The Staff of Orkney

Chapter XIV

Poisons and Potions

Classes resumed in January and with them returned homework, Hermione’s fears of the O.W.L.s, Professor LeSal, and Harry’s detentions with Professor Snape.  His first day back at this, Snape had handed him a parcel that held his invisibility cloak.  Snape made no comment and Harry felt that he dare not ask, though he had a sneaky suspicion that the Professor had not just merely taken it away as punishment.  If he had, he would have surely not returned it so soon.

Everything else seemed to be back to normal, and after Harry finally finished with the Potion’s storeroom in February, he decided against asking for any more detentions.  Incredibly, he and Ron managed to stay out of trouble all the way into April.

Still, though the atmosphere seemed so calm, Harry couldn’t help but feel this was all a false sense of comfort.  He had stayed true to his word to Snape and had never revealed what he had heard that night to Ron.  Silently, he wished he had never heard that conversation, for he felt alone with his worry, and it was easy to see why.  Nothing had happened since the Chudley Cannon came.  The Daily Prophet had gone to reporting on who was up for the Witches’ Weekly Most Handsome Smile Award and minor magical infractions, such as a case involving a muggle woman and an illegal flying carpet.  The woman and her houseguests had unexpectedly found themselves floating near the ceiling during tea.  It was as if Voldemort had suddenly disappeared again. No mysterious murders, no Death Eater raids, no disappearances, nothing.  The only incident remotely stinking of the dark arts was an investigation of the Malfoy Manor, (this had made Ron smile for days), into the possibility of illegal magical items.  The only thing found was a dark unicorn in the stables, and that had caused some stir as the Ministry officials in charge of the animal’s destruction were found hit with a potent memory charm and the unicorn was no where to be found.  Unfortunately, Lucius Malfoy had just been forced to pay fines for possession of an illegal and dangerous magical creature and no charges were brought up for the disappearance.

“I need the spring charts for the Northern Hemisphere in by next Friday,” Professor Sinistra informed them late Friday night. 

Harry and Ron sleepily agreed as they left the astronomy tower.  For the spring term, they had been given the option to take a half-year course and they had decided on an astronomy course because the idea of sitting in the south tower gazing at stars through a telescope had appealed to them at the time.  Never mind that the exams were held late in the evening.

“She would have to have planned this test for the night before a Quidditch match!” Harry reached behind his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.  It was already midnight.

“Well, at least you can be thankful that that was the only class you had today.”

This was true.  Earlier that day, Harry had been selected to help with a Care of Magical Creatures field trip.  Hagrid had taken some of the first years into the Forbidden Forest—which wasn’t so bad during the day—but it had definitely managed to deter some of the first years from ever wanting to wander into the Forest again.  He was smiling broadly as he thought how wonderful the day had really been: missing both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had become unpleasant since Professor LeSal had returned after the holiday acting much as his cousin.  He stopped with Ron before the Fat Lady.

“Snape’s a slime ball.” The new password still made them snicker.  “Someone evidently had a bad day in Potions,” Ron snorted as he jumped through the portrait hole.  Again Harry was glad he had missed that class.  “Though,” Ron threw his book bag into a corner, “today we were lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yea, neither of the Gruesome Twosome bothered to show up.” So they had begun to refer to the Snapes. “McGonagall took over for Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions was cancelled.  Quick game of chess before we go to bed?”

A sick feeling lodged itself in Harry’s throat and it felt like gillyweed as it slid uncomfortably into his stomach.  Mr. Weasley surfaced in his mind, and he then felt a chill prickle up his spine.  “No, I think I’m going straight to bed—the match tomorrow, you know.”

“Right.” Ron noticed the sudden change. “You all right, Harry?”

Harry was afraid to say anything.  Afraid that Ron may somehow suspect—he decided to remind him of Snape anyway, “Ron, remember last year—about Snape?”

Ron gave him a bewildered stare before it seemed to click.  “Oh, God.  You don’t think he’s out with—him and LeSal out—for Dumbledore, I mean?”  There was a large pop from the logs on the fireplace and they both jumped.  It was followed by a loud voice.

“Harry!” George came bounding down the stairs.  “Where have you been?”

“Astronomy exam.  Is something the matter?”

“Horribly,” Fred answered.  Soon Dennis Creevey and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team joined him and George.

Harry doubted if the “horribly wrong” situation could rival with what he had just been contemplating. “What?”

“My Firebolt—the one I’ve been borrowing from Professor LeSal…” Dennis began.

