Alone Facing Darkness

I now have a beta reader! Not an OSA member, though. I just run my work by my sister, another huge LOTR/HP fan. She has taken the time to read over all my work, point out any errors, and even add a few ideas. Much thanks to her.

On another note - here is where more LOTR scenes begin to show up. Just to inform everyone, I am using scenes from the movie version because I personally am more familiar with it. I've directly used dialogue from the movie, and NO, once again, I do not own it. I own nothing other than (most of) the dialogue in the scenes involving the HP characters. None of the characters are mine, as are none of the settings.

Yet another note - I've edited this chapter; someone very helpfully pointed out that perhaps Strider's character wasn't suspicious enough of the Hogwarts kids, plus I've fixed a typo or two. So just check it out again if you want to.

Other than that, dear readers, thank you very much for the excellent reviews (I love you all)! Those of you who are new to this story, please review it. I hope that you continue to enjoy this fanfiction as I continue posting.


~Chapter 3: A Night in Bree~

The Prancing Pony was not anything like Hermione’s idea of a comfortable inn. It was loud, smoky, and worse, she seemed to be the only female present.

Because of this, she had kept her bushy hair tied back and her hood up, despite the fact that the warmth emanating from the fireplace had sufficiently warmed her from the cold and wet of the outdoors. She was surprised at how well Ron and Harry seemed to be taking this – at least, neither had completely lost his head. Yet. It was only a matter of time before the three of them fully realized what had happened.

Inwardly, she cursed Harry and Ron for their stupidity in allowing themselves to believe that the note had really been from Dumbledore. Then again, she had been the one insisting that any oddities they found in the message had a logical explanation, once the headmaster spelled it out. Still, none of them had expected Voldemort to move so quickly this year. They hadn’t anticipated Pettigrew’s spying on them in the castle. Well, she supposed that Harry and Ron – and herself, for that matter – could be forgiven for being so gullible. One would think that after the fiasco last year that had resulted in Sirius’s death, the three of them would have learned their lesson. But they hadn’t.

Harry and Ron returned, having gotten up to inquire about where they were and, of course, to buy food. Sliding onto the bench beside her, Ron spoke. “Well, ’Mione, we’ve found out where we are. The village of Bree.” Hermione found herself blushing slightly. She liked it when he called her by his own shortened version of her name.

“No idea about when, though,” Harry said. “The innkeeper just looked at us rather oddly and said something about the year 3018 of the Third Age, whatever that meant.” He pushed a mug toward her. “Try this, Ron and I think it’s quite good.”

She eyed it dubiously. “What is it?”

“Some kind of alcohol – ale, I think. Nothing like a butterbeer from Hogsmeade, but it’s something.”

She sipped it. “Not bad. But how did you pay for this?”

Harry paused, his mug halfway to his mouth, so he could answer. “Well, I spent a short while trying to convince the innkeeper to take some silver Sickles…he wouldn’t take them, but then Ron did something to turn them into coins from now. Whenever now is. Said he saw the coins used and could replicate them.”

Hermione gave Ron a look of approval. “Really? Sounds like a complicated bit of Transfiguration.”

Ron shrugged. “Useful charm Fred and George made up, though it’s like leprechaun gold. The money turns back into whatever it was after a day or so.”

A thought suddenly struck Hermione. “Ron, what if you and Harry were seen? This doesn’t seem like a place for Wizards – I for one don’t see any people discussing broomsticks or Quidditch, potions, or spells. We ought to refrain from using our wands right now…that may be dangerous.”

“The innkeeper’s back was turned.”

“That doesn’t mean that no one else was watching! I would imagine that they would be interested in two young men poking what seem to be prettily carved sticks at a pile of silver! There’s nothing in this village that remotely kindles my interest. Everyone here’s a Muggle, don’t you get it, you two?” She continued her diatribe. “I don’t see any people who are as out of place as we are…”

From where they sat, the door appeared to open on its own, letting in a rush of chilly air. When the man standing in front of the door moved aside, however, the two young wizards and witch saw four very small people entering the inn. Hermione’s tirade ended mid-sentence. Ron smirked.

“You were saying?”

She sighed. “Well, all right, you’ve made your point. Just keep your wands out of sight.”

