a misty gleam. "Some day I'll be called into that great sugar field in the sky."

Voldemort took out a handkerchief and began blubbing.

"And when that day comes, I want to make sure that my factory and my candy-making secrets are in the best possible hands. So I sent out the tickets and resolved to give the factory to the finder I hated the least."

"That's me!" cried Harry.

"Like hell," countered Draco.

"But having met you all, I've changed my mind. I'm going to give it to Voldemort."

Voldemort literally fell out of the air. He lay on the floor twitching, but no sound came out.

"WHAT!!!!?????" shrieked Draco.

"BAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" screamed Harry. Dumbledore's pompadour stood straight up in indignation.

"But sir, Voldemort is the most evil wizard alive!" the old coot lectured. "You have no idea what he might -- "

"Voldemort is my biggest fan," Mr. Wonka interrupted. "He'll do just as I say. Plus I've heard rumors that he's immortal, so I'll never have to go through this heir-finding rigmarole again. And maybe he's been evil because he never got enough candy as a child. I know that would've warped me. A chocolate factory may be just the thing to reform him."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Voldemort, reviving and leaping to his feet. "I renounce my wicked ways! I will become a top class candy maker under your guidance Mr. Wonka sir!"

"And Fred and George will be your able assistants."

"Who, us?" The twins stared at each other. Slowly great grins of self-congratulations spread over their faces. "We have jobs!" Fred crowed.
"You already have jobs." Horror-stricken though she was by this turn of events, Hermione felt compelled to point out the facts. "Your joke shop in Diagon Alley?" she prodded, when they looked blank.

Comprehension slowly dawned. "Oh, yeah." They fretted a moment then shrugged in unison. "There are two of us," said Fred. "And since we look exactly alike, it's possible no one will ever even notice if one of us slips off to the factory every once in a while."

"But you'll be working under Voldemort!" she cried. "The most evil wizards who ever lived! Doesn't that bother you?"

This time they didn't have to think nearly as long. "Nah, I'm cool with it," said Fred.

"He's reformed anyway," said George.

"Yeah, I feel really sorry about all those murders and torture and black magic," said Voldemort earnestly. "I promise I'll never, ever do it again unless it's in the best interest of the chocolate factory."

"There, you see?" Fred and George exchanged high fives and then began swiveling their hips. "We rule! We rule! Oh yeah! We rule!"

"This is so not right!" Draco wailed. "I found a ticket! They just snuck in, and, and. . . "

"And Hagrid will be in charge of the monster pits," continued Mr. Wonka, oblivious. "And McGonagall can work on consignment - she has some interesting ideas. And then I have what's-her-name to imitate me at boring functions and the bald fellow in black to keep bothersome intruders out. . . " He rubbed his hands. "Oh, this is going so well! It's time I delegated some responsibility and took it easy for a bit. I mean, there's only so much you can give."

Harry raised a hand - which no one noticed because he was so small - and asked a question. "Pardon me," he demanded, "but am I to understand that everyone who skulked into the factory is getting rewarded while us Golden Ticket finders get nada?"

"You got the tour," said Mr. Wonka.

"Sorry, mate. Not good enough."

Yeah!" cried Ron, who had finally awakened to the fact that he was getting ripped off. "Want prize! Want prize!"

"I want something too!" whined Draco.

"You want a job?" said Mr. Wonka, looking puzzled. "Well, all right. The blonde boy there can take care of my puppets. He rather looks like one anyway."

Draco screamed in protest. Harry took a second to bah sadistically then went back to what he considered the heart of the matter: "But I didn't get a prize."

"I thought I told you I don't have any pig."

"If you gave me the factory I'd stock it with pig."

"I'm giving the factory to Voldemort."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Not possible. Voldemort's mine. I'm taking him with me."

"What?" exclaimed several very confused voices.

"The prophecy." Harry pulled a piece of bacon rind from between his teeth and nibbled as he explained. "I'm going to kill him. It's been foretold." He smacked his lips in a manner so irritating he must have practiced it.

