The Staff of Orkney

Chapter I

A Cold Beginning

 

A chilly wind blew down out of the churning dark sky across the small station. It was the dreariest September first that Harry had ever seen since he had begun at Hogwarts five Septembers ago. The students all had to brace themselves as they were pounded by the relentless wind and rain.

An early winter.

Hermione looked around nervously to see if the luggage had already been taken in, worrying about Crookshanks in his basket.

It was with numb fingers and rattling teeth that they entered through the main doors. Peeves greeted them from the inside as perhaps the weather was even too much for him.

“Hawwy Pwotter,” said Peeves, doing a somersault. “Professor Snape’s favorite pupil. Have we a surprise for you!”

“Go away,” Harry said drearily. He was wet, cold, and Professor Snape was the last person he wanted mentioned.

“Go bother the first years,” Ron suggested.

“My, my,” and Peeves clapped his hands together. “You’ll be delighted too. Double the trouble!” With that, he flew off down the corridors and Harry and Ron didn’t give him another thought as they entered the warmth of the Great Hall.

They all sat down at the Gryffindor table. The torches had been lit along with candles in great candelabras at the center of the tables. The ceiling above was reflecting the black, swirling storm clouds outside.

“I can’t believe that the summer is over,” Ron contemplated looking up at the ceiling.

“September is still summer, Ron,” Hermione piped up. “Fall does not begin until September twenty-second.”

Ron turned to Harry and made a face then turned his attention to the steaming butter beer that had suddenly appeared before them. “How very nice of the house elves,” he commented with an eye on Hermione.

“I hope you two aren’t going to be as bad as last year,” Harry said, picking up his own mug.

Suddenly, the bench they were seated on gave a jolt as Fred and George slid quickly onto it. Ron’s butter beer sloshed onto his robes.

“Awe, look what you did,” Ron said, dabbing at his robes with a napkin. “This better wash out…”

“You won’t believe it!” George blurted out, completely ignoring his younger brother’s complaints.

“We didn’t believe it ourselves,” Fred added.

“Unless you fed Malfoy a canary cream, I don’t care,” said Ron, still perturbed.

“No, it’s not funny. It’s bad actually,” George began.

“Real bad,” Fred continued. “But feeding Malfoy a Canary Cream doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

“It’s about Snape,” said George, interrupting.

Harry lifted his eyebrows as he continued to drink his butter beer. It was warming him up so well that he didn’t want to put down his mug.

“We heard Professor Dumbledore talking about the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” continued Fred. “Said that he had a hard time finding one for this year.”

“It’s Snape!” George exclaimed.

“Yeah, I think he finally got the job.”

Harry suddenly gagged on his butter beer and found himself in the same predicament as Ron.

“Snape? Nooo,” Harry moaned.

“I can’t believe that Dumbledore would let him.”

Harry had to agree with Hermione. Some how he found it hard to believe that Dumbledore would let an ex-Death Eater take over Defense Against the Dark Arts. But then again, maybe Dumbledore saw Snape’s past experience as an advantage. Voldemort was back in power and who better to teach how to defend against a Death Eater than one who used to be one himself? Still, this was bad news.

“Suppose we won’t be looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore,” said Harry as the doors opened at the end of the hall and Hagrid and Professor McGonagall led in the shivering wet first years.

“I wonder who’s going to teach Potions,” Ron thought out loud.

They looked up at the staff table where there were four empty chairs. Two belonged to Hagrid and McGonagall and one belonged to Snape—he seemed to be missing. The fourth had to be for the new Potions master.

The Sorting had already begun and they turned their attention to the Sorting Hat, applauding every time a new Gryffindore stood up from the four-legged stool and joined their table.

“Ron, Harry,” Hermione suddenly hissed.

They looked in the direction that she was pointing. The great doors had opened once again admitting two figures. After the doors shut, they walked briskly across the grey stone floor. One of the approaching wizards was unmistakable. Greasy, shoulder length, black hair, sallow skin, and a hooked nose: Professor Severus Snape, the most hated professor of the school. He was wearing deep green robes and his hallmark black cloak swished ominously as he walked. Usually seen alone glaring at students or his fellow professors, he was surprisingly in deep conversation with the wizard who had entered the hall with him.

