Alone Facing Darkness

Disclaimer: None of it is mine...except the idea of having a crossover.

Thanks a lot to Hufflepuff / VanaTheEverYoung for doing the Beta work. And thank you to the readers who have left reviews.

Enjoy – and remember, leave a review! ~Linaewen



For the first part of the journey Harry wondered whether his initial feelings about Moria were indeed correct. The only sounds were the careful footsteps of the twelve companions along the narrow path and the occasional far-off dripping of water echoing in the high chambers. Two nearly uneventful days passed, the only interesting thing being Gandalf showing where the mining area had once been.

“The wealth of Moria came from the most valuable metal known,” he said, extending his staff a short way over the edge. “Not gold, but mithril.”

A gasp of awe rippled through the group as they gazed down the deep drop-off lined with old scaffoldings into blackness.

“Mithril?” Ron asked. “What’s that?”

Hermione, of course, had the answer. “True-silver. It is more valuable than gold and harder than any ordinary metal. Remember? Elrond said there was some in the swords we received. Look, there’s a small vein of it there,” she added, pointing. Sure enough, there was a glimmer of silver in the rock, illuminated brilliantly by Gandaf’s light.

“Well spoken,” Gandalf said in a low voice. “As I recall, Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings. I never told him, but it was more valuable than all of the Shire!”

Ron gave a low whistle. “Wow.”

The mines were so dark that the Fellowship could only guess whether it was night or day outside; thus, the long and silent walks were punctuated by even quieter rests whenever they felt exhausted. Somehow, even Ron and Gimli managed to hold off on their usual snoring.

Harry took the final watch the second time the others slept, shaken awake after some hours by Boromir. He sat by a small woodless fire that Hermione had conjured, his pack at his side and his hand on his sword. Moria hadn’t been that bad, Harry though, aside from the Watcher at the gate and the way it had become a gigantic tomb for Dwarves. He shivered. The Dwarves must have been dead for a long while now, what with the way their skeletons were devoid of any rotting flesh…Surely whatever had attacked them had moved on, for nothing could survive in a place so desolate…No sound, save for the soft breathing coming from the people asleep in front of him…

Harry jerked upright. He was sure he had heard something – a snuffling and a pattering of feet. His hand tightened around his sword hilt as he strained his ears once more.

At that moment Ron gave a rather noisy grunt and roll over. Harry listened harder but heard no more. If only Ron had held off for a few more moments…he always chose an inconvenient time to make a noise…

Harry relaxed a little against the rock but kept his eyes wide open. Silent as the grave, he thought. He might have laughed had he not known just how much truth there was in that statement.

At length the others stirred and came awake one by one, pulling out dried fruit and hard cheese from their packs for breakfast, for they dared not risk cooking anything. Hermione blearily put out the small blue fire just before they all set off on the third leg of the journey.

The day began without much incident; the most exciting thing was Pippin losing his footing on a steep set of stairs and nearly knocking Merry over. They wound their way along, following Gandalf around boulders and ancient scaffoldings until they came to another set of stone steps. When they reached the top Gandalf paused, looking at each of the three looming archways in turn. All led into dark tunnels.

Gandalf was muttering to himself, his eyes roving from left to right as he paused.

“He’s lost,” Ron muttered to Harry.

“It’s not funny, Ron.”

“Did I say it was?”

Gandalf turned to face the eleven companions following him. “We will pause here; I must sit and try to recall the correct route.” With that, he settled himself at the rock on top of the stairs, facing the three doorways. The rest of the Company descended the steps once more and settled onto a flat area surrounded by a circle of stones. This time, Sam used some of the kindling he had brought and lit a fire.

Everyone soon became deep in hushed conversation, save for two. Legolas was standing straight-backed next to a boulder, his arms crossed and his head down in an almost meditative position. Frodo had climbed to a rock slightly above the other Hobbits and sat there, looking at the flames. Harry slipped away from Ron and Hermione and went to join him.

“Merry?” came Pippin’s voice. “I’m hungry.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Frodo, trying to suppress a laugh. “Fine time to get an appetite, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Indeed,” replied Frodo, “though I am sure he is not alone. Pippin’s the only one who – ”

He broke off and turned around, looking down into the cavernous area behind him. Wide-eyed, he gestured for Harry to climb higher so he could see as well.

