Disclaimer: Watch were you set stuff down less you come back with a stubbed toe.
*****
Sprocket awoke at his usual time that morning and got to work with the dawn's early light with the other men in his employer's new business enterprise. The goblin was unsurprised when the shop foreman waved him over the minute the man arrived.
"You're the new man so I want you to stick with me this morning so I can get a good idea of what you're capable of. Doesn't mean I don't trust you or don't think your skills are up to par, just that I need to see 'em for myself before I can best place you."
"That is reasonable," Sprocket allowed.
"Glad 'ye agree," the corner's of the foreman's mustache twitched upwards. "Why don't 'ye start by checkin over the saddle tank. Safe bet that the girls are gonna be all over it the minute the get down here."
"Yes, foreman," Sprocket said respectfully.
The foreman didn't say a word, seemingly content to just watch and occasionally assist when needed while Sprocket went about his duties. Something similar would have never occurred at Gringotts, no higher ranked goblin would ever give up the privilege of work to one of his subordinates especially not on something as important as an engine. Still, different did not mean better or worse, just different, Sprocket reminded himself.
"Good job," the foreman broke his silence as the job came to a close. "Very good job. I have no complaints at all regarding the quality of your work."
Sprocket stayed silent, unsure of the correct protocol to deal with the situation among humans.
"Makes my decision a whole lot easier anyway," the foreman mumbled, half to himself. "Wouldn't extend the offer if you couldn't do it."
Sprocket took that as a hopeful sign.
"Thing is, we don't need anymore men in the regular crews and bringing in someone new would risk ruining a level of teamwork we've spent years building."
The goblin's sphincter clenched.
"So what I'd like to propose is that I assign you to this engine as it's chief of maintenance and as a general assistant to the girls. I have no doubt that they'll keep you busy considering how busy they keep themselves."
"I would be responsible for the maintenance of the employer's personal locomotive?" Sprocket asked intently, wanting to be sure he wasn't misunderstanding.
"And to whatever other projects the girls decided to work on," the foreman agreed. "Quickly as things have been moving, I wouldn't be surprised to see you with your own crew and a dozen more engines to take care of afore the year is out. Don't hesitate to sing out if you need a hand or twelve till that happens."
"I will not permit pride to sabotage the chance you have given me, foreman, you have my word on that," Sprocket said seriously. To be given responsibility for a piece of equipment was enough to have made him deliriously happy, but to be given charge of the chief's personal engine? Sprocket would cut his throat rather than live to face the shame of failure.
IIIIIIIIII
Flint was overcome by a sense of nostalgia as she walked through the gates of her alma mater for the first time in well over a decade. The faces may have changed but everything else was just as she remembered it. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the sense of tension every time one group got too close to another consisting of a rival house. Far as she was concerned the only things good about the rotten place was the fact that it had given her an excuse to spend the majority of the year away from her family and the fact that it had been where she'd met her darling husband. Everything and just about everyone else could go hang.
As the woman continued towards the castle, she was pleasantly surprised to encounter her charge. "Miss Hermione," Flint called out cheerfully. "Just the girl I was hoping to see."
"Oh?" Hermione cocked her head.
"Passing on a message from your father and delivering a package with it," she explained as she pulled out an envelope that looked at least a hundred times too large to fit into her pocket. "Message is as follows; the answer is yes and here are some technical drawings on the best of 'em. I'll try to get you some better plans for it and the rest. All else fails, I'll just buy a few examples and you can come home for the odd weekend to go through them yourself."
"Really?" her charge's blonde shadow asked brightly. "Do you think it would be possible to look over examples ourselves even if he manages to get plans for us?"
"Probably," her charge replied. Hermione daintily accepted the envelope, automatically passing it to her shadow as she continued speaking. "Please thank daddy for me and please pass on Luna's request with it."
"I will, Miss Hermione," Flint agreed. "That business settled, you know where that boy of yours might be?"