No one had ever seen the tall and thin wizard before. To begin with, he was markedly younger. He probably was not more than twenty. His hair was thick, jet-black and tied back into a ponytail that fell down past his waist. It was bound with several big silver rings, and might have been admittedly impressive if not so incredibly greasy. He was slightly pale but yet, standing next to Snape, he was somewhat handsome. His robes were black with silver knot work trim, and his cloak was extraordinary. It was blood red and trimmed heavily around the collar with thick grey fur. A heavy silver serpent served as a clasp. He seated himself at the staff table next to Snape and began to examine the goblet and hollowware set before him, all the while nodding at what Snape was saying.

It was then that they noticed something even more interesting about the stranger than his long hair or lavish robes. He held in his long, thin fingers, an odd type of staff.

“Oh my,” Hermione was first to comment on it. “I never thought I’d see it. I mean, it’s not suppose to exist anymore.”

“What is?” both Ron and Harry asked, though they were all staring at the staff, which had a stone fastened to the top that seemed to be putting off a soft blue glow.

“He’s got the Mage’s Staff of Orkney.”

“Huh?” was Ron’s response.

“What’s a mage’s staff?” asked Harry.

“It’s…well, it’s like a wand,” Hermione explained, “but much more powerful. It doesn’t require you to use words. There’s only been a few ever made in history.”

“Sounds great,” said Ron. “Great for Charms class, I bet. Where can I get one?”

“You wouldn’t want one,” Hermione stated quickly. “They tend to kill most of those who try to use one. That’s why so many of those made have been destroyed. That and the fact that once you successfully use a mage’s staff, you’re bound to it for life. They were seen as too much of a burden. It was a mark of someone extremely powerful with magic up through the seventeenth century. By the seventeen hundreds, there weren’t many left and the idea of completely dedicating your life to magic became a little absurd—as a master of a mage’s staff you can’t get married. The type of power that it creates in your body is just so strong that it would affect any children they had. The child wouldn’t be able to survive unless the staff was given immediately to them—even then, it might kill them. Also, the only way to get one is to be apprenticed to a wizard who has one then pass it down. The only exception is to make one, which is impossible now because the Philosopher’s Stone is needed. One of the components in the crystal of the staff is the elixir of life.”

“Sounds like a dull life,” said Ron.

“So that staff, where did it come from? How many are there?”

“There were seven made. The only one left is supposedly in Gringotts, and that one was made in Russia. The Staff of Orkney was made by Merlin up in the Orkney Isles.”

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed. “Can you be anymore brainy? How do you know all this?”

“From Muggle Studies,” she said simply. “In the muggle world, wizards are usually shown with a staff, not a wand and it’s because of the traditional image of Merlin. There was a side note about the staffs in our text.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“Wow, did you notice that professor?” Neville Longbottom asked suddenly.

“No, Neville, we haven’t,” Ron said sarcastically.

“We were talking about his staff,” Harry said more kindly.

Neville’s eyes widened. “Is that a real wizarding staff, Harry?”

“Hermione seems to think so.”

“Oh,” Neville whispered. They all noticed that Neville had turned deathly pale.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione slowly asked.

Neville gulped. “Wha-what’s the chance of there being two, two wizards with wizarding staffs?”

The question took them all by surprise but they didn’t have time to question for the sorting hat had completed its job for the year and Professor Dumbledore had stood up.

“The beginning,” he said, “of another year.” His voice, Harry noticed, had slightly taken on the raspy tone of an old man. “May I begin by saying that I have great faith in all of you.” Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to twinkle as he scanned the sea of young faces; it vanished, however, when his gaze fell upon Draco Malfoy and the Slytherin table.

“Last year was a very difficult year for many of us and I wish that I could say that this year is going to be easier, but I don’t think it will. Troubled times are dawning and will not go away quickly nor easily. There were numerous murders over the summer, of both muggles and wizards. Though the papers failed to say, these were in fact linked to Voldemort. One paper, in particular, went so far as to blame a string of muggle murders on Sirius Black.” Harry saw that Dumbledore’s eyes met his and he wished more than ever that he didn’t spend his summer months so cut off and distant from the wizarding world. “Those allegations were false. Others and I have been laboring hard these past two months on following Voldemort’s trail. “It pains me to tell you this, but I must. There may come a time in the future when you must make some important decisions. It may even be a decision that involves going against authority. There will not always be someone to guide you. You must base your decisions upon what you have learned here and most importantly, what you feel is right. Always seek the truth. I may not always be here to give it to you.” Dumbledore paused, again surveying all of the students but this time with a more solemn expression. He looked down, removed his spectacles and massaged the bridge of his crooked nose. When he replaced his glasses, his face looked brighter.

“On a more positive note, Quidditch games will resume this year and we have a new professor, very skilled in Quidditch, I might add, who I will introduce to you shortly, that will be overseeing the duties of Madam Hooch until she returns in the Spring term.”

