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Harry Potter Squib Tales Chapter 48
🕑 Added 2024-08-20 16:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter 48: Growing New Business
“Alright, everyone! Places!” I called out, and all around the room the workers in the potion brewing workshop moved away and took up position nearby to watch and record my work. It was early on a chilly Monday morning in November, and I was excited to see if the latest experiment would work.
Slowly, I brought out Duncan’s cage from its spot, and removed my loyal pet toad from within, placing him onto a wooden desk. I then took out an eyedropper full of a egg yolk yellow potion and placed a single drop of the liquid onto his head. In an instant, brown hair sprang forth, giving him a shaggy mullet.
“Note that the Hair Growth potion from Batch 12 works exactly as predicted!” I announced, and a wave of relieved murmurs rang out. As that was happening, I delicately snipped off the hair, leaving only a tiny buzzcut on Duncan.
Then, I took a Q-tip and dipped it into a jar of a thick brownish-yellow cream. Next, I rubbed it all over Duncan, and watched intently. It would take an hour or two to see any changes, but I was confident it would work. After all, it was the exact same Hair Growth potion from earlier, simply turned into a cream.
The Hair Growth potion I was experimenting with was the latest version, made entirely from purely mundane and easily sources ingredients. It consisted of beeswax, sea salt, diced bamboo shoot, and quail egg yolk, and when mixed into a cream was by far the most effective hair growth formula on the market.
Diluted and weakened as it was in cream form, the potion would take around twenty-four hours to regrow about an inch’s worth of hair on the applied spot. But that was already miraculous for mundane hair growth, and now that I’d found a recipe that was much cheaper and easier to produce, I could begin mass production of it.
Since I didn’t have time to waste staring at a toad - as marvelous a specimen as Duncan was I had other things to do today - I placed Duncan back inside his habitat, where I’d check on him later to see if the shaved hair had grown back at all.
“Seems like Batch 12 is ready to go into full production as soon as the final tests and observations are done!” I announced to the room, and the people there cheered and applauded. They all wore white coats, rubber gloves, face masks, and eye covers, as they were the ones who worked with the potion brewing process, handling the ingredients, checking the vats, and so forth. Safety practices were important, after all.
“Oh, and don’t forget that there’s cupcakes in the break room and the tea has been restocked,” I said. “And yes, folks, it’s proper bags, not powder, so nothing like that near riot last week should happen again.”
That got some chuckles out of my audience, and they went back to work. I placed Duncan’s cage back with the others. The workshop was full of toads for testing, though they’d quickly become something of mascots and pets for the workers. The fact that the potions didn’t permanently harm them helped, and I didn’t mind if they played around with some of the toads in between tasks.
I then left the workshop and entered the factory proper, letting the sound wash over me. There were other workers milling about, checking the temperature settings for the vats, as well ensuring the auto-stirrers were working properly. Like the people in the workshop, they wore protective gear suited for a chemical factory or laboratory, which was what this place technically was, at least on paper.
Moving around, I greeted the people as I walked past, complimenting their efforts and asking how their day was going. Morale was high, and it made me happy to see everyone working without any troubles.
Eventually, I made my way to the back area and up a flight of stairs, where a couple offices had been set up that overlooked the factory floor. This was where I and the other pencil pushers and bean counters did the paperwork that kept the place running.
“I’ve got excellent news! Batch 12 appears to be a success!” I said as I entered my office. The man waiting for me nodded.
“Good to hear,” Remus Lupin, head of Crucible Security Solutions (a subsidiary of Cauldron Remedies), said in response.
“Indeed it is. Though I’m going to have to step up with the production, which means more ingredients,” I sighed. “Thankfully, I have a meeting with a potential supplier in the magical world for some of it.”
“You’ll do fine. You’ve gotten this far, after all. And I have to admit, I was taken aback when I first heard about what you were doing. And then again when I saw this set-up,” Lupin admitted, and I grinned.
“Yes, I do recall your jaw hitting the floor with a nice, audible thump,” I teased.
“You can’t blame me for that,” the werewolf huffed. “This whole operation is ridiculous, and not at all what I expected from you when you said you wanted to hire me.”
