Cornelius looked out the window of the Leaky Cauldron, astounded by the long line of witches and wizards winding down the street, scarcely able to believe so many had turned up. "It looks like we've got our work cut out for us today," he said as Ted joined him at the window.
"Hmm," Ted nodded in agreement. "Good jobs that don't require a Hogwarts education are hard to come by, but I think the lion's share of the turnout is thanks to Rita's article getting the word out."
"Maybe a little too well," Cornelius observed. "We only have the finances to recruit ten witches and wizards. Most of them are going to leave empty-handed."
"We'll take their names," Ted replied. "They'll be on the short list for the next round of hiring."
"Next round?" Cornelius quirked an eyebrow. "Already thinking that far ahead?"
"Always," Ted smiled. "To be honest, this idea's been living rent-free in my head for the better part of a decade. I never had the finances to pull it off myself, or an investor willing to give me the time of day — at least until now."
"I'm surprised you're not running the operation yourself," Cornelius replied honestly. "From what I've seen, you're more than capable."
"Running this business is a full-time job," Ted replied, glancing meaningfully at Harry. "And I'm happy with the one I have."
"I can understand that," Cornelius replied, following his gaze. "Thank you for trusting me with it."
"You're the best man for the job," Ted smiled. "Both Harry and I agree. You'll take this a lot further than I can, and a lot faster, I'd wager."
"Don't sell yourself short," Cornelius laughed. "This idea of yours — industrial brewing. It's revolutionary, even Snape agrees," he said, using the term Ted coined for it. "A higher quality product at a significantly cheaper price. Wolfsbane is just the beginning. Once we nail down the process, we can expand to any number of other healing potions."
"Do you think that will be a problem for the other potion brewers?" Harry asked, overhearing their conversation. "I don't like the idea of taking away someone's livelihood if we can help it."
"Harry," Cornelius greeted, clapping him on the shoulder with a smile. "I had the same thought as well, and not to worry, I've already talked to them — explained what we're doing. They're all on board."
"On board?" Harry asked, wondering what Cornelius could have offered them.
Cornelius nodded. "I hope you don't mind, but I expanded on Ted's initial business proposal. Setting up a supply chain of this size from scratch would have taken years — decades, even. That's time we don't have, and frankly a waste of resources when perfectly good supply chains already exist."
"They were a bit leery about it at first," Cornelius continued. "But after I told them about the sheer volume of potion ingredients we'd require, and how we wanted to leverage their supply networks to get them instead of competing with them, they came around pretty fast."
"They get a volume discount from their suppliers, which reduces their own brewing costs. They'll also charge us a small markup, giving them an additional source of revenue they wouldn't have had otherwise, and we still get the ingredients cheaper than if we set up those same supply chains ourselves. Everyone wins."
"Why does it take so long to set up supply chains?" Harry asked curiously.
"Potion brewing and cultivation are largely family businesses," Cornelius explained. "Those relationships are generational, going back hundreds, if not thousands of years. Trust is paramount with them, and we won't have any if we go in alone."
"It all sounds good," Harry agreed, "but we're still undercutting their prices, aren't we? Won't that reduce their sales?"
"Yes and no," Cornelius replied. "Wolfsbane Potion is going to be our main focus for the foreseeable future, even after Greyback is dealt with, and virtually no one is brewing the potion commercially due to its complexity and risk of failure."
"I've already had preliminary discussions with a few European wizarding countries, and they're interested, especially at the prices we're offering. After we prove the concept, the plan is to branch out into other medical potions which represents only a small percentage of their business, leaving them to focus on the cosmetic and various household potions they make the majority of their galleons on."
"If you three are done counting galleons you haven't earned yet," Severus called out from the interview table, an unamused expression on his face. "Perhaps we can get started."
"Quite right," Cornelius replied, chuckling ruefully. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Tom, if you wouldn't mind letting in the first five candidates?" He asked as they joined Snape at the interview table.
"Thank you for coming," Cornelius said with a practiced smile to the first five candidates as they walked in. "We would first like —"
"Do any of you have any prior potion-brewing experience?" Severus cut it.