"What boy?" Hermione asked with a confused frown.
"Mr. Potter," Flint prompted.
The girl blushed. "Harry's either hiding in an unused classroom somewhere or hanging out with Ron in Ron's wood shop," Hermione stated confidently. "Ron's wood shop is next to the Quidditch equipment room across from Hooch's office. If Harry isn't there, go to the kitchens and tell Dobby who you are and that you need to find him."
"Why would he be hiding?" Flint asked.
"He figures the Professors will be finishing their write ups soon and will have time to investigate his mistakes again," Hermione explained.
Flint and the girls exchanged a few more pleasantries before going on with her mission. She had a national hero to find.
IIIIIIIIII
Ron didn't bother to look up from his work when the woman entered. Wasn't anyone in the world important enough to risk making a mistake and very few important enough to warrant delaying his current project.
"Is Harry Potter here?" the woman asked.
Ah, Ron thought to himself, looked like the first researcher had arrived to pester his friend for another project. "Nope."
"Damn," the woman sighed. "Don't suppose you know where he is, do you?"
"Afraid not," the boy said absently as he eyeballed the curve of his latest creation. "But I'd be happy to tell him that you're looking for him. Who are you again?"
"My name's Flint," she replied. "I got a message I need to give him."
"Any relation to Marcus Flint?"
"Not since I got tossed out of the family," she said, grin widening. "I take it you're acquainted with the rotten little bastard?"
That bit of news did cause Ron's hands to still as the boy wrested his attention away from the project and up to make eye contact. "Who's the message from and why are you delivering it?"
"Message is from Phil Granger, I'm delivering it because I'm one of the Potter Security Contractors assigned to his daughter's detail."
"Phil Granger?" Ron pushed aside his confusion at the words 'Potter Security' and ignored the ones he didn't know with the ease of long practice. "Oi, Harry, got someone here to speak with you!"
A head appeared over a stack of loose wood and two bleary sleep deprived eyes regarded Flint from under a mop of messy black hair. "You work for Tonks," the boy said with a yawn. "What can I do for you?"
"I work for you," she corrected. "Name's Flint. Phil Granger wanted me to pass on a message and to have a talk with you after that."
"Mind if we put up some security charms, Ron?"
"No problem, Harry."
"What's the message?" Harry asked the minute the charms went up.
"Phil's not going to go with your suggestion. I was one of the people who strongly recommended against following it so that's one of the reasons that I'm here to explain why that is, and, with your permission to keep myself available to assist you with similar issues in the future," Flint replied. She was there on Tonks' orders who had given them at the strong suggestion of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement who had also strongly suggested that her new boss might need someone to help him with pureblood issues and general administration. From housewife to aide to the most powerful wizard in the country in a week. She was going up in the world Flint reflected to herself.
"Okay," Harry prompted. "Shoot."
"Your idea would be great if what you wanted to do was to force the Greengrass and Davis families to submit to the Granger family, which is a fairly standard way of leveraging a new-blood family into pureblood society. Problem with it is that you didn't take the people involved into account, see, thing is that the heads of both families are mean bastards in a fight. They'd smile and go along with it while measuring your back for a dagger." Metaphorical, literal or both. Whichever they thought they could get away with. "On the other hand, they also have the reputation for dealing fair with people that deal fair with them."
"Alright," Harry agreed. "Why would . . ." he trailed off as his sleep addled mind made a few connections. "Never mind. Why are you here to explain things in person?"
"For one, to disclose that I'm related to them and that I owed them before I convinced Phil Granger not to destroy their families. For two, some things are best delivered in person," Flint said, grin deepening. "Good example of that is the second half of our conversation."
"Which consists of?"
"Me giving you a list of families that are ripe for the taking and unlikely to be able to successfully retaliate along with a few suggestions on how one might accomplish that. My former's at the top of the list."
