Title: Of Dwarves and Witches
Summary: She's a long way from home, but trouble always has a way of finding her no matter the situation. Only this time, it comes in the form of a ragged old man in faded grey robes. It only gets more complicated from there. Thorin/Fem!Harry.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I own neither The Hobbit or Harry Potter.
Warning: Creative license will be abused. Heavily.
Before I forget to mention, it has been awhile since I have read the books (but I plan to re-read them very soon), so there will most likely be mistakes (both grammatically and cannon), but I have researched extensively before I even begun to dig deeper into my plot. However, I am also not perfect, so you should expect mistakes (feel free to correct me, it would definitely help).
ALSO! This beginning chapter was never meant to happen. The beginning chapter was set upon her awakening in middle-earth, but I changed it up, and it will be explained further along the way (I have left hints throughout this chapter as to what Harry was up to before ending up where she is, so I wonder if anyone can figure it out?). I also hope the length of the chapter is adequate because if it's one thing I hate, is small chapters. And though I feel a bit iffy about certain parts in this chapter, I am pleased how it came together, and I hope, to whomever is reading, that you enjoy it. So feel free to review, fave or follow.
Oh! Wait, one more thing. I will not be rushing this story, and the quest for Erebor will not happen for some time. I have things planned out, with character development and friendships. I want to actually write it out, not just have it there.
I'll stop rambling now...
Enjoy!
Chapter 1.
Harry Potter had been in many...precarious situations before, and often found herself in the middle of some unusual problem – however, that being said, Harry is certain she has never been spirited away to some foreign land before. And while usually that might surprise her, at this point she was beyond caring and feeling more downtrodden than curious. Not even the echo of her previous panic could do much to stir her out of her own depression. So it would be safe to assume that Harry potter is, utterly and completely, fed up.
It did not help that she was in desperate need of a bath. Muck and grime had knotted itself into her hair, and her clothing, at this point, was nothing more than a hanging, limp piece cloth with various rips, tears and singes. It rubbed against her skin in the most uncomfortable way, and she could feel the slight crusting of blood as it began to peel away from her torso.
Yes, she concluded, from the way the people had begun to stop and stare, she must look hideous. Covered in muck, blood and sweat. But that wasn't what bothered her the most.
It was the scent of ash clung to her, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue and reminding her of the events that lead her this small village – which, at this point, did not feel worth it. If it wasn't for the small coin purse she had managed to pilfer along the way, she doubted they would have been so accommodating. Though, she used the word loosely.
Harry is used to the judgmental looks, the weary whispers and speculations. More than a few handful of people had attempted to draw her into conversation, not so subtly asking as to why she looked the way she did. Of course, a few well-placed glares and biting remarks got them off her back, though it did nothing to endear the gathering crowd that had begun to accumulate.
Oh, how she wished she could hex them, but alas, Harry wasn't quite so nasty to stoop that low. It wouldn't have worked either way, however, much to her ire.
Dismissing her spiraling thoughts, Harry curled bruised and dirt riddled hands around the tankard, lazily watching the contents inside slosh around as foam gathered at the top. She wasn't much of a drinker, but if it helped sooth her aching joints and battered body, she would have happily made her way through a box of Fire Whisky – sadly, no such thing existed here.
Grimacing darkly, she lifted the cup to her chapped lips and drunk deeply, ignoring the sour aftertaste.
Some part of her whispered at the back of her mind. It could be worse, it called, we're alive. Better us than –
She slammed the tankard back down onto the table, causing a brief hush to fall over the dingy pub she had found her way to. All eyes fell on her form, and she venomously ignored it. She felt the prickling gather in the corner of her eyes, and she blinked away the feeling, clenching her jaw shut angrily. She had no reason to cry, and she refused to be reduced to tears after the ordeal she had went through just to make it to this village.
No, none of it was her fault. It wasn't her fault she was here, stuck in some foreign land with little to no knowledge of how to get back, and it certainly wasn't her fault that –
She breathed in sharply, attempting to clear her head and push the memory away. After a few moments, her efforts were rewarded and she felt the gentle embrace of calmness take her mind, her occlumency shields proving their worth. Harry continued to breathe in and out at a steady pace, only stopping occasionally to sip at her ale.