The first four shook their heads, looking downcast, while the fifth nodded hesitantly.
"And what's the most advanced potion you've brewed — successfully?" Severus asked.
"The boil-curing potion," the man mumbled, his face flushing.
Severus sighed heavily. "The boil-curing potion? That's it? Any first year could brew that," he dismissed. "None of you are what we're looking for. See yourselves out," he said bluntly.
The candidates all looked downcast, shuffling to the door.
"Wait," Harry called out, shooting a mild glare at the Potions Professor. "I'm sorry," he said when they turned around. "Professor Snape is right. We need potion brewers with prior experience—"
"You could teach us," the man cut in. "I'm a quick learner. I taught myself how to brew the boil curing potion from a twenty-year-old textbook with half its pages missing."
"What's your name?" Harry asked.
"Adam," the man replied.
"Adam," Harry repeated. "The potion we need to brew is wolfsbane. It's a very advanced potion, and to teach you what you need to know would take months. That's time we don't have —"
"Years," Severus interrupted. "And I have neither the time nor the inclination to correct all the bad habits you've no doubt picked up over the years."
"Oh," Adam mumbled, visibly deflating, the hopeful expression dropped from his face.
"We plan to expand the business in the future," Cornelius said, filling the uncomfortable silence. "And it will include on-the-job training, so if you have the drive to succeed and make something of yourself, I suggest you re-apply then."
"Thank you," Adam said, looking a little more hopeful as he and the other four candidates filed out.
"Do you plan to do that for all of them?" Severus asked pointedly. "If you are, I have better things to do with my time."
Harry sighed heavily, glancing at the long line of people still waiting outside to be interviewed. "You don't need to be so rude about it," he replied, meeting Severus's gaze.
"Don't I?" Severus asked with a raised eyebrow. "There's well over two hundred witches and wizards out there waiting to be interviewed, and we can only hire ten of them."
"Maybe I can help with that," Tom offered. "I'll talk to them outside and let in the next five that have actual brewing experience."
"Thank you, Tom," Ted replied gratefully.
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as the next five candidates walked out. True to his word, Tom had sent in candidates with brewing experience, but well below the threshold they needed.
'Swelling solution,' he thought, shaking his head. Another first-year potion, and not a particularly complex one at that.
The next five were little better, with only one of them able to brew a Sleeping Draught, which put him firmly at a third-year level and still far below the experience level they needed.
"This is a waste of time," Severus said, leaning back in his chair after another hour of fruitless interviews.
"No one said this was going to be easy," Harry replied, his own hopes dimming as the reality of their task set in. "What's the minimum you need if we limit ourselves to brewing one cauldron at a time?"
".. Three," Severus said after a moment's thought. "But they would have to be exceptional. I won't have time to hold anyone's hand, nor can I do the work myself, " he said, rubbing his injured arm. "They'll need to know exactly what they're doing."
Harry glanced out of the window. Nearly two-thirds of the witches and wizards that came were already gone, most with no potion brewing experience at all, and already weeded out by Tom.
When the next five candidates walked in, he immediately zeroed in on one of them. The anxious woman on the left. Something was off about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Trust your instincts," Merlin advised. "She's clearly afraid, but it doesn't seem to be directed at anyone here."
'Her clothes are old, but well cared for, at least until recently,' Harry thought, noting the stains on her dress and the musty smell. Following a hunch, he narrowed his eyes, expanded his senses — a werewolf.
"She doesn't appear to be hostile," Merlin observed. "She would have attacked by now if she were."
Harry nodded mentally, acknowledging the point, but still leery. 'We can't be sure. Greyback's already proved he's more than capable of playing the long game.'
He returned his attention to the woman, placing a hand on the hilt of his wand as Snape questioned her about her brewing experience, looking for any other signs he might have missed.
"The Draught of Peace," the woman mumbled, fidgeting with her hands as she kept her eyes glued to the floor.
"What was that?" Severus asked sharply, thinking he'd misheard her.
"The Draught of Peace," the woman said, a little louder this time.
"And how long ago was that?" Severus asked, seeing an actual glimmer of hope since this farce began.
"…About twelve years ago," the woman replied.
