Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Harry Potter and his cohorts belong to JK Rowling; the universe of the Lord of the Rings was created by JRR Tolkien.

Additional author's note after OotP: The prologue through chapter 5a were written before OotP was out. After long reflection, they have been since been revised a bit. A tiny bit. Okay, it's not even worth mentioning. To the point that if you don't think you're finding anything different, that's normal. Actually, I just modified slightly three sentences (not counting the grammatical mistakes. Thank you, beta mine!). And one of them is not due to something in OotP but something I had overlooked in PoA. Kudos to the ones able to find them.

Author's note: Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is my first fic. Be nice, please? With a cherry on top? Anyway, I should warn you: English is not my first language; French is. I'm trying my best to avoid mistakes and I use a spell checker but feel free to tell me if something's wrong. Constructive criticism is welcomed too and even greatly appreciated.

I don't plan to create any original characters except some Aurors for now – and that's because Mad-eye Moody and Longbottom are the only ones Rowling has talked about. Anyway, have you ever counted the number of characters in these books? No way I'm adding to that.

About the story: Crossover between the Lord of the Ring and Harry Potter. Did you ever wonder what happened to the Fellowship after their deaths? I know, I know, after the end of Arda, all the children of Illuvatar will be reunited in his song. But before that? To me, the end of Arda seems to be far, very far from now. To separate Legolas and Gandalf from the rest of their friends for so long always seemed sad. They've made a great service to Middle-Earth by getting rid of Sauron. They can get a reward for that, can't they? So, let's suppose their souls stayed on our world. What would happen if they met another Dark Lord? Namely, one Lord Voldemort. Takes place during Harry's fifth year.

"Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger." Especially You-Know-Who.

There and back again

Prologue

Adam Dawson's holidays were going well. Mostly.

He missed his fiancée back in the States but she had virtually ordered him to go and have fun. So here he was, in a small British village, playing tourist with a group of friends. He breathed in the summer grass scented air. Now and then, he regretted living in a city. He hadn't got out in the country in ages. As a child, his father had taught him to track animals in the woods. He wondered if he could still do this.

"Earth to Lieutenant Dawson", came a loud whisper on his right. "Earth to Lieutenant Dawson. Bunch of hyperactive kids pumped on sweets and coffee heading our way. I request my partner's assistance in this matter of life or death. Lieutenant Dawson, please respond."

"I wasn't dreaming," Adam protested. His partner and fellow lieutenant merely gave him a disbelieving stare and mouthed a silent O. Deciding his friend was having too much fun at his expense, Adam changed the subject.

"A matter of life or death? Bruce, isn't that a little exaggerated?"

The blond rolled his eyes and sighted. Adam was still dreaming if he had to ask that. "Wake up and look at the punks, partner."

Obediently, the dark-haired man turned his eyes towards the punks who had stopped by their minibus. Actually, the kids didn't look like punks. They weren't kids anymore either even if Adam and Bruce liked to call them so. Philip, the youngest, was just over 19. Frank, the oldest was 21. Matthew and Sean were both 20. They were dressed casually but their excited look was what drew Adam's attention.

"They look like they've got one of their Plans." The wary tone bespoke of doom.

"Exactly," Bruce replied. "I'm warning you, Adam, if I have to bury my dignity by the end of this trip, it will be alongside yours." In spite of the threat, or maybe because of it, Bruce was trying hard to restrain his amusement. The four college students were unstoppable mischief-makers but the two cops had yet to stay mad at them for more than half one hour. They also had yet to learn to say no. Instead, they dragged their feet, trying to retard the inevitable loss of control.

Suddenly Adam chuckled and pointed towards the younger men. They were all speaking to the doctor Morrison, the last member of their group, at the same time. The red-bearded man was trying and failing to stench the flow of words. The harassed expression on the last member of the group's face was quite humorous.

"Mister Dawson, Mister Ward. How nice of you to deign to join us." One look from the tall geology doctor told them exactly what he thought of them leaving him alone to deal with the youths. Duly chastised, the two wayward men smiled sheepishly. But Adam wasn't in the habit to leave a verbal challenge unanswered. A moment later, he raised his head higher, a twinkle in his grey eyes.

