Alone Facing Darkness

Diclaimers: Short and to the point - I own nothing.


~Chapter 2: A Silver Hand~


Harry awoke the next morning to a silent dormitory. This meant that either the four other boys were still asleep, or that they had all gone down to breakfast. Harry watched the dust motes dancing in the sliver of light that the curtains around his bed let in for a moment before getting up and putting on his glasses.

Looking around the dormitory, he saw that everyone else had already gone. He got dressed and went to the Great Hall.

When he arrived downstairs, he saw that Ron and Hermione were already at the Gryffindor table, comparing schedules. Hermione spotted him first. “Over here, Harry!” she said, waving.

Harry made his way over to where his two friends were sitting. Ron handed him his schedule, saying, “Looks like today’s not going to be that bad…Defense Against the Dark Arts with Dumbledore first, the Transfiguration and then…” Ron looked at his schedule again. “Charms with Flitwick. Probably the best schedule we’ve had in a long time.”

Harry nodded his assent before beginning to eat. Suddenly, Hermione asked, “Harry, I’ve just remembered something…you were going to tell us something last night but never got around to it.”

“Not here…” Harry protested.

“Harry, no one is listening.” Ron looked up expectantly too.

“Well, then…” Harry wasn’t exactly sure how to describe his vision to them. “Twice last night, I…er…well, I thought some things that weren’t my thoughts, d’you follow?”

They were looking at him blankly.

“Well, I’m not sure how to tell you about them…the first time it was a sort of…voice…that spoke to me, and then later in the Great Hall it was as if…” he swallowed. “It was almost like I was not here, as if I were somewhere else, looking through another person’s eyes, thinking his thoughts.”

Now Hermione looked worried. “Is it Voldemort again? Oh, Harry, I told you that you should have worked on Occlumency harder last year…”

“It wasn’t Voldemort…Somehow I know that, the vision wasn’t coming from him. It came from me. I don’t know how to explain how I know that…I just know.”

“You should talk to Dumbledore, Harry,” said Ron. “Remember what I told you before…Hearing things that no one else can…”

“…is dangerous, even in the wizarding world,” Harry finished. “I know Ron, I’m not that thick. It’s just that…I don’t know, I don’t particularly want to confide in Dumbledore any more.”

“What has he ever done to deserve that, Harry?” hissed Hermione. “He’s done nothing but help you for the past six years…maybe more! He’s always been on your side. Sometimes I think that you refuse to see that, that we are all with you, that you’re not alone…”

“But I am alone, Hermione. More than you’ll even know.” He regretted this instantly.

Hermione looked as though she had been slapped in the face. “Say you don’t mean that Harry,” she said in a dangerous tone. “Take it back…”

“Or what, you’ll hex me?”

“All too right, I will! Ron, back me up…”

“She’s right, Harry. You’ve been acting like such a martyr lately…”

“I have bloody well not! And if that’s how you see me…well, it’s your own problem!” Harry grabbed his schedule, shoved it in his bag, and stormed off without eating.

Once he passed through the doors, however, he realized how foolish he had been. First of all, he’d picked a fight with Ron and Hermione; secondly, he hadn’t taken a bite to eat. Not wanting to confront his two friends before class, he decided to head for the library. He had nearly thirty minutes left before Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The library was empty except for Madam Pince. She regarded him suspiciously for a few moments, then, apparently deciding that he wasn’t a threat to her precious books, she turned around without a word. Harry deposited his bag in a chair and selected a book at random before flopping down on another comfortable chair.

His head was buzzing with thoughts; he wasn’t really reading. He opened the red leather covers of the book and glanced briefly at the title. *There and Back Again…*

A shrill screech echoed behind him. Turning around, he saw Madam Pince swooping down on him. “What do you think you are doing, boy? That is one of the oldest books in the library, it is not to be defiled by your filthy hands, give it to me!”

Harry handed her the book, wondering why it was out on a shelf and not in the Restricted Section if it really was as old a valuable as she said it was.

“Now, out! OUT!” The librarian waved her wand and sent Harry’s bag chasing him past the shelves to the door.

Harry decided to head for the classroom early, having nowhere else to go. He found his way there easily.

The door was already ajar. He pushed it open to reveal the classroom, decorated in the sixth different way he had seen it since his arrival at Hogwarts some six years previously. It had been rather plain when Professor Quirrell had been the teacher. Professor Lockhart had put up large grinning posters of himself. Professor Lupin almost always had an interesting Dark creature on the desk, ready for study. Mad-Eye Moody had kept it quite plain as well. Professor Umbridge – Harry shook with a twinge of disgust – had covered the desk with several frilly pink items, a truly horrible sight.