The two young men nodded. “Of course.”

Hermione’s eyes, hidden by the hood of her cloak, followed the four small people to their table – right next to where she, Harry, and Ron sat. She watched, fascinated by the way their bodies were proportioned just like those of normal people, but that they were all little more than three and a half feet tall…No, it couldn’t be…

She’d read about just these sort of beings in a book in the school library a few years ago…She’d discovered it in a high, dusty shelf of the Restricted Section and had borrowed it in order to study the runes written in it…The name for them was Periannath. Halflings. Or, as the book – There and Back Again – stated on the first page, Hobbits. Which meant they had gone so far back in time that they were in an age long forgotten, an age long before the rise of the ancient empires that Muggles studied.

No, this age was one that greatly preceded those civilizations. They were in a time where magic – or at least some form of it – was still part of everyday life. They had been unceremoniously sent to Middle Earth, the name for Britain so long ago. And the village of Bree had been where Hogwarts now stood.

“Hermione?”

Ron’s voice interrupted her ruminations. “What?”

“What’re you looking at? You’ve got that look again, the one you get when you’ve just thought of something.”

Barely moving her mouth and indicating behind the two wizards by pointing ever so slightly, she said, “Look. I’ve read about them. I know where – well, when - we are.”

Harry and Ron turned their heads ever so slightly. She watched as their eyes widened slightly before they turned back to face her.

“What are they?” Harry whispered.

* * *

Frodo Baggins was growing uneasy. He had already asked the innkeeper about Gandalf, but he had only gotten the response:

“Not seen him for six months.”

As he sat at the table with Sam Gamgee and Pippin Took, Frodo peered glumly into his mug. Gandalf had said he would meet them at Bree, and he had never known the Wizard to be late. Ever. So what was wrong? What had happened to the Wizard, that he was unable to meet the Hobbits?

Sam was sitting next to him, shifting uneasily. To reassure his friend – and himself – Frodo said, “Sam. He’ll be here. He’ll come.”

His companion did not respond.

His cousin Merry Brandybuck returned to the table, carrying a large tankard – at least, it was enormous from a Hobbit’s point of view. Pippin eyed it curiously. “What’s that?”

Merry was smacking his lips in anticipation. “This, my friend, is a pint.” And with that, he commenced drinking.

“It comes in pints?” Pippin’s voice was both incredulous and excited.

The only response he got out of Merry was an enthusiastic “Mmm!”

“I’m getting one.” Pippin rose and, with a determined look, made his way up to the bar.

Sam called out after him, “But you’ve had a whole half already!” Seeing that Pippin was not paying any attention, he turned back to Frodo. It was then that he observed a hooded figure sitting in the corner of the room, smoking a pipe. He sat there for a long while already, and it seemed that he was watching the Hobbits intently. Particularly Frodo. Nudging the Hobbit sitting next to him and pointing, he said, “That fellow’s done nothing but stare at you ever since we arrived.”

Frodo’s blue eyes shifted ever so slightly, resting on the figure in the corner. Spotting the innkeeper walking past, he reached out and asked, “Excuse me. That man over there in the corner, who is he?”

The innkeeper’s gaze followed Frodo’s hand. “He’s one of them Rangers. What his right name is I’ve never heard, but around here he’s known as Strider.” The innkeeper’s tone carried a hint of caution.

“Strider.” Frodo repeated the name softly as he turned the Ring over and over in his hands. It was so perfect; a perfect circle, smooth and shiny gold that never became damaged. Who would want to destroy such a lovely thing? His breathing grew shallow as another internal struggle began…He heard the Ring’s voice, chanting his name, telling him to keep it, to put it on…Bagginssss, it hissed…he was about to slip it on…

“Baggins?” Pippin’s voice. Frodo came out of his trance and whirled around. “Sure I know a Baggins! He’s over there. Frodo Baggins. He’s my second cousin, once removed on his mother’s side…”

Panicking, Frodo clutched the Ring in his hand and leapt up from the table, pushing through the crowd towards the younger Hobbit. He had told his companions to keep the name of Baggins a secret, because it was not safe outside of the Shire. He had even introduced himself as Mr. Underhill to the innkeeper. “Pippin!” he cried, grabbing his cousin’s coat.