"Well doctor Morrison, we could hardly take the risk of leaving a old man around young and strong kids who will run him to the ground and make him burst a coronary, could we? And then, Bruce and I would be under the obligation to arrest them for assault and that would ruin our vacation," he said in a faked tone of utmost desolation. That left the good doctor spluttering indignantly, Matt replying dryly "Thanks. I think," and Phil cheekily trying to soothe the injured party "There, there. Don't mind him, Greg. He is just jealous because we like you better than him!"

Not for the first time, Adam wondered how he had managed to become friends with such an eclectic group. Bruce and he had been assigned as partners five years ago. It had taken them four months of tension and rivalry - and some rather persuasive intervention from their family and co-workers, admittedly driven to distraction by their immature behaviour– to start befriending each other.

Last year, they had worked undercover at the local university to investigate a drug ring. There, on one fateful night, they met the five others. They were still trying to avoid asking what an ex-military geology doctor, two students in chemistry, a student in botany and one in history were doing in a dark physics laboratory that could involve edible blueberry body paint, a stuffed bunny wearing sunglasses, an Italian dictionary and a feather boa. Nevertheless, once the case was closed, the seven of them had stayed in contact.

Their friendship was a strange thing. Bruce and Adam were 29 and apparently didn't have anything in common with the four fun-loving students. The latter had known each other virtually from birth and Matt and Phil were even cousins. They had even less to do with a 36-year-old geology researcher whose philosophy was to let idiots make fools of themselves, sit back and enjoy the show. Or to help idiots reach new heights of ridiculousness, following the circumstances.

In no time, they had learned about each other's lives and thus, when the academic part of their little group heard that the two cops had up to a month leave overdue, they had kind of kidnapped them for a little road trip abroad in the United Kingdom. Adam and Bruce hadn't minded the change of scenery. What they minded was the speed the cops' other friends had demonstrated to put them on the plane. They were not workaholics, no matter what everyone else said.

The students had taken a sabbatical year and were going to travel all over the world. The United Kingdom was only the first step in their journey and they had somehow convinced the three older men to come with them for two weeks. The sojourn on the perfidious Albion was incontestably fun although Adam, Bruce and Gregory were starting to wonder about the sanity of agreeing to that trip. To be brutally honest, they were worrying about their sanity. Period. The kids were finding newer and crazier stunts to do each day and were pulling the three others into their schemes. It had started innocently enough. Someone suggested the usual museum and sight seeing tours in London. The very same night, they had let themselves be locked into a haunted tower. Miraculously, they hadn't been caught. And so it went for a week, travelling throughout Wales, England and Scotland, from South to North, from chasing after underwear stealing sheep to yelling after Nessie near the famous Loch.

It was in Scotland that the most memorable incident happened. They had got drunk in a tavern and had ended up dancing wearing the traditional kilt. But the best – or worse, considering your point of view - was yet to come. The morning after, still in kilt, Bruce had refused to believe he would have willingly dressed like "…THAT!!" and had accused Adam of playing a prank on him until the tavern owner showed him the pictures his daughter had taken. Matt mentioned putting them on the 'Net. That statement brought on a mud fight for the possession of the offending pictures between "the pretty boys in drag", great defenders of the liberty of expression and "the old perverts in skirt", mighty believers of the privacy of private matters. The old perverts barely won thanks to their allegedly superior fighting skills. In reality, Sean and Frank had frozen when they had realised that the young girl was still taking pictures. Bruce ended up buying all the pictures, the film and, just to be on the safe side, the camera. He paid twice their value to make it up to the girl for the loss, of course. Honour demanded nothing less. Or so he said. The students swore up and down she was quite taken with the pictures and wouldn't take less to be persuaded to part with them.