"The one about, err, neither of you being able to live while the other's around or something?" asked Sirius.

"Yeah."

"Sibyl Trelawney's prophecy?" Lupin asked, just to be sure. "Crazy woman, big glasses, lots of scarves?"

"Yeah, that one. I mean, how many prophecies are there?" asked Harry, irritated.

"Hundreds, actually," said Snape, snitching a piece of chocolate from Greyback. "Each more stupid than the last. There's one about Gilderoy Lockhart flying to Rome on a giant banana and being anointed the next Pope."

"Yes, but that doesn't have anything to do with me," said Harry.

"So?"

"So it isn't all poignant and special and true." Harry swallowed his pork rind and belched like a professional. "The ones about me are the ones that matter."

"All prophecies are dubious at best," said Sirius. "Anyway, it's a poor excuse for acting as it you own Voldemort."

"We have, like, unfinished business," Harry declared melodramatically. "If I leave him to run the factory and toodle off into the sunset, what happens to my semi-mythical poetic destiny?"

"You can stuff it up your arse," suggested Voldemort helpfully.

Harry hit the ceiling, shrieking 'bah!' all the way. "You can just leave my arse out of it," he said when he landed again. "Whot, am I just supposed to forget my mum and dad and how you murdered them?"

The question fizzled in an embarrassed silence. So far as anyone could tell, Harry had never shown the slightest interest in avenging his parents' deaths on Voldemort. On Sirius, yes, particularly after he had discovered Sirius was innocent.

"I suppose he has a legitimate grudge," said Tonks slowly.

"Yeah, but this isn't about legitimacy," said Sirius, slouching and glaring at his godson. "This is about Harry refusing to let anyone get anything he wants."

"Still, perhaps it would be better to settle the issue now," said Lupin. "I don't want Harry sneaking into the factory and doing God-knows-what to the chocolate just to get back at Voldemort."

"We do have our priorities, don't we, Remus?" Sirius smirked.

"I agree," said Narcissa. "I'm sick of all this nonsense. I'm tired of having the Death Eaters over for dinner at the mansion. It always ends up in a wind-breaking contest. Let's settle this now."

"Yeah!" screeched Harry, pumping his fists.

Voldemort smiled coldly. "So, you're willing to duel the most powerful wizard alive, are you? Brave, but oh so very foolish, boy."

Snape groaned inwardly. The Dark Lord's voice had taken on that fey, wispy quality it inevitably developed whenever he was feeling melodramatic. He was beginning to prance a bit and wave his hands lightly through the air, as if milking a giant invisible cow. Why did Voldemort always have to turn into such a queen whenever a serious threat was in the offering?

"I wouldn't advise a duel, my Lord," Snape said aloud.

Voldemort turned to him with a frigid smile. "You doubt my abilities, Severus?"

"Your magical abilities, no. Your ability to finish off Harry Potter? Indeed I do. The last time you had him at your mercy you had to gloat, make speeches, chat with the Death Eaters, and then give him back his bloody wand!"

Voldemort flushed pale green. "Look, stop bringing up that graveyard thing, will you?" he asked, sounding like his usual squeaky self again. "I'd just gotten revived. I was overexcited. It was a really big moment for me and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I wasn't really thinking of a duel either," put in Harry, who had suddenly remembered it had been months since he'd put any work into his spelling.

"Well, then how do you intend to settle this?" Sirius asked impatiently. "A belching contest?"

That seemed all right with Harry and Voldemort.

"No, no!" Snape held up his hands. "You'd never be able to agree on a winner."

"And we can out-burp you any day," Fred added.

Harry and Voldemort stopped stockpiling gas. "So what do you want me to do?" asked Voldemort, frustrated.

"How about a nice, sincere apology?" suggested Mr. Wonka brightly.

Well, since it was Mr. Wonka, Voldemort obeyed at once. "I'm really sorry about killing your parents and trying to kill you, Harry," he said. "And I'll never do it again, promise."