Pippin became unbalanced for a few moments, ale sloshing out of his tankard. “Steady on, Frodo!” Frodo, losing his balance as well, fell backwards, and the Ring, which had been held tightly in his hand, came loose and went flying into the air. He reached out to snatch it from midair…It landed on his finger…

To all observers, Frodo vanished from sight, seeming to disappear into the ground. And Pippin stood there, staring blankly at the place on the floor where his cousin had been.

* * *

Harry had received multiple shocks within the past five minutes. First, when he and Ron had turned to look at the table of small men behind them, he had recognized one of them as Sam, the one he’d told Dumbledore about. Two of the others – what were their names? – seemed vaguely familiar. In fact, he’d been feeling all along as though he’d visited this place, this inn, before.

In fact, the next scene – which he had watched out of the corner of his eye – was almost out of a memory long forgotten in the back of his mind. Only this time, he was seeing it from an outsider’s view…

He watched as the dark-haired one ran over and grabbed his companion’s green coat, watched as he fell over on his back…

A flash of gold…

Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul…

And suddenly memories that were not of his sixteen years in life surfaced in his mind. A quest to save the land. Pain. A band of gold that kept its holder’s very being bound to it. Darkness. A fiery Eye, with a pupil slitted like a cat’s, much like Voldemort’s were…

Then the small man disappeared. Harry knew what had happened. The gold ring had slipped onto his finger, not really hiding him from view, but exposing him to the Eye.

It was then that Harry realized whose eyes he was seeing through.

But why?

* * *

Frodo looked around wildly. The Ring had somehow managed to slip onto his finger, and now the world around him had turned rather blurry. Suddenly he heard a voice.

“You cannot hide.” It was low, menacing, uncouth. The voice of Sauron.

As Frodo turned, the Eye seemed to come closer and burn more brightly, threatening him. “I see you,” the voice continued. “There is no life in the void…”

He cowered, shielding his face from the fire.

“…only death…”

Wrenching the Ring from his index finger, Frodo shook his head and glanced around, breathing deeply to calm himself. Then a hand roughly grabbed him by the shoulder. It was the man who had been sitting in the corner, still hooded. In a low voice, the man said, “You drew far too much attention to yourself – Mr. Underhill.”

Something about the man’s voice told Frodo that he did not think that “Underhill” was Frodo’s true name. He was frightened by the stranger; how did he know that Frodo was lying? Was he an agent of the Enemy? He did not want to think about it. The stranger pulled Frodo up and pushed him up the stairs.

This had not been unnoticed by the other three Hobbits. Sam stood up and silently padded his way up the stairs, followed by Merry and Pippin, one carrying a chair and the other a candlestick.

* * *

Harry had witnessed the entire exchange between the hooded man and the dark-haired Hobbit out of the corner of his eye. He watched as the man picked the Hobbit up, gave him a small push, and followed him upstairs.

The sight made him more than a little uneasy. There was something about the way the man had sat in the corner watching the table next to him and then taken one of its occupants upstairs that seemed rather threatening. The fact that he had kept the hood of his cloak up all the while only made it seem worse. Harry felt that he had to do something about it; he couldn’t leave the Hobbit to take on the man alone if it came to a fight. He knew he should have learned his lesson about playing the hero the previous year, but still…

He stood up abruptly, causing Ron and Hermione to look at him questioningly.

“Harry?” He didn’t answer, but instead strode off purposely in the direction of the stairs.

“Harry!” Hermione called. He ignored her voice, as he was already halfway up the stairs. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of the three other Hobbits heading down the corridor to, he supposed, rescue their friend.

His hand went to the inside of his cloak to make sure his wand was there. His fingers curled around the slightly worn wood. Not that he was going to use it, but one could never be too sure. The man had been carrying a sword, and Harry’s only defense was his magic.

* * *

The man pushed the door open and gave Frodo a shove, sending him tumbling onto the floor of the room. “What do you want?” Frodo asked.

“A little more caution from you; that is no trinket you carry.”

Frodo’s breath caught. “I carry nothing.” His tone was unconvincing.