"What school did you attend?" Severus continued, sitting up as he scribbled a note on his parchment.
"…I thought… the ad said," the woman stammered, looking back and forth between the door, looking like she was getting ready to bolt.
"Nevermind the ad," Severus dismissed. "What school did you attend? What was the last year you completed? I need to understand what you're actually capable of if you're going to work for me."
"Hogwarts," the woman replied, her nervous expression dissolving into shock at the prospect of actually getting hired.
"Hogwarts?" Severus repeated. "I assume you brewed the Draught during your time there?"
The woman nodded.
"I don't remember you," Severus said bluntly. "I would have taught you, or attended Hogwarts at the same time as you."
".. I was a Hufflepuff," the woman replied. "And we attended Hogwarts at the same time. You were two years ahead of me."
"What's your name?" Severus demanded, unable to place her face.
"Amy Blackhurst," the woman replied.
"Did you graduate?" Severus continued.
Amy shook her head.
"Why not? You would have already been in seventh year to brew the Draught of Peace," Severus asked.
"You said that werewolves could apply," Amy asked softly, addressing Harry this time. "Was that true?"
"Yes," Harry replied. "We won't hold being a werewolf against you, provided you don't harm anyone. Can you control the change?"
Amy nodded. "Long enough to get someplace where I won't risk hurting anyone."
Harry nodded. "We can provide you with a safe place to transform. Are there any others in the same situation as you?"
Amy shook her head, a faraway look in her eyes. "I don't know. I was in Azkaban until yesterday — the others, they left as soon as we got off the island — I don't know where."
Harry nodded, his earlier apprehension fading at the sincerity in her tone.
Severus stood up, opening a wooden box on the table and rummaging through it. "I assume you know what this is," he said, placing it on the table.
"Hellebore," Amy nodded.
"Correct," Severus replied, his expression giving nothing away. "Tell me what you know about it."
"It's the key ingredient in the Draught of Peace," Amy explained, recalling what she read in her potions textbook all those years ago. "It's highly toxic and must be handled with extreme care to extract the syrup."
"And how would you extract it?" Severus asking, testing if she was actually as skilled as she seemed.
"First, you separate the flower from the root. Then submerge the roots in water — only enough to cover the roots, no more. Then boil to extract the syrup. Remove the roots when dark blue flakes appear and continue boiling until it reaches the proper consistency and turns a uniform bluish-green," Amy answered.
"Demonstrate it for me," Severus said, handing Amy the hellebore. "You will find everything you require over there," he said, pointing to a table he'd set up earlier in the far corner of the pub.
"She is the obvious choice," Severus said, watching as Amy extracted the syrup. "Provided, of course, she doesn't screw it up now."
"She won't," Harry said, watching Amy work. "She was nervous when she was talking to us, but look at her now. Her hands aren't shaking anymore. She knows exactly what she's doing."
Severus nodded in agreement. "She's not a potion master, but she at least knows what she's doing."
"We still have a lot of candidates lets. Let's continue with the rest of the interviews," Cornelius suggested.
Harry sat back in his chair three hours later, letting out a long sigh. They hadn't got the ten candidates they'd hoped for, but the four they hired were at least a solid start — two muggleborns and a half-blood rounding out their workforce.
"It was to be expected," Merlin offered. "Potion brewing isn't just about following instructions. There's an art to it. For the gifted, it comes instinctively, but for most it takes years, if not decades, of study."
Harry cracked a smile, gaining a new insight into why Professor Snape always seemed to be in a bad mood.
"You're probably closer to the truth than you think," Merlin replied, seeing the humor in it as well.
An angry shout suddenly pierced the air, erasing Harry's good mood. He shot to his feet, Ted and Cornelius right behind him as he shoved open the door to the Cauldron.
Drawing his wand, he set off a loud bang, silencing the crowd. "What's going on he?" he demanded. "Has there been another attack?"
"You lied, that's what!" A red-faced man shouted, shoving his way through the crowd. "You said there were jobs! No Hogwarts education required!" he added, fist clenched around a copy of the Quibbler. "I risked my life coming here, just to be turned away before I could even step inside!"