As Harry clambered upward, he heard it again: the snuffling and the pattering. So that hadn’t been a figment of his imagination after all.

“Where?” he whispered to the Hobbit.

Frodo pointed. There, down below, was a skinny creature leaping from rock to rock as he hissed to himself.

Something had to be done; they could not allow this creature to follow them. With a sudden thought, Harry pulled the pack slung at his shoulder open and withdrew the tightly folded Invisibility Cloak, tucking it under his arm.

“Stay here,” he muttered to Frodo.

The Hobbit shook his head. “I must tell Gandalf.”

“Oh…all right then. Just make sure you all don’t leave until I come back.” Harry unbuckled his sword and set his pack down beside it.

“Where are you…?”

Harry crawled back over to the stairs and crept behind a boulder. Hopefully no one had noticed, but if they had, they would probably figure that he needed privacy for a few moments. He donned the Cloak and set off down the steps just as he heard Frodo speak to Gandalf, though the actual words were lost to his hearing.

Not for nothing had Harry and his friends been able to sneak around Hogwarts at night for five years aided by the Invisibility Cloak. As he padded forward he kept his eyes fixed on the creature in front of him, who was now staring up at the place where the others were seated. Harry had crept to within a few yards of the creature before it turned around warily, sniffing the air.

The large and pale green eyes immediately put Harry in mind of a house-elf, but the rest of the creature’s body could hardly look less like one. It was so wasted Harry could count its ribs, it had unnaturally long fingers, and wore nothing but a ragged loincloth.

“What iss it, Preciousss? We knows something is there, oh yess, even if it’s hiding, we does. And when we finds it…”

The creature’s voice was ragged and nasal, as though he had something caught in his throat. And he was coming closer. Harry knew that he had to act within the next few seconds or risk being discovered, but he would never get a clear shot with the Cloak on…maybe if he was quick enough…

“Yes, we knows it’s there, nassty creature…” The long, bony fingers stretched close.

Harry whipped the cloak away from his hand to take proper aim, flicked his wand in a small circle, and hissed “Immottica!”

The Freeze Charm hit the creature in the form of a small ball of dull blue light, rendering him incapable of speech or movement, though without the stiff snapping of arms to sides that came with the full Body-Bind. The spell also took a much longer time to wear off.

Perhaps the creature frozen in its crouching pose could no longer move, but his pale eyes glowed with resentment. Harry sincerely wished he had already learned how to perform wordless incantations such as he had seen Dumbledore doing, but it was too late now. The damage was done; the creature had seen the wand and heard Harry’s voice. Cursing his stupidity, Harry sprinted away as fast as he could back up the stairs without tripping over the hem of the Cloak. Slipping it off, he quickly folded it into a compact but messy bundle before making his way back around to his pack and sword. If the others had noticed his absence they did not comment on it, but Hermione was glowering at him.

Gandalf was still conversing with Frodo in low tones; Pippin, it seemed, had given up trying to find something to eat and was now smoking a pipe in Merry’s company.

“Oh!” Gandalf exclaimed. From his vantage point Harry saw everyone’s heads jolt upwards to face the Wizard. “It’s that way!” he indicated the rightmost archway with an inclination of his head.

Merry jumped up excitedly, exclaiming that Gandalf must have remembered – but oddly enough, the Wizard told him to always follow his nose.

“Well, that sure didn’t help us in the Ministry last year, did it?” Ron asked. “‘Follow your nose?’ If there’s anything a Hobbit’s going to follow with his nose it’ll be the smell of food cooking.”

Too tired and too worried to laugh, Harry gave his friend a small grin.

The tunnel wound along for some length before coming to a much wider space. Harry squinted into the dimly lit chamber. He could see more broken rocks, but these had the look of being carved.

Gandalf raised his staff and the crystal glowed more brightly.

Nearly everyone’s mouth dropped open in speechless awe. The vaulted ceiling of the chamber soared high above their heads, and row upon row of stately columns marched off into the distance. Gandalf told them that it was the Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf, and paused for a moment to let them gaze.