For now, she had to plan out what she would do next, and where she would go. Seeing how she had no knowledge of the place she had ended up, finding a map would be ideal. But that could wait until morning, she would rather not take her chances out in the wilderness, and in pitch black to boot. The nights here are darker, she vaguely thought, sloshing the remainder of her ale around in the tankard. She would need a refill soon.
She wondered what time it was. Past midnight? It was entirely possible. It had been dark for some time now, and it didn't look like the sun would be rising any time soon. Perhaps she should ask for a room for the night? And maybe a bath. Harry winced. Yes, definitely in need of a bath. And some clothing. Which would have to wait until morning...
Her scowl returned and she downed the rest of her drink, preparing to call over the barmaid, before a voice suddenly stopped her.
"Ah, there you are!"
Bewildered, and slightly startled, Harry jerked back when a shadow fell over her table. She felt herself tense up, her adrenaline spiking in preparation to flee. Only, she wasn't met with distorted and mutated features of scarred flesh and slanted eyes and hissing teeth, but rather, a tall and aged man in grey robes with a familiar pointed hat and kindly smile.
Her mouth popped open, but words faltered on her tongue, and the only sound that escaped her was a slight croak.
"My dear, I have been looking for you for some time. It would appear fortunate that we are to turn up in the same village on the same day, wouldn't you say?"
She didn't reply and he flagged down the barmaid, quickly placing an order with a few muttered words. It didn't register with Harry and she could only watch on in numb awareness, her eyes fixated on the hat atop his head. Despite the familiarity, all it offered was a cold comfort. It didn't help that he resembled her old headmaster, dredging up forgotten grief and loss.
The old man then turned back to Harry, smile still in place and eyes twinkling. She swallowed thickly, remembering half-moon spectacles and maroon robes. He wasted no time in taking up the empty space at her side, getting himself comfortable as he pulled a pipe out from beneath his robes and proceeded to light it with the tip of his finger.
Harry's nostrils flared at the motion, her eyes widening.
When it became evident that he wasn't going to say anything, content to puff away at his pipe and absorb the warmth from the lit hearth, Harry found herself shifting uncomfortably, uncertain of his intentions but curious to find out. She roughly cleared her throat.
"Have we met?" She asked, voice rough and scratchy despite her best efforts to conceal it.
"Hm, no, we most certainly have not." mused the man, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke.
It really didn't tell her anything, but before she could open her mouth to enquire further, the barmaid returned with nervous steps, hedging around the table and further away from Harry to place two plates down and two tankards. Without so much as a 'good evening' the woman scurried back off, taking Harry's empty cup with her.
"Ah, yes – before we continue, I should say, introductions are in order." The man suddenly admonished, sitting up fully to turn to Harry. "My name is Gandalf the grey, I don't suppose you have heard of me before?"
With pursed lips, she shook her head, determined to see this strange encounter through. "I'm afraid not," she paused before continuing "Harry Potter...that's me." She finished lamely, cringing internally.
"Well that's quite all right, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He gestured kindly with a nod of his head. "For now, why don't we enjoy a small meal before we continue?"
Gandalf – a strange name, but Harry had heard stranger – pushed a plate in her direction. It was by no means up to the same standard in which she was used to, but she had eaten and lived off of smaller rations in the past. A measly slab of bread, a handful of grapes and a slide of cheese. Her stomach automatically let out a small grumble, and for the first time that day, Harry realized how starved she had become.
Her cheeks heated as her gaze snapped to Gandalf. "But I haven't paid for this."
"There's no need for your worries. I suspect you need this more than myself." He quirked a thick brow, as if daring her to protest and Harry found her jaw snapping shut almost instantly, chagrined.
Finally, he placed the extra tankard beside the plate he offered, and by the look of the contents inside, it was another cup of ale.
He gestured with his hand for her to begin and Harry hesitated only for a moment, before deciding it was in her best interest to sate her aching hunger. She didn't really taste anything as she began to devour the small meal, but maybe that was because of how fast she was eating. But from what she could taste, it was stale and flavorless, the grapes a bit too soft and the cheese a bit too hard. The bread felt like she could crack open skulls with it. But it did its job and it got rid of the emptiness in her stomach, leaving her strangely full.