Harry took a slow breath before responding. "What's your name?" He asked, keeping his tone even.
"Walt," the man grumbled.
"Alright, Walt," Harry replied. "We're looking for people who can brew Wolfsbane. I don't care where any of you learned how to brew," he said, speaking up for the rest of the crowd to hear. "If you have the skill, I have a job for you."
"Wolfsbane?" Walt said, furrowing his brows for a moment before it dawned on him. "You've got to be kidding me," he growled, shaking his head in disbelief. "You've seen what they've done… you know better than anyone. Why? Why would you help those animals?" He demanded, the crowd growing more agitated by the second as they learned what the potion did.
"It's more complicated than that," Cornelius said, stepping forward. "A lot of these werewolves are just like you. They're struggling to get by, wondering how they're going to put food on the table. How to keep a roof over their heads. We haven't made it any easier for them--"
"So what?!" another man in the crowd interrupted angrily. "I lost friends, I lost family," he said, his voice cracking. "They killed them in the street — like they were nothing."
"And what's the alternative?" Harry asked, his jaw tight as memories of the battle on the steps of Gringotts flashed before his eyes. "That I go out and kill every werewolf I find?"
"I saw what you did at Hogwarts," the man accused. "You can kill them — kill all of them. You could have killed Greyback at the Ministry. If you had…" the man said, tightening his fists. "Then-"
"That's enough," Ted said, placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Do you even know what you're asking? I-"
"Do you think it's easy?" Harry interrupted, his voice flat as he shrugged off Ted's hand, "To take a life? To snuff out everything a person is? What they'll ever become? To carry that burden for the rest of your life?"
The man fell silent, the dull roar of the crowd going silent around him at the furious expression on Harry's face.
"No, of course you don't," Harry said quietly, staring out across the silent crowd. "None of you do. You don't understand death. You don't understand war. But you pretend well enough, I'll give you that much. It's easy, isn't it? Sitting on the sidelines while someone else does the fighting — the dying," he added, shutting his eyes tightly as his mind flashed back to the monument sitting at Hogwarts — at his friends that didn't make it through.
"Harry," Cornelius said heavily, placing a hand on his shoulder, casting a weary glance at the crowd. "I'm sorry… Let's talk inside."
"No," Harry shook his head. "I want them to hear this," he said, pointing an angry finger at the crowd. "We are not innocent. We spent decades creating the conditions for this werewolf uprising. Do you think Greyback could have recruited nearly as many werewolves as he did otherwise?"
"They still chose him," a woman spoke up hesitantly from the back. "They still chose to do what they did."
Harry turned on his heel, not bothering to respond, feeling a bone-weary exhaustion with all of it as he walked back inside the Leaky Cauldron, leaving the crowd behind.
***
Tonks stood beside Saul Croaker in a nearby alley, shrouded in shadows, casting a worried glance at Harry's retreating back, then at her father as he followed after him.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked softly.
"I wanted you to see," Saul replied simply, a small smile on his face.
"See what?" Tonks demanded, at a loss for why Croaker did any of the things he did, her frustration finally boiling over after dealing with weeks of his cryptic non-answers.
"Why are you doing any of this? Opening those portals for Greyback? Turning the people against Harry? All this death and destruction. What's it all for?"
"That's disappointing," Saul said, shaking his head. "I thought you would have figured it out by now."
"Figured what out?" Tonks demanded. "You never tell me anything!"
"Him," he said, watching Harry's retreating form. "His family threw him out of his home, and he opened Merlin's vault. He spent his school year fighting a cult and re-discovered the three forbidden arts all on his own. He fought a demonic entity and, for a short time, became the most powerful wizard that ever lived. Are you seeing the pattern that's emerging?"
Tonks stared back at Croaker in stunned silence.
"A lump of coal only becomes a diamond when pressure is applied," Saul continued. "That's what the werewolves are — pressure, and it's already borne fruit. The magic he fights them with now — it's never existed before, and unlike what he did at Hogwarts its not tied to the portal the entity opened. He's can call upon that magic any time he chooses. Imagine the magic he will create tomorrow, or the day after that?" he asked.