No one else had any words; indeed, it was perhaps the most magnificent sight Harry had ever seen, surpassing even the ceiling of the Great Hall in Hogwarts. How had such a civilization been forgotten? How, indeed, had such a place as Rivendell been forgotten long before Harry and his friends, or even Nicolas Flamel, had been born?

This time the Company was held silent not by fear of being discovered, but by sheer wonder. As they came closer, Harry saw that the columns were carved in careful detail, and that runes ran all along them.

“Any idea what they say?” he asked Hermione.

She shook her head. “Not the least. I think these were the very runes that I would have been studying during this year, though.”

They came around a bend. Suddenly Gimli made a sound somewhere between a strangled cry and a grunt and began sprinting towards a light off in the distance…a light that didn’t come from Gandalf’s staff. Were they at the exit already? Harry hoped so, hoped that his ill feelings about the mines were incorrect and that they would indeed pass through safely.

“Gimli!” Gandalf called. The Dwarf paid him no heed as he ran through a battered wooden doorway. Gandalf turned to bring him back, and with another sense of foreboding, Harry followed.

The Dwarf was kneeling before a stone tomb that had a ray of sunlight shining upon it, moaning and murmuring “No…No…” over and over again. In silence Gandalf walked up next to the tomb and read the inscription.

“‘Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.’ He is dead then. It’s as I feared.”

With a dull thunk of helmet upon stone Gimli rested his head on the edge of the tomb, his cries fading.

It appeared that the Dwarves had made a last stand here after Balin’s death. There were more books within this room than there had been in other places, more scattered weapons and coats of mail. Gandalf handed his staff and tall blue hat to Pippin before turning to take a battered book from a skeleton’s grip. Clouds of dust came free of the book, and a few pages fell out as Gandalf opened it and began to read grimly as the Company listened in mortified silence.

“They have taken the bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long.”

As if these ominous words had awoken the sense of danger in Harry yet again, Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione, “We have to move. Now.” Hermione just shushed him as she listened intently.

“The ground shakes. Drums…drums in the deep…” He glanced up and turned the page. When he began to speak again, his voice had grown even more hushed.

“We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out…” he paused, not for the effect but in seeming horror. “They are coming.”

His words were punctuated by a crashing and ringing that made the already tense Fellowship jump and whirl around to face the noise, hands on sword hilts and bows. They relaxed momentarily when they saw that it was only Pippin standing by a well. The Hobbit winced as whatever had dropped into the well – obviously through his own intervention – hit the side and let off another resounding metallic clang. Tension hung in the air in the next few moments, with everyone too nervous to move or even breathe.

When the noise had descended to somewhere far below the range of their hearing, Boromir exhaled with an audible sigh and everyone relaxed – everyone but Gandalf.

The Wizard slammed the ancient book shut in a manner that would have made the Hogwarts librarian Madam Pince cringe, scolding the Hobbit for his foolishness. He snatched his hat and staff back as Pippin hung his head in shame.

“Let’s go. Now,” Harry said, his voice urgent. “They are coming, didn’t you hear? They are coming!” He heard his voice becoming steadily louder.

“Harry, keep your voice – ” Hermione broke off.

Boom.

Gandalf, whose hat was halfway to his head, turned around to look at Pippin again.

Boom. .

The Hobbit glanced back into the well behind him. But the sound was not coming from there…

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“‘Drums in the deep…’” Hermione murmured, her eyes wide. Harry felt his hand straying instinctively toward the wand concealed in his jerkin. Not the wand, he told himself. Not now. He grasped the hilt of his sword, loosening it for a quick withdrawal; next to him, Ron had done the same and Hermione had taken up her bow. I will not let any of us die. Not if I can help it. This was it; this was the reason Harry and Aragorn had warned Gandalf against going into the mines…

The deep, thundering beats were growing ever more rapid. Sam suddenly cried, “Frodo!”

The Ringbearer needed no telling what to do; he loosened the short sword that hung at his side and withdrew it a few inches. Sting’s blade was glowing bright blue. Harry had not been told what this meant, but his guess was confirmed when Legolas exclaimed, “Orcs!”

