The work John and that Ravenclaw boy did in this black workshop was hard and dangerous, but it could still be considered "high-end technical labor."
Naturally, their pay was far better than that of the other student workers, the hourly wage alone was one silver Sickle per hour.
Besides that, for every batch they completed (that is, for every five bottles of inferior Love Potion), they earned an additional commission of one silver Sickle.
With this kind of incentive system, John worked with extra diligence.
Even though the heat from the cauldron soon made him drenched in sweat, he didn't even have time to wipe it off, he just focused all his attention on the potion in the cauldron.
When he saw the color of the liquid in the cauldron shift from dark to light, and the strong, foul smell gradually turn mild, John finally let out a breath of relief and, smiling, began cooling it down and bottling it.
Even though this batch's earnings had to be split with that Ravenclaw boy who'd prepared the ingredients earlier, it was still income nonetheless.
But just as John finished bottling the potion and set the bottles aside, Peeves, who was supposed to be guarding the door, suddenly drifted straight through the wall and hovered above the classroom, eyeing him with interest.
John's brow twitched slightly. He knew full well that this little menace never showed up for any good reason. Still, he pretended not to see him and picked up another set of ingredients from the basket to start preparing again.
Peeves, being who he was, only got more mischievous when ignored. His grin widened, and he dove under the workbench, then suddenly shot upward through the tabletop. John, startled, nearly sliced his own hand open with the cutting knife and ruined a precious Fire Ash Serpent egg in the process.
"I'm warning you, Peeves, don't push your luck!"
John gritted his teeth, clutching the scraper tightly.
But Peeves was bored and looking for entertainment, or maybe just a fight. Seeing John's anger only made him happier. He twirled around John's head, snickering,
"What's wrong? Gonna run off to those redheaded brats George and Fred to complain? Tell them I distracted you so you ruined your work and wasted their materials?"
Peeves spoke loudly enough for the whole workshop to hear.
That only made him more delighted.
"I'll tell you right now, it's useless!" Peeves cackled.
"You don't really think those redheaded Weasley twins could afford to hire me, do you? The great Peeves stays here only because they promised I can mess with you lot all I want! So go ahead, complain all you like! But if anyone gets fired, it'll probably be you! Hahahaha, "
Peeves's shrieking laughter echoed through the room, and many students dropped their heads.
John's scalp went numb, his anger flaring, but there was also a heavy helplessness underneath.
He knew no one in this workshop dared to stand up to Peeves or the Weasley brothers.
After all, Peeves wasn't just the "security guard" here, he was also their overseer. The so-called "hard bones," the ones who'd tried to resist him before, had all quit long ago after being tormented day after day.
Even John himself couldn't really be called a hard bone.
All of this was plain as day to Peeves, and it made him feel as refreshed as a man drinking iced water in midsummer.
Seeing that John still had a trace of defiance in his expression, Peeves floated lower and sneered, "What's the matter, you little pauper? Still not convinced? I know you're that Link Flamel's roommate."
"You gonna run to him and complain next? You actually think he'll stand up for you? If he really cared, would he just sit there watching you toil here? You know he's the Flamel heir, one handful of his allowance would keep you comfortable for weeks!"
"I won't let you insult my friend!" John's eyes blazed.
"Link not stopping me from working is exactly what a real friend should do. If he just threw money at me, I'd rather not be his friend at all!"
"Ha! You're not just poor, you're stupid!" Peeves howled with laughter. "That Link Flamel doesn't see you as a brother at all, and you're still defending him? Pathetic! Absolutely pathetic!"
The workshop filled with laughter and whispers. Many students glanced at John with mocking or pitying looks.
Clearly, they agreed with Peeves, they thought John was just saying that to save face.
John was fuming.
He and Link had always shared a solid friendship, and he truly wanted to keep it that way.
The key was that their friendship had never involved money.
That's why he'd asked Link for help with Snape's paper but never for a loan.
The former was an academic favor between classmates; the latter would have poisoned their friendship.
Up to now, both of them had understood this perfectly.
They knew that the moment one of them brought up money, their relationship would change forever.
That thought made John both relieved and deeply touched.
Because it meant Link saw him as an equal friend, not someone beneath him.
You could tell just from how Link still brought him breakfast from time to time.
For someone like Link, doing that probably took more effort than tossing him a few Galleons.
If Link truly looked down on him, why bother with all that? Wouldn't it be easier to just drop off a money pouch?
But John knew the people around him would never understand that, nor did they care to.
So he simply shut his mouth and focused again on brewing.
Peeves, naturally, wouldn't give up and kept jeering in John's ear.
Too bad for him, John had quietly modified the Bubble-Head Charm surrounding his head to block out all outside sound.
Focused and calm, John soon ran through all the materials in the basket. The table was now lined with rows of completed bottles of inferior Love Potion.
"Phew!"
John exhaled and checked his pocket watch. Seeing there was still some time before dinner shift change, he reached over and tugged the thick red rope hanging beside him.
That rope looked simple enough, dangling from the ceiling, but it was actually one of George and Fred's latest inventions, a basic communication device.