IIIIIIIIII
Hermione and Luna somehow managed to keep themselves from tearing open the envelope until after they got to the engine shed and a table to lay out the plans. What followed was two hours of pouring over technical drawings until both girls jointly decided that they were ready to construct their first prototype.
Sprocket, who'd been holding himself silently ready, took that as his cue to step forward with an offer to fetch one of the girl's craftsmen to aid in the project. He didn't get the chance.
"How good a machinist are you, Sprocket?" Hermione asked the moment the goblin left the safety of the shadows.
"I am qualified to make every part needed," he replied.
"Great." Hermione grinned at him. "Are you busy with anything right now?"
"I am always at your disposal, mistress," Sprocket stated calmly.
"Okay, do you have time to help us make a few things?"
"Make?" the goblin asked dumbly, sure that there'd been some mistake.
"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "Daddy sent a few technical drawings for a . . . what's was it called again, Luna?"
"A Doble Steam Engine," the blonde supplied.
"Thank you, Luna," Hermione nodded to her friend. "So we were going to make a prototype to see if we understood how it's supposed to work. Do you have time to help us?"
Blood pounded in his ears as Sprocket's knees buckled. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, the opportunity he was being given, the chance to aid in the creation of an entirely new device.
"Are you alright?" he found himself looking into the concerned eyes of his employer's blonde companion.
"I am," the goblin said shakily. "Just overcome with emotion. It's a great honor to be given the chance of becoming a crafter of new devices, one I've always aspired to but never thought I'd receive for at least several decades." Upon seeing the girls' confusion, he decided to elaborate. "Had I remained with Gringotts, it was likely that I'd spend at least twenty more years as a technician before I had an opportunity to become a foreman and another several decades after that before I could become a junior craftsman."
"It's that difficult?" Hermione asked.
"Honors so great are seldom easy to achieve," Sprocket stated, voice filled with passion. "Even that would only be a stepping stone to achieving my dream of becoming a master craftsman, one who's works could never be sold."
"Why can't a master craftsman sell his things?"
"An item made by a goblin master craftsman belongs to the clan. We believe that once a goblin artisan has reached their peak, they stop acting as an individual and become a living treasure of the goblin race as a whole. Master craftsmen produces objects of such quality and beauty that they must be preserved so that future generations can marvel at them and use them as inspiration to achieve even greater levels."
"It's like the family money," Hermione exclaimed, eyes lighting in understanding. "Daddy controls it, but it doesn't belong to any one person, it belongs to the Granger family as a whole, even-no, especially the members of it that haven't been born yet."
"That is remarkably similar," the goblin agreed, surprised at the human. "I was unaware that there were humans that took such a view."
Sprocket spent the remainder of the day with his employer's latest project, managing to produce a working model shortly before the sun went down and his employer was forced to return to her quarters. After that, he spent another hour cleaning and ordering the work area before returning to Gringotts for a matter that could result in his messy death.
IIIIIIIIIIf
Hooktooth had retired for the day when a messenger informed him that the goblin he'd 'encouraged' to seek employment with the Granger Heiress had returned to Gringotts and was demanding an audience. With a sigh, he signaled for the junior goblin to be shown in. Either it really was important enough to disturb him or he'd get the pleasure of destroying someone who should never should have been permitted to live past adolescence. Both were worth missing a bit of sleep.
Hooktooth's face was impassive as the junior goblin came in. "Well?"
"I am here to convey my thanks for your suggestion that I seek a position with the Granger Heiress's transport firm," Sprocket said.
"And?" the senior goblin prompted in a tone of voice that informed the other goblin that there had better be more.
"I was hoping you could clarify something for me." Sprocket licked his lips. "I understand that I will suffer an unpleasant death if I were foolish enough to attempt to sell business secrets." Not that he'd have ever dreamed of doing so, of course, he was until the day he died a loyal retainer of the Granger Clan.
"Or do anything that could potentially jeopardize Gringotts' relationship with her family," Hooktooth said impatiently.
