Newt Scamander and the Scapa Flow
Chapter 1
"A magical adventure of numerous plot holes, typing errors and non-logical plot progression"
The harsh wind continued to ruthlessly whip across the smooth skin of his face, as the gray storm clouds overhead let out another deep rumble. He could feel the deep lashes against his skin, which froze him to the core. It reminded him somewhat, of the first time he had stood in front of a thunderbird, when the large wings of the beast sent gust upon gust of whooping air directly at him, nearly cowering him into submission. The steel gray water around him offered little respite; in fact, the choppy waves seemed to be simply a more agitated reflection of the unfriendly skies above him. The sea water occasionally lashed over him as well, frothing into a frenzy as the unruly waves rocked him up and down. He could occasionally taste the bitter salt on his lips from the droplets, and being carried along by the rushing drafts around him. The scene that lay before him was unfriendly and desolate- and very, very dangerous.
Newton "Newt" Scamander did his very best to keep down his breakfast, which was currently churning in his stomach as the coarse, small wooden boat shuffled violently back and forth on the agitated waves. Donald MacIntyre sat across from him, working the oars of the vessel and tirelessly fighting the current.
The burly Scotsman was a true native of the north- he had actually lived in the Orkney Islands before moving to London to work at the Ministry of Magic. His knowledge of magical beasts was definitely above par, sometimes even impressing Newt himself. Some years ago he had worked on an amazing study about the mating rituals and reproduction cycles of Hiberdian Blacks. By some miracle he had even been able to procure eggshells from the hatched dragonlings- the ministry was still looking into their properties, with the latest reports stating that they may even be used to mimic the Felix Felicis potion, although less potent. Hiberdian blacks were notoriously hostile, with even the MacFusty clan (the wizarding family tasked with caring for them in Britain) barely knowing anything about them except for what they like to eat and what they like to kill.
He was also a skilled duelist- he had been considered for a position as an auror, until he turned it down, preferring to work in the magical creatures department. Adding to that, he was also half muggle, and raised in a muggle home most of his life, meaning he had a good knowledge of the non magical world.
Donald was the perfect choice for this expedition, and rightly so too. Upon hearing about what the Ministry of Magic wanted to be done, he knew he needed someone dependable by his side. As Newt's mind continued to wander, the Scotsman suddenly broke his train of thought.
"So, are we far enough from the mainland that you cannae finally tell me why we couldn't just apparate to the location?" There was more than a hint of frustration in his tone. Indeed, only Newt and been briefed completely regarding the expedition- mostly everything about it was high risk, and the less people that knew the better.
"The island is unplottable Don, there's no way magical way to get to it"
"Yes but so is Hogwarts, and I don't see any students getting lost on the way there!"
"True, but you could only apparate right outside the grounds of Hogwarts- if we apparated to the island, the nearest place we would appear is a mile off the coast-"
"Dropping us headfirst into the frozen water" Donald grumbled.
"Yes exactly" Newt mumbled back. He then dove off into his mind again, reminiscing back to his Hogwarts days, when the headmaster, Armando Dippet, had ordered the Great Hall be disenchanted for an hour so they could practice apparating and disapprating. If he remembered correctly, one of the other Hufflepuff students disappeared entirely, until they found him on the roof of the astronomy tower, several hours later...
"Newt!" He immediately snapped out of the lull as the coarse voice of the Scotsman brought him back to reality.
Through the fog the faint hint of an outline could be seen. As they inched closer, this soon gave way to the vast side of a cliff face, jutting angrily from the great sea and tenacious waves. The rugged rocks were being constantly battered by the wind and ocean, but continued to stand their menacingly, fearsome and erect.
Before their eyes, the cliffs slowly began to blur away into the fog- it was another magical illusion used to prevent any muggles from possibly locating the island. Donald quickly exclaimed,
"Newt! Quickly, the incantation!"
"Yes,yes..."
Newt scrambled to recall the counter illusion spell, and with a flicker of his wand worded out the counter spell words. The fog began to slowly lift again, and then the cliff continued to loom over them angrily. As well as the powerful current providing a physical barrier, and the unplottable status of the location, this powerful illusionary spell was also in effect to deter any potential trespassers. For a second he had almost hoped he had used the wrong spell, as being hopelessly lost in the middle of the oceans seemed like a tea party compared to landing here.
Always the proactive one, Donald soon steered the small boat closer to the dilapidated wooden pier that jutted at the base of the cliff. The old wooden structure was rotted, but useable, and a small wooden shack stuck up above it. It looked like no lighthouse had ever been built- he imagined that even in the days of the MacCliverts and MacBoons there had been no muggle crazy enough to steer a boat near this place. The small wooden boat rocked into the pier, and Donald quickly got out and tied it to a wooden post. Moving with great agility for a man his height and strength, he clambered aboard the pier, offering his hand to Newt. Getting used to the newfound stability of dry land, he slowly adjusted his legs, which were sore and aching with pins and needles.
"So we're finally here" muttered Donald
"Yes... the Isle of Drear"
Another low rumble of thunder echoed ominously in the near distance.