Prologue:
The Last of the Mandarin Men
By Ilara
Dumbledore
I had always thought Chinese Fireballs are not as
nasty as they seem. After all, they can share their territory with up to three
other of their breed. So they couldn't
be that bad. Maybe even a nicer breed
of dragon.
Yeah right. That was likely. A nice dragon was about as likely as my brother, Lucius, telling
me how great a sister I was. How could
I have been so stupid? Dragons are not
nice, not even close.
My crew
and I (consisting of me, a walking dictionary and a poor photographer) apparated
near a small village in China. The
place was so nondescript it was almost an anti-village, so we took no notice of
it. Our concern was a dragon reported
to be residing nearby- a local man insisted this dragon had fried his hut. Of course, to the villagers nearby, the man
was quite insane, but I'm one of the newbies to The Daily Prophet- It's not
like I was going to be given one of the better assignments. I was one of a hundred "Care of Magical
Creatures" Majors. It's not like I was
at the top of the assignments list.
We walked the short distance to the
hut, the photographer clicking away, and the walking dictionary reading "War
and Peace" as he stumbled around. Once
in a while he would look up and make sure he wasn't going to break his nose by
walking into a tree, then look back down again.
I attempted to make small talk, but
to no avail- the photographer just grunted, crouching around a non-descript
fern, and the walking dictionary looked up long enough to tell me I was
spoiling the book for him.
I sneered and turned back to
walking, wondering again whether or not to ask the man we were going to visit
if "he described himself as crazy." I
never was good at interviews.
When we got to the burned-down hut,
we turned left and saw a cloak propped up on sticks. I sighed and straightened my cloak, hoping against hope it would
be done soon. We found the man sitting
near a fire. He motioned us closer, and
I was at a loss when he began to speak.
"Er…" The man was making erratic
gestures, obviously telling a story, but I couldn't understand a word he
said. I leaned over to the
photographer. "You understand a word
he's saying?"
"You were supposed to hire a
translator! I thought it was him!" The
photographer said, pointing to the human dictionary (I still had yet to learn
his name).
I swore under my breath. "He is supposed to be a translator!" I
looked to the dictionary man.
"It's Mandarin." Said the
dictionary-man superiorly.
"Can you translate?!" I hissed.
"No. I specialize in German and French, not-"
"THEN SHUT UP!" I yelled. The Mandarin- speaking Chinese man stopped
and looked at me.
"Er…Can you, ey speak-ey,
English-ey?"
"He's not Pig Latin-ese, he's
Chinese!" Muttered the photographer.
"Shut up! I'm your boss right now, so shut up!" I was still in
control. I still had control over the
situation. Well, I was telling myself I
did.
"DO YOU-KNOW WHERE- THE DRAGON-IS?"
I yelled at the Chinese man. This
continued for several minutes- me, yelling at the Chinese man, the photographer
making snide comments and the Dictionary-man looking superior about the whole
situation. Only after about ten minutes
of yelling at the Chinese man, I finally acted like a dragon- flapping my
wings, roaring, and pointing at the fire.
This he understood, and responded by yelling and pointing to the north.
"Thank you!" I muttered, and headed
off to the north. I emitted a smiley
face from my wand, and that seemed to appease the man.
I decided to discover the names of
my crew. They had been stuck with me
due to some strange choosing method, and I wanted to call them something other
than "photographer", and "dictionary man".
The walking dictionary's name turned out to be Kirby, and the
photographer, of whom had revealed his name to be Mark, had a good laugh at
this. "Kirby? As in, the pink guy in videogames?!" Laughed the photographer.
Luckily, Kirby had never seen a videogame in his life, and we were only given
an angry look.
We happened upon a cave, and there
were enough scorch marks around the entrance to make us uneasy. We exchanged nervous glances as I took out a
stick with Chinese symbols upon it.
Obviously, it was one of the few things that Kirby knew nothing about.
"What is that thing?" He asked.
I explained in a whisper. "The Chinese characters carved in it is a
spell- it detects Chinese Fireballs by their magical presence. It takes a bit to work, so shut up."
Kirby nodded and whispered, "I knew
that." I kicked him in the shin and glared at him long enough to entice him to
be silent. The rod in my hand suddenly
played a single high C, and I grinned.
They had thought there would be no
unregistered dragon. The people at my
newspaper had called me foolish, that I shouldn't have taken the
assignment. But filing was not my job-
I was a reporter. I wasn't meant to be
sorting the files on various Magical Creatures. I was meant to be here- in danger and terrified out of my wits.
I put the rod in my cloak pocket and
motioned to the photographer. He looked
terrified. Gone was his sarcasm and dry
humor- He looked close to wetting his pants.
I crept into the den of the dragon, keeping low to the ground and
avoiding stepping on the skeletons of long-dead animals. The photographer took a picture of them
shakily, and glanced at me, mouthing, "Is this a good idea?" in the dim
moonlight streaming in through the entrance.
I nodded mutely, and walked slowly towards the back of the cave, wand at
ready. We came to a large cavern, and
saw a great, beautiful Chinese Fireball.
It was majestic in it simple,
dangerous beauty. It was a deep, smooth
crimson, with golden spikes around its face.
It seemed to stir when Mark gasped, and I instantly covered his mouth
with my hand. I grabbed the camera from
his shaking hand, and took a few pictures.
On the last clicking noise from the camera, the dragon started, and we
stared into its dark, golden framed face.
We stood there for a moment, Mark and I looking into the face of death
when I screamed "RUN!"
I whipped around and ran towards the
entrance, Mark close behind. I didn't
dare try a Stunner- in this close proximity it could hit Mark or I, and being
unconscious in a Dragon's den was not very good. We ran, a mushroom cloud of flame following us. We stumbled out of the entrance, Mark
cradling a burn on the back of his bare arm, and my cloak on fire. I rolled in the dirt, screaming like
mad. Mark dived into the bushes, safe,
but a millisecond after I put the fire out and stood, the dragon cleared the
entrance to the cave.
I drew my wand and yelled Stupefy,
having no effect on the dragon. I
screamed for my crew to yell "Stupefy" on my count, and on three, we all
screamed the spell. The dragon stopped,
dazed, and I bolted into the bushes where Mark had hidden. I curled up and waited in the dark for the
dragon to blow fire at the bushes, but the dragon stomped off in the other
direction. I breathed a sigh of relief
and started laughing.
Mark gave me an odd look and began
to laugh himself. Kirby stared at us
from our left, and then began to laugh as well. It was the laughing of desperation mixed with joy coinciding with
a dark humor. We leaned on each other,
not friends, not enemies, but somewhere in between.