"I would like to know what would happen if I were to share non-privileged background information which might be critical to helping Gringotts form a better understanding of and relationship with the Granger Clan?"
"Such as?"
"The Heiress made a very profound statement about her family, one very goblin like," Sprocket said carefully. "It seemed like the sort of thing senior management should be aware of even at the cost of jeopardizing my life or future career prospects." His loyalty to the heiress compelled it, too many conflicts had sprung from a misunderstanding.
Hooktooth considered the matter. "Speak."
"She stated that her father controls but does not possess the Granger fortune, that it belongs to every Granger, especially those yet to be born," Sprocket stated.
Hooktooth rocked back on his heels, claws twitching in astonishment. "Y-you were correct to bring this to me. Be sure to pass along any future information of this type so long as you do not believe it will annoy or anger the Heiress or her family." He was shocked beyond measure that any human would hold such ideals.
"Though the Granger Heiress owns my loyalty, I do not forget where I came from," Sprocket replied. "So long as it harms her none, I will do my best for the clan. So long as the clan stands with her, I stand with the clan."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry tried valiantly to think of a reason why McGonagall might have demanded his presence on what was supposed to be one of his days off. A quick mental check didn't remind him of any transfiguration mistakes, so why?
He reached her door and raised his hand to knock.
"Come in, Mr. Potter," his head of house's voice demanded.
With a resigned sigh, Harry opened the door.
"Close it behind you and take a seat, Mr. Potter," McGonagall ordered.
"What's this about, Professor?"
"Are you aware of the fact that we have certain wards around the school to detect the arrival of certain items which are deemed contraband by school regulations?"
"I was not, Professor," Harry replied. Answered a few questions though, almost as many as it brought to mind.
"Would you care to explain why your owl arrived this morning with nearly an eighth of a stone of cured tobacco products and five gills of grain alcohol?"
Harry's face went blank for a moment. "Ah. Sorry about that, Professor, I'd complete forgotten I'd ordered it."
"Well?" she asked a touch shortly.
"It's for my meeting with the goblins," Harry explained. "Apparently cigars are considered a delicacy to them."
"And the alcohol?"
"Navy gin for the client on whose behalf I'm meeting the goblins," Harry said. "Sorry, Professor, it was all supposed to have been delivered to Madam Rosmerta to hold for me since I'm using one of her private rooms to conduct business."
"You're saying your owl delivered it to the wrong place?" Minerva asked a touch calmer, raising an eyebrow.
"She doesn't like delivering anything with my name on it to anyone that's not me, Professor," Harry explained with a shrug. "I thought I'd gotten through to her this time."
"You couldn't have used one of the delivery owls?"
"She likes that even less, Professor." Harry snorted. "She's unfortunately prone to using violence to express her displeasure. It's easier on both me and the delivery owls to use her for everything."
"One of the hazards of having an exceptionally loyal and intelligent owl I suppose," Minerva chuckled. "Thank you for explaining things to me, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you for assuming I had an innocent reason for getting contraband delivered, Professor," Harry replied. "Will that be all?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Potter."
"Professor?"
"Having one bottle of one thing on hand for guests is not nearly enough if you're going to continue conducting business meetings, Mr. Potter and I'm afraid you cannot trust the Three Broomsticks' bar to make up for it."
"Professor?"
"Do you have a quill and piece of parchment handy?" The old woman sighed. "You'll also need to set aside a bit of time each day for a few lessons on proper appreciation of the water of life. I think after our usual sessions would be the best time for it. Do you agree, Mr. Potter?"
"Do I have a choice, Professor?" Harry asked despite having a good idea that the answer to his question would be no.
"You do not, Mr. Potter." Minerva confirmed his suspicions.
"In that case, I most gratefully agree, Professor."
"I thought you might, Mr. Potter."
IIIIIIIIII
Septima Vector was completely enthralled by the device she'd been shown by the young misses Granger and Lovegood, mind swirling with an odd mix of horror and wonder. Horror that she'd lived so much of her life without knowing that it existed, wonder that it did and that she might someday own one of her own.
