Mentors

Mentors

Chapter 1: The Great Swamp

* * * * * * *

“The Beheaded Blue Menace, honestly!” Ron complained. “Where do they come up with this stuff? You’d think it was a vampire or something.”

“It’s been frightening Muggles all over southern Scotland, Ron,” said Hermione. “If you had been chased out of your maize field by an enchanted, driverless old car, you’d be giving it names too.”

“If we don’t find that car soon, the Ministry of Magic will have my Dad’s head. I hope Fred and George had better luck.”

“What’s your Gran going to say, Neville?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know,” said Neville, dejectedly, “she’ll probably just kill me and get it over with.”

The foursome had been walking in a roughly easterly direction for quite some time. Their hunt for Mr. Weasley’s lost car, which Hagrid said he’d seen fleeing the Forbidden Forest last month, was unsuccessful. And things got a whole lot worse when Neville broke his new broom on a hard landing. Now walking was their only option to get back to Hogwarts before they were missed at breakfast.

They walked for seemingly endless miles between a large, damp forest to their left and a thick hedgerow on their right. After skirting the feet of a pair of small mountains to the west, they had entered this wide and unusually straight path. Hermione called it a “ruelle”.

“It’s French for ‘lane’,” she noted.

The ground they walked on was unusually firm. “This must have been an old road built by the Romans ages ago,” Hermione explained. “It’s been packed down from years of use.”

“I dunno, Hermione,” said Ron, “I don’t think the Romans came this far north.”

“Well of course they did, Ron; they wouldn’t have just stopped at Hadrian’s wall, they would have explored a bit farther north. And who else could have built this road?”

Not paying much attention to Ron and Hermione’s history debate, Harry was beginning to wonder if they would ever find the end of the murky forest they were skirting when Neville suddenly spotted a clear path running northward into the trees. “Hey, maybe we could take a shortcut,” he suggested.

“No, we’ll just get lost,” advised Hermione.

Harry and Ron looked at each other and the whole group came to a halt. They were all tired and disgusted at their bad luck. “Okay, let’s try it,” said Harry.

Hermione groaned, but followed the three into the damp forest.

The surrounding forest was rather dank and foggy, but at least the ground they walked on was firm. The air held a soft blue glow due to the half-moon shining overhead that filtered down through the trees. Their path was a bit winding but headed generally north. Despite their less than ideal environs, they felt a bit more cheerful now that they had changed course.

The walking path alternately narrowed and expanded as they trekked along it. But after a bit of travel, everyone noticed that the forest was steadily becoming wetter and murkier. The small pools of water that had dotted their path had now turned into sizable lakes. They had already leapt over two puddles that crossed their path and Harry was beginning to think that coming this way might not have been the best idea. And some rather disgruntled breaths were now coming from the bushy-haired person walking right behind Harry.

Ron suddenly came to a halt. Their path ahead was blocked by a wide trickle of water that connected the large pools of water that flanked them on either side. There was no escaping the conclusion … they had walked right into the middle of —

“— a swamp,” said Hermione impatiently. Harry could only cringe. “We’re walking through a swamp!” Harry dared not turn around; he didn’t want to meet her eyes.

“Let’s … let’s go a bit further and see if the ground doesn’t get a bit firmer up ahead,” Ron suggested tentatively. “Maybe … maybe it’s just a small swamp …” Hermione huffed a disapproving note, but said nothing more.

Ron drew his wand to freeze the water ahead of them into an ice bridge, and they continued northward. They finally came to a dry clearing that had a line of trees on its edges and two very large boulders, each approximately sixteen feet high. It looked like a good place to stop. They had to be at least halfway through by now, and a ten-minute rest wouldn’t hurt.

Harry stopped before the two boulders, both of which had relatively flat faces. Neville had paused back on the path to look at a toad. Its croaking sounded a bit like Trevor’s, but not quite. Hermione walked around the leftmost boulder to check to see that their solid path did indeed continue. She put her hand on a tree branch that was blocking her view and immediately three strange, sudden noises startled them all. Hermione, Harry, and Ron each screamed in turn and Neville ran to the clearing to find all three plastered flat against the large boulders covered in thick clinging vines that held them fast to the rock face.

“Do something, Neville! I can’t reach my wand,” said Hermione. “I knew we shouldn’t have come this way. But does anyone listen to me?”

“Oh, shut it, Hermione,” Ron grumbled.

Neville drew his wand and tried every spell he could think of. ‘Rictusempra’, ‘Diffindo’, ‘Lumos’, nothing worked. Neville asked if he should try ‘Incendio’ on the vines, but Ron exclaimed, “No, you’ll fry us!”

Hermione suggested ‘Expelliarmus’ and a couple others that didn’t help unbind them when Harry spotted a shape emerging from the foggy tree line to their west.

Harry, his mouth agape, could only mutter, “Uh, Neville.”

All four stared across the boggy area at the great horned beast. Its feet covered up to its ankles in water, it still stood nine feet tall and weighed more than six tons. Steam puffed out of its two large nostrils, and the movement of its four stubby legs suggested it was about to charge.