“It’s gone,” Fred explained hopelessly.

“LeSal took it back?” Harry wouldn’t have been surprised.  Professor LeSal had been quite cantankerous.

“No,” George said thoughtfully.  “It disappeared during a short practice.  “It was just Dennis, Fred, and me out on the field.”

“I leaned it up against the side of the castle, near the locker rooms, then when I turned around, it was gone.” Dennis looked desperate.

Suddenly, Harry’s mind flashed back to what he had heard Malfoy say to Pansy Parkinson on Christmas.  “Malfoy.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Both Fred and George looked angry.

“What are we going to do?” Dennis piped up in a wail. “We have to have that back before we play tomorrow.”

“Yes, we do,” Fred insisted.  “We’re up against Ravenclaw.  They’ve got some excellent chasers this year.”

Harry glanced over at Ron.  This was the last thing he wanted to do right now.  His last attempt to enter the Slytherin common room had been a complete disaster and this would mean not only going into the common room, but going into Draco Malfoy’s bedroom to take something.  “What do you suppose we do?” Harry hoped someone had a better idea than him.

“We could go to Professor McGonagall,” Katy suggested.

“But what if he just told her he didn’t have it?” Dennis shot back.  “We’d have to wait for Professor Snape to get back, or well, or from wherever he is, to search, and by then, Malfoy could hide it.”

“We need to get it tonight, Harry,” Fred urged.

*          *          *

Harry couldn’t believe he was attempting this again.  He had insisted on going alone for the same reasons that he had before and also he was afraid what Snape might do if he caught him sneaking out again.

His hope for the Slytherin password to be the same as it was at Christmas was crushed and he stood for a long time in front of the wall.

“Pureblood.”

“Mudblood.”

“Snakes.”

“Hex.”

Harry was stumped.  He ran through all the words he could think of that might possibly make a good Slytherin password.  Irritated, he stomped his foot.  “Come on!” He was about to leave.  “I need to get in there or we’ll not stand a chance in the Quidditch ma…”

The wall suddenly opened, revealing the entrance.

“Quidditch?”  Harry couldn’t believe it.

Quietly, he slipped into Slytherin territory.  The common room was empty, it being already one in the morning.  This was good, however, because everyone was most likely asleep and it would be easy for him to get the broom and spirit it away—only first he’d have to find Malfoy’s room.

There were two doors, one on either side of the fireplace.  Harry chose the left one fist.  There was no spiral staircase, but a long hall lit with torches and lined with paintings and doors.  There was a green carpet running down the length of the hall that muffled his footsteps, which he was glad it did, for he heard a dwarf in one of the paintings stir and grumble lowly, “Who’s there?” before he began to snore.

With bated breath, he carefully approached the first door.  Just as he reached for the silver knob, the door sprang open, causing him to sprawl backwards onto the floor.  His cloak slipped down off one of his legs.  The figure that walked out of the door, however, seemed too sleepy to notice and Harry had the chance to get to his feet and reposition his cloak so that he was completely hidden.  Once he had calmed down and his heart rate returned to normal, he focused on whom it was that had passed through the doorway—which led to the water closet, and couldn’t believe his luck.

Goyle was lumbering barefoot down the hall wearing a pair of garish, purple flannel pajamas.  Harry hurried after, following him into one of the last doors.

Vincent Crabbe was snoring loudly from a nearby bed.  In a bed across the room, there was a boy whom Harry couldn’t place, for he had a pillow situated over his head, probably to muffle the snores coming from Crabbe and then chorused in by Goyle.  Harry gazed around the circular room with the four poster beds just like his own, only all the upholstery was an emerald green, though the light of the full moon washed much of the color out.  The full moon: it reminded him of Lupin.  He hoped that he had gotten his potion before Snape had taken off.  A wave of guilt swept over him.  There were so many things going on tonight and here he was, breaking rules on account of a Quidditch match.  Then again, this was Malfoy’s fault.  He wouldn’t be in here if it weren’t for him.  That’s when he noticed him, asleep in a bed by the window.

On a night table at his bedside, sat a basket of cookies.  Harry read the tag:

“With love, from your Mother.

XOXOXO”

Next to it, leaning against the wall, was what he was looking for.  There were two Firebolts and one had golden writing in some Slavic language.  Quickly he grabbed this broom and situated it under his cloak.  It would be best if he left as soon as possible, however, as he looked back over at Malfoy, asleep and completely unaware and unsuspecting—the temptation was too great.