Harry quickly exchanged glances with Fred and George.

“And that brings me to an introduction,” Dumbledore continued. “We have yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor...”

The stranger’s face broke into a slight smile at this.

“Your new Professor who has come all the way from Durmstrang—and it seems that he has brought the weather with him. Professor Salazar Snape will be your new…”

But Dumbledore was drowned out by an enormous applause from the Slytherin table. Harry watched as Draco Malfoy banged his goblet on the table and then stood up. The other Slytherins filed suit.

Chapter II

Wyverns

“We’ve got O.W.L.S. this year.” Hermione was nearly sobbing. “How are we to do well if we’ve got the Snape family taking over our classes?”

Harry ignored Hermione’s complaint; he had something much more important on his mind.

“He’s taking over Quidditch. Dumbledore’s put a Slytherin in charge of Quidditch,” Fred croaked.

The thought was crunching. With a name like Salazar Snape, it was quite obvious that the new professor would favour the Slytherins. What this meant for the Quidditch matches…this was worse news for Harry than Voldemort.

“Two Snapes!” Ron moaned. “How could there possibly be two gits like that on this planet—at this school? What was Dumbledore thinking? Maybe he is a bit loony.”

Neville Longbottom looked as if he were about to faint. Harry could only imagine how the idea of two Snape’s was going to affect poor Neville.

All the Gryffindor students seemed to be conversing on the same topic. No one was happy and things didn’t look any brighter when they all received their course schedules the next morning.

“Double Potions in the morning and then Defense Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon of the same day!” Harry exclaimed upon getting his.

“Looks like we won’t ever be able to look forward to Fridays,” said Ron dismally.

“At least we won’t have to see either of them until the end of the week. Only look,” Hermione was going over her schedule as well, “Defense Against the Dark Arts is on Mondays too.”

Neville made a small sniffing noise. His schedule was crumpled in his hand.

“What’s the matter?” Hermione asked.

“Went to Professor McGonagall,” Neville’s voice had an uncharacteristic hint of anger to it. “Tried to drop Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wouldn’t let me do it. Said there was a seven year requirement.”

“Well, you won’t be suffering alone,” Harry replied. He noticed that Neville seemed to have changed a lot. He looked taller, but it was about time, this being their fifth year.

After breakfast, they all went up to Professor Trelawney’s tower for Divination and Harry and Ron were able to doze off for a pleasant nap until they were interrupted. Professor Trelawney loomed above them, her thin face looking very displeased and her bangled arms crossed in front of her chest. They were all too happy to leave her stuffy scented classroom and go outside for their next class, Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was looking forward to seeing Hagrid. He hoped that he would have a chance to talk since there was a two-hour break before Transfiguration in the afternoon.

As they walked down the humming green lawn, they came upon another group of students who were joining the class. The Slytherins were all walking closely together in their usual pack, listening to the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

“No, Pansy, he’s not Professor Snape’s brother, they’re cousins. I should know. He and my father are good friends. He was over at our house not that long ago. And wouldn’t you like to know some of the spells he taught me.”

“Like what?” Pansy Parkinson asked.

“He’s well versed in the things not taught here, and he’s just wicked at transfiguration,” Malfoy explained. “He’s one of the few Animagi of the century, but he’s the only wizard ever to be known to turn into a dragon beside Merlin. Well, not exactly a dragon—but close.”

“Maybe he should teach transfiguration,” someone suggested.

“No,” Malfoy disagreed, “he used to teach at Durmstrang—and they teach the Dark Arts over there, not this defense crap. He’s going to be the best professor we’ve had yet.”

“How come then,” Pansy thought, “Why do you think Dumbledore had him come here then?”

Malfoy threw his hands into the air. “Don’t ask me. Dumbledore’s crazy.”

“Sounds like Defense Against the Dark Arts is going to be a real joy,” Ron said sarcastically.

“He assigned a lot of summer reading,” Harry commented. “I didn’t finish it all.”

“Neither did I,” Ron confessed.

Hermione tutted.

“Oh, look who it is,” a grating, drawling voice said from the Slytherin crowd.

“Hope this year’s better for you, Potter. Hope you don’t get anyone else killed.”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Ron barked. Both Harry and Hermione instinctively grabbed a hold of him.

“Oh, yes. It’s Weasel the muggle-loving pauper. My father’s got a score to set with your family. He wasn’t very happy about the hex you used on me…”

“Is your father coming then? Or how about your mother,” Ron interrupted. “Know you can’t win against us so you’ve got to run to mommy and daddy.”