The creature started its run and a very wide-eyed Neville froze, unable to decide what to do. As the animal bore down on him Harry shouted, “Neville, MOVE!” The beast thundered across the wet paddy onto the dry clearing and Neville finally got his senses about him in time enough to dive for cover behind a rotting tree stump. The beast leaned its head as if to try to catch Neville as it passed by, but missed and its momentum carried it out into the swamp on the other side of the clearing. It slid to a stop in the muck and turned around amazingly fast for something its size. The three-horned beast was almost hopping with excitement at the new game it had discovered!

Neville had gotten back on his feet to face-off once again when Hermione suggested trying to immobilize the creature.

Neville pointed his wand and enchanted, “Petrificus Totalus!” The beast shook its large bony skull back and forth as though the spell was nothing more than a pesky fly that needed shooing, and then began its next run at poor Neville. Neville was horrified that the spell didn’t do anything.

Harry was equally shocked the spell didn’t work. Hermione had taught it to Neville herself and Harry knew he could do it properly. Harry strained to look, but couldn’t see the charging animal. He could, however, hear and even feel that it was racing toward Neville.

Luckily Neville successfully dived out of the way for a second time. As it flew past, the beast let out a huff, apparently miffed that it had fallen for the same dodge twice in a row.

Harry shouted to Neville, “Get me my wand!” Neville got up quickly and reached under Harry’s robes to grab his wand and then pressed it into his hand. Neville looked back and saw the beast was turning toward him once more. He quickly ran behind a pair of trees. The horned creature was pawing the ground with its front foot, evidently determined to finally impale this elusive biped.

Neville began casting every spell he could think of in quick succession. Again, nothing worked. The beast began its third run straight at the pair of trees. Neville hid behind the largest one; hopefully it was strong enough to stop the charge. The giant head with its extended bony frill smashed violently into both trees, nearly uprooting the smaller one and sending a shower of leaves and twigs down on Neville.

Now the two of them began a deadly dance of Ring-around-the-Rosy. Harry tried casting a ‘Petrificus’ spell past Neville at the creature, but that did nothing more than make the beast angrier; it was now snorting ferociously at Neville. “Don’t piss it off any more than it already is, Harry!” Neville howled.

The beast moved right and so did Neville, keeping his free hand on the tree between himself and those three deadly horns. The creature moved left and kept moving this time, forcing Neville around to the other side of the tree.

Harry shot a jet of fiery sparks at the creature’s backside and this time the creature reacted. It bellowed an elephantine scream and leapt six feet straight up. Hanging in mid-air, the beast tried to run, but its feet didn’t have contact with the earth yet. It crashed down with a tremendous thud and took off for the tree line from which it came. Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“Whew! Nice job, Neville. You too, Harry,” said Ron. “I thought that Rhino’s last charge would take the tree down and you along with it!” Still shaking, Neville could only manage to let out a breath and nod his head in agreement.

Looking perplexed, Hermione stated matter-of-factly, “But wait, Rhinoceroses only have one or two horns. That thing had three pointed ones, and its skull extended back like a bony fan. So it couldn’t have been a Rhinoceros.” The only obvious choice seemed impossible, however. “But … but … it couldn’t be. Triceratopses are extinct, aren’t they?”

Before Harry could join the conversation Ron interjected, “What does it matter what it was? It’s gone and we’re still stuck here.” Hermione glared at him, but Ron was right. There was still no apparent solution to the clinging vines.

Trying to wriggle out didn’t help, and Neville twice worked his way through all the spells they thought might be useful. It looked like ‘Incendio’ might be their only choice when they heard the tree limb that Hermione had touched rustle. Neville jumped back with a “Yip!” but this time it wasn’t a charging, extinct dinosaur that drew their attention. Instead, it was a man. About five-foot four, he looked Chinese in origin, somewhere in his late thirties.

They all looked at each other for a moment when the man finally observed, “Well, it looks like you’ve gotten yourselves into a bit of a mess.”

* * *

“Er. You wouldn’t happen to know how we might get free, would you?” asked Harry, politely.

“I might. But first I would like to know what, exactly, the four of you are doing here?” the man demanded.

Neville tried to explain their ‘shortcut,’ but it didn’t look like that explanation was going over too well. Harry and Ron glanced at each other wondering if he was going to let them down when the stranger uttered some words and the vines released, dropping the three captives down to the ground. The vines then fell and crawled off back behind some bushes. Neville stepped out of their way.

Hermione, apparently trying to get something useful from the man, extended her hand and said, “Thank you! I’m Hermione Granger. This is Ron Weasley, he’s Harry Potter, and that’s Neville Longbottom. And you are?”

The man briefly scrutinized Harry’s forehead. “I’m … pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger,” he responded with a wry smile, shaking her hand, but not telling her his name.

“We should be going,” the man advised. He then grabbed the branch on the tree that had caused so much trouble, held it, and waved the foursome past the rocks. Still holding the branch by its collar, he slid himself by the limb and joined them on the path. “Follow me closely; don’t wander off,” he instructed.

The quintet marched off in a northerly direction deeper into the Great Swamp in relative silence. The air was feeling damper as they moved forward and the ground was getting soggier, too. The unknown man led the pack followed by Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Neville.