***
Albus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shredded Quirrel's most recent letter, deeply regretting his decision to offer the DADA position to the man at all.
He had expected a certain level of independence from the man — for him to rise to the occasion, not the needy man-child he had ended up with.
His lack of response should have been enough to get the point across, but Quirrel seemed hell bent on missing the bloody hint.
"Everything alright, my boy?" Nicholas said, looking down at the shredded parchment on the ground with a raised eyebrow.
"Just some problems back home," Albus dismissed, vanishing the remains of the letter with the new wand he'd acquired after the Elder Wand stopped working for him.
"Hmm," Nicholas said, nodding sympathetically. "I know — it's difficult letting go after holding on so tight for so long, but you made the right decision to step back when you did."
Albus let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping, exhausted by all the lies and half-truths he'd been forced to maintain over the decades just to keep everything running.
"Come on," Nicholas said, patting Albus's back. "Let's not keep Prenelle waiting. Any longer and she's liable to send out a search party for us."
Albus cracked a smile as he followed his mentor up the old stone steps of the château ruins they'd spent the better part of the last few hours painstakingly combing through. "Did she find it?" he asked hopefully.
Nicholas nodded, not doubting his wife for a second. "Don't tell her this," he joked. "I don't want her to get a swelled head, but she's much better at this stuff than me — much more sensitive to magical energies."
"Nicholas, Albus," Prenelle smiled from the center of the courtyard. "This is it," she said, placing the phoenix egg on the ground.
"Here?" Albus asked, curiously looking around the ruins. As far as he could tell, nothing about this place seemed remotely special.
"It's not the château itself," Prenelle explained patiently. "It's only existed for about a thousand years. What it's built on is what matters."
"As far as we can tell, there were at least two previous wizarding civilizations that resided in this place," Nicholas explained. "Dwellings carved into the cliff face go back about six thousand years, and beneath the château there's a network of caves that go back about fifteen thousand years."
"What happened to them?" Albus asked curiously.
"What happens to most wizarding societies, I guess," Nicholas said with a shrug of his shoulders. "They were either killed or conquered by another society."
"By muggles you mean," Albus replied flatly, uncomfortable memories of his sister's death rising to the surface, and how it nearly ruined his family name.
"Most likely," Prenelle agreed, her smile fading at the expression on Albus's face. "You have to remember, Albus, magic was in its infancy back then. Wands, if they even existed at that time, were rudimentary at best. It was long before we developed the wards to repel muggles. It's actually a miracle our ancestors even made it out of that period."
"I suppose that explains why they lived in caves," Albus said thoughtfully. "The natural protection it offered from the elements, and a place they could hide from the Muggles, but why place the Phoenix egg here?" He asked curiously. "Wouldn't the magic be more concentrated in the caves where the earliest civilization would have lived?"
"That's what we assumed as well," Nicholas replied, "but when we tested for it, we found something very interesting. Not just here, but other ruins as well."
"Oh?" Albus asked.
"Magic doesn't like to stay in one place," Prenelle explained. "It's almost like a living entity itself. It doesn't simply spread out in every direction, equalizing the concentration of magic across the world. In some instances, it latches on and forms pockets of highly concentrated magical areas."
"How does that happen?" Albus asked curiously, feeling very much like a wet behind the ears Hogwarts graduate again as he questioned his mentors.
"No idea," Nicholas laughed, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But certainly a worthy endeavor for a much younger wizard," he added, looking at Albus meaningfully. "One who may have found himself with more free time than he knows what to do with."
Albus cracked a smile at the not-so-subtle hint, feeling another stab of guilt at keeping the truth from them — why he was really here, and what he had truly lost.
"I've been keeping something from you," Albus said with a heavy sigh, having danced around the topic for weeks and finally too exhausted with it to all to keep up the facade any longer.
"I didn't step down as Supreme Mugwump like the newspapers say," Albus confessed. "I was forced out," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone.
"We know, Albus," Prenelle said gently, walking up to the boy she thought of as a son, and pulling him into a tight hug.
"You knew?" Albus stiffened. "For how long?"