"What did you say this was called?" the woman asked carefully.
"A Curta calculator, Professor," Hermione replied.
The Professor put the precious device down so as to minimize the risk of dropping it it due to how hard her hands were trembling.
"Can . . ." She licked her lips. "Is there any chance you could get another of these?"
"Sure, Professor," Hermione agreed with a shrug. "You can have that one if you want it, Professor. It's one of the ones daddy sent for me and Luna to take apart."
"One of . . . just how many of these . . . these wonderful devices do you have, Ms. Granger?" Vector asked intently.
"I don't know, Professor," Hermione shrugged. "If it's not enough, Sprocket said he could make more for us."
"Sprocket?"
"He's the goblin that works on my engine," the girl explained. "He was able to repair that one so I think there's a good chance he can do it."
"I see." She slowed her heartbeat by force of will.
"It's the reason we came here to consult with you, Professor," Luna spoke for the first time. "We were hoping you'd have some suggestions on how to modify it to make it better suited to doing arithmancy equations."
Septima lost herself in her happy place for several moments before she was able to drag herself back to reality. "I would be happy to do so, Ms. Lovegood, and after that the three of us can discuss what it will take to set up regular production and how much your company will charge to purchase one of these wonderful devices."
IIIIIIIIII
The senior goblin leaned back in his chair as Hooktooth entered the office. He was beginning to look forward to hearing his subordinate's reports, they gave him the feeling that they were on the edge of something great.
"I am not going to waste time with threats, I do not wish you to waste time with platitudes. Report." Enjoyment or not, it was never a good idea to let a junior be too sure of their position lest they become idle.
"The goblin we sent to assist the Granger heiress brought me something of tremendous importance," Hooktooth said breathlessly.
"I thought I told you to skip the platitudes," the senior goblin growled. "Either get on with it or get out of my office."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm still a bit stunned by the implications of what I was told and I'm having trouble . . ." Hooktooth shook his head. "The Granger heiress stated that her family's wealth was not solely possessed by the living members of the family, but also to the generations of Grangers yet to be born."
"That is . . ." The senior goblin blinked. "Very interesting." He contemplated it for a few heartbeats. "What do the analysts think?"
"I have not released it to to the analysts yet," Hooktooth admitted. "I came straight here to report it to you because it changes everything we thought we knew about humans." Hooktooth was trembling in excitement.
"It shows a capacity for long term planning we'd thought humans lacked if nothing else," his superior agreed. "How should this change our dealings with the Granger Clan?" And one more bit of evidence that the Granger Clan was very different from the usual sort of humans they dealt with, well, assuming they weren't some other type of creature that merely appeared to be human.
"I don't know. This is so earth shattering that I'm having a hard time conceiving of it, it's like . . . like spending the first half of your life with nothing but silver only to learn one day that gold exists," Hooktooth replied. "At the very least it shows the value of building deeper ties to the Granger Clan now that we know they have the potential to last longer than a dozen or so decades."
IIIIIIIIII
Fred peeped through the curtains to survey the crowd. It seemed like there were hundreds of them packing the music hall they'd rented for their presentation. Every seat was occupied and there were a substantial number of standing wizards in the back.
"Relax," George said. "Just imagine them completely clothed in something that covers every inch of skin and you'll be fine."
"I thought you were supposed to imagine them naked?" Fred said with a grin.
"Take another look at that crowd and decide if you want to do things your way or mine," George riposted.
"I don't have to. I'm sorry for doubting you, twin of mine. Shall we?"
"After you, I insist," George said with a grin.
With a deep breath the two took a moment to brace themselves before stepping through the curtains and onto the stage.
"Welcome to the first Weasley Class for Wizards Wanting Witches or WC3W as we like to call it," Fred began. "I'm Fred and this is my brother-"
"-George and we're here to teach you the fine art of wooing witches, Harry Potter style."