After a bit Hermione tried to break the uncomfortable tension by asking some innocent questions. “Excuse me, but I don’t believe we caught your name.” She paused for a response. “You know ours, and it only seems reasonable that we would know yours.”

Silence.

She continued, undaunted. “Obviously you’re a wizard. I mean who else but magic folk could control vines.”

She paused again, but nothing was forthcoming. Harry, Ron, and Neville were content to keep their eyes on the ground, following closely in the footsteps of the person in front of them so they didn’t accidentally trigger any more traps.

“We’re from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and … ”

“Hermione, I don’t think he’s interested in having a conversation; let it go,” advised Harry.

Hermione, exasperated, blurted out, “But it’s rude! I mean, how inconsiderate can one be?”

With that Ron turned his head and gave Hermione a piercing wide-eyed ‘Are you MAD?’ look.

The silent trudging continued for a few minutes more until Harry glanced up and saw that the mysterious man was looking around. He seemed to be searching for something, particularly over to the right. Harry looked over and didn’t see anything. But the man kept looking. In fact, he seemed to be intently scanning the area until —

Thump!

Ron, who had been staring down, didn’t see him stop and ran right into the back of him. The rest of the human train bunched up as they each came to a halt in succession, but managed to avoid running into each other. They all looked over across the swamp. Harry didn't see anything unusual, but he felt something strange; something that scared him. Oddly, it wasn’t his scar that informed of the approaching danger, it was something in his gut that told him.

The man crouched to lower his profile. Harry and his walking companions followed suit.

Someone had to ask. This time it was Ron. “What is it?” he whispered.

After a pause the man stated, ominously, “Something wicked this way comes.”

And with that they all began to see movement near some of the trees and in the bushes. After a few moments noises came from up the path where they were headed as well as from back down the path they had just traveled. They were being surrounded.

The man stood up slowly. He calmly placed his arms behind his back, stared out into a specific point in the swamp, and waited.

Gentle splashes in the water behind and general noises all around, which sounded a lot like snickering, announced they were now completely surrounded. The four of them stood up again, not liking their situation one bit. Ron grasped his broom as if he intended to mount it, but then shot a glance at Neville’s broken broom and, frowning, placed his own at his side once more.

A solitary figure in a black cloak finally emerged from the fog. Harry’s scar burned intensely.

“Harry Potter. What a pleasure to meet you here,” said the figure, breathlessly.

“Who are you?” the mysterious man asked, his hands still clasped behind his back.

Voldemort ignored the question. “We have business to attend to, Harry.”

Harry’s heart fluttered and his skin grew cold. Watching Neville face down that charging Triceratops seemed almost amusing compared to what was happening now.

The mysterious man, whom Harry thought clearly didn’t understand what was going on, actually seemed annoyed at not having his question answered. “Who is he?” he asked of the students.

Ron tried to answer him, but all he could muster was, “His name is Vol-, V-” and gave up. Neville had by now turned a nice shade of pale.

The Death Eaters around them moved forward threateningly. Harry caught sight of one to his right he recognized as Walden Macnair.

“His name is Voldemort,” said Hermione bravely, finally answering the man’s question.

“No, his real name is Tom Riddle,” Harry said with a level of confidence that surprised even himself.

“Silencio child!” exclaimed Voldemort, casting the Silencing Charm at Harry.

The man looked briefly at Harry and then asked, “Can you speak?”

Harry, assuming he now couldn’t, barely tried, but a stuttered “Yes” still came out. Harry was shocked that he could speak at all, but he saw that Voldemort was just as surprised, and seemed to be re-evaluating the man standing across from him. It looked as though he was trying to get some sense of this stranger, but could not.

“Very good,” the man responded. He continued in a voice that was louder than seemed necessary, “Ron, Hermione, stand over to my left about three yards away; Harry, Neville, do the same on the right side. Good, now draw your wands.” At this, Macnair and the rest of the Death Eaters drew their own wands.

Ron swore under his breath and out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Neville and Hermione recoil slightly. But the unknown man didn’t flinch; he was too busy glowering at Voldemort.

The man continued his instructions. “I want you to hold off his friends while I deal with this … annoyance.”

“What? There’re dozens of them!” Ron exclaimed. “How’re we supposed to —”

“Don’t worry,” he said, not taking his eyes off Voldemort, “this will only take a minute.” And he smiled sinisterly at the Dark Lord, rested his hands at his sides, and took two steps forward.

Is he insane? Harry thought, his brow furrowing. Does he actually think he can duel with Voldemort and all these Death Eaters?

Voldemort, incensed at the insolence of this stranger, sneered and hissed. He raised his arm, wand in hand and shouted, “Avada Kedavra!” With that a green light shot out toward the mysterious man who, at almost the exact same moment, reflexively flicked his arm, sending a rotting tree limb flying into the air. The limb impacted Voldemort’s curse just a few feet away from him and exploded in a spray of wet wooden fibers, showering the Dark Lord with grime. The loud, sharp sound from the exchange reverberated through the misty swamp.