Now, the desk held a few of the small silver instruments that Harry had previously seen in the Headmaster’s office. On the desk was also what Harry recognized as Dumbledore’s Pensieve, the stone bowl where Dumbledore put thoughts he wished to keep out of his head. They swirled in the basin, looking like a silvery mist. And on the board…

Harry groaned. Occlumency. The ability to block someone – namely Voldemort and his followers – from reading one’s mind. Well, the correct term for that was Legilimency, and apparently there was a difference, but Snape had never bothered to give Harry much of an explanation when he gave Harry lessons a year ago.

“Is something the matter, Harry?”

Harry jumped. There, sitting meditatively in the corner of the classroom, was Dumbledore. “Professor, I just…”

He thought about what Hermione had said. Much as he didn’t want to admit it, she was quite right. Nothing Dumbledore had ever done had hurt Harry, other than revealing the prophecy to him. The only reason Dumbledore had kept his distance from Harry the previous year was for Harry’s protection. With this in mind, Harry began to speak.

“Well, Professor…I think I owe you an apology.”

“Whatever for?” The gaze blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses was piercing.

“For…er…for my being such a prat last year, I really don’t know how else to phrase it.”

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore said quietly, “You do not have to apologize for that. I was young once too, long ago. I know what it is to lose someone important to you at a young age. It is a terrible feeling. There is a void inside you an emotional hole that the person once occupied. Harry, in my many years I have experienced that all too many times.”

Harry had no words to respond to this, so he continued: “Right…er…secondly, sir, I’ve been seeing and hearing things that I shouldn’t be. Thoughts that aren’t mine, seeing things I haven’t looked at, stuff like that. And I have this feeling that this time it isn’t Voldemort invading my head. I just…know.”

Dumbledore tipped his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “What sort of thoughts, Harry?”

“Nothing that is in any way related to Voldemort…first, on the train, it was really strange…I was thinking of how lonely I am, having to face evil pretty much all by myself, you know, how I’m the only one who can accomplish that task. Then out of nowhere, I heard a voice telling me that I’d…what were the exact words…‘walked that path before.’ And then there was another voice. I recognize it somehow, as though I’ve hear it before…It belongs to a woman, I’m sure, but it’s very deep…Funny,” he closed his eyes for a moment. “I think I can put a face to that voice…golden hair, blue eyes, all dressed in white with a silver and diamond ring on her finger…” He opened his eyes and looked at Dumbledore.

The headmaster’s face was pale, his lips compressed in a thin line much like Professor McGonagall’s. “Go on,” he said.

Harry hesitated. It seemed as though Dumbledore had been on the verge of telling him something. It was very odd that he had been able to recall something like that. He continued, “That night, at the feast, I had this…vision would be the word, I guess.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“It was as if I were looking through someone else’s eyes, literally. I saw a party of some sort, several people with curly hair dancing, they wore no shoes…there was an old man launching fireworks…and also I remember something about a person, I felt as though he were a friend of some sort, he was dancing with someone he liked.” He closed his eyes again and pictured this…friend. Kind brown eyes, hair bleached and skin tanned from working long hours in the sun. A gardener. Sam. Yes, that was his name. My dear Sam. The thought came, as everything else, unbidden. This time Harry did not speak his thoughts. He opened his eyes again. Dumbledore was regarding him curiously, waiting for him to go on.

“That’s all I can remember, sir. Except that right after that, I laughed…as though something was funny. Not the maniacal kind of laughter that overtook me last year when my mind was connected to Voldemort’s. Just a happy kind of laugh, the kind of someone having a good time.”

Dumbledore’s expression had become grave. “Harry, I believe that there is more to the fight between yourself and Voldemort than we ever realized. I suspected it all along, but never had any proof to back it up, but now with what you’re telling me…” the headmaster trailed off. “The fact that there was any sort of prophecy should have put it beyond any doubt. It is, without a shadow of a doubt, indeed fate that you should be the one to combat this evil.”

Harry was impatient for Dumbledore to stop speaking in riddles and just get to the heart of the matter. “I don’t understand, Professor.”

“You will, Harry, you will. I will tell you sometime…But not now, class is about to start.”

The students were filing in and taking seats. Harry nodded to Dumbledore and said, “Thanks,” before moving off to sit with Ron and Hermione.