“Why not go to my father?” Malfoy took on a malevolent look that showed that he was evidently pleased with whatever he was about to say. “At least my father doesn’t have to hide behind Dumbledore’s beard. My father’s a real wizard, not some muggle-loving nitwit. Mine could beat yours in a duel any day—especially now.”

Hermione let out a laugh. “I’d watch it, Malfoy. Your father goes slithering around with a big snake, as I understand it, and do you know what snakes eat? Rodents, Malfoy, and I’m sure they would find a little ferret like you an appetizing snack.”

Malfoy looked as if he was attempting to sort out this statement, but gave up and hissed, “Watch it yourself, mudblood. You’ll be lucky to make it through the year.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron said rabidly. “Don’t you dare threaten her, you slimy little…”

“Hey now! This isn’t the way to start the year.”

It was Hagrid, and just in time. Ron and Malfoy had to back down. Hagrid set down a large crate that soon gained everyone’s attention. It was smoking and it sounded as if something was scratching around inside.

“Not more Blast-Ended Screwts!” Dean Thomas exclaimed as a distinct small explosion was heard and smoke filtered out of the holes in the crate.

“Nope,” replied Hagrid, “those are gone now. What I’ve got here is something that I thought you all might like a bit more. Had to look all over a number of dungeons for these.”

“Wonderful,” Malfoy drawled. “How many poisonous spikes does this thing have?”

“You should know,” Ron interjected. “Sounds like he found him at your house.”

“None,” Hagrid replied simply. “But they can burn you, so you haveta be careful. I’ll not have any of you touchin’ ‘em quite yet. I’m still readin’ up on ‘em.”

“So what’s exactly in there?” Harry asked warily, getting ready to run as Hagrid began to unlock the door.

“They’re wyverns.”

Immediately, both Hermione and Malfoy stepped back.

“What Malfoy? You really do have those at your in your basement?” Ron jeered as he too retreated.

“Shut up, Ron. At least I have a basement.”

Harry decided to retreat quite a distance. He didn’t want to be near anything that would be found lurking in the Malfoy dungeons. “What’s a wyvern?” he asked Hermione.

“They’re a type of dragon,” she explained.

“Dragons? Hagrid…” Harry began.

Hagrid grinned as he stuck a gloved hand into the crate, something that Harry would not have personally done even with dragon hide gloves. “It’s a’right ‘arry. Oh! Now it’s a’right little feller. No need to try an’ defend yerself against me.”

“Hagrid,” Harry said warily, “are these—legal?”

“’Course they are. Wyverns don’t get very big. These guys are already full grown. No need to worry—Ouch! Now there!” Hagrid finally managed to pull out one of the small leathery winged dragons but the sleeve to his arm was singed. “At first you’ll notice that wyverns are more snakelike than a dragon,” Hagrid began. “And ain’t he a beauty.” He held up the blue wyvern for all to see.

Other than it’s color, the wyvern was anything but “a beauty.” It had the head of a dragon with antennae-like tendrils curling from its jaw and ears and its wings were dragon-like as well. The rest of its long, thin body was more serpentine than dragon. It had legs, but they were tiny and only seemed to serve the purpose of making the creature able to scratch. Its most snake-like attribute, though, were the eyes. They were definitely the eyes of a snake—but glowing red. They reminded Harry all too well of something—someone, and he felt a prickly sensation run up his spine as he looked at them.

“Wyverns are mischievous creatures,” Hagrid continued. “They tend t’ like cold dark places an’ can be real pests in the lower floors of castles, dungeons, or even in basements. If ye’ve ever been somewhere at night, say yer basement, and thought you saw a pair o’ red eyes, it was prob’bly a wyvern. They tend to even get into muggle houses sometimes by mistake, but they don’t stay fer long ‘cause they prefer feedin’ off a lot of the items used in potions. We used to have a real problem with ‘em here until Professor Snape took the position of Potions Master. They’re mean pests that can make a mess if not taken care of. But never, never try to take care of ‘em yerself unless yuh know what yer doin.’” The wyvern he was holding suddenly let out a small puff of blue flame that caught Hagrid’s other sleeve on fire. He rather swiftly put it back into the crate with the other wyverns while the Slytherins laughed.

“The rest of class was spent reading what their textbook had to say on wyverns and ended early so that Hagrid could tend to his burns. Harry, Hermione, and Ron followed him into his hut.

