The Staff of Orkney

Chapter XVI

The Challenge

After the meeting, Harry had gone strait back to his dorm and had gone to sleep.  He didn’t want to speak to anyone and so slept right through dinner and on until it was nearly midnight when someone coming into the room awaked him.  (Dean and Neville had already bedded down.)

“Ron?” Harry reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “Is that you?”

“Harry?” It was Ron.

“How are you?” Harry adjusted his glasses and slid out of bed.

“As good as can be expected, I suppose.” Ron put down his bag.  “I wanted to go home with Bill and Charlie but they insisted that I come back to school.”

“Your mum and dad okay?”

Ron rubbed his eyes before answering.  “They were both hurt, but they’ll be out of the hospital by the end of the week.  Mum won’t stop crying about Percy, though.”

Harry put an arm around his friends shoulder.  “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

“Thanks.” Again, Ron rubbed his eyes.  “Say, I’m going to go down to the common room.  Fred and George and Ginny are down there. You want to come with me?  It’d mean a lot to Ginny.”

Harry nodded, even though his response probably couldn’t be made out in the dark.  After throwing on his robes, he descended the stairs.

Fred and George were both sitting on a couch looking stunned while Ginny was curled up into a little ball on one of the big armchairs, her face wet with tears.  Ron sat in the opposite chair and took up a position much like that of the twins.  Harry glanced down at Ginny’s pathetic condition.  “You mind if I share this chair with you?” he asked softly.  “I think we can both fit.”

Ginny didn’t make a sound but she did sit up and let Harry get situated.  She looked into his eyes briefly before sobbing, “Percy’s dead,” then buried her face into Harry’s shoulder.

He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this so he just allowed her to soak his robes with her tears and carefully placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“They said he ran straight up to the Death Eaters when they burst in,” George recounted, “and they killed him instantly.”

“Mum’s afraid that Bill and Charlie are going to try and go after them,” Fred added.

“Don’t worry, Dumbledore’s got something planned.” Harry felt it was safe enough to tell them that much.  “He’ll get Voldemort.”

“I sure hope so.” Ron was gripping the arms of his chair and speaking through gritted teeth.  “I hope he kills them all—Voldemort and all of his followers.”

Harry silently agreed as he thought about the plan. He felt a pang of worry as he did so.  So much was at stake.

*

The plan was not going to be carried out for some time, as they had to wait for the polyjuice potion to brew.  During that time, Harry was once again forced to spend his free time with Professor Snape, only this time, he was getting lessons—and he began to consider the organizing of the Potion’s storeroom to be far less stressful.  Snape had no patience.

“I can’t believe that’s the best you can do.  Need I show you again?”

Harry gripped his wand tightly.  He was not about to be thrown across the room again.  Snape had translated Dumbledore’s orders to instruct him in some necessary advanced magic into meaning dueling lessons.  Purposefully, he raised his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Snape successfully blocked it. “Expelliarmus,” he returned.

Harry attempted to block it but was still thrown off his feet—though he had managed to soften the blow so that he didn’t completely get bowled over and stunned as Gilderoy Lockhart had.

“Damnit, Harry!” Snape looked ready to strangle him.  “Your wand work is just pitiful.”

“It’s not pitiful,” Harry grumbled.  “I get good marks.”

“Good marks?” Snape repeated.  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means I know how to use a wand!” This lesson looked to be heading on a collision course with disaster.

“No it doesn’t. It means you’ve got the words and the correct movement—but you’re not putting any power behind it.”

Power behind what? Harry couldn’t believe this.  “Power behind what?”

Snape looked at him in disbelief.  “Don’t tell me no one’s ever explained to you…”

“Not until their seventh year, Severus.” Dumbledore’s voice rang out in the empty dungeon classroom, calming and reasonable.  Snape immediately straightened and most of the frustration drained from his face.  “Have you started lessons in Apparition yet?”

“Apparition?” Snape glared at Harry.  “Not with his clumsy wand work.  He needs to understand the principles of magic before we have him attempt to Apparate.  I’m not about to fix splinchings right now.”

Apparition? Splinching?  None of this sounded overly good.  He looked toward Dumbledore for reassurance.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said kindly, “do you remember the very first spell you ever learned?”

Harry thought back.  Why was he being asked this?  Then he remembered.  Ron had used it on the mountain troll.  “Wingardium Leviosa,” he replied, feeling like an idiot.

“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore smiled and pulled a feather out of his sleeve, setting it down on the nearest table. “Now I want you to perform that charm.”

Harry stared stupidly at the feather.  What was this? Wasn’t he supposed to learning advanced magic to help him fight Death Eaters, dementors, and Lord Voldemort? He raised his wand, but Dumbledore reached over and plucked it from his hand.

“Without the wand, Harry.”