At first his two friends didn’t look at him. He decided to start the conversation. “I talked to Dumbledore,” he said.

Hermione didn’t even look up. “Good.” Harry hated it when she used that I-told-you-so tone. Ron didn’t say anything.

“Look, guys, I’m sorry…”

“What did Dumbledore say?” Ron asked, his tone rather businesslike.

“You sound like Percy,” Harry said.

“I do not!”

Harry chuckled. “Do to. Dumbledore has answers. Said there’s more to whatever’s between Voldemort and me than he realized.”

“Don’t try to make yourself sound so important,” Hermione said. He still didn’t like her tone.

“Hermione…Ron…I said I was sorry!”

She sniffed. “Apology accepted.” Her tone then changed, along with her expression. “Just try not to lash out at Ron and me all the time, all right?”

Harry was about to argue that he didn’t, but decided not to. “Okay.” At this point Dumbledore’s lecture began and the conversation ended.

“Occlumency!” Dumbledore was saying. “It is a very useful skill, especially in times such as these. Who can tell me what it is?”

Two hands shot up. Harry’s and Hermione’s. Dumbledore called on Hermione.

“Occlumency is the ability to effectively shield one’s mind from a Legilemens, a wizard who…”

When the lesson finally ended, Dumbledore beckoned to Harry. As the students left the classroom, he quietly told Harry, “I shall send word of when I will speak to you by owl, most likely. I shall be busy for the rest of the week, and it may be the most effective method of communication with you.”

* * *

Harry reached his dormitory later that night, feeling very tired but more than a little afraid to sleep. In his dreams, he revisited the Department of Mysteries and watched Sirius fall. He saw the graveyard in which Voldemort had been restored to his original self, where Cedric Diggory had died…So much death, so many places he did not want to revisit in his nightmares. But he had little control over what he thought after his mind slipped over the borders of consciousness.

That night, he had another sort of dream. It wasn’t a place he had seen before. It was more like…a fortress atop a hill, though he couldn’t see much because there was no light whatsoever. He felt a something bump into him from behind. Turning his head, he saw that there were three very small men around him. They wore no shoes. He looked down. He was dressed in very strange garb, a cloak…and he too wore no shoes. Strange. In his hand – was it his own hand? – he carried an unsheathed sword.

Then he felt an icy tingle running down his spine, fear coursing through his veins. The sky seemed to grow darker than it already was. It was almost as if…No.

Five creatures were advancing upon him and the other three little men. They looked like dementors, the darkness and the sudden chill in the air that followed them combined with the fear they instilled…They had to be…

But they weren’t. There was no frantic screaming in his head, no replay of his worst memories…and though these creatures were tall, they were nowhere near the twelve-foot height of a dementor. The way they moved as well…they didn’t glide, but rather stepped forward like people. He watched, frozen with fear, as they came ever closer.

The creatures raised their swords as one. One of the little men shouted and lashed out at the nearest creature; his sword was turned back and he was thrust toward a pillar easily, winded. He recognized it as the gardener he had seen, Sam.

The two other small people stood between him and the creatures fearfully, raising their own weapons. With no more than a reach, the tallest of the creatures scared them away.

And at last a terrible realization struck Harry’s sleeping mind. They wanted him.

But what did they want? He felt the sword slip from his hands, heard the clatter of metal on stone…He stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground on his back. He reached into his pocket, expecting to pull out his wand to perform the Patronus Charm…perhaps that would drive these black-robed creatures away…

But there was no wand in his pocket, only a perfectly circular ring of solid gold. It seemed as though it whispered to him to place it upon his finger…and then from somewhere at the back of his mind came a dim memory of being told to never put it on…

As he stared at it, dumbfounded, the leader of the creatures turned its head toward him. This was what they wanted? What could they want with a ring? Panicked, he watched as the leader drew a knife and advanced.

Not knowing what else to do, he slipped the ring on his finger just as the creature raised its knife, poised directly over him.

And then, for some strange reason, the shapes turned from black to white. While everything else had faded from sight, he could see them more clearly…The five creatures looked like men long dead, and each had a crown upon its head. Tattered robes whipped around them. A voice was whispering something in an uncouth tongue.

Slowly, inexorably, the hand that wore the ring was drawn upwards towards the hand of the one holding the knife. The long, pale fingers of the creature didn’t touch the ring, but rather they made a gesture over it as if to say, give it to me.