“Indeed.” The man strode over to the window, where several candles were set upon the sill, and put a candle out with his fingers. “I can avoid being seen when I wish…” he put out the other candles, “but to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift.” Saying this, he threw back his hood to reveal keen gray eyes and dark, rather unkempt hair.

“Who are you?” Frodo was growing more uneasy.

The man – Strider, the innkeeper had called him – did not answer his question, but rather posed another one. “Are you frightened?”

“Yes.”

“Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you.” He took a few steps, when suddenly the door burst open. In one fluid movement, he whipped around and drew his sword, taking up a fighting stance.

“Let him go! Or I’ll have you, Longshanks!” Sam said fiercely, his hands curled in tight fists.

A very slight smile played around Strider’s lips. “You have a stout heart, little Hobbit,” he said, resheathing his sword, “but it will not save you.” He turned back to Frodo. “You can no longer wait for the Wizard, Frodo. They are coming.”

* * *

Harry had been lurking by the door, eavesdropping on the whole conversation. Most of it made no sense to him whatsoever, so he was considering returning to the table when he heard the man speak.

“You can no longer wait for the Wizard, Frodo. They are coming.”

Wizard? If there was another wizard in this miserable place, perhaps he could help Harry, Ron, and Hermione return to Hogwarts.

He was about to push open the door when a hand grasped the back of his robes. Harry whirled around and found himself facing Ron and Hermione.

“Harry, what are you doing?” hissed Hermione. “We’re not to meddle with the past, you know that!”

Harry disentangled himself from Hermione’s grasp. “I know, Hermione, I’m not that thick. It’s just…well, they mentioned a wizard, and I thought…maybe if there is another wizard here, he could help us…”

Ron looked interested. “Another wizard? D’you reckon we should ask? I mean, there can’t be that much harm in asking…”

He was about to lay his hand on the knob when Hermione planted herself in front of the door. “You just don’t understand it, do you? You have no idea what McGonagall told me when she gave me my Time-Turner! Wizards have been killed because they ran into their past selves!”

“Ah, but we’re not about run into our past selves, are we?” Ron was grinning triumphantly.

“All the same, we should try to be inconspicuous as possible. We can’t just barge in on private conversations…”

But the choice of remaining inconspicuous was taken from them. Just as Hermione finished her sentence, the door opened.

* * *

Frodo was a bit more than alarmed when Strider opened the door. Three figures stood outside, looking as surprised as he. It was clear that they were of the race of Men, for they were too tall to be hobbits, and their manner of speech was unlike that of the Elves. Strider regarded them suspiciously – and rightly so, for the matters he and the Hobbits had been discussing were to be kept very secret.

Strider pulled them in roughly and shut the door before drawing his sword and standing protectively over the Hobbits. “How much have you heard?” Strider asked sharply. The three people shifted nervously, eyeing his sword. It was now apparent that they were not yet fully grown, for the taller of two young Men was a good head shorter than the Ranger. The shorter young Man had a shock of untidy black hair and wore strange frames with circles of glass over his eyes. Sensing Frodo looking at him, he met the Hobbit’s gaze.

Frodo felt something of a jolt. He was looking into a pair of clear green eyes behind the odd lenses. But it was not the color of the eyes that startled him. There was something familiar about the boy, he just could not place his finger upon it. A sense of – kinship, it almost was. And so, despite the fact that he had never met the boy or his two companions before, he quietly said, “It’s all right, Strider. I think we can trust them.”

Strider turned around to face him. “How do you know that? You do not even fully trust me. You Hobbits are very naïve; these people, for all you know, may be agents of the Enemy…”

The young people seemed taken aback by Strider's final comment. "Strider, look at them. They look younger even than Pippin," he said, gesturing to his cousin. "Do you truly believe that someone could, at such a young age, could be of the Enemy?"

"The Enemy has many spies. They come in any shape and form, from birds in the air to Men like myself. You suspect that I am an agent of the Enemy; why are you so trusting of them? And even if you truly believed that they are on our side, why would you be so willing to involve them in your mission?"

“You will have to take my word for it.” The feeling Frodo had gotten when he met the young Man's eyes was not one of fear. He knew - though he was not entirely sure how - that the young Man and his companions could be trusted.