I shrugged at that, but could see his point. When I’d first showed him the factory, I was still setting most of it up. The warehouse at the time had been filled with giant stainless-steel vats for brewing the potions, using rune-inscribed stirrers to mix it all together.
Now? It was the same, but there were more vats, more blenders, more storage lockers full of ingredients, and plenty of machines with hissing nozzles whose sole purpose was to put the creams into tubes and tubs.
The workers here were all Squibs or the mundane families of magical folk, such as Dean Thomas’s mother who was now the cashier for the store in London. Aside from that, I had exactly three magicals hired at the moment, and only one was an actual wizard. The other two were Inky and Dobby.
Between my shop in downtown London and this warehouse on the outskirts, I had thirty-eight employees. This number would only grow as I made more Oath Binding Ink contracts and could start hiring unaware mundane people to do jobs like deliveries, stocking the shelves, accounting, and so on, as well as Muggleborn who were fed up with the magical world. And according to Lupin, he knew a few who would be interested.
Speaking of the man with a lunar allergy, after Lupin had picked his jaw off the ground, he’d helped me by casting several wards and detection charms around the place to protect it. I’d need to get proper wards set up, but for now what I had was enough.
For future expansions, I’d already purchased two more warehouses that would become additional potion factories, and I wanted to find a way to enchant the vats and stirrers with the self-stirring spell, like they had for cauldrons. That’d have to wait until I could find somebody I could trust to do this. And afford it. Enchanters were worth their weight in gold, and rare to boot. Any witch or wizard could cast a stirring charm, but that would fade in time and need to be recast daily, unless made permanent by an enchanter. And while I could hire a couple Muggleborn to do just that, it wasn’t economical to have somebody spend all day every day casting a single spell over and over on a single vat.
“Anyways, you wanted to speak with me about something?” I asked, recalling that Lupin had had a reason to meet with me.
“I finished the security project you asked me for,” he said, holding up a rolled-up sheet of parchment.
I took it and opened it, blinking in surprise at what I saw. “This is…” I trailed off, not wanting to speak, lest I give away my meta-knowledge. Lupin took my speechlessness as awe, and happily explained what he’d made.
“This is a map that shows the location of everyone inside the building,” Lupin said proudly. “It’s based off of a ‘school project’ I made in Hogwarts. It keeps track in real-time, and I’ve added some extra features, while leaving some other ones out.”
The entire warehouse and its immediately surroundings, as well as the shop in downtown, was on display, with every person displayed as a colored dot moving around or standing still.
“Press the map here to switch between the shop and the factory,” Lupin said, pointing to the words printed onto the side. I did so, and the ink flowed as it shifted to reveal the factory and the people within. “You can also tap any of the dots to see who they are.”
“It’s impressive. A bit of a breach of privacy, but impressive all the same,” I said, eyes darting over it. “I see that it’s showing off some information on the wards. And do the colors mean something?”
“The map is connected to the wards. You can’t control them with the map, but you can see if they’re active or not,” Lupin said. “The coloration of the markers shows the status of the workers. Green means they are fine. Yellow means they are tired or have minor injuries or have a hex, jinx, or spell on them. Red is major injury or curse, or unauthorized entry.”
“Interesting,” I mused. That was quite useful in a lot of ways, and I poked one of the yellow dots in the office. Underneath it, a name popped up alongside a list of issues that appeared on the side of the map, and I leaned back in my seat.
“It seems that Janet is pregnant,” I said. “And that the map classified pregnancy as a yellow-level affliction.”
“Hm? Oh, I see,” Lupin said, leaning in, intrigued. “I hadn’t thought about that, but it does seem to be case.” He then tilted his head, looking up at me. “So, what do you think?”
“I think you’re getting a raise,” I declared. “What else can you do?”
“Charms were always my specialty, and I could have become an Enchanter had anyone wished to take me on as an apprentice,” Lupin said, a note of bitterness in his voice. “I’m not bad with Care of Magical Creatures and DADA either, though Sirius were always better at the latter.”
“Speaking of the man, have you heard anything from him? Or heard rumors about Azkaban?” I asked, and the werewolf shook his head.