"This." Fred flicked his wand, causing Hermione's picture to appear. "Is girl number one. Harry Potter got her interested in him by defeating a mountain troll."
"Girl number two." George's caused Luna's picture to appear. "Bullies."
"Three and four." Hannah and Susan's pictures joined the other two. "An assassination attempt on the Director of Magical Law Enforcement."
"Now I know what you're thinking. I'm just an average guy, he's the boy-who-lived, this can't possibly work for me, this is all a waste of time," George continued. "You're wrong. This." Ron's picture appeared. "Is our brother."
"A slob, an idiot, not particularly handsome." Fred flicked his wand with every point causing Ron's brow to protrude, snot to dribble out his nose, and his eyes to cross. "I think it's safe to say that every man in this room looks better than this poor specimen of wizardhood."
There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd.
"This is his girlfriend." Mandy's picture appeared, altered to make a couple of her more prominent attributes look even more prominent. "He's welcome in the Harpies locker room at any time he cares to visit, he's come home covered in several shades of lip marks every time he visits the team, he's been seen on more than one occasion with more than one of them on his arm. His secret? The Harry Potter method. Death Eaters attacked the Harpies. He saved them. They're dating him." Accurate with only a touch of marketing to make it pop, George told himself.
"That said, one thing you have to keep in mind is the fact that saving girls from Death Eater attacks or other forms of mortal peril only gets you the relationship," Fred lectured. "You also have to maintain it."
"Things that seem to work there are giving them things you made for them, owning your own business, and helping them achieve their goals in life," George continued. "Not to mention having good personal hygiene and communication."
"Do you have to save them from Death Eaters?" one of the audience asked.
"Well," Fred began. "Judging from Harry's example, it also works if you save their relatives and their friend's relatives. But he is the boy who lived, best for us normal guys not to count on that working for us. Doesn't hurt to try though."
"We're guessing any mortal peril would work, but we don't have enough data to be sure," George added. "Be sure to let us know your experiences."
"Is this guaranteed to let us date multiple girls and have them know about it without getting out bits hexed off?" another member of the audience asked intently.
"We're not sure," Fred admitted. "Both of our research subjects seem to have formed multiple simultaneous relationships but we don't know enough to say for sure if it'll work for everyone. Again, let us know how things work out for you."
"In the case of our brother and the Harpies, we don't think he's really dating all of them," George stated. "But, as previously mentioned, he's welcome in their locker room at all times." George smiled. "I'm just going to take a moment to let that sink in, gentlemen, the Harpies locker room at all times and when I say at all times."
"He means at all times," Fred finished. "Really. Know the one we're sure he's dating doesn't object when the others kiss him and drape themselves on him."
"Also gets to put his hands all over them, but that might have to do with the fact that he's fitting them for brooms," George finished thoughtfully. "We'll go into more detail when we go over recommended professions."
IIIIIIIIII
The senior goblin's ear twitched the next morning when he arrived to find his favorite subordinate already standing at his office door.
"We have an issue," Hooktooth said somewhat nervously. While blaming the messenger was rare in goblin society, he was well aware of the fact that rare and unheard of were two separate things. Hopefully this wouldn't be one of the exceptions that proves the rule.
"Inside." The senior goblin waited until he was seated behind his desk. "What sort of issue?"
"A number of lower ranked technicians have formally requested permission to leave Gringotts with the intention of requesting admittance to the Granger Heiress's sub-clan."
"How'd they find out about the opportunity?"
"I believe it's due to the ward teams we have working on the Granger estates," Hooktooth replied. "Apparently the Granger is quite proud of his daughter's mechanical aptitude and is eager to brag about it."
"To be expected," the senior goblin murmured. "What do our analysts say about her father's probable reaction?"
"They're split," Hooktooth admitted. "The majority believe that it will please him if he can be convinced that it was not on our orders."
"We have a meeting scheduled with the last Potter, do we not?"