By the time she was done, only crumbs remained and a half cup of ale. She sighed contently, wiping the corner of her mouth.
Gandalf was still puffing away, his food only half eaten and his ale untouched. She decided not to question it.
"Thank you," she said, gratitude evident in her voice "You didn't have to do that."
Gandalf tipped his hat. "You're welcome, my dear."
"But Sir, I have to ask, why would you help me? I'm not exactly...approachable." She scowled, having briefly forgotten about her monstrous appearance.
"Why, for the same reason you helped those dwarves," Harry stiffened, but Gandalf paid it no mind "Because I knew I could, and because I wanted to."
A cold sweat gathered on her brow, and she shivered, blowing out a shaky breath as the prickling sensation gathered behind her eyes once again. "How do you know about that?"
"Dear girl, there's not much that happens in middle-earth that escapes my notice. Especially not with the way you barreled into that mountain. Word travels fast." He eyed her contemplatively, and Harry refused to meet his gaze. When he spoke again, it was much softer, causing more moisture to mist over her eyes. "What you did was a very brave thing, and there are many who are alive today because of that, and many more who are thankful. You should feel proud."
Silence descended over the two, though Harry suspected that Gandalf was giving her a moment to gather herself. A part of her was grateful, another part was furious. And while the occlumency shields held the memories at bay, it didn't truly stop how she felt. All she could do was try not to think about it, but it didn't help when someone brought it up. She was only so lucky that no one in the village had been gossiping about the recent...event. What she hadn't counted on was for news to travel so fast and so far in such a small span of time.
How he even figured out it was her, let alone found the means to track her down, remained a mystery. All she could do was accept these facts, even if she didn't like it.
Eventually, after several minutes of deep and steady breaths, her heart began to slow down from its erratic beating and settle into an even pace and the stress and stiffness of her muscles began to recede, though not completely.
A handle settled on her shoulder, and Harry forced herself not to react as the hand squeezed gently before letting go. It was supposed to be comforting, and it did little to console her.
She licked her lips. "Why were you looking for me?" She decided to ask, cutting straight to the point and hoping to hedge around the obvious.
Gandalf hummed nonsensically, puffing on his pipe a few times before answering. "I am here to act as your guide, for the time being, of course."
Harry frowned. "I don't understand."
"The Valar have chosen you to come to middle-earth, it is only simple that it would be myself or one of the other Istari to guide your steps while you grow to understand this world." Gandalf cut Harry off as she began to speak "Yes, I am aware of your ah, sudden appearance, so to speak. And while I may not have all the answers, I hope that I can ease some of your worries."
"That doesn't ease me at all. Why am I even here?" Frustrated, Harry tugged at her knotted hair, wincing only when she accidently pulled at one of her cuts. "I never asked for any of this. I don't know where I am, how I ended up here or even who these Istari are."
"All these questions will be answered in time, my dear, have patience." Comforted Gandalf "The Istari, however, I can answer. In short, we are the guardians of middle-earth, consisting of five wizards in total. The leader of our order is Saruman The White, then there is myself, followed by Radagast The Brown and..." He frowned, humming a small thoughtful tune "I'm afraid I can't quite remember the last two, it has been some time since I last encountered them."
"Only five wizards?" Harry found herself replying, voice weak and not quite believing.
"Indeed."
"But what would you want with me? I'm just..."
"Just what, my dear?"
Harry shrunk in on herself, pulling her injured limbs to her chest. She didn't know what to say, because Harry was many things and has been called many things. She liked to think of herself as 'just Harry' but something that didn't quite cut it. She was a leader, a friend, a daughter and a war hero. However, it was hollow, never quite registering that this is who she has become. She knows she has earned these titles, despite her initial feelings toward it.
But sometimes it doesn't feel real. And sometimes it leaves her feeling vulnerable, as if she wasn't quite good enough. That she could be and do better.
She's not the answer to every problem and she certainly cannot fight every battle. Recent events proved as much.
"I'm just me." She finished meekly, shoulders hunched and head downturned.
