As soon as they jumped off the bus, everyone knew they'd arrived.
The air itself smelled of chocolate. A rich, impossible-to-ignore scent that hung around the place like a marketing gimmick. A building, not a castle but just as massive, rose beside the river. The sharp winter wind carried it—sweet, warm, promising. But underneath that thick, comforting smell of cocoa was something else. The cold tang of steel and fire. The industrial scent of smoke and acid, barely hidden by the chocolate.
The students stood outside the gates, momentarily frozen. They craned their necks to read the ornate script above the entrance, then stared with awe at the building itself. It looked like a massive, perfectly squared-off bar of chocolate wrapped in frosted foil.
"Let's go in," Anthony said, giving Thomas a light push on the shoulder. "Welcome to the world of chocolate."
White marble floors and an echoing reception hall made everyone instinctively lower their voices. Anthony went to the front desk to confirm their reservation and show their tickets. The students huddled together, slightly awkward but buzzing with curiosity as they watched the families milling about.
Soon, a beaming staff member emerged from a side door, holding a large basket piled high with chocolates.
"I'm Sophia Green, your school group tour guide," the woman said cheerfully. "On behalf of our factory, I welcome the chocolate lovers from the Scottish Academy of Magical Arts…"
Before the students could react to the school name, she continued, "As a gift, each of you may take a few of your favourite sweets from this basket."
She held out the basket, watching with tolerant fondness as the first few students shyly took only the smallest piece from the top.
"Take more," she encouraged. She winked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I bet you can't eat the factory into bankruptcy."
The students grinned at her, then looked at Anthony for permission. At his nod, they excitedly huddled around the basket, digging through it. Everyone grabbed at least three different varieties.
When the large bamboo basket returned to Ms. Green's hands, the mountain of chocolates had miraculously shrunk by nearly half, revealing the red velvet cloth beneath. The students' pockets now bulged with colourful wrappers. The impatient ones had already torn into their treats.
Anthony stopped someone from trying to stuff a sticky, jam-smeared wrapper back into their pocket. He pulled a large paper bag from his own satchel to use as a rubbish bin. He'd deliberately covered the 'Honeydukes' logo on the bag beforehand, but a sharp-eyed student still spotted it. The student grinned and stuck the little seal they'd torn from their candy wrapper right over where the label used to be.
Ms. Green waited patiently for Anthony to fold the top of the bag closed. She caught his questioning look about starting the tour and smiled, offering the basket to him.
"And you, sir. You haven't taken any yet."
…
The tour began with a white door trimmed in gold, a metal plaque reading 'Exhibition Gallery' fixed to it. Ms. Green pushed it open and gestured them inside.
The moment their feet sank into the soft, reddish-brown carpet, everyone let out a collective "Wow!"
From ceiling to floor, the long corridor was lined with glass jars and cabinets. Chocolates of every kind were displayed inside, their plastic and foil wrappers dazzling under the overhead spotlights. Classic milk chocolate, almond chocolate, hazelnut chocolate, truffles… tiny shells and sea creatures nestled in dark brown boxes like fossils… chocolate bars with black and white swirls… and chocolate balls wrapped in crinkly paper, plump and tied like bows—a calorie bomb mixing bitter and sweet.
Past the best-sellers was a small circular hall. Seven or eight machines stood in a ring, each labeled with a flavour. Tiny disposable cups were stacked beside them. Pull the metal lever beneath a machine, and a small stream of hot, thick liquid chocolate would pump out. Other visitors were gathered here, holding their little cups and talking in low voices as they compared flavours.
They stayed here a long time. The students didn't just want to taste each chocolate; they wanted to mix them together, experimenting with combinations. A small counter nearby offered toppings to stir in: raisins, marshmallows, caramel sauce, crunchy oat clusters, and biscuit crumbs.