“There’s nothing. He must be lying low until he has an opportunity,” he replied. He very carefully didn’t give voice to the niggling doubt we both shared that Wiggles von Snubs had failed his mission.
“Hopefully he’ll make a move soon,” I said with a shake of my head. “Until then, all we can do is wait.”
Lupin nodded. He then gave me a nod and walked out, off to do security guard stuff. When he was gone, I locked the map away in a safe underneath my desk, and then called for Inky.
“Yes, Young Master Eddy?” the elderly House Elf asked when he appeared.
“It’s time for class,” I told him, getting up. I was finally attending Oxford, and the lectures and lessons were going well.
“Yes, Young Master Eddy,” Inky said with a bow. “Also, I have a letter for you.”
He handed over a scroll, and I took it and examined the wax seal on it. “House Greengrass, huh?” I muttered, recognizing the emblem stamped into the green wax. A bushel of wheat wrapped around by a two-headed snake known as a Runespoor looking left and right was unmistakable thanks to my lessons on Pureblood society courtesy of my mother.
“The owl arrived earlier this morning,” Inky informed me as I broke the seal and began to read the letter.
“He’s agreeing to meet with me about my request to purchase potion ingredients wholesale and in bulk from him,” I said with a grin. Finally! I’d been waiting for weeks for him to reply after I’d sent him some letters during the Summer, and if things went well, they’d become my primary supplier in the Wizarding World.
I took out some parchment from my desk – I always kept some on me, just in case – and wrote back a reply, passing it to Inky to take care of. He took it and popped away, before returning a minute later to take me over to my classes.
I couldn’t wait for Friday. But until then, I had a history lecture to attend.
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That Friday around noon, I straightened my dark blue tie and ran a hand over my dress robes, smoothing out any wrinkles it might have gained since it’d been laid out for me to wear. Not that I expected there to be any after Inky had cleaned them.
Instead of meeting the head of House Greengrass at his home to discuss business, we were doing so at a different location. That place happened to be the Ruby Unicorn restaurant of Vertic Alley, the more expensive and upper crust part of Magical London, the posh counterpart to the more middle-class Diagon Alley.
I knew very little about the Ruby Unicorn, aside from the fact it was the most distinguished restaurant in Magical Britain. I wasn’t worried about not blending in, my Acromantula silk robes would pass muster after all, but I wanted to impress Cyrus Greengrass, so I made sure to add a couple runic rings to my hands and was wearing my best rune-weave tie. I was dressed to impress, and so when Inky popped me over, I was pleased to see that I did not look out of place amongst the other diners when I walked in.
“Mr. Hunch? Mr. Greengrass is waiting for you,” a waiter said, before escorting me to a table. The interior of the restaurant was impressive. It had that distinct pseudo-Victorian style on display, and had burnished gold platters and utensils on tables that had been Transfigured to look like animals. Eating off the back of a lion, horse, or dragon was apparently what high-class dining considered to be in good taste.
Cyrus Greengrass greeted me with a polite nod which I returned, and I sat down across from him at a table that’d been Transfigured into a large Runespoor, the plates balancing on their heads.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Greengrass,” I said. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Of course. I was quite intrigued by your letter. Fire Whiskey, Nolden Thriftwood’s brew, 1901,” Cyrus said, tapping his goblet with his wand, and in an instant, it filled with the requested beverage.
Copying him, I tapped my own goblet with one of my rings, saying, “Red wine, Soleil Rouge.” A moment later, a fine red wine filled it. I hadn’t specified the date as I’d been unsure of what sort of stock they had of this particular wine, so I would accept whatever vintage they had in their cellars.
“An interesting choice,” Cyrus noted.
“Yes, I tasted it while in France and found I rather liked it,” I replied. “Mr. Flamel got me hooked on it.”
“Flamel?” the merchant inquired, raising an eyebrow.
“I met Nicholas Flamel and his wife over the summer. He was a gracious host. I was sorry to hear of his passing over Halloween,” I said, and the Greengrass patriarch blinked at me in surprise.
“I am surprised,” Cyrus admitted. “I had no idea House Hunch had connections with the Flamels.”