"And that should be all you ever need to be." Concluded Gandalf, before wisely adding "Pretending to be something else can become quite tiresome, and never ends with good results."
Harry found her lips curling into a smile, despite herself. "I suppose you're right."
"There is no suppose about it." Lightly chided Gandalf.
Silence descended upon them once again, though it didn't feel as strained as before. The din of the pub just barely connected to Harry, it was nothing more than a buzz in the background, helping to ease her into a far more relaxed state. It was safe, a familiar setting and there looked to be no danger hiding in the shadows. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was at Hogsmeade, sitting inside The Three Broomsticks and nursing a butterbeer while her friends chattered on around her.
A pang of loneliness hit her, and she wondered if her friends have realized she was missing. She wondered if they were out there right now, looking for her. Harry wondered if they noticed at all.
She snapped herself out of it. Of course they would have noticed, there was no 'ifs' about it. But that brought up a very important detail that Harry had been hoping to avoid, and if Gandalf is who he says he is, then it might be possible that he could help, or at least enlighten her on her problem.
So despite her reservations, she managed to squish down her pride and ask for help.
"You...said you were a wizard?" She hedged uncomfortably, continuing when he bobbed his head in conformation. "Do you know how I can get home?"
Gandalf shifted in his seat, his face morphing from a kind expression and into something more serious. "I don't think you were listening, my dear, I have been appointed as your guide in middle-earth. If there is a way to send you back, unfortunately I am not the wizard you are looking for. I do not have that power."
Dread settled into her stomach. "But you don't understand, my magic..." She choked out, feeling vulnerable once again "It's important that I get to St Mungo's as soon as possible, I fear that I may..." Harry trailed off, her face scrunching as though she were in pain.
"Ah, yes, I wondered when you would bring that up." Sighed Gandalf, startling Harry "You are not losing your abilities, I can confirm. It is merely adjusting to the sudden change. It will, however, take some time before you're back up to scratch."
She relaxed slightly, allowing his words to sooth her worries. But she still wasn't convinced. "But what about my wand? When I used it..." She bit her lip, forcing herself to calm down when her panic began to build.
"Yes?" Gandalf pressed, leaning forward.
"It...it was destroyed. When I used it, back there, it just – just exploded and I..." she swallowed thickly, "I couldn't do anything."
"You did enough." Harry flinched, but he forged on "The simple answer to your problem would be that your wand wasn't strong enough to filter your magic at a steady pace – you could even say it overheated. What you have been taught and learned, you will soon find, isn't how it works in these lands and may very well seem backwards to what you know."
She nodded hesitantly, not quite following but allowing it to slowly sink in. "But what about returning home? Is there a way?"
"If there is a way, then I am certain it will reveal itself in time and with patience. Nothing is done without reason."
"But how long will that take?" She impatiently asked, hand reaching out to pick up her tankard before taking a sip. "Weeks? Months? Years? How do I know I won't be old and withering by the time I return? Will I ever return?"
Gandalf puffed once on his pipe, slow and contemplative. He didn't leave her waiting long, but enough to have her squirming in her seat. "That remains to be seen."
Her face dropped and she tried not to glare, feeling bitter and a little bit more than hopeless. "Then what am I to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs?"
"No," corrected Gandalf "In the meantime, you will accompany me to Imladris – or more commonly known as Rivendell – where we will meet with the White Council and from there, well, we will see."
"White Council?" Dully echoed Harry.
"Indeed," Hummed Gandalf, though he didn't elaborate and decided to change the subject instead. "Though for the moment being, I think it high time we get you cleaned up and your wounds dressed."
He gave her a meaningful look, and Harry felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Yes, she knew she smelled worse than a troll and probably looked no better, and it did nothing for herself esteem. Muttering quietly, she directed her attention down at the table. "I don't know where I can bathe, and I don't fancy my chances of finding a stream nearby."
"Not to worry, I have already taken care to order you a bath and a change of clothes."
She cringed, not wanting to accept any more charity yet feeling as if she had no other choice. "I...no, thank you. Really," Turning her gaze back up to the wizard, hoping to show an expression of gratitude "You have been nothing but kind, so, thank you."
Gandalf didn't reply. Instead, he smiled and the warmth he showed was answer enough.