Strider shook his head and once again fixed his gaze upon the young people. “I do not know how much you have heard – nay, do not tell me – but since Frodo seems willing to take you into our confidence, I will. Now you have no choice but to remain with us. I will, however, be watching your every move. Make one move to harm either myself or these Hobbits, and...” He gestured wordlessly with his sword. All three looked shaken and tense.

The taller young man who had fiery red hair and a freckled face spoke up. “You might ask us our names, sir. And we’d like to know who you all are as well.”

Strider’s mouth twitched upward slightly at the young man’s forwardness. “Very well. I will introduce myself as Strider, but I have many names.” He sheathed his sword once again. The three teenagers then looked visibly more at ease.

The young man nodded. “I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter,” his dark-haired companion said.

The final person revealed that she was a female when she threw back her hood to reveal rather bushy brown hair and keen brown eyes. “Hermione Granger.”

“What sort of names are those?” Pippin piped up. “I’m Pippin, by the way, and this is Merry,” he pointed “Frodo,” another point, “and that is Sam.”

“We might ask the same of you,” said Hermione, smiling slightly.

Strider spoke once again. “We all have names from the cultures here in Middle Earth. But never in my long lifetime have I heard names as strange as yours. Tell me, where did you come from?”

The three companions looked at each other quickly. “Well,” Harry began, “that’s a little hard to explain…”

“Let it suffice to say that you should not ask where we came from, but rather when we came from,” Hermione finished.

Frodo was astonished. “You mean to say that you are from…” He scrutinized their clothing carefully. It was certainly not from this Age of the world, and the materials were too new-looking to be of the past. “You are from the future?”

“That’s right,” Harry said. “It’s a long and complicated story…”

Over the next hour Harry and his friends explained to the Hobbits and Strider about Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort, and Time Turners. Frodo listened with fascination. “You mean that you are actually Wizards? Do you know of Gandalf?” His excitement grew. Wizards! They could indeed be helpful to his mission.

They looked at him blankly. “We don’t know any Gandalf,” Harry said. “I guess he’s who you were talking about when I was listening in on your conversation…I heard something about a Wizard, and I wondered if he would be able to help us out of this predicament.”

“I truly do not know if he would,” Strider said. “Now that you have finished telling your tale – you have, I presume?” He continued when they nodded. “We must give you our story. But first, I would like to ask you – how much do you know?”

Ron and Hermione looked startled when Harry spoke up. “I know it involves a Ring of some sort, and a quest to save Middle Earth, but not much else.”

“I don’t know if you could quite call it a quest yet,” Frodo said. Everyone’s eyes turned to him. “My mission was to bring it here to Bree, and to meet Gandalf,” he added. “Though now, since he is not here, I am not sure what to do. You see, the Ring is evil; it was made by the Dark Lord Sauron in the Second Age…”

With Strider’s help, he gave the young Wizards – it was still amazing to think that they were like Gandalf – a very shortened history of the Ring, Strider adding his own comments every now and then. How Sauron had forged it in the fires of Mount Doom, how he had made it so that he could rule over the other Rings of Power, the Three the Elves possessed and now hid, the Seven of the Dwarves which by now were long-lost or recaptured by Sauron, and the Nine for Men. It was of the Nine that Strider spoke of most fearfully.

“They are enslaved, bound to Sauron’s will. They forever feel the pull of the One Ring, always wanting to return it to their Master.”

Harry’s expression looked troubled. “Frodo put it on downstairs awhile ago. What are the consequences of that?”

Strider did not look at Harry when he responded, but rather at Frodo. “They will come. Tonight.”

Ron, Hermione, and the three other Hobbits looked troubled by this. “Because of that, all of you will be lodging here for tonight. Frodo, you are not to go to the rooms you have reserved for tonight. I will get the innkeeper to set up bolsters under the covers in that room, in case it is attacked. And you three,” he said, glancing around at Harry, Hermione, and Ron, “You are to be accompanying us, and I will feel safest if you were with us. Staying here will also ensure that you interfere as little as possible with the events of the present, which to you belong to the past.”