He withdrew his wand and pointed it at Malfoy’s throat.  “Sonorous Hilariousa.” A tiny waft of silver shot out of his wand and melted into Malfoy’s neck.  “A cute little squeaky voice will be befitting for Ferret boy.” Harry had to stifle a laugh at his own words.  He turned to leave, but then spotted the cookies again.  He tapped the card with his wand.  It now read:

“With love, from Harry.”

Before he could think of anything else to do, he hurried from the room, satisfied that Malfoy wouldn’t dare to rat on him for fear he’d be accused of trying to sabotage a Quidditch match.

Feeling very good about himself, but also realizing he’d only have a few hours before he’d have to get up in the morning, he hurried up from the dungeons.  He kept a stealth eye out for Filch or Mrs. Norris as he ran along the corridors and up onto the main floor.  He was nearing the marble staircase near the front doors when he suddenly slipped.  There had been something wet on the floor and he landed with a grunt onto the stone floor, the Firebolt clattering down beside him.  Heart pounding, he glanced around.  There seemed to be no one about, though strangely, he noticed that the main doors had been left ajar.  Deciding it best to get to bed, he stood up, made sure that he and the Firebolt were well concealed, then noticed that his hands were covered in a dark liquid.  He looked down at the liquid on the floor.

By the light of the torches he could tell that it was blood.

There wasn’t a whole lot.  Not like some great puddles he’d seen in some of the movies Dudley would watch, but big dollops that led away from the entrance and down the hall.  A cold eerie chill passed through him.  He now felt like one of those characters in Dudley’s movies: the one that was about to get an ax in the head.  Only they never had an assailant with a magic wand, Harry thought, or for that matter, they usually weren’t invisible.

His curiosity getting the best of him, he followed the trail of blood to where it led around a corner where he decided to stop.  He could hear someone getting sick and the heavy footfalls of someone laboriously shuffling along.  Slowly, he peered around the corner.

Two black shrouded figures were making their way toward the mirror that led to the staff quarters.  Both looked injured, but one was clearly having the worst time of it and was being supported by the other.  Then Harry noticed that one of the cloaked figures was gripping a mage’s staff.  That cloaked figure was using the staff as support as well as being held up by his companion.  Suddenly he stopped and started to throw up again then collapsed to the floor, heaving, before finally lying still.

“Salazar!  Salazar, come on.  We’re almost there.” It was Snape’s voice.  He leaned over the figure lying crumpled on the floor and tore off a skull-like mask.

The Death Eater mask gave Harry the chills but seeing what was underneath did so even more.  LeSal’s face had taken on the same complexion as Nearly Headless Nick and was covered with droplets of sweat—then he got a glimpse of Snape’s face.

Blood was streaming down his face from a painful looking gash in his left temple.  He had to wipe away a drop that was running into his eye with a hand also covered in blood.  “Damnit, LeSal.  It’s not suppose to work this fast.” Snape’s voice trembled. Desperately, he turned toward the mirror.  “Dumbledore, where are you?”

Harry couldn’t stand to watch this any longer.  He dropped the broom and removed his cloak then strode up to Professor Snape, who clearly jumped defensively, his hand on his wand.  He lowered it when he realized that it was Harry and there seemed to be almost a look of relief that swept over his contorted and strained features.  “Potter! What are you…”

“Where’s Dumbledore? I’ll get him.”

Snape looked stunned.  “In the staff’s quarters.  Where you’d find the entrance to his office.”

With a quick nod, Harry hurried over, jumped through the fame, and went sprinting down the hall.  He had just about reached the gargoyle when he spotted Dumbledore striding toward him.  Harry stopped and tried to catch his breath before speaking but he didn’t need to explain.

“They’ve returned?”  It was more a statement rather than a question.  “How bad off are they?”

“Professor Snape—bleeding bad.” Dumbledore had started to hurry back toward the mirror as Harry filled him in.  “Professor LeSal is worse off.  Not bleeding, but unconscious.  Snape seems real worried.”  At this, Dumbledore broke into a longer stride.

Harry followed after through the mirror.  When he passed through, Dumbledore was already kneeling down at LeSal’s side.

“Severus, what happened?”

“Poison.”

Dumbledore glance up, taking in Snape’s blood soaked robes.  Harry realized that he must have been wounded elsewhere besides the cut on his head for there was a steady trickle of blood running out of his left sleeve, over his hand, where it then pattered onto the floor.  It was surprising that he hadn’t collapsed.  “I’ll take him to his room, you work on getting the antidote—and take Harry with you,” Dumbledore added as an afterthought.  His voices seemed to have changed after meeting Snape’s eyes.