"Oh, a lot of good that does me," Harry whined. "What about all the other wrongs you done me? What about the Philosopher's Stone trouble in my first year? And in my second year everyone blamed me for opening the Chamber of Secrets? My third year would have been great if you hadn't set Pettigrew on me -- "

"I didn't!" Voldemort protested. (Ron belched as if something was backing up on him; it was probably Wormtail trying to reassert himself.)

"And what about my fourth year when all those strange, slanty-eyed people were wandering the halls of Hogwarts and grunting at me?"

This accusation puzzled everyone until Draco said: "Are you referring to the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang by any chance?"

"Yeah, whatever. All them wog folk."

"Yeah!" seconded Ron, remembering he was supposed to fly into a rage of jealousy at the slightest reference to Viktor Krum. Then he thought about Fleur Delacour and got a soppy expression on his face. Hermione, who knew very well what he was thinking, stepped on his foot.

"I had nothing to do with the foreign exchange students," said Voldemort heatedly.

"You planned the whole Triwizard Tournament thing, didn't you?" Harry demanded.

"Well. . . sort of. I don't really remember. I was kind of small and withered back then." He shook his head. "But you can't blame me for all your stupid friends thinking you opened the Chamber of Secrets! And nobody told you that you personally were responsible for keeping safe the Philosopher's Stone. There were several older and vastly more experience wizards on the job."

"What about all those nasty visions you sent me during my fifth year?"

"Hey, you think I enjoyed that either?" asked Voldemort, nettled. "Night after night of dreams about mounds of pig flesh and nasty things to do with one's wand. Wasn't like I got a scrap of useful information out of it and I'd wake up burping pig fat in the morning."

"You poor thing," sympathized Mr. Wonka, handing him a praline.

"And then in my sixth year you killed Professor Dumbledore!" Harry managed to make himself weep, mostly by pinching himself very hard.

"Snape killed him," Voldemort corrected.

"On your orders!"

"Professor Snape is a goody," interrupted Dumbledore, waving around a half-eaten burger. "Why, I'd trust him with my life."

"You did," said Draco, "and look where it got you."

Confused, Dumbledore looked at himself. He beheld a doddering old coot in tight pants and a sequined jacket, his greasy gray pompadour perched on his head like an unsuccessful soufflé. Contented that everything was just as it should be, he polished off the burger and then helped himself to some chips.

Sirius cleared his throat. "You left out killing me, Harry."

Harry looked blank.

"At the Department of Mysteries? We came to save you? Fifth year?"

Remembrance slowly dawned. "Oh yeah. You killed my godfather! Boo-hoo!"

"Bellatrix did it," Voldemort corrected.

"And you killed Cedric Diggory!"

"Wormtail killed him."

"On your orders!"

"Why are you complaining about that one anyway?" Voldemort demanded. "As I recall, the second Cedric toppled over dead you started cackling and dancing around his body shouting: 'that's what you get for beating me at Quidditch, mate.'"

"Harry, you didn't!" cried Hermione, shocked.

"Of course I didn't," Harry quickly lied.

"Look, you're the one who insisted Cedric take hold of the Triwizard Cup. You're the one who was so bloody sure Sirius was at the Department of Mysteries, despite everyone telling you otherwise. You're the one who just had to go mucking around after the Philosopher's Stone. And you know, you could have sat back and come in last at the Triwizard Tournament. But that doesn't work for you, does it? No, you had to try and win the damn thing, even if it meant cheating and letting others do all the work for you. Stop blaming me for everything and look at your own actions."

"No! No! I'm perfect! I'm innocent! I'm the Boy-Who-Lived! It's all about me, dammit!" Harry foamed at the mouth.

"Not here it isn't," interrupted Mr. Wonka. "This is my factory, so here it's all about me."

Glad to have a new target to vent spleen upon, Harry turned to the great candy-maker. "No! Wrong! Your bloody candy factory is just the setting! The story is all about me! ME!!!!!!"