“One of my great-grandfathers was a student of his,” I replied, waving it off as if it was no big deal. And it was technically true, an ancestor of mine had studied under Nicholas Flamel for a few weeks and gotten an autographed book out of it. Though in truth my ancestor had merely attended a multi-week lecture the famous alchemist had held, and gotten the book autographed afterwards.
“I see. Has your family’s fortunes changed in the years since your father passed away?” Cyrus inquired. “It is not cheap to start a new business, after all.”
“My family’s fortunes are doing well, thank you for asking,” I said. “And this business is under my own name.”
Cyrus simply nodded slowly, digesting my words. By now, he’d probably figured out that House Hunch was as poor as ever, and that my business proposal had nothing to do with my mother or brother. Sink or swim, it was all on my shoulders.
Further talks were put to the side for the moment, as Cyrus tapped his plate with his wand and ordered his lunch. I did the same, rapping my rings against the golden tableware and saying aloud what I wanted to eat. Whoever was working in the kitchen was good at their job, as it wasn’t long before the food appeared on our plates.
We both ate, making small talk all the while. We discussed recent Ministry policies, who was taking bribes in the different departments, and which Quidditch teams we hoped would win their upcoming matches. I personally wanted to see the Hollyhead Harpies go all the way. I do love me some sporty women, after all!
“Now that we’ve eaten and gotten a measure of each other, I believe we can talk about why we’re really here,” Cyrus suggested as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, plate empty, and I nodded in agreement, my own plate clear of food.
“Mr. Hunch, your letter you sent me was quite curious. I get many requests for materials, and of course, many requests for a discount on them. Yet I’ve never had anyone order a literal ton of powdered Wiggentree bark, nor so much salamander’s blood and other potion ingredients,” Cyrus informed me. “Was it perhaps an error in the requisition form?”
“Please, call me Edward Rose. My old name is of little matter,” I requested. “And there’s no mistake. I need all of that. And more. As soon as possible.”
“That is quite a large order,” Cyrus said. “How exactly do you plan on using up so many ingredients?”
“I assure you, my customers will pay for what I’m making. And even more than that, this is not the first large-scale order I’ve made with your business,” I informed him.
“I wasn’t aware you’d opened up your store already,” Cyrus replied. “I was under the impression you were buying in bulk to stock up on supplies.”
It was understandable. The amount of ingredients I’d placed an order for would be enough to make thousands of vials of Wiggenweld potion and keep an ordinary potion seller afloat for years. Nobody could – or would – buy so many healing potions in normal circumstances. Not in the Wizarding World, at least. At best, potion makers sold maybe a dozen vials of Wiggenweld potion a month. And Cyrus Greengrass would have heard if there was a new potion seller in Diagon Alley or one of the other magical towns and villages.
But I wasn’t selling my products to witches or wizards. And a ton of Wiggentree bark would be used up quickly, in a month or so based on the current sales I was seeing.
Cyrus clearly looked skeptical of my claim, but I had a way to convince him.
“This is the amount of money I’ve made since opening my store this summer,” I told him, sliding a folded-up piece of parchment his way. Cyrus took it, and his eyes widened comically at the numbers written upon it.
Over fifty thousand galleons in just a couple months was a staggering sum for a business in the Wizarding World. And thanks to my connections with the British Chemical Concern, my goods would be in multiple stores and pharmacies across the UK starting next year, so the amount of money I’d be making would be much higher in the future.
“How… where are you making all this money?” Cyrus demanded, bewildered. ‘There’s no way this all came from the Magical World,’ went unsaid but heavily implied.
“I have customers outside of what is considered ‘normal,’” I replied. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to infringe on any local potioneers’ business. My interests lie beyond Magical Britain.”
Cyrus’s expression shifted ever so slightly. It was hard to tell, but I was able to pick out his eyes narrowing and his jaw tightening. He brought out his wand and flicked it through the air, and I felt wards settle around our table.
“You’re selling potions to Muggles?” he hissed out.
“No, no, not at all! That would be silly!” I chuckled. “I’m selling natural remedies and medicine inspired by old herblore. ‘Potions’ implies magic, after all.”
I smirked. “At least, that’s the official story. Muggles don’t believe in magic, and I have no interest in going against the Ministry of Magic or the Statute of Secrecy.”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow at me, and I knew he didn’t buy my excuse, but I had a plan for that.