When someone pulled it, a matching red rope in the storeroom next door would twitch, alerting someone to come deliver more materials.
Every workstation had a rope, but the others were white, only the red ones meant urgent materials for advanced potions.
After a short while, a small, first- or second-year Hufflepuff boy pushed the door open and came in, carrying a large basket on his back.
The basket was huge, stuffed full of potion ingredients, some still wet and dripping.
Because the basket was so much bigger than the boy himself, he looked like a walking mushroom.
The boy didn't go straight to John.
He trudged around the room, topping up each student's material basket with handfuls from his own.
It was clearly exhausting work.
After only a few rounds, the little boy was gasping for breath and dripping with sweat.
But no one seemed to care, they were all used to it.
After all, the kid was getting paid about the same as them. And even though the job was tiring, it wasn't hard. Being hired at all by George and Fred, those stingy vampires, and getting full pay was basically winning the lottery.
Unlike the others, John watched the boy closely, worry written on his face.
As the most skilled potion-maker there, he knew how dangerous it was to have so many cauldrons packed this tightly together in such poor conditions.
One wrong bump could make an unstable cauldron explode.
Even John had to move carefully when entering the room, afraid of disturbing someone's brewing.
That boy was basically dancing on the edge of a knife.
And maybe it was bad luck, or maybe John had a touch of Divination talent, but what he feared happened soon enough.
The boy tripped on something. His huge basket tilted, and just his luck, it smacked into the arm of a student who was in the middle of adding ingredients into a boiling cauldron.
The spoonful of powder that should've been added slowly and carefully instead went flying, all of it dumped in at once.
The liquid inside the cauldron turned black instantly, bubbles surging violently as it began to react.
And then...
Bang!
A deafening explosion shook the workshop, startling everyone.
Before they could even turn around, a horrible scream rang out.
"Move! Get out of the way!"
John shoved aside the tables and students in his path, racing toward the little boy writhing on the floor and clutching his face in agony.
He'd seen it clearly, the boiling potion had splashed all over the boy's face.
From his experience, that batch of Quick-Skip Class Candy Syrup was at the stage where dragonstone powder was added.
And too much dragonstone powder made the syrup highly corrosive.
Getting splashed like that, if he didn't get help fast, the boy could die.
John's heart pounded as he toppled table after table to reach him.
Without a word, he pried the boy's hands away from his face, and the sight made his vision go red.
"Don't scream! Don't open your mouth! Don't let it get inside!"
John roared as he grabbed a bottle of neutralizing solution from a nearby bench and poured it all over the boy's face, scrubbing away the thick syrup with his dragon-hide gloves.
The boy's muffled screams grew even worse under the pain.
But John didn't stop until every bit of syrup was gone. Then he pulled out the emergency potion Link had given him before and poured it all into the boy's mouth.
Finally, the screaming stopped, not because of the potion, but because the boy had passed out from the pain.
Still, the potion wasn't useless, the corrosion had slowed, and his life was no longer in danger.
But his face, and most of his scalp, were completely gone. He was disfigured beyond recognition.
John looked down at him, his face pale. He knew he had to get this boy to the infirmary now if there was any hope of saving what was left.
He scooped the child into his arms and rushed for the door, but before he'd taken two steps, it slammed open. George and Fred Weasley stood there, blocking his way.
"What happened here?!" George shouted, staring at the unconscious boy.
"The cauldron exploded," John said quickly. "Hot, corrosive syrup splashed his face and head."
Even though the situation was dire, John kept it brief, he couldn't hide something like this from the "bosses."
George and Fred exchanged looks, silent, but neither moved aside.
John's expression darkened immediately.
He could see it now, they had other thoughts.
But right now, that didn't matter.
"Move!" he barked, trying to push through. But they shoved him back.
"John, you can't take him to the infirmary!"
"Yeah! If Madam Pomfrey finds out how he got hurt, this whole workshop will be shut down!"
"Listen," Fred added quickly, "I've got a few classmates, top students in both NEWT-level Herbology and Potions. I'll call them here right now! They'll patch him up, he'll be fine! What do you say?"
John froze for a moment, as if he'd heard the most absurd thing in the world. Then his voice thundered, "You're still thinking about your workshop at a time like this?! What if..."
"There is no 'what if'!" George snapped, cutting him off. "This isn't just about us. If the workshop shuts down, where's everyone else supposed to earn money? You're trying to ruin everyone's livelihood!"
He sneered. "We get it, John. You just want hush money, right? Fine, we'll pay. Let's see…"
He paused, then said through gritted teeth, "One Galleon. That's several days' wages for you, yeah?"
John actually laughed in disbelief. He was about to retort when he felt a sudden chill behind him.
He turned, and froze.
All the other students, who'd been standing back watching, were now slowly crowding in behind him.
Their eyes were complicated, a mix of anger, guilt, and fear.
George and Fred saw it too.
Fred smirked and shouted, "Of course, you'll all get hush money too! Everyone here today gets five silver Sickles, just don't say a word to anyone!"
George pointed at John.
"And whoever helps hold down this troublemaker who's trying to ruin your income, gets an extra silver Sickle!"
The words had barely left his mouth before the crowd began to stir.
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