The man then sneered at Voldemort. “Impudent wretch,” he said coldly. He raised his hands, shouted, “Animagus!” and leapt twenty feet into the air, drawing wind and energy with him. His small body quickly transmogrified into an enormous Red Chinese Dragon!

Harry was stunned. Neville almost fell over looking up at the humongous beast. The snickering in the surrounding swamp was instantly replaced with small yelps and splashes as the Dark Lord’s followers fled for nearby cover. Even Voldemort took a step backward at the unexpected appearance of this new menace.

After he saw that beautiful creature appear, you couldn’t have wiped the ear-to-ear smile off Ron’s face with a Cruciatus Curse.

Voldemort tried one more time. He pointed his powerful wand at the great winged beast and sent a red arc toward it. The dragon responded with an intense flaming stream of fire which met the red bolt in mid-air between the two wizards, each dissipating the other’s attack. They ceased their attacks and the dragon began to flap its wings powerfully, stirring up enormous amounts of dirt and debris, sending it flying through the air. Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Harry all had to cover their faces with their cloaks. But the worst of the windstorm was reserved for Voldemort. The dragon skillfully swept the building storm around the Dark Lord, intensifying the growing twister with each beat of its huge wings. A couple of nearby Death Eaters had been pulled into the vortex and even Harry went to ground and held tight to his broom for fear of it being sucked into its center. But despite its strength, it could not hold the Dark Lord. Voldemort cast an unheard spell, forcing a small hole in the storm and fled through it back into the swamp, his cloak still whipping about furiously. His minions quickly followed him back into the fog.

The dragon let out a triumphant blood-curdling shriek, and settled back down onto the ground. It then transformed back into its natural human shape.

The mysterious man looked down at Harry and his friends lying on the ground. He smiled and offered Neville a hand up. They all looked around in amazement. The swamp was empty and still once more. Each one of the four friends was caked from head to toe in dust and mud, but they all smiled. They couldn’t be happier.

* * *

The troupe continued northward through the swamp.

Ron was positively giddy. He couldn’t stop talking about what had just happened. “Did you see that dragon? What a wingspan! Even my brother Charlie would be impressed. He works with dragons in Romania, you know.” It was as if the others in the group weren’t there to see it. “Those Death Eaters were cowering behind the trees. … And that screech, now that was impressive. … The mini-tornado was bloody brilliant. … They were scared. Even Voldemort flinched. Did you see that Harry? Even Voldemort …” Ron was so caught up in recounting the events that he didn’t notice the name he just uttered … twice, something he had never done before.

“Yeah, Ron, I saw it,” replied Harry.

But Ron just kept going, “… stopped that forbidden curse right in its tracks! …” repeating events over and over to no one in particular. “What a windstorm! …”

Harry did witness it. With his own eyes. He wouldn’t have believed it otherwise. Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard this century had been bested. He had hesitated, unsure of himself. Harry thought he felt a moment of panic in old Tom Riddle. All because of this small man walking ahead of them.

Traversing twisting and turning trails, the group finally came to a sizable dry patch of land. A small bridge arched over a narrow creek bed. Surprisingly clear water trickled along the bottom of the brook, book-ended by clumps of reedy plants that filtered out the murky swamp water. Branching off the main path was a stone walkway leading up to a small two-story Tudor house. A tidy little garden packed full of strange plants grew outside; it reminded Harry strongly of the plantings in and around Professor Sprout’s greenhouses. The house itself was rather ragged, its windows were boarded up, shingles dangled from the roof, and the porch was half rotted away.

Ron was about to take a small leap over the creek bed, but the man grabbed him by his cloak and held him fast. “That wouldn’t be wise,” he said. He led them over the bridge and stopped. He muttered something in Chinese and a large purple pitcher plant sucked itself out of its boggy home and walked across the path, squelching the entire way, before setting itself down. The group proceeded up the flagstone walk and onto the rickety porch, where the boards made an unusual amount of noise when you stepped on them. Harry looked over his shoulder at the purple plant as it waddled back across the path to its original home. He saw a hint of a silvery spider web that the plant was dragging behind it. The plant settled back into its home, drawing the single wispy thread taut across the path until it disappeared from view again. Hmm. Must be a trip-wire, Harry thought perceptively.

The remaining mud on them had, by now, dried to a brown crust. Hermione drew her wand and enchanted, “Scourgify,” to clean everyone of the remaining dirt and grime. They entered into the kitchen, a room with a small well-crafted wooden table surrounded by counters neatly crowded with all manner of spice jars, baking goods, and cooking utensils. There was a refrigerator standing in the corner humming as if it was running, though it clearly wasn’t plugged-in to anything.

“Have a seat if you like. Would anyone care for some hot chocolate?” he offered.

All agreed, “Yes, please.”

He took down five cups, all different, from a cupboard, placed them on the counter, and passed his hand over them. Each mug now stood steaming, full of rich dark hot chocolate.

Harry saw that Ron’s eyes were fixed on a chess set sitting on a small end table in the corner.

“Do you play?” the man asked, startling Ron. “Chess. Do you play?”

“Er … well, yes,” Ron responded.

“He’s one of the best at our school,” interjected Hermione.

“Care for a game while we drink our chocolate?” he asked.

