She is immortal, born in the highlands of Scotland over three hundred years ago. She is not alone. There are others like her – some good, some evil. For centuries she has battled the forces of darkness, with holy ground and Hogwarts Castle her only refuges. She cannot die, unless you take her head, and with it her power, for in the end, there can be only one. Among the wizarding world, she is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. But in the Game of the Immortals, she is Fiona MacLeod – the Highlander.
*Highlander: The Series version of Princes Of The Universe plays*
Chapter 5
The sun had barely risen over the Hogwarts grounds, casting the castle in a soft, golden light. Most students were still in bed or their common rooms, taking advantage of the fact that it was the last day of the school year, and the corridors were quiet—save for Harry's echoing steps, on his way to the Transfiguration classroom. He had been sent a note by Professor McGonagall the previous evening, instructing him to be ready for his first "training session". When he entered the classroom, he saw that the familiar wooden desks were absent, replaced by a large, polished wooden stage that occupied the center of the room.
"Good morning, Harry," Professor McGonagall greeted him with her usual stern but warm smile. Harry raised an eyebrow, taking in the sight of the stage and the long, gleaming sword resting on a table beside it. The blade was curved slightly, with intricate runes carved into the metal. It gleamed in the dim light, its surface reflecting the early morning sunlight.
"You've been through a great deal, Harry," Professor McGonagall said, her tone suddenly more serious than Harry had ever heard it. "You've faced darkness, battled with magic, and endured trials that most would never dream of. But in the years to come, you will face a danger that is not so easily dealt with by magic alone." Harry felt a chill crawl up his spine. "What kind of danger?" Professor McGonagall gave him a look that was both fierce and solemn. "The Game of the Immortals, where a good blade and the skill to use it effectively, is what will save your life."
A chill ran down Harry's back as he realized what she was saying. "You want me to… fight with a sword?" "Yes," she said simply, walking over to the table and picking up the sword. She held it effortlessly, despite its weight, and handed it to him with a practiced motion. "Although other bladed weapons can be used, providing they are large enough to perform decapitation, swords are traditional. You must learn how to wield them as effectively as you wield your wand. Now, follow my lead."
She led him onto the stage, positioning herself in front of him with a stance that exuded authority. Her posture was perfect, her hands steady as she raised her own sword in an almost meditative way. Harry mimicked her, but his grip on the sword was tight, his movements stiff. "First," she began, her voice steady, "a sword is not an extension of your arm. It is an extension of your will. You must think of it not as an object, but as a part of yourself, a companion in battle."
Harry nodded, trying to follow her words. It felt unnatural at first, like he was forcing himself into a role he wasn't familiar with. He wanted to do it right, to impress her, but the sword was heavy and awkward in his hands. "Relax your grip, Harry," McGonagall instructed. "A sword should feel like an extension of your arm, not a burden. Let your muscles flow with the blade." Harry took a deep breath and did as she said, loosening his grip. To his surprise, it made the sword feel lighter, more agile. It no longer felt like an impenetrable weight but a tool to be wielded.
McGonagall moved swiftly, her sword flashing in the air with practiced ease. "Now, let's start with the basics—your stance. A proper stance will protect you from a blow and give you the leverage to strike back. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent." Harry followed her movements, adjusting his posture. It felt awkward at first, but he could see how the position gave him balance and control. His legs felt stronger, more rooted to the ground.
"Good," McGonagall said, nodding approvingly. "Now, raise your sword like this—elbow bent, ready to strike. We call this the 'guard position.' It is the foundation of any fight." Harry lifted the sword as she had instructed. For a brief moment, it almost felt like second nature, as though this was something he had been born to do. "Now, Harry," McGonagall said, her voice sharp, "the first move you need to learn is the strike. Watch closely."
With a swift movement, McGonagall demonstrated a diagonal cut, bringing her sword from her right shoulder to her left hip in a fluid, controlled motion. It was graceful yet deadly. Harry couldn't help but be impressed by how effortlessly she wielded the sword. "Now, you try." Harry adjusted his grip and took a deep breath. He swung the sword, attempting the same move. But his form was off. The blade felt clumsy in his hands, and the strike didn't flow the way McGonagall's had. McGonagall stepped forward, her eyes assessing him. "Not bad, but remember—fluidity, Harry. The sword does not fight with brute force. It is about precision, timing, and control."
For the next hour, McGonagall worked with him tirelessly. She corrected his stance, his grip, his posture, always encouraging him to move with purpose. Slowly but surely, Harry started to feel the rhythm of it. His strikes became smoother, more confident, though not yet perfect. By the end of the lesson, sweat trickled down Harry's brow, his arms aching from the exertion. McGonagall, however, looked unruffled, her posture as poised as when they had first begun.
"Not bad, Potter," she said with a faint smile. "You've got the potential to be a fine swordsman. I'll expect you to practice regularly, though – and I shall make arrangements with your godfather for training over the summer. But remember, against another Immortal, they will be aiming to behead you, and you must do likewise. Once a head comes away from the owner's neck, it's over." Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Professor. I'll work on it."
As Harry left the classroom that morning, the weight of the sword still lingering in his mind, he realized that McGonagall's lesson wasn't just about fighting with a blade. It was about learning to face the unknown, armed with whatever tools were at his disposal. And as always, Harry was ready for whatever challenge came next.