"We do," Hooktooth agreed, relaxing.
"Explain the situation to him and ask his council. The head of Clan Granger will not object if the Potter gives his permission. If the Potter gives his permission, the workers have ours."
IIIIIIIIII
Severus scowled when his first class, mixed family and enemy of the spoiled brat's year tromped into the room followed by three outsiders. The nerve of the bastards, invading his classroom. How dare they, how dare they have the belief that they could invade his private kingdom. He'd complained to his patron of course, both of them, yet nothing had been done. The Potions Master seethed, what was the point of having powerful patrons if they didn't intercede on your behalf when you needed them to? He might as well have stayed independent at this rate.
He curled a lip when they took their usual places at the back of the room where they could observe the evidence of his angel's despoilment by his chief enemy in hopes that one of the brat's failures could prove useful . . . as if the worthless shit could ever amount to anything. The little bastard was living proof that James Potter was so useless that not even combining with Lily could produce something good.
Class ended as it usually did with the worthless shit turning in a potion of dubious quality, one the presence of the gap toothed fame dazzled morons forced him to accept and grade passing. Another thing he'd complained bitterly to his patrons about.
"What's this?" one of the intruders asked, staring at the Longbottom's latest disaster.
"A waste of ingredients," he said confidently. "Looks like another zero for you, Longbottom." He felt a bit of warmth in his breast at the way the boy shrunk under his gaze, not as good as his primary target but it would do for now.
"Best analyze it to see what it is and what properties it might have, eh what?" the Ministry idiot said stupidly.
"Right," one of the others agreed. "One never know where the next breakthrough will come from so it's best to check everything just to be sure."
Snape sneered, wondering if it could correctly be termed a waste of time if those wasting it were as valueless as the ones before him. No, he decided, scoffing at the thought that the two before him could ever amount to anything rendering their time inherently valueless.
IIIIIIIIII
Auror Pinch noted with interest the way every potions researcher he had was clustered around a table staring in fascination at a small vial of potion when he came in.
"Potter finally give you lot something to work with?" he called out.
"Not him, Frank and Alice's boy," one of them managed to drag his attention away from the vial long enough to reply.
"What he give you?" Pinch asked.
"Looks to be a fairly broad spectrum antidote. Good for most mild to medium poisons if we're analyzing it correctly."
"Is an antidote what they were trying to create?"
"No," the first researcher replied.
"Looks like it'll take care of anything that takes more than about twenty minutes to do its work," another researcher spoke up.
"His record doesn't show any signs of potions ability, does it?" Pinch said with a frown as he mentally went over the student files he'd read in preparation for his assignment.
"Far as we can tell, it was a complete accident."
"We're gonna have to sit down with him for a talk, see if we can confirm that his record reflects his true abilities."
"Might want to keep in mind the fact that his records are written by Snape," Pinch pointed out. "Not someone known for his even temperament."
"Assume they're all wrong because Snape's a petty bastard," a third researcher said loudly. "Potter's potion today was much better than I'd have expected just going by what's in his file."
IIIIIIIIII
Macnair strolled arrogantly down the center of Diagon Alley, reveling in the stares and whispered remarks as he passed by, reveling in the fear his mere presence inspired. This was life, this was why he'd pledged himself to the Dark Lord's service those many years ago.
His lip curled into a sneer as he allowed his gaze to sweep over a group of men, anticipating their downward looks and the shame they'd feel at the knowledge that they were too weak and cowardly to stop him from doing anything he wished. From taking anything that he wished. Such was the power granted by the mark on his arm, such was the . . . his brow wrinkled in confusion when the men met his eyes, their expressions not fearful but with eager anticipation, eyeing him like a pack of wolves eyes an unfortunate deer. Hungry.
In a flash his good mood disappeared and all he could think of was that he needed to retreat to somewhere else, somewhere he'd be safe from the predatory gazes. Something had changed in the wizarding world and he did not like it one bit.