* * *

Later that night, the gatekeeper heard a knocking at the gate. He opened the small door upon it to see who was outside, then fear etched itself on every inch of his face. Before he could move, a dark horse knocked down the gate on top of him. Four riders galloped into Bree, heading for the Prancing Pony.

They entered the inn stealthily, creeping inside like shadows to a room with four beds. Here they would kill the one who kept their Master’s Ring and take it from him. They stood, one over each bed, swords pointing down. As one, they began stabbing.

When they felt they had stabbed the occupants of the beds enough to ensure they were dead, they threw back the covers – to reveal bolsters and pillows, white feathers flying everywhere. Their screams of rage as they made this discovery could be heard far into the night.

* * *

Frodo and Harry stood by the window, gazing at the room across the courtyard where the screeches were coming from. Merry, Pippin, and Sam, who had been soundly asleep on the bed, sat up, now wide-awake. Ron and Hermione, who had taken spaces on the floor, stirred and lifted their heads.

The Hobbit turned his blue gaze towards Strider, who was seated in a chair close to the dying embers of the fire holding his sword, looking out a window as well. “What are they?”

Strider turned his head to face him “They were once Men. Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to the Nine Rings of Power. Now they are slaves to his will.” His voice dropped closer to a whisper. “They are the Nazgul. Ringwraiths.” The name sent chills down Frodo’s spine. “And as I told you before, they are ever seeking the Ring. They will never stop hunting you.”

Frodo turned back to the window in time to see the Ringwraiths galloping away from the inn. The sight was not a comforting one.

* * *

Harry regarded the Hobbit standing next to him curiously. He had by now figured out that he was seeing events of Frodo’s life as memories he possessed, though he did not know why. He decided that he would speak to the Hobbit more often and get to know him better, to more fully understand this mental link that he, at least, was aware of.

It was frustrating, to be true, that he was seeing things that weren’t his own memories. Frodo’s memories were a nice change from Voldemort’s thoughts – he just now noticed that his scar had stopped throbbing as it usually did – but he wished he could understand it more. For now, a show of friendship to the Hobbit would be a good start.

“Mr. Baggins, I think you should try and get some sleep.”

The Hobbit turned his gaze upwards towards him. Those blue eyes were almost as unnerving as Dumbledore’s. Unlike Dumbledore’s eyes, however, Frodo’s eyes reflected emotions Harry often saw in his own. He had the look of someone being hunted. Fear stood out among everything else.

“I do not think I will be able to, Harry. And you may call me Frodo.”

“Frodo…I know what it feels like to be in your position. Having so many people relying on you – remember what I told you about the prophecy? So many people close to me have died because of it. My parents, my godfather, a person could consider a friend…”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I too know what it feels like to lose my parents.”

Harry looked down at the Hobbit. “I’m sorry too. How?”

“They drowned in a boating accident when I was twelve. Unlike you, though, I have never had anyone close to me murdered in cold blood…”

“What a pleasant conversation!” Strider said from his corner. “I would tell both of you to follow Harry’s advice. We’re starting out early tomorrow.”

Boy and Hobbit looked at each other. “Please, Frodo,” Harry said. “Just try. I don’t think you’ve had nightmares as bad as I have…”

“You have no idea.” Frodo’s voice was low.

“Er, well…I guess we have a lot in common, then. Maybe I’ll try teaching you Occlumency one of these days, it’ll help you close your mind to intrusion…”

Hermione snorted from her position on the floor. All right, so he hadn’t fully mastered Occlumency.

“I would appreciate that. Carrying this Ring is a task greater than you probably can imagine.”

“I don’t have to imagine it. I know.” Harry didn’t know where this came from; he just let it slip.

Frodo looked at him sharply. “What?”

“I…I…know what it feels like to have such a burden.” But that wasn’t what he had meant at all.

“Oh.” That was all the Hobbit said. So much for trying to strike up a friendship.

“Well, I guess we should listen to Strider…How early did you say we were getting up?” he asked the Man in the corner.

“At the crack of dawn, no later.”

Harry groaned. He hadn’t woken up that early since before he left the Dursleys for Hogwarts. “Good night, then, Frodo.”

The Hobbit did not reply, but remained standing next to the window. Harry fell asleep, wondering what he, Ron, and Hermione had gotten themselves into.