"I suspect they might drink the machines dry," Anthony said to Ms. Green. He watched with concern as Zelma stirred a cup overflowing with dark chocolate. Golden-brown biscuit crumbs tumbled in the muddy, dark liquid before sinking, swallowed by the swamp. A speck of milk chocolate was smudged on her nose.
Ms. Green laughed. "That would be an honour. No customer has ever loved our chocolate that much. That's at least three hundred gallons of chocolate."
She pointed to the pipes under the table, which disappeared into the floor, supplying warm chocolate to everyone. Anthony looked at the pipes, painted to blend with the floorboards. He could almost see it—the hulking, smoke-belching beast behind this sweet little room, carelessly letting a tiny fraction of its tonnage production leak out for the visitors.
By the time they left, every student was flushed, bright-eyed, and slightly dazed from the sugar overload. They grinned happily at everyone they passed. Claire even gave her fuzzy hair tie to a Muggle child who'd reached out curiously from her parents' arms to touch the white puffball.
"I've fallen in love with a chocolate factory," Claire lamented as they walked away. "I want to live here forever."
"You could work at Honeydukes," her classmate whispered. "Tell Professor Sprout that during career consultation."
"It's completely different," Claire said. "I interned there last holiday. They just wave their—erm—'shoelaces' and heat cauldrons. No humming machines, no shiny mechanics. And they don't let us sneak treats." She glanced around the room. "Look at the staff here. They must all sneak loads of chocolate."
Ms. Green happened to overhear the last part and cheerfully corrected her. "No, we don't sneak it. We get unlimited chocolate from the factory."
…
Perhaps anticipating the visitors' state, the next stop was the café. The rich, bitter aroma of coffee mixed with the lingering chocolate scent. Soft chairs shaped like cocoa pods held resting visitors. Several people in white uniforms and tall, exaggerated chef's hats stood behind the counter, making coffee and chocolate cake for everyone.
The students were given decaf coffee. They stood to the side, taking small sips and grimacing at the bitterness. But the coffee's sharpness cut through the cloying sweetness of the chocolate, a welcome jolt. On Ms. Green's recommendation, Anthony tried their mocha. On top of the classic coffee and velvety chocolate flavour, the whipped cream sprinkled with cocoa powder was impossibly light.
Ms. Green laughed at Anthony's surprised expression. "Since I started working here, my weight just keeps climbing. Compared to three years ago, I've gained a full stone."
A staff member behind the counter chimed in. "The best chocolate factory has the heaviest average weight. We're sitting on the chocolate volcano's mouth, keeping the molten chocolate magma from erupting."
"Really?" Thomas asked eagerly. "You built the factory on top of a chocolate volcano?"
"Shh, don't shout it around," the staff member said. He leaned on the counter, holding his chef's hat, and crooked a finger at Thomas. His tone was secretive. "Come here, lad. Trade secret. Have you seen our chocolate fountain yet? No? Let me tell you, that's not a fountain. It's a small hole drilled into the volcano. The founder was hiking here, poked his walking stick in by accident, and the chocolate magma started gushing. No one could stop it, so we built the factory right here."
"Wow," Thomas breathed, impressed. He thought hard. "Really?"
"Really," another person said. "There was an accident during construction. The fountain spurted too unevenly. The builders had to turn a piping bag upside down and attach it to control the pressure and flow. All us old-timers know about it."
Thomas looked to the other chef-hatted workers behind the cake counter for confirmation. They all nodded at him with solemn faces.
"Blimey! That's amazing!" Thomas said, full of admiration. He turned to find someone to share the secret with.
Anthony hid behind the factory's promotional brochure.
He finally understood why the curriculum included basic geography. He decided to review that lesson immediately upon returning. He shouldn't have assumed everything was fine just because wizards knew the Earth was round.
…
Just as Thomas was sharing the tale of the chocolate volcano with his classmates, Ms. Green led them to another exhibition hall: the history and process of chocolate-making.
In the dim, tropical-forest-imitating lighting, Anthony watched Thomas's expression shift from confusion to profound bewilderment.