Harry’s mind reeled. Why not? It was only a dream.

But within the dream, something told him that he must not give up the ring, lest there be death and destruction throughout all the land. With an effort, he pulled his hand back, clutching it to his chest.

The creature with the knife recoiled briefly before stabbing.

Instantly he felt a pain in his left shoulder, as though a poisonous dart of ice had pierced it there. It was almost like when the basilisk’s fang had punctured his right arm in second year…only this time it was like ice rather than white-hot…

Harry woke, panting and wiping cold sweat off his face.

Where had that dream come from? Nothing about it was contained within his memory. Harry didn’t know what to make of it. While dreams without Voldemort were better than those with his face and high-pitched cackles, this one certainly wasn’t much better. Whose thoughts were they?

Harry got up and walked over to where a pitcher of water stood by the window. Looking down onto the grounds of the castle as he poured himself a glass, a memory stirred. Two and a half years ago, he had looked down there and seen Sirius as a dog walking with Hermione’s cat, Crookshanks…

If Sirius were alive…Don’t think about it, Harry told himself.

Drinking his water and replacing the glass on the table, Harry turned to walk back to be when he noticed a flutter of white outside the window.

It was Hedwig. Had Dumbledore really written that early?

Harry walked over to the window and opened it a crack to let the snowy owl in.

“Hedwig!” he whispered hoarsely, so as not to wake the four other boys in the dormitory. “What are you doing here?”

As if in an answer, the owl dropped a note on the table in front of him before giving a soft hoot.

“You can stay here for the rest of the night,” Harry said. “Just don’t wake up the others…”

Hedwig hooted quietly again and, in a soft rustle of white wings, she flew over to Harry’s bed, perched herself on a bedpost, and tucked her head under her wing before going to sleep.

Harry looked at the letter quizzically. His question was answered when he saw the narrow handwriting on the parchment. Dumbledore’s. Harry carefully tore the envelope open and withdrew the note.

Meet me outside the castle, halfway to Hagrid’s hut, and we shall talk there. You may bring Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger with you, if they wish to listen. I will tell you why you must be having your visions and hearing the voices, recognizing faces. No, it is not the Sight the Professor Trelawney speaks of, so you have no need to worry about that. ~Professor Dumbledore

Harry blinked and read the note again. Why outside the castle, of all places? Dumbledore had his office…in fact, he had two if he really wanted. Perhaps his explanation involved the stars? Harry snorted. Only centaurs thought in that way. Still, the headmaster usually had his own reasons for everything, so there was very little reason not to trust the note.

Reaching his bed, he fell into a dreamless sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

* * *

When Harry woke the next morning, the dormitory was empty and sunshine was already beginning to filter in through the windows. He reached for his glasses and put them on, only to find Hedwig perched on the bedpost, staring at him with large, amber eyes.

Harry tumbled out of bed and made his way toward the window. Hedwig followed, gliding silently on her white wings. She settled herself comfortably on Harry’s shoulder halfway there.

Harry turned his head a little sideways. “Go to the owlery, Hedwig, you deserve a proper rest and food. Why did you deliver it to me last night? Couldn’t it have waited until this morning? Was it that important?” Hedwig merely blinked at him. “Blimey, I have gone mad, asking all these questions to an owl…See you,” he said as the snowy owl took off out the window.

He watched until she rounded the corner of the castle, then he turned back and began to get dressed.

As he pulled the robe over his head, he thought again about his dream. What meaning was there behind it? His dreams of late had either been nightmares about Voldemort’s return or Sirius’s death, or of Voldemort’s personal thoughts. He hadn’t quite mastered Occlumency, though it was beginning to work…Still, where had this dream come from? There was nothing in it that related to his own life, nothing of his memories in it.

His eye fell on the small roll of parchment next to his pillow. And what did that cryptic note mean? He would take it to breakfast and show Ron and Hermione…Distractedly, he looked down at his foot to realize that he was trying to pull his hat on instead of his sock. He’d done that once before…Putting the garments where they properly belonged, he headed down to breakfast.

When, he reached the Great Hall he spotted Ron and Hermione sitting together at the Gryffindor table. Hermione waved him over.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said brightly. “Here’s your schedule…Apparently we all have Care of Magical creatures together this morning…”

“Hagrid’s still teaching?” Harry asked, thinking of their half-giant friend.

“I guess so…Harry, is there something wrong? You still seem very out of sorts today,” Hermione commented.