Nicholas chuckled, hi eyes dancing with mirth as he patted Albus on the back. "You're not as clever as you think, my boy. We," he said, wrapping his arm around Pernell's shoulder. "Have forgotten more about politics than you will ever know, and we are very good at reading between the lines."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Albus stuttered, looking back and forth between them, a pit forming in his stomach as he wondered what else they might have figured out.
"Well… it has been a lot of fun watching you squirm," Nicholas laughed.
"Nick," Prenelle said, shoving him playfully.
"We knew you would tell us in your own time," Nicholas said sincerely. "And when you get to be our age, all you have is time."
Albus nodded wistfully, wondering what it was like to have all the time in the world, and nothing left to do with it. It sounded oddly peaceful, but as much as he wished he could sit back and relax, there was too much work still left to do.
The country was already falling apart without him — the Wizengamot running around like chickens with their heads cut off — Greyback making a nuisance of himself. He had to return and repair his beleaguered reputation.
"How long will it be before the phoenix hatches?" he asked.
"That's difficult to say," Prenelle replied thoughtfully. "With magic involved, there's never an exact timeline… but, five, perhaps six years."
"Six years?" Albus breathed. He couldn't wait six years. The British public would forget all about him by then.
"These things can't be rushed, my boy," Nicholas said, putting a comforting hand on Albus's shoulder. "Nor should they be."
Albus sighed deeply, his plans slipping through his fingers yet again. Returning on its own wasn't enough. He needed something to capture the attention of the wizarding public, a rallying cry. The phoenix was supposed to do that.
"Let's head back," Nicholas suggested. "No sense waiting around here."
"You two go ahead," Albus replied. "I would just like a few moments alone."
Prenelle nodded understandingly. "Come on, Nick," she said softly, taking her husband's arm. "And Albus? Don't take too long. I'll have lunch ready soon."
Albus nodded, waiting until they apparated away before approaching the phoenix egg sitting on the ground beside it. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands as he examined the shell.
The egg was ancient, thousands of years old, and the phoenix that dwelled inside — even more so. If the legends were to be believed, an eternal being. Dying, only to be re-born again and again in a never-ending cycle.
"To think," Albus murmured. "The things you must have seen — experienced. The rise and fall of countless civilizations, perhaps even the moment our kind emerged from the primordial ooze. To have that kind of time," he thought wistfully.
He let out a long sigh, placing the egg back on the ground before he stood up truly feeling his age in that moment. It had been the main reason he distanced himself from his mentors — seeing the passage of time affect only himself. Getting older and slower until he reached the point he looked even older than his mentors.
Watching Harry's rise to prominence from the outside — without his guidance, his influence was its own special kind of torture — that was what he truly feared. Irrelevance, being forgotten, seen as nothing more than a footnote in another wizard's story.
He looked down at his hands — at the wrinkles, the scars — all hard fought and won, but he had fewer days in front of him than behind him, and the legacy he'd built over decades was eroding piece by piece, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Even Eliphas, his most trusted confidant and friend, spoke of retirement now. He'd already wound down his law office, only sticking around until he wrapped up the last of his open cases, then he would go off to Spain to live out his remaining years.
He remembered Eliphas's last words to him — telling him they'd had a good run, that perhaps the exposure of Evergreen was a sign — that what they had been doing all these years was a young man's game. How they'd been extraordinarily lucky to avoid Azkaban.
Albus rubbed his stiff legs, looking around at the half-faded murals of a wizarding society that had been erased from collective memory. Thousands of years of history and tradition gone, forgotten — as if it had never existed in the first place.
He couldn't help but draw uncomfortable parallels to his own life and how little time he had left to establish his legacy.
If only he could take the egg to Hogwarts like he and the Flamel's had originally planed, where the magic was far stronger, far more concentrated, but with the quarantine in place, returning to Britain was impossible — he'd tried, multiple times, calling in the few favors he had left, speaking at length with the few that would even answer his floo calls, only to be rebuffed — told in no uncertain terms that any attempt to break the quarantine would result in a prison sentence.
***
Hi! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. What did you think about Saul's reappearance in the story, and what it means for Harry?
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