Snape didn’t seem to have the resources to object.  He just turned on his heel and headed for the dungeons.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said lowly, “make sure he sees to taking care of himself.”

Harry nodded before turning to run after Professor Snape.

*          *          *

Snape staggered into the Potions lab.  With a flick of his wand, the torches along the walls blazed, lighting up the cold room.  “Potter, I need you to get a number two cauldron, silver, and place it over a Bunsen on this table.”  He smacked his right hand down on the nearest table, and then began to pry off his Death Eater robes.  When Harry returned from the storeroom with the cauldron, Snape had taken out a jar of some clear liquid and a beaker.  With a shaking hand, he poured the liquid from the jar into the beaker then removed a small black flask from his robes and added its contents.  Rapidly, the mixture began to change colors and Snape scribbled down each change on a leaf of paper until it finally became black.

Once the liquid had stopped changing colors, it began to bubble violently and off to the side, Snape wrote: “Mandrake Extract.”  His writing was horribly messy as he then went down the list of different reactions and wrote down ingredients beside each: “Quag grease, Hogwarts lily, Narwhale bile…”  He handed the list to Harry.  “All of this here, quick.” Snape’s voice was hoarse and before Harry turned away, he caught him grabbing his arm and wincing.

“Professor—you should take care of yourself.  I can’t make this—you need to…”

“I can take care of myself, Potter!  Now go get those ingredients.”

Without another word, Harry returned to the storeroom.  He snatched up a bowl and began to gather jars.  Those weeks he had spent helping Snape now came to good use, as he knew exactly where everything was.  Also, before he left, he recalled something.  Something came to mind from his first year.  He figured that Snape was in so much pain that he had forgotten to include something so elementary, so he snatched up the jar full of bezoar stones on his way out.

To his relief, Snape was in the process of trying to fix a bandage to his left shoulder, which through a tear in his robes, could be seen to be blackened and oozing blood.  Harry set down the ingredients and scooted around the table.  Cautiously, he reached up and grabbed the end of the bandage, which had been dangling over Snape’s back, out of reach.  Snape allowed him to finish wrapping his wound as he started to sort through the ingredients.  The bezoar stones were the first item he threw into the cauldron.

As Snape got to work, all Harry began to do was hand him certain ingredients and measuring devices.  However, Snape’s wounds began to slow him down.  At one point, he was attempting to pour Mandrake Extract into a small test tube but his hand was shaking so horribly that hardly any of the liquid was finding its way into the tube.

“Here,” Harry grabbed it from him.  “How much?”

“To the half mark.” Snape’s voice had become so course and weary that Harry was suddenly scared that he’d pass out before the potion was complete.  Despite this, there seemed to be spark of loathing in his eyes.  Harry realized that he was in a dangerous position: in Snape’s lab while Snape was rendered rather helpless.  For the rest of the time, Harry focused on precisely following what Snape told him and avoided any eye contact.

The potion took less than a half hour to make, but it seemed as if hours had passed by the time that the simmering concoction was poured into a goblet.  This Snape placed in Harry’s hands.  “Take this to Salazar, and be careful not to drop it.”

Firmly grasping the goblet in both hands, Harry headed to the door then realized Snape was not coming.  He turned around and evidently the look on his face asked his question.

“I need to take care of myself, Potter,” Snape answered. “Now get going!  Don’t make me have to try and get that to him.”  His words were not to be questioned, and Harry hurried out as quickly as he could.

As soon as he left the Potions lab, the image of LeSal’s face flashed in his mind.  He drove his legs to carry him faster, though he had to be careful that he didn’t spill any.  Then he remembered a simple charm from Flitwick’s class.  Stopping briefly, he withdrew his wand and cast the charm on the lip of the goblet, sealing the potion in.  Afterward, he sprinted down the hall.

He was out of breath by the time he reached Snape’s apartment.  When he burst in, panting, through the front door, he heard Dumbledore’s voice, “We’re back here, Harry.”

Harry hurried down the back hall to the only room he hadn’t been in before; the one that LeSal and Snape shared.  Dumbledore was seated on the edge of a bed where a deathly pale and hardly breathing LeSal lay.

Harry waved his wand over the goblet to remove the sealing charm before handing it to him.

“How is Professor Snape?” Dumbledore asked as he poured the steaming liquid between LeSal’s parted lips.

“He stayed behind to care for his wounds, but he needs Madam Pomfrey.”