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

Headaches began making their reappearance around the room.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Give it up, Harry," pleaded Lupin. "In the end, what you're arguing is Mr. Wonka's right to give the factory to Voldemort. Well, it is his factory so he can. Why don't you just go back to Hogwarts and have some spare ribs?"

Harry deliberated. He actually seemed to be considering Lupin's words. Then he calmly threw himself on his face and began chewing a hole through the tiles.

"Harry!" Hermione reproved. "Don't mess up the floor!"

Harry looked up and grinned. "The floor is just the beginning. Just you wait. By the time I get through with it, this factory will resemble a Swiss cheese."

"Just because Mr. Wonka's giving it to Voldemort?"

"Yeah. S'not right. If it can't be mine, it shouldn't be nobody's."

Draco looked for a moment as if he agreed with the sentiment. Then he decided that was too low, even for a Malfoy, and looked scandalized instead.

"It's okay." Voldemort raised his wand. "I'll just kill him."

"Can't." Harry gloated. "You promised to reform. You said you'd never do anything bad again. That means you can't send your Death Eaters out after me either."

Voldemort looked at Snape. He shrugged. "The boy has a point," Snape said reluctantly. "If you're serious about reforming."

"If I don't reform, I can't run the chocolate factory," said Voldemort, and the newly chocolate-loving Snape nodded; that was too severe a penalty. "But I can't just let Harry ruin everything!"

Harry grinned and returned to gnawing. He'd already made a sizeable crater in the floor.

"Never you fear." Mr. Wonka calmly stepped forward. "As I said, it's my chocolate factory. "I'll defend it myself."

Harry scrambled eagerly out of the crater, his wand in his hand and a fart in his bum. One of them, he was certain, could do in the great candy-maker. Against Voldemort he may have been uncertain, but he had no fear of the man with the funny hat and pageboy hairdo.

Mr. Wonka stood at the ready, without a single weapon at hand save for his cane. But everyone knew that couldn't cast a single protective spell, and they'd already paid witness to both the power of Harry's stench and the sharpness of his teeth. "He's toast, isn't he Pop?" Draco whispered and Lucius nodded miserably. He was thinking of all the awful things Harry would do to the Oompa-Loompas once he gained control of the factory.

"Surely Mr. Wonka will come up with something?" pleaded Ron. Hermione shook her head.

"Harry is the only person in the world to survive the Killing Curse. He's naturally immune to the Imperius Curse, he's the youngest Quidditch player at Hogwarts in a century, he's a Parselmouth, and he mastered the Patronus spell at age thirteen. He's practically a Mary Sue. Poor Mr. Wonka hasn't a chance."

Poor Mr. Wonka seemed confident for all that. He reached into his pocket and everyone tensed, hoping to see him pull out a weapon of awesomely powerful potential. But all that emerged was a sad little square of candy, wrapped in wax paper. It looked like a piece of vanilla taffy.

Harry chortled. "I'm not dumb enough to eat that, mate!" He raised his wand.

"Oh, no. It's for me." Mr. Wonka popped it in his mouth and chewed.

Again everyone tensed. "Maybe lasers will shoot out of his eyes!" cried Arthur, trembling with excitement.

"Maybe he'll turn into a ravening monster," said McGonagall.

"He could become super fast and strong," said Draco, thinking it would be rather dreamy if he did.

"Or maybe he'll become smart enough to think up a solution very quickly," said Hermione.

"Hush," advised Lupin. "Let's see what does happen."

They fell silent. Harry paused warily, perhaps making some of the same conjectures as the watchers. But a few seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The sense of hope faded, as if the air was being sucked out of the room. Harry cackled and advanced. "Guess you lose, mate!" he gloated, raising his wand and lifting his bum.

The candy-maker cleared his throat. "And Harry Potter vanished in a puff of green smoke," Mr. Wonka enunciated clearly. "He materialized far away, in a deep jungle surrounded by half-naked painted cannibals."

And Harry did.