“Sure!” said Ron.

He set the chessboard on the kitchen table. Harry, Neville, and Hermione were bunched at one end of the small table while Ron sat across from their unknown host. The chess pieces magically set themselves up in their proper starting positions.

The mysterious man was white, and so moved first, “Pawn to e4.”

As he handed a steaming cup to each, he began to tell them some things about himself. “My name is Min,” he said smiling mischievously at Hermione, finally answering her question. “I come from China originally, the Yunnan province.”

Harry took a sip of his hot chocolate. It always amazed him how comforting this hot, dark drink could be. His heart was still beating worriedly from the encounter with Voldemort, but the chocolate helped calm him greatly.

Ron moved his first piece, “Pawn to c5.”

“You said you’re wizarding students?” said Min. “Neither of my parents were magical, so I didn’t realize my gifts until later in life when I encountered a witch living in, ironically, a swamp. She began my training and when I was ready a great wizard took me as an apprentice. Knight to f3.”

“Pawn to d6,” Ron instructed.

“He taught me much about being a wizard: how to cast powerful spells; mix complex potions; and speak useful incantations. Though, unlike the four of you, I never did learn to use a wand; my mentor didn’t believe in them. ‘If you cannot sufficiently focus the mind to do magic, then that magic should not be done.’ So I learned how to do it the hard way. Pawn to d4. He also ingrained in me his own innate curiosity for magic. Ever since I’ve been traveling around the globe seeing what magic exists in other places.”

Ron, though still concentrating on the game, “Pawn take d4,” wasn’t able to contain himself any longer. “How did you learn to turn into a dragon?”

“Knight take the pawn. I learned transfiguration many years ago from one of the most clever wizards of the time. It’s one of the more difficult things to do in wizardry, of course; it helps to have a knack for it. I can change into a number of different beasts, though the dragon is my favorite.”

“Knight to f6,” said Ron.

“Different beasts? You mean like a … triceratops?” said Hermione, perceptively. Min smiled generously, but Neville’s jaw dropped.

“It was YOU! You tried to kill me!” Neville exclaimed in a slightly squeaky voice.

“You got out of the way quickly enough,” said Min. “And you showed you work well as a team. Knight to c3.”

“Work well as a team? All I did was hide behind a tree. Harry was the one who forced you to leave. None of my magic worked,” Neville complained. “I’m just not very good at it.”

“Pawn to a6,” said Ron.

“Didn’t work? Are you sure? I certainly felt the spells that you cast even though they did little,” Min said as Neville looked at him puzzled. “Bishop to e2. Just because your spells didn’t have the intended effect doesn’t mean you didn’t cast them well. You were at a disadvantage. You recall that I was always facing you every time you tried to enchant a spell? And the first time Harry went after me, his spell did not work either. Again, I was facing him. Only after I had chased you around the tree and exposed my backside to Harry did any spells penetrate. On all animals dead skin, bone, and hair act as protection against many forms of magic. The denser and thicker the bone, the more protection it gives.”

“That’s why you chose a Triceratops over, say, a Rhinoceros, because of its large bony skull,” Hermione observed.

“Pawn to e5,” Ron commanded.

“Yes. And that’s one reason why dragons can be so formidable. Their scales offer good protection. Turtles and armadillos can also be surprisingly tough,” Min explained. “Hmm. Knight to b3.”

Setting up his castle move, Ron moved his bishop to e7. Both then castled in succession and Min moved his white King to the corner square. Things got quiet as the game intensified. Only two pieces had been exchanged thus far, and both sides were jockeying for a dominant position on the board.

“Bishop to d7,” said Ron.
“Bishop to e3,” said Min.
“Bishop to c6.”
“Bishop to f3.”
“Knight at b8 to d7.”
“Pawn to a4.”
“Pawn to b6.”

Min next brought out his Queen, the first to move the most powerful piece on the board. “Queen to d3.”

But Hermione interrupted the flow of the game with a question that was obviously gnawing at her. “How were you able to respond to that Unforgivable Curse so quickly? Your counter-curse was so fast it was almost as if you knew what he was going to do.”

Min, in full battle mode, parried her question, “Practice, practice, practice.” He shot her a quick grin, but Hermione just rolled her eyes. And the two opponents continued their duel.

“Bishop to b7,” said Ron.
“Pawn to h3,” said Min.
“Rook to c8.”
“Rook at a1 to d1.”
“Pawn to h6.”
“Rook at f1 to e1.”

Ron then finally moved his Queen, “Queen to c7.”

“Pawn to g3,” Min instructed.
“Rook at f8 to d8.”

Oddly Min then moved his King forward a space, “King to h2,” and Ron his Rook left one space, “Rook to e8.” Min protected his rearward pawn, “Rook to e2,” while Ron set up a powerful exchange, threatening Min’s Queen with his own, “Queen to c4.”

And it began.

Min instructed, “Queen take c4,” and his Queen bashed Ron’s over the head with her scepter. Ron then commanded, “Rook take c4,” and watched his castle stomp the opposing Queen.

There was more maneuvering from both sides. “Knight to d2,” said Min, threatening Ron’s Rook. “Rook to c7,” Ron replied, retreating. “Bishop to g2,” said Min, doing the same.