“Tell me, Mr. Greengrass, have you ever heard of the Placebo Effect?”
“No, I have not,” he replied.
“Allow me to explain,” I said. “To put it simply, the Muggles did a study where they gave medicine to some people, but not to others. However, they told everyone they were being given medicine. They took notes of who claimed to feel better afterwards, and discovered that many of the people who’d been given fake pills had indeed gotten healthier purely because they believed they would,” I told him.
“That’s… how is that possible?” Cyrus stuttered in disbelief.
“There are a bunch of explanations for it, and I don’t fully understand the science behind it myself, but the point still stands. If people think it will heal them, their bodies will be tricked into healing on their own,” I explained. “All without magic.”
“I see… but what does this have to do with your ‘business idea?’” Cyrus inquired curiously.
“The point is that unless your product is outright and obviously magical, then most Muggles will believe whatever it is you want so long as it doesn’t contradict their own views and beliefs. Hence, selling medicine with slightly magical effects that can be passed off as completely mundane, if exceptional in ability.”
“Is it really that simply?” Cyrus muttered, not quite believing me, but at the same time, he was intrigued, and I aimed for that.
“It can be. If you know what to do and how to market your products,” I replied.
“What do you want? What is your ultimate goal, here?” Cyrus asked, giving me a suspicious look.
“I want to sell medicine to the Muggles and make money,” I told him honestly. “But I need a large amount of resources to produce it all. That’s where you and your business comes in.”
“The Ministry forbids interactions with the Muggles,” Cyrus said, though the way he did so made it sound like he was merely repeating something he’d said many times before, and didn’t quite care for it.
“The Ministry forbids revealing the secrets of magic to the uninitiated. As well as a few stipulations about giving or selling things to Muggles with the intent to cause harm. There are no laws about selling semi-magical goods to people who lack magic themselves,” I stated. “And trust me, the Muggle side of things is a golden opportunity just waiting!”
“That still sounds like you are dangerously close to crossing a certain line the Ministry would not line to be crossed,” Cyrus said slowly.
“Perhaps. But the Ministry is quite blind to what is happening right in front of it. I have no doubt that even if it was beneficial, they’d continue to wallow in mediocrity,” I scoffed.
“And do you really believe that?” Cyrus asked curiously. “I recall hearing you say something similar a while back. Tell me, do you truly think that the wizarding world lacks creativity? That we are… behind the times, so to speak?”
“You remember my little rant at the bookstore, I see,” I said, letting him know I’d seen him there. When he nodded, I decided to answer. “Yes, I do. How many theaters are there in Magical Britain? How many witches and wizards have put on a play this year?”
“There were sixteen showings of the Four Wands, ten of the Life of Merlin, and The Hag and the Hat ran for three weeks straight. All of this was at the Astral Theater in Vertic Alley,” Cyrus replied. “I am unsure of how many plays were put on at the Little-Bigg Theater in Diagon Alley. Though I can’t imagine it was more than that.”
“And there you have it,” I said with a nod. “We desperately lack culture. In Muggle London alone there were hundreds, possible even thousands of shows this past year! There are over two hundred theaters in London! What about literature? How many books were published? And I mean new ideas and tales and words, not reprints, edits, or updates?”
“There was a new Charms book for OWLS and above that had a few new charms and theories, along with two new books in the Adventures of Harry Potter series,” Cyrus replied after thinking it over. “And of course the new Lockhart book. I’m sure there were others, but I don’t think there were more than two dozen, all told.”
“Again, the Muggles in England blow that number out of the water,” I said. “The future of our society is not here, in this isolated, insular community, but out there, in the wider world.”
“And you want me to risk my standing in the Wizengamot for a potential cut of the profits?” Cyrus inquired.
“Your standing is already at risk,” I told him bluntly, causing him to look taken aback. “In a few years, all your wealth and power and neutrality will be meaningless.”
“I beg your pardon?” Cyrus uttered, glaring at me furiously.
In response, I took out an Ofuda and slapped it onto the table, creating a bubble of quiet. My talisman based Silencing Charm cut the two of us off from being overheard. Cyrus may have put up his own wards, but I was just adding a bit of extra protection.