Dumbledore said nothing in return and only fed the rest of the potion to LeSal before sitting back and looking over at Harry.  “Now all we can do is wait and pray.”  He placed the empty goblet on the nightstand and stood up.  “Now come sit with me,” and he placed a withered but surprisingly strong hand on Harry’s shoulder, leading him over to an antique sofa.

They both sat, watching LeSal for a while before Dumbledore spoke again.  “I suppose that you now have a whole new understanding of Professor Severus Snape?”

Harry looked up into those ancient blue eyes, so full of patience, wisdom, and buried deep: a burning spark.

“I was hoping not to put these two through this again.  Especially Severus.  He’s served his time.”  There was a pause in which Harry only wished he could hear what thoughts were passing through Dumbledore’s mind.  “I believe that I answered you wrong when you inquired something about me your first year here.  In reply to your question of what I saw in the Mirror of Erised?” The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth turned slightly upwards from beneath his beard, though to Harry, his eyes looked as if they were about to shed tears.  “I think I can tell you now.  What I see…I see many different people, but always the same thing.  I see bright futures for all the students here at Hogwarts.  I see you, perhaps even the Headmaster here after I’m gone.  I see your friend Ron, happy, with a family, very successful.  I see Draco Malfoy, doing good in the world.  While I said some men have become obsessed with what they see in the mirror, so have I, to some degree.  Seeing that come true to the best of my ability has become my life’s work, and anyone willing to help me make it come true, is very important to me, such as Professor Snape who stands in the forefront of the battle to see this dream come true.” Dumbledore paused and removed his spectacles.  “Harry, you won’t speak about this to anyone?”

“Of course not, professor.”  Harry didn’t even have to think of his response.

Dumbledore replaced his glasses and focused on Harry. “You must be destined for great things, always winding up in situations such as these.  But it is good.  It’s nights like these where you can learn more than you could ever take in during a year of studies.  Though, some lessons we prefer not to learn, such as death and guilt.”

“Guilt?” Harry said mildly, watching the faint rise and fall of LeSal’s chest then faced back toward Dumbledore.

Dumbledore seemed to take interest in watching LeSal again.  “Severus Snape is one of the proudest men you’ll ever meet and not a bad pride, but more an old sense of honor as described in the old days of chivalry.”

Immediately, Harry’s thoughts strayed to the greasy, black figure looming at the head of a classroom, passing out cutting remarks.  Surely he couldn’t be talking about the same man.  All of these things that Dumbledore was saying about the man he hated so much was making him feel awkward.

“You remember when he save your life to pay off a life debt he owed your father?” The question wasn’t meant to be answered but Harry nodded.  “It is clear Severus wears his guilt pinned to his heart.  You discovered something of his past last year.  He’ll never be able to let go of what he did while in Voldemort’s circle.  I don’t think any man could, though with Severus, with that sense of honor, it’s much harder on him.  It’s made him a little bitter over the years.”

“A little?” Harry snorted but then regretted it as he caught the pained look Dumbledore gave him.

“I’ve never told anyone this, and I am certain Severus would never wish me to disclose this, but I believe someone needs to hear it, and that someone is you.”  Dumbledore’s tone had become extremely grave, almost sad.  “That life debt he owed your father runs a far deeper than the mischief Mssrs. Mooney, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs stirred up that night.  Snape saving your life on the Quidditch field your first year here wasn’t the first time he tried to repay that debt.  No, he tried to repay it while your father was still alive.  He had the chance, but it came less than an hour too late.”  There was an uncomfortable and anxious feeling in the air, as Harry knew whatever was about to be said might change the way he looked at certain people.

“Severus knew where your parents were staying—they were hiding out as muggles at the time,” Dumbledore continued. “The night they were killed, he overheard something Voldemort said that alerted him that their whereabouts had been discovered.  Immediately, he suspected Sirius, believing he had been the Secret Keeper.  His loathing for Sirius made him search for him before alerting your parents.  By the time he gave up on Black and headed for you parents’ house, it was too late.

“That night, he was the first one on the scene.  The first to find you.”

Harry was stunned.  The words were swirling in his mind, clouded and muddled.

Dumbledore let out a sigh.  “Tonight has me extremely worried, Harry.  You see the outward wounds that Severus received, and no doubt some horrible thing has happened that we will soon hear about.  But I saw a wounding that went much deeper…What I saw in Severus’ eyes tonight, I have not seen since the night I found him standing over the bodies of you parents.”