“Without my wand?” Harry gasped.  “Professor, how am I supposed to manage that?”

Dumbledore looked to Snape, passing Harry’s wand to him.

“Isn’t it dangerous to teach Potter this so soon, headmaster?” Snape whispered.

“Not if you point out the danger in it.  Besides, you are right that he needs to know the fundamentals of the powers that reside in him.  And I can think of no one better to teach him.” He gave Snape a pat on the shoulder then took a seat in the back of the classroom.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Harry.  Even though Harry had grown considerably over the years, Snape still towered over him, standing a few inches past six feet.  “The magic,” he began, “that resides inside of you, inside of me, inside of every witch and wizard differs in its potency. Without dipping into it, you can still perform magic, but just to suffice.  Your wand draws what it needs from you and directs it at whoever or whatever you may be pointing at.  This is for small tasks and keeping students from hurting themselves.  We usually reserve this lesson until a student is in his last years because it would be far beyond a first years control or comprehension and can be extremely dangerous.  What you will be doing, is drawing upon the magical energy inside of you and focusing it in your spells.”

“My magical energy?” This sounded so hokey. Like something Professor Trelawney would come up with.

“Yes Harry,” Dumbledore spoke from his corner, “the very thing that makes you a wizard.  I believe you know exactly what I’m speaking of.”

“I do?”

Dumbledore nodded.  “A Patronus needs a wizard to purposefully throw some of his magic into his wand to make it powerful enough.”

“But I thought that it was just good thoughts that created a Patronus.”

Giving that warm smile that Harry associated so well with the old headmaster, Dumbledore explained, “To some extent, though how would you explain your first attempts to be so weak?  It was when you were excited or terribly frightened that it truly became powerful—did it not?”

Harry thought hard on it.  Was this true?

“And the times that you performed magic when incredibly upset.  I believe that one year you blew up your aunt over the summer?” Snape gave Harry an odd look while Dumbledore’s eyes glinted over his spectacles.  “And you did that without your wand.”

“Yes, but I had no intention of doing it!”

Dumbledore chuckled and came over to stand before him. “Didn’t you?”

“Uh…” Harry really didn’t want to answer that, and if anyone other than Dumbledore were asking, he wouldn’t.  “I suppose so.  But she insulted my parents.”

“There’s no need to defend yourself. It’s perfectly understandable.  Now, what made your aunt blow up without a spell or wand—and that shows that you have a lot of potential, Mr. Potter—it’s that power that Professor Snape is talking about and is going to help you harness.”

“But how?” Harry had to ask.  “If I don’t even know how I’m doing it?”

Dumbledore stepped forward. “Take my hand,” he ordered.

Carefully, Harry did as he was told and took the headmaster’s wrinkled hand into his.  It surprised him at how cold and bony Dumbledore’s hand was and his skin was like tissue paper.  But then something odd began to happen that changed that.  The hand became slowly warmer.  To his amazement, Dumbledore’s palm became hot—almost too hot to touch.  At last, it receded and Dumbledore looked down at Harry.  “Now it’s your turn.”

His turn? “What did you do? What am I supposed to do?”

“I drew upon the magic in me and pushed it out through my hand.”

Harry stared at his hand in awe.  “How do I do that?”

“Oh, my.” Dumbledore stepped back to think. “Well…” he looked toward Snape and chuckled. “It’s been about fifty years since I’ve actually taught.”

“This isn’t something that we teach.” Snape was holding Harry’s wand and seemed to have noticed something peculiar about it and was studying it closely.  “My father explained it to me as light.  Imagining a light that’s inside of you, and you need to guide it up through your arm into your wand.”

“Very good analogy, professor.”

A light? Harry imagined a soft glow inside of him—maybe at his stomach? He closed his eyes and imagined pushing it towards his arm.  Nothing happened. 

He screwed up his face and imagined the light to be larger, like the blue flame Hermione carried in a jar.  Still nothing.

With a sigh, he imagined it as something much brighter, like the sun.

The strangest sensation filled him.  He was suddenly aware of a tingling.  It was warm and almost comforting and it swelled in his chest.  He had the palm of his wand hand pressed against Dumbledore’s and as the sensation grew to where he was almost afraid that it would leap out of his chest, it coursed through his shoulder, down his arm to his hand.  Almost immediately, his palm began to burn.  Dumbledore quickly withdrew his hand.

Had he done something wrong? Harry looked down at the floor as Dumbledore eyed him in a very peculiar way.  When he lifted his eyes, Snape was staring at him too.

“Did I do something wrong?”

It took Dumbledore a moment to answer and when he did, he seemed to be in deep thought.  “Uh, no Harry…you didn’t do anything wrong…not anything at all.” He gave a weak smile then patted Snape on the arm and left, still immersed deeply in his thoughts.