“Tell us, mate.” Ron, who was devouring his breakfast as though he had been starved, looked up expectantly.

“This.” Harry showed them the note. “What do you make of it?”

“What does Dumbledore want with us tonight? Why can’t he talk to us now?” Ron asked.

“Maybe it’s too secret?” Hermione speculated.

“Then why outside? Why not in his office?”

“Oh, Ron, I don’t know. But Dumbledore always has a reason for doing anything he does, so I’d assume it would be safe to follow the instructions this note contains.”

“It’s still odd,” Ron said. “What did you think, Harry?”

“I agree with Hermione – Dumbledore is reasonable, even though I sometimes don’t like it. But I must admit, it looks more than a little suspicious.”

“Then we should ask Dumbledore himself,” Hermione said.

They finished their breakfasts and went to class, with every intention of speaking to Dumbledore during lunch or break. But they never got a chance. After eating hurriedly, they searched the school for Dumbledore but did not find him anywhere. And during break, Harry was accosted by Professor McGonagall, who asked him to be captain of the Quidditch team.

“Professor,” he said, “I really think that Ron should be captain…After all, I only played once last year…”

“Potter, do you really want to let this opportunity pass you by? Weasley is already a prefect, and everyone knows you are the best Seeker the school has seen in years.” McGonagall’s face looked hopeful. And it was quite something to be hearing compliments from her.

So Harry had agreed, after much deliberation, but by the time he had gotten away from his Head of House it was time to go to his next class.

That night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made a point of staying in the Gryffindor common room, waiting for it to empty. Harry’s Invisibility Cloak – once his father’s – was under the seat cushion of his chair. For a few hours he sat there, not getting up, until he and his two friends had heard the sound of the last dormitory door closing at eleven o’clock. They donned their cloaks, for it was rather cold outdoors.

“I didn’t reckon we’d be sneaking out in the first week of school,” Ron said. “Usually we do it at the end of the year…”

Ron trailed off as Hermione led the way out, silently pushing the portrait of the Fat Lady open.

Fortunately, the corridors were empty and they were able to make it to the front entrance undetected. Suspiciously, the doors were not locked. However, thinking that the headmaster had left them open so that they could meet him, they continued on through. After they shut the main door quietly, they pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Harry stuffed it under his cloak.

Crossing the lawn, they spotted another cloak-wrapped figure standing fifty paces away. Before they reached the figure – Dumbledore? – it moved off toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, beckoning them to follow.

“Now why does he want us to go there?” Hermione asked quietly. Neither of the other two had an answer. They followed the figure to the trees. Away from Hagrid’s hut.

“Harry, I really don’t think we should follow…” Ron’s voice was trembling slightly.

“I don’t like it either, Ron…but after what you told me this morning, what do you think Dumbledore’d think if we just turned from him and ran?”

They had reached the edge of the forest. No one was there.

“Professor Dumbledore?” Harry called, his voice low. When there was no response, he spoke a little more loudly. “Professor?”

Dead silence.

The three friends stood there fearfully, waiting in the dark. The moonlight was obscured by thick clouds. What had happened to Dumbledore? Simultaneously, their hands went inside their cloaks to pull out their wands and provide them with light.

Then, quite suddenly, Harry heard a twig snap behind him. He whirled and saw a silver-colored hand being raised, most likely holding a wand. Before he, Ron, or Hermione could to anything, four voices had intoned the same spell: “Lumos!”

They froze. With a chill, Harry knew he recognized all four, but especially the high, cold voice that had haunted his dreams for the longest time. Four wand tips lit up, illuminating his, Ron’s, and Hermione’s fearful faces, as well of the faces of the three wizards and the one witch who had surrounded them. Lucius Malfoy, father of Harry’s Slytherin enemy, was there, having somehow escaped from the wizard prison of Azkaban. Peter Pettigrew, also called Wormtail, who had betrayed Harry’s parents to Voldemort. One of his hands, which had been used to resurrect Voldemort, had been replaced by the silver one Harry had seen. And – Harry felt a great surge of hatred – Bellatrix Lestrange, who had killed Sirius four months previously. He reached for his wand again and…

While he and his friends had stood there, dumbfounded, the wands of their captors were raised again. “Impedimenta!” Harry found himself unable to move or speak.