Despite all the mock protests, none of them would have missed this for all the gold in the world. And though Adam and Bruce claimed they were not workaholics, they had been overworked. They had needed some down time and even if they weren't exactly resting, they were relaxing, going with the flow their crazy younger friends were creating. But that didn't stop the older men from wishing they could conserve a shred of dignity. They were thus immediately on their guard when Phil asked, "So, are we going?"

"Where and what will it cost us to be able to get out?" Greg asked instantly. The students shared a long-suffering look. Hadn't the man listened to their explanations? Well, we had all been speaking at the same time, thought Sean, so I guess he can be forgiven. He made a move to speak up.

Automatically, the older men relaxed. Matt and Phil were The Mischief-Makers of the lot and proposed the wildest ideas while Frank and Sean were usually more reasonable even if they always covered the cousins. It wouldn't be too bad for them this time. Sean caught their relieved reaction and raised an eyebrow but did not comment on it.

"We won't have to pay anything to get in. We want to see the old manor on that hill over there," he explained.

Adam, Bruce and Greg looked in the indicated direction. The large house looked abandoned.

"Let me guess," Greg said, "another haunted house?" His voice carried mixed feelings which Adam and Bruce shared. Visiting rumoured haunted houses were a relief after some other activities they couldn't bear to think about but it was starting to get old.

"Not to my knowledge," answered Frank. He looked at the two cops. "Actually, it's more your department. Well, not exactly, it's not vice but it's police matter." That drew the older men's attention. "Fifty years ago, the owner and his family were found dead inside the house," Frank continued. "The cause of the death was and still is unknown. At that time, their gardener was suspected but he was released for lack of evidence. The manor was sold and the gardener still worked there. The villagers say he was bad luck and that's why none of the new proprietary settled in. Last year, he didn't go to the village to buy provisions, so some villagers went up to check on him. They found him dead in one of the rooms of the manor. At first, the police thought he had died of old age but that didn't explain what he was doing in the house. According to the old woman we've talked to, he never went inside except to scare off kids who broke in to play. The coroner didn't find anything wrong with him when he was autopsied. He just died."

"What do you expect to find in the house, then?" Adam asked.

"Well, nothing special," Frank answered. "I'm just curious about the strange events happening around this house. Two months ago, on 24th June, the churchyard was vandalised, some graves were destroyed and someone stole the bones of the son of the proprietary killed fifty years ago. The story of this house is tragic. I just want to take a closer look at it. Anyway, what harm could that do?"

"For one, we could be arrested for trespassing on a private property," Bruce noted.

"The current owner has never set foot here and none of the villagers will call the police. They really don't care about what happens in this house. And we'll be quick. Don't tell me you're not curious?" Frank pleaded. He turned big blue puppy dog eyes towards the older men.

"Just a quick look around and then we're gone," Adam finally conceded. He shared a look with Bruce and Greg. We really need to learn to resist these eyes, he thought. Meanwhile, the students had already exploded into motion, trying to herd the older men into the minibus faster.

"It's not like we had anything better to do anyway," Greg sighed. "What are a good dinner and a warm bed when curiosity calls? My turn to drive." He took the driver's seat and, while the others took their places behind him, he asked Frank another question. "What was his name?"

"Who?" replied Frank abstractedly, securing his seatbelt.

"The son of the proprietary. The one whose grave was profaned."

"Oh. Riddle. His name was Tom Riddle."

#####

From closer, the house looked even more ruined than from afar. What little light the descending sun cast outlined the grim aspect. Still, "It could have been beautiful," admitted Frank with reluctant wonder.

The old woman at the pub had been right. She had told him that fifty years ago, this place was the grandest building in miles around. But today, neglect had marred its beauty. The high windows were barred, the roof was falling in places and climbing ivy invaded the walls.  The history student wondered at the reasons of this decay. Why would anyone leave this place to rot, if it had really been so grand?

"Door's open," said Bruce.

The students immediately perked but Gregory and Adam stopped them, a restraining hand on each kid's shoulder. The younger men immediately turned pleading looks to the doctor and the cop. Greg merely gave a questioning look to Adam. That prompted him to sigh and to lift an eyebrow at Bruce. The latter shrugged, signalling he had seen nothing that could constitute a threat.