Ron instructed, “Rook to c8,” but both Rooks stood there for a moment staring at each other in confusion. Then the wrong one began to move. Ron, a bit embarrassed, corrected himself, “No, no, the other Rook. Rook at e8 to c8.” The Rooks glared at Ron. “Sorry.”

Min smiled, amused at Ron’s error, and started back in with the conversation, “Harry, what does this Voldemort character want with you?” A sudden awkward silence filled the room. The relaxed gaming atmosphere had quickly dissipated. Min, evidently fearing he had said something truly offensive, tentatively ended with, “Knight to b3.”

The unexpected question made Harry immediately focus on the task he knew he had to face in his future. He felt himself blanch at the thought and imagined that he suddenly looked a bit paler to everyone in the room. “Well,” said Harry finally, “I suspect he wants me dead.”

Seeing the interest in Min’s expression Harry stumbled through a brief explanation of his history with Lord Voldemort: his parents; his scar; Tom Riddle at Hogwarts; and the fight at the Ministry of Magic. He was careful, however, not to mention the prophecy. He hasn’t even told Ron and Hermione yet; how could he possibly tell this stranger?

Min’s eyebrows were raised. “You battled a basilisk at the age of twelve?”

“Er — yeah,” Harry responded as the wizard stared skeptically into his eyes. “But as I said, I had some help …” he added.

“Hmm,” was Min’s only response to that subject, and he turned his head back to the chessboard. “I had heard of some troubles here in Britain with a rogue wizard named Voldemort, but that was some years ago. I had no idea it was still on-going. It’s okay to continue the game, Ron. Unless you really don’t wish to play any more.” Harry nodded reassuringly to Ron and Ron nodded back.

Another exchange began as Ron took Min’s Knight, “Rook take c3,” but shockingly, Ron, apparently unsure of his position, offered Min a draw after taking the Knight!

Min, concentrating on the board, pondering the surprising offer, but decided to continue the match, “Pawn take c3.” Ron lost his forward Rook, and the game continued.

“Bishop take e4,” said Ron.
“Bishop to c1,” replied Min.

“You weren’t afraid of — of Him in the swamp, were you?” said Neville, unexpectedly.

“No, not really,” replied Min dismissively, and rather arrogantly, Harry thought. “I know how to fight; I’ve been doing it for hundreds of years in service to many kings, khans, warlords, and other would-be rulers. Though now I mostly serve myself. Some sorcerers are good conjurors, some are wise scholars, and others make good warriors. But I was worried for the four of you. If I had actually fought ‘Him’, his companions very likely would have killed you during the battle. I may have defeated my opponent, but it would have been a pyrrhic victory. That’s why I chose to frighten them off instead.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped. A chill swept over both Harry and Neville. Ron swallowed hard. He had been so happy to see that fierce dragon appear. But Min’s comments once again made them all realize how much danger they were really in.

“But — but you told us to hold off his ‘friends’ while you dealt with him,” complained Neville.

“Yes, loudly enough for him to hear it,” explained Min. “It was clear he wasn’t expecting to run into someone like me. And he wasn’t interested in a real fight that he might lose. I used that to my advantage and … encouraged him to go away. It was a bluff. Not a stone-cold bluff, but I did make myself appear more in command of the situation than I truly was.”

Harry, running this strategy through his head, was wondering if he should be writing this down.

“Wait, did you say hundreds of years?” asked Hermione, certain she had heard that part wrong.

“Yes, I was born in the year 1292,” said Min.

The dumbfounded looks on all four faces would have made for a very nice portrait. Hermione excitedly asked, “Do you use a Philosopher’s Stone to extend your lifespan?”

“No,” Min began, “before I had met him, my old Master spent much of his time dedicated to creating potions that slow the natural aging process. He finally found what he was seeking in the one-hundred-and-thirtieth year of his life. Unfortunately his health was so poor by that point that he decided not to use it on himself. He bequeathed it to me instead. I’ve been using it until recently.”

“What made you stop?” Hermione inquired.

“I ran out,” he answered, grinning.

The game continued when Ron’s black Bishop impaled Min’s Bishop, “Bishop take g2,” which sacrificed his own in the process as Min’s King decapitated Ron’s Bishop with his long sword. Ron then took a pawn in return, “Rook take c3.”

“Bishop to a3,” instructed Min.
“Knight to e8.”
“Pawn to f4.”

Both sides still held relatively strong positions on the board, but neither had a decisive advantage. And with neither player being able to see the final outcome (both said they believe it would end up a stalemate), Min offered a draw and Ron accepted. The small crowd was disappointed that there was no winner, but enjoyed the game nonetheless.

“I hate to be rude,” Harry interrupted, “but I really think we need to be going. It’s getting late. I mean early, actually. We’re already pushing our luck by being out this long.”

“Harry, there was something I wanted to discuss with you before you leave,” said Min. He paused and then added, “in private.”

Harry looked at the others. Hermione and Neville didn’t have a clue what it might be and Ron, still pondering the chess match, shrugged as if he didn’t mind if they waited a few more minutes. Harry nodded to Min who then instructed, “Follow me.” And with that they both walked into the living room, through a door, and down into a cellar hallway.