He examined the model cocoa tree, studied the display cases of cocoa beans and pods, looked at photos of fermenting, drying, and roasting beans, and inspected the early bean-grinding equipment. By the time they left the hall, Thomas still hadn't found the volcano he'd told his friends about.
"They said it's a trade secret," Anthony overheard Thomas tell his friend. "Maybe that's why they can't tell the truth in the exhibition hall."
…
The tour concluded in the chocolate-making experience hall, though Anthony thought 'Name-Signing Hall with Chocolate Sludge' was a more accurate name.
For most visitors, the tour ended here. In the centre of the hall was a massive chocolate fountain—the one mentioned by the café worker—easily two stories tall.
Silky chocolate cascaded from the top. A few staff members stood by, helping people fill piping bags from the fountain. Visitors then squeezed the chocolate into shapes on large marble worktables or poured it into provided moulds. Anthony saw some children sneak their fingers under the cut-open bags, dipping them in chocolate and popping them into their mouths.
What was more unexpected, however, was the staff's attire.
With Halloween approaching, the staff in this hall were dressed in black polyester cloaks with blue linings, wearing exaggerated pointy witch hats. Tiny pumpkins or stars dangled from the tips of the hats.
"Er…" a student uttered, confused.
On the other side of the hall was a small room for children to change. Ghosts draped in bedsheets, skeletons with bones painted in white on black clothes, and little fairies with wings and glittering wands kept emerging from the door to take photos by the giant chocolate fountain.
Huge posters of grinning jack-o'-lanterns covered the walls. Bold capital letters below announced that the factory was currently in full production of pumpkin and skeleton-shaped chocolates. Seasonal. Limited time only.
"This is the Magical Chocolate Room!" Ms. Green said happily. She took a hat with a star dangling from a wire support from a nearby basket and threw on a cloak that rustled noisily.
Zelma gasped in horror behind Anthony, frantically tugging his robes. "Professor, did she just say that word? Did she just say the M-word?"
"Yes, yes," Anthony said, torn between laughter and exasperation. He noticed several students subtly feeling for their wands in their jeans pockets or bags. "She doesn't mean it like that—and the costumes don't either. It's a way to celebrate Halloween."
Ms. Green, now in her Muggle-version witch garb, interpreted the stunned silence of the witches and wizards in Muggle clothes as awe at the chocolate fountain.
"Come on," she said warmly. "You can make your own unique, hand-crafted chocolate."
"Why are they celebrating Halloween?" another student whispered, bewildered. "Burn witches, then pretend to be witches?"
"I don't think they're the same people," Anthony whispered back. "But these days, their reason for celebrating Halloween isn't much different from our reason for celebrating Christmas—we all like parties and fun."
Ms. Green led them toward the chocolate fountain. She finally noticed the students' eyes glued to her cloak—and to every staff member wearing a similar witch's cloak.
"Oh, I nearly forgot," she said. "You're the real wizards." She looked at their wide eyes and frozen steps, puzzled. "Sorry, did I say something wrong? You are from the Scottish Academy of Magical Arts, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am, we are," Anthony said, drawing her attention to himself. He heard a loud, collective sigh of relief from the students.
Ms. Green smiled. "I've always wondered what they teach at a magic academy. I almost applied to one myself. I used to fantasise about being a witch when I was little."
"But you work in a chocolate factory now," Claire chimed in. "If you ask me, that's better than being a witch. If you were a witch, your career options aren't great. Especially not chocolate factories."
"If I were a witch, I could conjure lots and lots of chocolate," Ms. Green said.
Thomas piped up, "According to Gamp's—Ow!" No fewer than three elbows jabbed his ribs.
"What?" Ms. Green said.
"Nothing," Anthony said calmly. "He was mentioning a technique from our stage magic, but the academy doesn't really allow us to talk about it. You know, signed a confidentiality agreement."
Ms. Green nodded in understanding. "Just like we can't reveal the chocolate recipe."
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