“Do you really think Malfoy or Dumbledore will allow you to continue as you have?” I asked. “The Grey Faction is not tenable in the current political climate. You will have to make a choice to support Dumbledore or Malfoy – Light or Dark – sooner than you’d think. I give it just a few years, five at most, before matters in the Wizengamot turn… complicated. Before powerful men start pressuring you and demanding commitment one way or another.”
I then threw my arms wide. “But here I am, giving you a way out. A way to keep your neutrality. Support me, and I can be your bridge into the largest market in the world. There are six billion Muggles on Earth right now, and you and I could become absurdly wealthy through selling to them.”
“Why would I need to work with you?” Cyrus demanded, even though he looked taken aback by my claim of how many Muggles there were. “What exactly is stopping me from starting my own venture in the Muggle side without you?”
“Because you wouldn’t be able to navigate the Muggle world. Not like I can. I’ve got things set up. I have connections amongst the Muggles. You, unfortunately, don’t know how to talk to Muggles. How to do the paperwork that would be required. How to use the technology that’s been developed.”
I looked at Cyrus sharply. “I am your gateway to a better life. A fourth faction. One that isn’t White, Black, or Grey, but gold plated instead. And speaking of…”
I took out two items and placed them on the table in front of the businessman. One was a potion bottle, the other was a piece of stainless steel with runes carved into the surface with inhuman levels of precision.
“Please, take a look at these samples of what I’ve been able to produce using the resources of the Muggles,” I requested. “The potion is an ordinary Calming Draught, made with non-magical materials commonly found in the Muggle world. The rune slate is a simple example of a Lumos rune sequence, but I made it with Muggle tools and technology. Test them. See how they compare to what the Magical World can produce. And then get back into contact with me.”
I then stood up and ripped apart the Ofuda, breaking the Silencing spell. “Thank you for the meal. I hope to hear from you soon. And that my latest order will be ready for pick up at the usual time and place.”
And with that, I confidently strode out, leaving Cyrus Greengrass dumbfounded behind me.
This may have seemed extreme, but I’d studied the man. Learned about his habits and opinions. He was a man who despised weakness and respected men who had a spine and valued people with genuine talent. If I had trembled in front of him and backed down, it would have been harder to earn his attention or his respect.
However, Cyrus was also a man who wanted to protect his family. He had not sided with either faction in the previous war because neutrality had, at the time, been the easiest way to keep his family safe. He hadn’t even tried to make money by playing both sides, as many of his political opponents like to claim.
But now? I had been completely honest about the current situation in the Wizengamot. Light and Dark were equal in power, with the neutral Grey Faction extremely weak. People who had sat on the sidelines in the previous war were being pressured to make a decision. Malfoy led the Dark Faction, Dumbledore the Light. Both men were very good at ‘persuading’ people to see things their way, leading to a volatile situation in the Wizarding World.
If Cyrus was smart, he’d be able to see the writing on the wall. His choices just weren’t that great. There were the wealthy bigots who wanted to keep Wizarding Britain locked up, ignoring everything that wasn’t related to the isles and magic. That meant cutting off trade with the rest of the world, segregating non-humans, werewolves and Muggleborn, and allowing certain spells to be cast and artifacts to be owned without penalty.
The Light Faction wasn’t exactly much better. They wanted to push reforms that would ease relations between Muggleborn and Purebloods, but also sought to ban things that leaned too closely to the Dark, and to censor history worse than it already was being censored.
The Grey Faction was dying. It was breaking apart. It had fewer and fewer members, and Cyrus had his hands tied. He had to make a choice sooner or later. Yet here I was, walking in here with a fourth option. A new faction, and a new source of resources and manpower.
I hide a smirk as I left Diagon Alley. I had a feeling that Cyrus would think my offer over, and side with me. It might not be today, tomorrow, or even next year. But as I kept on buying supplies from his greenhouses and farms in quantities unheard of recently, the head of House Greengrass would see that there was another way to move forward. For both his family, and the magical world as a whole.
Comments
Ian Rodgers
Darn tooting!
Alatoic
So, with Ed help the grey faction will have a touch of gold and be capable of resisting pressure from the other sides.