* * *

Harry was led down into a dark corridor. Candles illuminated themselves once the pair stepped off the stairs, revealing large portraits hanging along the walls. Interspersed between the pictures were standing podiums and hanging shelves, each holding a single different object. One painting showed Min and a young woman standing over the broken corpse of a green dragon. Another was Min and two other men, covered in blood, sitting exhausted on a rock in the foreground of a battle scene with what looked like over a thousand dead soldiers splayed across an open field behind them.

Shelves and tables displayed beautiful hand-crafted jewelry, ornate golden eggs, polished helmets of all shapes and sizes, diamond, ruby, and emerald-studded knives and swords, and various curious gifts such as a rather plain hand-thrown ceramic bowl and a tattered animal pelt of unknown species. A full suit of well-crafted leather body armor with silk undershirt stood in the corner as the hallway turned to the right.

Harry was mesmerized by many of the generous gifts Min had apparently been awarded for his deeds. Three more corridors of artifacts awaited their perusal, but Harry wanted to know what Min had wanted with him. “Why did you bring me down here?” he asked.

“Well,” Min hesitated, “when I mentioned the name Voldemort in the kitchen your heart sank. It wasn’t just a normal reaction of fear like your friends displayed, either. It was so much more vivid, more like a sense of overwhelming dread. It was almost as if you were … forgive me, but, pondering your own demise.” Harry’s eyes widened and his heart stopped briefly; he really didn’t want to talk about this again. “I didn’t mean to pry but it’s hard not to sense such intense emotions when they bubble so close to the surface,” Min explained.

Harry walked slowly and didn’t respond. He thought of the prophecy and his heart raced. He knew what he had to face in his future. He had looked at it right in the eye no more than half an hour ago. An overwhelming sense of self-doubt enveloped him. It was his own death he was facing, wasn’t it? Harry wasn’t some great wizard. He was just a boy, struggling in a simple Potions class. How could he stand up to someone as powerful as Voldemort the way Dumbledore had at the Ministry or like Min had in the swamp?

They passed another portrait where Min sat with a number of other well-dressed wizards around a table discussing important matters.

“What do you see yourself doing after you finish at Hogwarts?” Min inquired, changing the subject.

“Well, I thought I might try to become an Auror, but since I’m destined to —” And Harry stopped immediately. He had almost revealed the prophecy. It was right there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to hold it back.

“Destined to do what?” asked Min, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Does this ‘destiny’ involve Him? Is that what this is about?”

Harry grimaced. He was angry with himself. He couldn’t seem to hide anything. “Yes,” he said miserably. “I — I’m supposed to kill him. Or he’ll kill me, or something.”

“Ahhh, I see. So you are a part of some silly prophecy?”

“Yes,” said Harry resignedly. “Silly?”

Min smiled. “I’ve honestly never liked prophecies very much. Being able to see things that have not yet taken place. It’s mostly a bunch of rubbish if you ask me. The future isn’t pre-determined. What we do now shapes it, but it is not fully predictable.”

“Professor Dumbledore certainly believes it. He’s the Headmaster at our school.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard of him. A wise and powerful wizard, indeed. He believes in this prophecy?”

“With all his heart, I think,” said Harry. “He’s done so much to protect me all these years, but I’m the one who has to fight him. How does it go? … ‘and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal’ … That’s referring to my scar. … ‘and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives’ …”

“… ‘either must die’ …” Min repeated. He then sighed noticeably. “So, you believe your fate is already sealed? You’ve convinced yourself you won’t survive, and so you’ve already given up. If that’s the case then Voldemort has already won.”

Harry’s heart sank all the way down into his stomach. He could look around and see all the great deeds, all the magnificent accomplishments he knew he couldn’t measure up to. He felt Min could see right through him. Harry the weak. Harry the unprepared. Harry the powerless. His breathing shallowed and, though he didn’t want them to, his eyes started to water. He couldn’t control it. A burning sensation rose in his chest. He stopped walking and looked at Min.

Pleadingly, Harry asked, “You could kill him, couldn’t you?”

“Possibly,” said Min slowly. “Why?”

“Because I can’t,” he choked. Tears began to trickle down Harry’s cheeks. Something was trying fiercely to get out of him. He desperately didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, especially him, but the tears just wouldn’t stop.

Min looked at him sympathetically, held out his arms, and said, “It’s all right. Come here, son.” Harry walked to him and Min enveloped him in a hug.

Harry held him tightly and blubbered onto the great wizard’s shoulder. Between strong impulses of tears, he confessed, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” More and more tears poured out along with all of his pent-up fears. “I can’t face him. I’m so scared.” But his hardest, longest cry came after a whispered, “I don’t want to die.” And the tears flowed.

After a few moments Harry’s sobbing subsided into sniffling. Min was obviously relieved. Part of his shirt was completely soaked. Harry let go and stepped back a pace.

“Sorry,” said Harry embarrassedly, trying to clean the shirt off a bit.