Ron swore. “Great. Here we are, very nicely trapped, about to do battle for the first time…”

“Shut up!” Hermione hissed. “Listen to Gandalf and Aragorn…”

“Stay with Gandalf!” the Man said as he ran to the door. “You two, stand near them; Hermione, come with me. Ready your bow.”

Hermione followed him to stand close to the tomb with an arrow nocked and ready. Her face was pale, but when she held the bow up it remained steady. Boromir had closed the doors, and now he and Aragorn and Legolas worked together to bar it shut for a few moments longer. The spell Colloportus would not work to hold these doors magically shut, damaged and rotted as they were. Harry drew his sword and glanced at Ron. The freckles on his friend’s features stood out starkly against a face drained of color, and the sword he held in his large hands quivered. Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“You can do this, Ron.”

“What if our training wasn’t enough? And I was terrible at it too. What if…”

“Come off it, mate. You’ve faced Death Eaters; what’s a couple of great clumsy goblins?”

Ron grinned weakly in response before standing alert once more. Gandalf had cast aside his hat and held a long sword aloft in one hand and his staff in the other. The Hobbits were trembling where they stood, gathered in a tight knot around Frodo. Over in front of the tomb, three arrows were trained upon the growing hole in the door, and Gimli stood upon the tomb itself, growling fiercely and hefting his axe.

Hermione let her arrow fly first, and there was a horrible sort of squealing as the grey fletching disappeared from view. Two more shrill cries came from the other side of the door as Aragorn and Legolas shot two arrows through the gap. Quick as lightning the Elf nocked another arrow and set it loose. Then the doors burst open.

“A bit more than a couple, eh?” Ron asked, his voice forcibly joking and his face white as he gave Harry a sidelong glance. Harry did not have time to respond; within seconds, the chamber became a melee of slashing and stabbing.

Harry had frozen at first sight of the Orcs. They were hideous, leering creatures that fought indiscriminately, occasionally slashing at their own companions. It was only when one stood right next to him, weapon raised, that Harry forced the fear from his mind and raised his sword.

Aragorn’s training had prepared them well; the Orcs did indeed use brute strength as their main weapon, no subtlety at all. Their movements were easily anticipated and countered. And there was no time for regret. No time to stop and think about mercy, for if he faltered for one instant he would most likely die. So as Harry lopped off the head of the Orc that slavered menacingly in front of him and stabbed at another that had attempted to bring a club down on his head, he tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach and move on.

What the Orcs lacked in cleverness they made up for in sheer numbers; Harry knew he and his companions were outnumbered many times over. From the glimpses he caught all around him, all were still up and fighting. He whirled his sword with deadly accuracy, slashing through the pitiful armor of the next Orc, who fell with a gurgling squeal. On and on it went, the hacking and slicing. There was no pleasure in this killing the way Voldemort would enjoy it, no fancy dodging or twirling as Harry had often seen in Muggle movies. There was just a grim efficiency. He fought down the desire to retch as he noticed the shining blade covered in black blood.

A sudden roar and crash drew his attention. The doorway was smashed beyond any hope of repair, and there, standing in its ruins, was a gigantic creature. Harry had only seen a creature such as this three times in his life: once in the girls’ bathroom, another larger one far below the school, and the three that he, Aragorn, and the Hobbits had come across before they arrived at Rivendell. Of those, the one he had seen protecting the Sorcerer’s Stone had been the largest – but this troll was larger by far.

The troll gave another enraged howl and brandished the club it carried. Seized by an idea, Harry fought his way over to Ron.

“Fancy taking this one out?” he shouted over the commotion.

Ron dispatched another Orc with a stab of his sword, glaring at the others as if daring them to come closer. “Fancy distracting it by sticking something up its nose? That’s how we did it last time.”

“Er…” Harry hadn’t actually remembered that foolish but lucky mistake until now, a mistake that had made Hermione Granger their friend. “Right.” He beat back a few Orcs that had been trying to corner him. “Stunners, on the count of three.” He whipped out his wand, holding it in his left hand as his right brandished the sword. “One…Two…THREE!”

Two jets of red light flew up and struck the troll’s ugly head. Unfortunately, while the magic still had not been strong enough to knock it out, it certainly gave it enough cause to turn its attention away from the three Hobbits cowering by the wall in front if it. Now it rounded on Harry and Ron, roaring with its club raised.