“Good t’ see you all again,” said Hagrid, opening a jar full of a strange colored cream. “You want some jelly tarts?” He motioned to a plate on the table with some blackened dollops of dough.

“Thank you, but we’ll be going to lunch soon,” Hermione swiftly declined the offer.

“So how was your summer?” Harry asked. “Did you…” There was something that Harry had wanted to ask all summer since the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. “Did you talk with the giants? Are they going to help us?”

“Awe, now how would you know so much about that? Dumbledore tell you?” Hagrid slowly began wrapping his left forearm with a bandage. “Well, I suppose yer smart Harry. Yes, Madam Maxime and I talked with many o’er the course o’ the summer. Unfortunately, we didn’t make much progress.”

“Are they going to be a threat?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Well, I cant’ say. You see, Hermione, giants tend t’ be solitary folk. They ain’t organized, so there’s no way to speak t’ all of ‘em at once. Maxime and I talked to all that we could, an’ there were some that seemed fairly certain that they wouldn’t want t’ have nothin’ ter do with—with Voldemort.” This was the first time that Harry had heard Hagrid use Voldemort’s name. It was probably Dumbledore’s doing. “We were even able to get a few to help us, but on the whole, I don’t think that the giants will all be on our side. Nor will they all be for him either. Maxime an’ I still have a lot l’ work ter do.”

They were all silent after Hagrid finished, then Harry asked, “Voldemort’s here in England, right? How much trouble is he going to cause elsewhere? I just was wondering if Hogwarts is the only place we have to worry about him being right now.”

Hagrid frowned. “I wish that were true, but he’s got followers elsewhere. You ever hear of Grindelwald?” They all nodded. “Well, he caused havoc mainly in Germany and no one thought much of it, but wasn’t long ‘for he dragged the whole world into it. And I’ll tell you, Voldemort’s got potential t’ be lot worse than Grindelwald was—I heard this from Dumbledore. But we’ll haveta keep our eyes an’ ears open outside England and Scotland. The Ministry’s already been real particular ‘bout who they chose for the new Headmaster at Durmstrang, taking that school’s reputation an’ all.”

“Speaking of Durmstrang,” said Hermione suddenly, “What is with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? Why would Dumbledore choose someone from Durmstrang?”

“Or another Snape,” Ron added.

“Well, I’m not the one to be questioning Albus Dumbledore,” Hagrid began, “but I remember that greasy little git. Severus’ shadow he was.”

“I take it you didn’t care much for him,” Harry surmised.

“No. Dumbledore seemed to think there was somethin’ in him, but there wasn’t. Proved it when he dropped out of school his fifth year to get tangled with You-Know—I mean Voldemort. And I know he was involved. Came back to our side with Severus, but he was so bad that the ministry wouldn’t hear of lettin’ him go, an’ they threw him in Azkaban. Took a month for Dumbledore to get him out. When he finally did get out, though, he was bitter. Refused to cooperate with the ministry. He helped out his cousin, Severus, but his business was a bit shady. I think Severus has covered up some o’ the things he did. I remember him in school. Never did or said much. Real quiet type, but when he did do something, it wasn’t ord’nary, an’ it warn’t good. S’pose the reason he’s here now is ‘cause Dumbledore and Severus were the only ones he thought he could turn to. Karkaroff was the only one who would hire him outside o’ Britain—‘cept Crabhill and Funk in the States where I supposed they’d ne’er heard of him. But he didn’t keep that job long. But b’lieve me, he warn’t goin’ t’ hang ‘round here. Heard that the first thing the new Headmaster of Durmstrang did was fire that snake.”

“Malfoy said something about him being named after Salazar, is that true?” Ron asked.

“Don’t know, but Salazar’s nickname throughout school was Draco and he was like this with the Malfoy family,” and Hagrid crossed his fingers. “Both he and Severus grew up with Lucius. If you ask me, though, if Lucius Malfoy named his son after Salazar, he couldn’t have picked a better person. Shame to teach students whom you know will be usin’ the Dark Arts when they leave,” he said, shaking his head.

“I have a question,” Hermione said slowly. “If he worked for Voldemort, then how come he’s so young? He looks no older than some of the seventh years.”

This was true and both Harry and Ron looked at Hagrid for an answer.

“Well…” Hagrid thought. “He’s only two years younger than Severus. I suppose it’s powerful dark magic. Don’t know what else it could be.”

None of this talk did anything brighten their spirits, so they all turned the subject to Hagrid’s newest “pets.” It was only when he invited them to help put the wyverns into their new home, a cold cage built into the ground, that they decided to head back to the school for lunch.