“Well, well, Harry Potter, we meet again.” Voldemort’s cold voice moved from behind Harry to in front of him. Harry looked resentfully on the pale, snakelike face, stared defiantly back into those red eyes. “You want to know what happened to your headmaster, I presume? He was never here.” Voldemort laughed. “It’s really quite useful to have Wormtail here…he was able to steal into Dumbledore’s classroom and overhear every word of your conversation while disguised as a rat.” He laughed again. “You are too easily fooled, Potter. But that is all the better for me.

“You think that I will kill you now? No, even though I know that I am protected from having the curse rebound on me once again, I will not risk it. You have ruined my plans too many times for my liking, Potter. I am going to do away with you now, but not in any way that you might think.

“I have no idea what Dumbledore was talking about when Wormtail overheard you. All I know is that there was never anything between you and me other than that one simply had to do away with the other, and that I shall be the one who prevails. I shall gain a following the like of which has never been seen, and I shall discover the secret to immortal life unhindered by you! Your friends will go with you too, they are just as interfering as you are!” Voldemort’s laughter seemed to be reaching a point where it was uncontrollable. Then, seeming to regain control of himself, he drew a very long, fine chain out of his pocket. From it dangled a tiny hourglass.

Harry made a small, strangled sound somewhere in the back of his throat. Voldemort and the other wizards smiled viciously.

“So you understand what I am going to do, Potter? It will do you no good. I have made this Time Turner specially for this purpose. It will send you back so far in time that I am absolutely sure that you will never come back. It will also cease to function as little more than a pretty trinket once it is used this time alone. You will live, grow old – or maybe not – and die, and never will be able to stop me!” With that, he threw the chain about Harry’s, Ron’s, and Hermione’s necks and gave the hourglass several turns.

The last thing Harry heard before the colors began to whirl around him was the maniacal laughter of Voldemort, Bellatrix, Pettigrew, and Malfoy.

* * *

The colors finally settled back into place after several minutes. Harry, Ron, and Hermione disentangled themselves from the chain, and Hermione stowed it in her pocket. When she saw Ron and Harry looking at her questioningly, she shrugged and said, “You never know, we might be able to make it work again. Now where are we?”

They looked around. They were in a village of some sort, near a gatehouse by the looks of it. Their trip in time had fortunately taken them to a spot in the shadows, out of everyone’s way. The ground was muddy, and it was pouring. Everywhere they looked the people were hooded and cloaked, looking unfriendly. The three friends were disheartened by the scene, completely lost. Still, they made an attempt to keep their heads, trying not show the panic that was welling inside each of them.

“Let’s wander around for a bit, get our bearings. Perhaps we’ve stumbled across a medieval village of some sort that was there before Hogwarts was?”

“Ron, if you’d read *Hogwarts, A History*, you’d know that there was nothing here when they began building the castle.”

“Hermione, this really isn’t the time,” Harry said. “We really should try to find out where we are and what year it is. There,” he said, pointing, “Let’s ask him.”

They walked up to a man standing next to a cart. “Excuse me,” Harry said, “but my companions and I have been traveling for such a long time and we’ve forgotten what year it is.”

The man looked at him suspiciously. “’Ere now, what’re those funny things on your face?” He turned away almost immediately.

“Looks like glasses haven’t been invented yet,” Harry said quietly. “Well, that didn’t seem to help, why don’t we just get out of the rain?”

Ron nodded. “Look, there’s a well lit place up ahead, only one on this street. Let’s try there.”

Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement. Picking their way through the mud and horse droppings and trying to dodge any carts that came down the street, they soon found themselves at a warm, well-lit in. Harry glanced at the sign. It read The Prancing Pony.

* * *

Just outside the gate where Harry and his friends had been transported, four Hobbits crouched behind the trees. The first one wrapped his cloak tighter about him and checked the muddy road. Seeing no one, he gestured to his companions and said, “Come on.”

Four small shadowy shapes crossed the road. The first Hobbit knocked on the gate. A small window, too high for Hobbits to see through, was opened and a bedraggled-looking man peered out. Seeing no one at his height, he shut that window, crouched, and opened the other one three feet above the ground. “What do you want?” he asked.

“We’re headed for The Prancing Pony.”

The gate opened. The man held a lantern above his “Hobbits! Four Hobbits! What’s more, out of the Shire by their talk. What business brings you to Bree?”

“We wish to stay at the inn. Our business is our own.”

“All right young sir, I meant no offense. It’s my business to ask questions after nightfall. There’s been talk of strange folk abroad; you can’t be too careful.” The gatekeeper stood aside and let the Hobbits pass.

With that, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin entered the village of Bree.