Harry looked to Snape for answers but he looked—as if Harry were about to turn him into a toad or something.

“So, Professor…” Harry jammed his hands into a the pockets of his robes, “how do I use that to move the feather?”

This seemed to break Snape out of a trance.  “As if you had your wand,” he explained.

Harry didn’t understand and Snape could see this in his face.  He looked about to lose what little patience he had.  “You do know the spell, don’t you, Potter?”

Meekly, Harry responded, “Yes, Professor.” He wished that Dumbledore hadn’t left.  “Place your hand over the feather and say the words to the spell—in your head, if you wish.”

His hand was trembling as he held it out over the feather.  It wasn’t helping that he had Snape breathing down his neck.  He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that Snape wasn’t there as he pictured the bright light again.  He opened his eyes and stared at the feather.  Wingardium Leviosa, he thought at it.

The feather didn’t budge.

Wingardium Leviosa, he said to himself.  The warm tingling sensation returned and with less concentration than before, he directed it at the feather through his hand.

Wingardium Leviosa.

Violently, the feather shook before shooting up to the ceiling where it stuck as if plastered there.  He stared at it, unbelieving until it peeled off the ceiling and floated down, looking very battered.

“As you can see, Mr. Potter,” Snape spoke in an extremely dark tone, “not using a wand can be a very dangerous thing.  This is magic in its most raw form: unpredictable and virtually uncontrollable.  That is why we use wands.  What I suggest you do, is practice a simple charm, such as this, with your wand, and try putting some true effort into your spells.  However, class time is not a time to practice, and—if I ever catch you ‘testing’ your skills on anything living, which includes fellow students you may not be too fond of, I will personally see to your punishment—and I will warn you, that if you ever wish to see me truly angry, that is one way to do it.”

Harry nodded, not having the slightest inclination to argue.

*

Harry hadn’t quite figured out what to think of his lessons involving placing more power behind his spells. He seemed to be able to only perform the spells as he had, or over perform them.  During one session, he had attempted Accio Cauldron Cakes with some cauldron cakes he had set out on a table but was pummeled by all at once and had to leave the lesson early to take a bath and Snape had gotten angry as the cakes had done a fair job of smattering over him as well.

Snape seemed to act differently after that first lesson with Dumbledore; he seemed somewhat fidgety, but Harry couldn’t blame him, with cauldron cakes flying at his face, who wouldn’t get worried about what was next?

Professor LeSal joined Snape for lessons on Apparition and these he quickly learned to hate and began to dread the lessons even more.

*

“Harry, where you going?” Ron asked one afternoon as Harry left for yet another lesson.

“Got some extra work to do.”

“What extra work? You’ve been doing ‘extra work’ almost every ruddy afternoon.”  Ron’s face looked hurt and angry.  He hadn’t smiled in almost three weeks and Harry had been so busy, so concerned with Dumbledore’s plan and the lessons with Snape—and the impending O.W.L.s—that he had been ignoring his best friend.  A pain stabbed his heart as he thought about it.  But it was all so overwhelming.  There were times that he wouldn’t mind being locked back beneath the cupboard under the stairs where he could stay, blocking out the world and Voldemort and all the heartache.

“I’m so sorry, Ron.” His sincerity came out in his voice and Ron looked about ready to cry.

“Can I at least come with you?” Ron’s voice was cracking.

Harry wanted so badly to let him come along, but he knew that the Snapes would never allow it.  Then an idea came to him: he could trust Ron.  After losing his brother and nearly losing his parents, he could be trusted with keeping his mouth shut.  “I’ll let you, if you can keep a secret.  You can wear my invisibility cloak.”

“What type of secret?” Ron asked warily.

“A big one.  One involving Dumbledore.”

Ron’s eyes grew wide as Harry led him up to their room to fetch the invisibility cloak; and a change of clothes that Snape had asked him to bring—he hoped it didn’t mean another lesson with cauldron cakes.  While there, they were alone so he unfolded all that happened that night when the Snapes had returned and about the meeting between Dumbledore and all those who were helping him.  He then explained about the lessons.

“So Snape was there: he was with them that night,” Ron began.

“Yes,” Harry replied, “but you must understand that you can never say anything.  If someone like Draco Malfoy found out and told his father…”

“I understand perfectly.  But if Snape was there that night…”

Harry didn’t let Ron finish his thought, “More people would probably have died.”

“Oh…” Ron’s voice trailed off as he thought exactly about what that meant.

They headed out of the dorms and the common room quietly, Ron just carrying the cloak under his robes so they could talk if they wanted without looking suspicious with Harry speaking to a disembodied voice.

“My parents are doing much better,” Ron said after they had entered the dungeon corridors.  “Though, dad’s got to walk with a pair of crutches.  Bill and Charlie have decided to stay for a while and look after mum.  Dad’s been thinking about trying to get them a job at the…”

“Oh, look.  It’s Potter and Weasley.”  Harry cringed at the voice.  “Your dad and mum feeling better, Weasley?”