Even if the villagers were apparently unlikely to call the police, they could get into trouble for trespassing on a private estate. Still, as Frank had said, to take a look wouldn't do any harm. And Adam was curious too. The house was surrounded by a strange atmosphere, a feeling of sadness and full of secrets. It was just an impression, of course but he couldn't shake it off. He finally came to a decision and let go of Sean and Frank.

"We're going to take a look inside. But," he added when he saw the students' enthusiasm, "just a look. We will NOT touch anything. Understood?"

"We are young, not stupid, you know," replied Phil, rolling his eyes. "We're not going to tear the house down."

"I'm sure he knows, Phil. But it would help if you didn't act so much like a moron," Matt hissed at his cousin. Before Phil could open his mouth to respond to the insult, Sean intervened.

"Don't worry, Adam. We won't disturb anything."

"Let's go, then," said Greg, walking towards the entrance. In his mind, the sooner they started, the sooner they would be done.

Greg was wrong. Half an hour later, Adam, Bruce and he had chosen to wait in the dining room until the students were finished. They couldn't fathom what the kids had thought they would find here. Still, the Riddle manor was huge and they were taking their time exploring it thoughtfully. As was the exterior of the house, the interior was neglected. All the furniture from the last inhabitants was still here but covered in dust and cobwebs.

Adam was starting to grow uneasy. Soon, the sun would disappear and they wouldn't see anything inside the house. The students had separated once they had passed the door and had yet to reappear. Now, Bruce had started to pace and Greg had looked at his watch three times in the last five minutes. Apparently, he wasn't the only one to develop a bad feeling about this.

"I'll go get them," announced Bruce. Gratefully, Adam and Greg followed him. Anything was better than to wait in this increasingly oppressing atmosphere. Out of the dining room, they had two choices of destination: upstairs towards the sleeping rooms or staying on the ground floor. Behind a discreet door a flight of stairs leading to the cellar could be found but none had taken the risk to go in the pitch- black darkness. Thankfully, they were spared a chase.

"This place gives me the creeps," Sean said, descending the stairwell with Frank. The latter seemed to agree with him, despite his earlier interest. The silent rooms had seemed to exist out of time. One of them seemed to have been inhabited in recent years but nothing had been touched in the others. Without the dust, one could have thought the owners had just gone for a walk and hadn't come back yet.

"Where are Phil and Matt?" asked Bruce.

"They were in the kitchen, I think." Frank answered.

"Let's find them, and then leave. Personally, I think I've seen enough of this house," said Greg. Nobody argued with him.

The kitchen was in the back of the house, facing the rising sun. But now, that meant that even if the sun wasn't down yet, the kitchen was already pretty dark. That didn't stop Phil and Matt from opening every cupboard and drawer they could find. And since the kitchen was as large as a small cavern, there were a lot of cupboards. These hadn't been cleared after the deaths of the owners and they had already found forks, knives, bigger kitchen knives, spoons, all other sort of kitchen utensils, cans and so on. By now, everyone but these two was feeling uneasy. Reflexively, Adam reached for his gun before remembering he had left it in the minibus and swore softly. The nagging feeling of unease was growing. As a cop, he had learned to trust his instincts. Right now, they were telling him to get away from here while he still could. Something was very wrong here. Bruce seemed to have the same idea.

"Come on, kids. We're leaving." At the same instant, Phil spoke.

"There is a back door here; do you think it's open?" He reached for the door and Adam's bad feeling transformed into full-blown alarm.

"Phil…"

"Yes? Is something wrong?" He had already opened the door.

"Yes, little Muggle, something is wrong. Your existence," came a voice from outside. Phil looked toward the source of the voice and jumped back.

"Holy shit! What the hell is that thing?!"