Harry swore and began to run instinctively, thrusting his wand into the belt that held his jerkin closed. The wrong way, he realized a moment later, when it was too late to change direction. He was headed for the place where Frodo hid by a pillar, drawing the troll after him. Out of breath, not knowing what else to do, he stood before the Hobbit with his sword raised. But a sword would be of little use against the massive club the troll was now raising. Harry shouted over his shoulder, “Run!” before he closed his eyes and waited for the crushing end to come…

“Relashio!” came Ron’s panicked voice. Harry opened his eyes to see the troll looking confusedly around, wondering what had made its club fly out of its hand and to the opposite wall. At the other end of the chamber, Ron was standing with his wand raised as Boromir fought off the Orcs that sought to attack him. Enraged and heedless of whoever had the misfortune to be in its path, the troll charged over to the Ron, whose red hair marked him out clearly against the dull colors of the chamber.

Hidden behind the massive column Harry watched Ron swish and flick his wand in the unmistakable movement of the Levitation Charm. Harry couldn’t keep a grin off his face as he recalled how the events had unfolded that one Halloween night. Ron’s course of action was perfectly understandable; if magic could not penetrate the troll’s thick skin then maybe a swift and direct blow to the head would be the only means of putting the troll out of action.

A sharp pain at the back of his head drew his attention most unpleasantly away from the scene. The room spun as he wobbled around to face his attacker but fell over on his back. One Orc was already neatly run through by Frodo’s glowing sword, and another was receiving several painful slashes on its legs. The third was standing over Harry, an evil grin upon its hideous features as it raised its sword, this time to kill. Somewhere in the middle of the chamber a great thud echoed.

Dimly, Harry realized that this creature must have struck him with the flat of its sword. Reflexes born of Quidditch training and honed by extensive sword lessons acted for him now. He aimed a well-placed kick at the leering creature and thrust his already bloody sword upward, struggling to push himself upright. The Orc staggered but was shortly dispatched by Frodo.

An odd silence now reigned in the chamber, which swam before Harry’s eyes. He could no longer keep himself upright…

Small hands propped him up and a voice called “Aragorn!”

“I can walk,” he mumbled. “Really…”

“Here,” said Aragorn’s voice. “Take this.”

An unpleasant-tasting concoction was tipped into his mouth. From the slight grittiness Harry figured it was probably dried, crushed herbs mixed with water. Still, Polyjuice Potion and Skele-Gro tasted far worse, so he gulped it down. Immediately his head began to clear.

“You must be able to run,” Aragorn said.

“I’ll manage.”

“Are you certain?”

“I will. I have to.” The ache in his head was not quite gone, but his vision remained steady as he stood up.

The twang of a bowstring echoed throughout the chamber, followed by Hermione’s voice. “It was already unconscious, Legolas, there was no need to…”

“We do not want it following our Company. It had to be killed, Hermione.”

“But…”

Harry turned to see the Fellowship gathered around the space containing himself and the troll. The troll, which had undoubtedly been felled first by its own club, now had two arrows buried deep in its neck. And now at last the members of the Fellowship began to draw in deep, relaxed breaths.

Then hundreds – maybe thousands – of cries began to echo some distance away. The Company tensed, for weary as the battle had made them, they knew they had no choice but to leave.

Gandalf ran for the broken door, calling for them to get to the bridge.

Harry paused long enough to pick up the pack that he had dropped near the well, tossing Ron and Hermione their own also. Then they sprinted after the other nine.

The squawking cries were growing louder in all directions. Harry saw Frodo glance over his shoulder with terror written clearly over his face.

Do not look back, he thought. For that was a way to die.

They were surrounded. A crowd of hundreds upon thousands of Orcs had sprung from seemingly nowhere and was now edging closer, hemming the Fellowship in, heedless of the bright white light coming from Gandalf’s staff. The twelve companions stood in a circle, shoulder to shoulder. Harry calculated quickly. Even if he whipped out his wand a performed Reductor Curses and Stunning spells there and there – and in the face of the closest Orc that was sneering in his face, for that matter – it would never be enough. Twelve could not hope to hold out for very long against these sheer numbers, not unless something else came to drive the Orcs away…

As if in answer to his wish, a low rumble resounded at the far end of the high chamber. The Orcs shook and scattered, disappearing into the places where they had come from, squealing and screeching in fright.