Harry instinctively grabbed Ron’s arm.

“Watch it, Malfoy,” Ron spat.  “My dad’s Minister now; he could have yours thrown in Azkaban any day, so you better watch what you say.”

“Hey,” Malfoy smiled, “no need to get so upset.  I was just asking about how your family was doing.  Nothing wrong in that, is there?  I heard they weren’t doing so well.” Harry gripped onto Ron even more tightly.  “So how are they Weasley? How about that brother of yours? The annoying one—the Head Boy from a while back?  I heard the unfortunate rumor that he’s dead.  Heard that he screamed like a girl and pleaded for his life on his knees too.”

There was no holding Ron back and it took all of Harry’s strength from not doing to Malfoy what he had done to the feather.  However, he got the satisfaction of hearing a loud “crack” as Ron put his fist right into Malfoy’s nose.  Malfoy stumbled back, holding his nose while blood trickled down onto his robes.  Letting go of his nose, he lunged at Ron.  Their fists began to fly, until Ron, just by being so much taller than Malfoy, managed to get him down on the ground where he could just begin to pound relentlessly on his face.  Crabbe and Goyle seemed too stunned to do anything at all.  Harry was the one who finally stepped forward and grabbed Ron’s shoulders.  “He’s not worth it, Ron!  Now come along before Snape or Filch sees you.” Ron wouldn’t stop.  “Please, Ron.  Your mom and dad wouldn’t like to get a letter right now.”

Ron finally stopped.  He was breathing hard and his face matched his hair.  Malfoy took the opportunity to push Ron away and gain his feet.

“I’m going directly to Professor Snape.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Harry said rather quietly.  “Then the whole school can know how Ron beat you up?  Because I would say he wiped the floor with you.”

Malfoy turned red.

“I think it’s best you go back to your common room and clean up.  And Ron won’t say a word if you don’t.”  Harry wondered if his voice of reason would reach any of them.  They were both staring at one another, ready to fight again.

“You were the first to throw the punch, Weasel,” Malfoy said malevolently.

“That doesn’t matter to the professors,” Harry pointed out.  “You’ll both be in the same amount of trouble.”

“We’ll see about that,” Malfoy sneered, “after I see Professor Snape and show him my nose.”

“You think he really cares, do you?” Harry’s anger was growing.  He’d really like to see Malfoy squashed against the ceiling.

“What you don’t know, Potter,” Malfoy gave a knowing laugh.

“I know more than you do,” and Harry was right.  “You’re scum, Malfoy. And you’ll end up just like your father who’s running strait toward ruin.”

“You trying to pick a fight with me too, Potter?” Malfoy asked slyly.

“You’re not worth my time.”

“I’d have to say the same about you, however, we don’t know do we?”

“What do you mean?” Ron growled.  “Harry could pound you any day.”

“Really,” Malfoy seemed very happy all of a sudden. “Then why don’t we see?  A duel. I challenge you to a duel.”

“Not another one,” Ron commented.

“Yeah,” Harry added, “last time you bugged out.”

“Yeah, well,” Malfoy was looking absolutely devious, “last time we were in our first year.  We wouldn’t be able to do much to each other anyway, but now that we’re older…I mean it this time.  You and me and our wands.”

“If you really mean it, I’ll be his second.”

“No seconds,” Malfoy shot quickly.  “Just Potter and me.”

“Then no Crabbe and Goyle,” Ron ordered.

“Yes, no Crabbe or Goyle.”

“No one else.”  Harry was suddenly left out of the conversation as Ron began to spout off all the conditions for him.

“No other students, I won’t tell a professor. You have my word as a wizard.  I’m interested to see how I match up to Potter.  I won’t mess it up.  We need to see who really is the strongest once and for all.” Malfoy seemed suddenly very serious. 

 “No Unforgivable Curses,” Harry said gravely, not putting it past Malfoy to try and use them.

“No Unforgivables—geesh, Potter, who do you think I am?”

“And we’ll have it at a time before curfew.”

Malfoy didn’t seem to like this. Then he thought, “Okay, nine thirty.  That will give us a half hour; I don’t think it will take long.”

“Nine.”

“Okay, nine, IF I get to choose where.”

“Where were you thinking?”

“Down here in the dungeons, where no one will hear should you scream. I know of a classroom Snape doesn’t keep locked with too many charms.”

Harry was a bit skeptical at this, but if it was at nine, then he couldn’t get in trouble for being out after curfew. “Okay.  But no tricks.”

“No tricks. And nine o’clock right here, tonight.  I’ll bring only my wand and you do the same.  Once we officially start, all is game except for the Unforgivables.”