“That’s okay,” said Min. “It’s been a while since I had snot on me. I believe the last time was when my youngest daughter came home from school after being teased. She was in such a state. But that was quite a while ago.”

“You were married?” asked Harry, wiping his swollen eyes under his glasses.

“Yes, six times, in fact,” replied Min. “You carry quite a burden, especially for someone so young. So much pain in your heart and stress in your mind. It seems so unfair for someone who hasn’t even begun to live life fully yet.”

“Would you fight him?” inquired Harry, hopefully.

“I don’t believe that is my task, Harry. I’ve come here for someone else.”

Harry was curious, but didn’t ask.

Min and Harry continued down the hallway to another right turn. There were fewer battle scenes and depictions of great deeds; instead more personal items and relations with common folk adorned the walls. Harry noticed that Min, reflecting the changing times, was becoming less involved with Muggle affairs, like much of the Wizarding world had done during the Great Reformation. Harry was surprised that he actually remembered something from Professor Binns’ deadly dull History of Magic class.

Min suddenly stopped walking and Harry realized he must look positively pitiful because Min put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and said to him, “Harry you must believe in yourself. Confidence isn’t just a façade, it’s a necessary part of one’s being. It gives you the ability to march through even the most difficult of challenges. You have to push aside your fears and face the task head-on. Only then can you conquer it.” Harry looked at him and Min must have realized how trite that sounded. “Erm. Maybe that didn’t come out right, but fear truly is the greatest inhibitor. It can literally glue your feet to the floor sometimes.” Both of them smiled at that. “If you can move past your fears and your inherent self-doubt, you’ll be surprised at what you’re capable of achieving. You’ve already battled a basilisk, after all; something I’ve never done. You may have had help along the way, but initially you chose to face it alone. And that says something, Harry. Yes, indeed,” he said, nodding to himself, “that says a lot.”

Harry was glad to hear Min’s advice. It put him more at ease, but his own doubts still rattled around in his brain. Min added, “You will find your strength, Harry. Of that I am certain.”

They strolled through the last corridor back toward the staircase when Min said, “Oh, yes, there was one more thing I wanted to discuss with you …”

* * *

Harry and Min emerged back through the door into the living room and walked in the kitchen where Harry’s friends were chatting about wandless magic. Harry smiled curiously at Neville. Hermione was now very worried about the time. The foursome gathered their broomsticks and thanked Min for the excellent hot chocolate. Harry, unfortunately, didn’t get to finish his.

Hermione opened the kitchen door, nearly stepping out onto the porch when Min shouted, “Hermione, STOP!” She froze, unsure of what rule she had broken. “Close the door,” Min advised. She still looked a bit confused. “If you step through that doorway you won’t live long enough to realize your mistake. Close the door; we’ll leave through the front.” Hermione, still looking a bit bewildered, closed the kitchen door and followed them out the front of the house.

The walk from the house to the hedge thicket that marked the northern edge of the swamp was surprisingly brief. Min said a few words and the branches of the thicket untangled themselves. The group walked through and everyone immediately knew where they were. They were back at the same spot they had entered the swamp in the first place!

Hermione wasn’t pleased. “Oh no! Now we’ll never get back before breakfast.” She sighed. “I wonder what we’ll get for detention this time?”

“Hopefully not polishing the trophy room again,” said Ron. “But how did we end up back here? It’s like a loop.”

“Swamps can be very strange places,” Min answered. “I recommend staying away from them if possible. I wish you a good journey. Until next time.” He then smiled warmly and walked off north back into the swamp.

Ron sighed, threw his broom over his shoulder, and began trudging eastward again. They walked along the lane for another half hour or so until the trees finally broke onto an open, rolling plain. Scattered trees dotted their path northwards. To the southeast were more mountains like the ones that marked the western entrance of the long “ruelle”. Ron and Neville turned northeasterly and continued walking, but Harry stopped cold. He stared out through the darkness at the barely-visible mountain range.

“What is it, Harry?” said Hermione. Harry looked back down the lane and laughed out loud as a sudden realization hit him.

“HA!”

Ron and Neville paused tiredly to turn around. “What?” Ron asked.

Harry’s eyes were alight with excitement. “Hermione’s wrong. That ruelle or allée or whatever you call it wasn’t made by the Romans,” Harry shouted happily to him. “It wasn’t made by people at all. It was made by giants!” Harry pointed back and forth between the lane and the mountain range explaining his theory. “They traveled from one mountain range to the next and this was the most direct route so, instead of walking around, they cut a path straight through the forest. That’s why that lane is there and why the ground is so hard. It was packed firm from years of travel — not by human feet, but by giant feet!”

After all they had been through this night, this was the one thing that he felt like commenting on. Hermione could only stare bemusedly at him. Thoroughly unimpressed, Ron sighed and turned along with Neville to continue walking, but Harry was positively ecstatic at his revelation.

Buoyed by his discovery, Harry set off with his three friends back to Hogwarts. He smiled all the way home.

Surprisingly they almost made it back before they were missed. … Almost. The look on Mr. Filch’s face when Professor McGonagall told him he could choose the students’ punishments instantly changed Harry’s mood and sent a dread chill down each of their spines.

--