And orange glow filtered down through the archway to accompany another growl that sounded like an immense rock sliding over the entrance to a cave. It was coming closer…

Hermione’s eyes were round as she spoke for the group. “What could that be, that it could drive away all those Orcs?”

Harry watched as Gandalf closed his eyes and searched his memory. This was bad. The longer they stood there, the more likely they would have to face whatever it was…Every fiber of him was screaming Run, but he stood rooted to the spot, quite unable to speak from fear.

“A Balrog,” Gandalf finally said. “A demon of the ancient world. This foe – ”

“RUN!” Harry shouted, cutting the old Wizard off. He wasn’t quite sure what exactly the Balrog was, but he knew it was dangerous. Gandalf had wasted nearly a full twenty seconds standing there, precious seconds they could have used to escape from the hall.

They ran through another doorway, following Boromir’s raised torch. The Man started running down the steps but stopped abruptly, his torch spinning down into the abyss. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione and the three of them hung back, letting the others pass down the stairs before them. Aragorn, too, stopped next to Gandalf, but the Wizard shoved him aside and ordered him to lead the Company down to the bridge.

“And you three, follow him!” Gandalf added when he spotted the trio. “Swords are useless!”

“We can use more than swords,” Harry said, gesturing at Ron and Hermione. “We can help you with our magic – ”

“I will not allow it! Now, run!”

“But – ”

“GO! This is my task. You will be in far too much danger!”

He glared at them and they scuttled down the stairs obediently. Harry could hear the swish of the Wizard’s grey robes as he followed them down the stairs.

There came a point where a portion of the stairs had fallen away. Legolas leapt over first, followed by Gandalf. For a moment the Elf and Wizard stared back at the rest of the Company across the gap. Then Hermione sighed.

“This is stupid,” she said in an exasperated tone. “Get out of my way!” Pushing forward, she whipped her wand and pointed it just as a black-fletched arrow streaked past. She stumbled backwards for an instant into Harry and Ron, who held her upright. Then, when Legolas began firing arrows at the Orcs that were presumably hidden in the shadows, she flicked her wand, pointing first to one side of the gap and then the other crying “Lattransi!”

Nothing spectacular happened other than a quick burst of golden light. Another arrow flew dangerously close. Hermione turned around and aimed a Stunning Spell at its source; with a screech, an Orc plummeted into the abyss.

“Walk across, Harry.” She gave him a push towards the gap, still gripping her wand

“What?” Surely he had not heard properly. She wouldn’t tell him to walk to his death.

“There’s an invisible bridge there! Now walk across, before the stone below collapses!”

It seemed like an insane leap of faith, to step out when he did not recognize the incantation, but more arrows were raining down on them and there seemed to be no other choice. Taking a deep breath, Harry put his foot out onto nothingness – and felt a hard surface beneath his feet. Sure enough, Hermione had conjured an unseen walkway.

“Go!” he heard her say to the others. “Hurry!”

Legolas and Gandalf were standing at the opposite side, watching as they descended quickly down through the air. Hermione was the last across, following Aragorn and an extremely pale Frodo. She gave her wand another wave, and Harry saw an arrow that had stuck itself into the unseen surface tumble down into darkness.

All but Harry and Ron were now goggling at her, quite unable to believe what they had just seen. Then Gandalf seemed to come back to his senses.

“To the bridge! Come now, run!”

This jolted the others back into motion. They raced through down the stairs and through more hallways, which seemed to be growing brighter as they neared their final destination. The brightness was a fiery glow, cast, they at last discovered, by a wall of flames that danced upon the stone in the hall just before they came to the bridge.

Odd, Harry thought. Stone doesn’t burn…

And that was when he realized what was about to happen. The vision he had seen earlier…the loss he had felt…here was the fire demon, come to take Gandalf from the Fellowship…

He pulled his wand out and pointed it at the flames. But as soon as the incantation left his mouth he knew it was no use; the Reductor Curse was only good on solid objects, as he had learned in his fourth year at Hogwarts. There was a charm to make water fly from his wand, he knew that from Ron’s description of how Fleur Delacour had handled the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, but he had not learned it yet…

As he took another breath a hand closed about his wrist and he looked up into Gandalf’s eyes. The grip was powerfully strong for one so old in appearance.