A man entered and Phil's friends understood his surprise. For the stranger's appearance was shocking. He was tall, so pale one could have been forgiven to believe he didn't have a drop of blood in his veins. He was wearing black robes that couldn't hide his skeletal form and he was holding a black polished stick in his long fingers. But compared to his face, his build could pass for normal. The man was bald, had red eyes with vertical pupils and his nose was flat, with slits for nostrils. The stranger looked more like a snake than a human.

"What a wonderful little surprise," he said coldly. "I come to collect a little soil from my father's land and I find the next volunteers for my little experiment. Fate favours me, don't you think, Wormtail?"

"Yyye...yy.yes, Master," stuttered the so-called Wormtail. Cowering behind the first creature, nobody had remarked his presence 'til now. He was a cowering little man with blond hair who looked like a rat. There was a edge of panic in his voice. "Mas…Master, there were wards on the house. The Aurors know that we're here and will arrive soon. We should Disapparate now." That man was really pathetic. He added "Not that I'm afraid to face them, Master, but it would be more prudent while your plan is not ready."

Muggle? Aurors? Disapparate? What were they talking about and who the hell were they? thought Sean.

"Who the hell are you?" For an instant, Sean thought he had spoken out loud but ignoring his servant, the man was answering Greg.

"My name is Lord Voldemort, though I don't expect you to know it. Yet," Voldemort added with malice.

The man was crazy, that much was clear. How dangerous he was remained to be seen but Adam would prefer to avoid first-hand experience. Anyway, if the estate currently belonged to this man, the group of friends were in the wrong by being there.

"Listen, Mister Voldemort. We're sorry to be on your property. We just wanted to visit this house. If we had known that any of the owners were here, we would have asked your permission before entering. We don't want any trouble so we're going to leave now. Does that suit you?" proposed Adam. Once more, Bruce admired his friend's solid nerves and his diplomatic skills. Adam was nervous and on his guard but wasn't showing it to the stranger. If Bruce had spoken in his place, feeling threatened as he was, he would have confronted the man and damned the consequences. But with Phil still between Voldemort and the rest of the group, it wouldn't have been wise.

Strangely, the stranger laughed. It was a sinister sound and the little company found themselves cringing at it.

"These grounds aren't mine, stupid Muggle," he said. "And I would never want them, spoiled as they were by the Muggle occupants. Killing them was a highly satisfactory experience," he added conversationally. Before the company could react to this news, he continued. "Did you know that I don't have a soul anymore? I have no need for it. But everyone else has one. Souls are such fascinating things. I wonder, sometimes, where they come from. Don't you?"

"It matters little what we think about souls," answered Bruce. "We're leaving now. Philip." He called the chemistry student back. Voldemort hadn't attacked yet but Bruce felt it was only a matter of time. From the corner of the eye, he saw Adam pick up one of the knives in a drawer behind his back. At least, one of them was armed.

"Leaving already? You are right, it is time. You should be proud, you know. Thanks to you, I will discover where souls come from. It's a new curse I have created, I'm rather proud of it." While everyone puzzled on the meaning of his words, he raised his stick. "Priori spiriti reversio."

A white light blinded the company and Bruce felt himself being separated from his body. He screamed and heard the others scream from afar. He felt fear, pain and suddenly, he was back in his body, on his knees, trembling and trying to get his breath back. Magic? Humans aren't supposed to do magic! he thought franticly.

"How curious," murmured Voldemort. He approached the kneeling man. "You are still alive. I will have to work on my curse, then. As for your condition, it can be easily remedied." He raised his stick - a wand? - again. "Avada Ked…AAah!!"  

A knife had embedded itself into the madman's shoulder. Suddenly, voices came from outside.

"Master, the Aurors are here!" warned Wormtail.

"Silence, Wormtail and Disapparate us. We will meet again, Muggle." On these last words, they disappeared into thin air.

"I'm counting on it, Voldemort." That resolute voice was familiar to the blond man. Adam. Adam was beside him and had thrown the knife. The world was starting to blur before his eyes. He looked to his partner, his captain… Captain?

"Aragorn?"

The world went black.

####

In another part of Britain, a scarred boy stopped screaming.