“No,” Gandalf said. “This is my fight.” Harry saw that Ron and Hermione, too, had tried various hexes upon the fire; Hermione had tried the charm for water, but the stream had turned into vapor as soon as it got close to the flames. Harry knew they were fighting a losing battle and might die if they remained. He couldn’t allow his friends to die, but neither could he leave Gandalf to perish…

Then a small voice, sounding much like Hermione’s, said to him, You must not interfere. Let the events unfold.

What would happen to Gandalf was beyond any memory he had yet seen, but he already knew that the Wizard’s death – if it came to that – was indeed a part of the pattern of events, a necessary one. He had to let go, something he knew did not come easily to him. He knew that Frodo, especially, would take the blow hard. He wished there was something within his power to prevent what was now, though others may not know it, inevitable. But there wasn’t. His magic – and Ron’s and Hermione’s – made not so much as a dent on the power that this fire demon held.

It seemed as though an age had passed when he finally arrived at his decision, but only a few moments had actually gone by when he looked back into Gandalf’s eyes, now blazing a bright blue with power. Hating himself for doing it, knowing the anguish it would cause the others, Harry nodded. The grip on his wrist was released, and he stowed his wand away. Ron and Hermione did the same.

The rest of the Company had stopped just ahead of them, staring entranced at the flickering flames. Gandalf barked at them all to run, pushing Harry and his two friends along.

They all stopped just short of the narrow stone bridge when they heard a thunderous roar and turned to stare back at the Balrog. The horned demon of smoke and flame glared with glowing orange eyes down at Gandalf, who suddenly looked very small and powerless as he faced it. As it took a step, the floor shook. Gandalf turned and spotted the companions, who stood rooted to the spot.

“Run!” he shouted yet again. “To the bridge! Fly, fly!”

They needed no telling twice. In single file they walked as fast as they dared across the narrow strip of stone. Only when they were all across to the other side did they look back.

Gandalf had not gone farther than halfway across. He stood facing the looming demon.

“You cannot pass!” he said in deep, sonorous tones.

Frodo let out a strangled cry from somewhere behind Harry.

“I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire shall not avail you, Flame of Udûn!”

The Balrog growled and slashed downward with its sword at the white glow that was Gandalf. The Wizard raised the already drawn Glamdring and parried, shivering the sword of fire into many glowing fragments that glanced of his white shield.

“Go back to the Shadow,” Gandalf commanded. The beast merely growled at him.

“You shall not pass!” Gandalf bellowed again, raising his glowing staff.

Harry did not know what drove him to do it. He had already run closer to the bridge; now, without thinking, he whipped his wand out and took careful aim to a point just below where the fire demon now stood before crying “Reducto!”

His spell met with a brilliant flash of white light from Gandalf’s staff when the Wizard brought it down upon the stone bridge. But Harry, as far away as he was, had not aimed properly. The Reductor Curse hit the demon itself.

Enraged, thinking that this new nuisance had come from the old man in front of it, the Balrog took a step towards Gandalf. But while Harry’s spell had not worked, Gandalf’s had, and the bridge collapsed beneath the creature, taking it away down into the dark depths below.

Gandalf turned around wearily to face Harry. “That was very foolish, Harry, very foolish indee – ”

The last word was cut off when the Wizard had his breath knocked out of him. The Balrog had lashed upward with its whip and the flame-like ribbon had twined itself around Gandalf’s legs as the gnarled staff and the long sword fell down into nothingness.

Now Harry was frozen with horror. He watched as the Wizard struggled to hold on just for a few moments longer, watched helplessly as Gandalf curled his fingertips around a bit of stone, exertion now in his every move and breath. The eyes, which had only moments before blazed with power, now seemed devoid of any and full of fear.

“Fly, you fools!” he gasped.

And with that final grunting rebuke, he was gone…gone, spinning into the depths below to meet his end.