Hello! How are you? I hope you are smashing!
Here is a silly idea I got. It has been done before (crossovers and the like) but it had not been done by me, so let's see what happens! I'm taking a new approach to this plot: I will follow a discovery plot line to see what I can do, instead of doing the entire plot all at once. It's adventurous, yes, but I'm going to do it!
Enjoy!
--E--
Fatigue and tree roots hindered his pace. If it were not for the ill Mirkwood trees blocking his path or the spine-snapping pain in his back, then he would have found the dwarves by now. As he trudged through dead bushes, he kept an eye out for any more spiders. There could be a few lurking still. But, with Sting drawn and the ring on, he searched for the others.
Time passed, the hot stones in his legs hardened into molten magma, and Bilbo soon spotted a huddle of dwarves in a clearing ahead -- right where he dropped them off. Relief graced him.
He climbed over exposed tree roots. "Hey! Over here!" he called, taking off the ring and storing it away. "I've found the sun! I know which way we need to-"
"There's one more!"
Before the dwarves could holler warnings, elven-guards rounded on the hobbit, bows and arrows drawn.
"Oh!" he gasped. But, before he could react to the blond elf charging toward him, before he could whip out the ring again, before he could attempt to fend off a rush of guards, before the flash of arrowheads blinded him, before he could curse himself and his foolishness, his leg gave out. He slipped off the tree root and fell over a small ledge -- one he had not noticed. His back slammed into the ground and dirt clung onto the sticky webbing of his waistcoat. Seconds later, the blond elf appeared over the ledge and ordered the others to retrieve him.
Bilbo was about to crawl away and slip the ring on, about to hid in the shadows and refuge under some overgrown mushrooms, but the earth beneath him was too soft; it crumbled and made him slide several feet down a steep hill -- one almost as steep as a wall. He did not notice it before, but now, unable to stop himself in time, he tumbled violently down the hillside. The trees spun in his vision and the ground jumped like flags in violent wind.
"Quickly!" the blond elf called to the others, racing down the hill. "Don't let him fall into the ravine!"
In the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw a black pit.
"Catch him! Get him before he reaches-"
The ground vanished; he screamed.
--E--
"I do believe it will rain tonight," the Headmaster of Hogwarts mused, gazing out the Great Hall's windows. "I remember Professor Trelawney predicting so and Professor Grubbly-Plank suggesting it too... besides, the atmosphere just feels it so."
"Things have been a little rainy now-and-days," Professor McGonagall commented, glancing at the pink woman down the teachers' table.
"True, true." He sipped his goblet calmly. "And yet I also think the clouds just feel somewhat wetter than normal. I do hope Hagrid is doing well right now, and even more so if it's raining in his part of the world-"
Everything pulsed.
He froze.
Dumbledore's senses drowned -- like he became deaf and blind, like the Great Hall melted away, like the world became larger and full of unknown malice. He felt it. A fresh concentration of darkness came into existence, like a drop of poison breaking still water, leaving ripples that he could not deny. Yet, it was incomprehensible compared to Lord Voldemort; it was something ancient, something more. And it was right next to Hogwarts.
McGonagall cleared her throat. "Headmaster?"
With one glance at Harry across the hall, Dumbledore knew he felt it too. The wrinkle on the young man's forehead and the red blooming around his scar proved it. They exchanged stares.
"Dumbledore?"
He looked at her. "Yes?"
"What was that? What happened?"
"I'm afraid I cannot elaborate," he said quickly, feeling the magical ripple fading. He had to find the source before it was lost. "If you'll excuse me, I need to poke around a bit outside. I think I left my telescope out there."
The Great Hall dropped in decibels the moment the Headmaster stood up and sped his way out, hurrying a little too fast for anyone to be at ease. Moments later, McGonagall and Snape excused themselves as well.
--E--
He walked for over an hour and the creaks in his body seemed permanent. When he fell, he guessed, he somehow did not die, but it left the ugliest bruise plastered on his back. Tender and throbbing, he was in no condition to wander through the forest, but he did. Where was he?
While he trekked, the forest became more and more wrong. It did not look like -- did not feel like -- Mirkwood. The trees were dark instead of ill, the ground was flat instead of twisting and distorted, and the moon pierced through the tangles of branches above -- night instead of day; all of this made him question where he was. Why did the decaying leaves felt so foreign?
"I'm not in the Shire, that's for sure," he muttered, hugging himself and holding onto any warmth left in his waistcoat. Perhaps he fell down the ravine and rolled off a hill onto a different forest, waking up when night fell. This had to be it, he thought. But, in any case, he needed to find the Company or, better yet, Gandalf. Finding the wizard would guarantee salvation.
Wolves howled in the distance and Bilbo picked up his pace. Hunger burned a hole through him and the cold froze his legs' flesh. Yet the unsettling forest urged him to move, to leave the forest's edge and regain himself. He continued along.
By the time his calves hardened into ice, the moon drifted through the branches and hid behind clouds: a rainstorm. He groaned when a drop splatted onto the crown of his head, wishing to be in Bag End again, to have a steaming cup, a warm hearth, and dinner rolls. He tried to persuade himself to take shelter under the upturned tree roots, trying to look passed the mud and cobwebs, but there were footsteps behind him. A twig snapped. The ring flew onto his finger.
Gray overtook the world and the trees became suggestions. The moment Bilbo spun around, he saw the footsteps: a man and a woman. He jumped behind a tree and peered around at the man -- greasy, black hair and a scowl-- and at the old woman, who wore an emerald cloak and hat. They both, he noted, held out polished sticks like they were weapons.
"Thought I saw something," the woman said, eyes surveying the trees.
"The magical disturbance is fading, just like he said, but I can feel it, if only barely," the man murmured, eyes shifting. "The magic is currently being used."
The woman took a step closer toward Bilbo's tree. "Yes, yes, I know. You don't need to tell me. I can feel it too, even if it is slight."
They got too close for Bilbo's liking -- close enough for him to see the detail of their scanning eyes and colorless faces. The ring made them look like ghosts. But, before they could sense him, with hobbit-quietness, he crept away. Raw toes over wet leaves. He would have gotten away if the man had not waved his stick and strode after him.
"I feel it," he said, eyes flashing at Bilbo as if he could see him. "The disturbance is invisible." He flicked his wrist and the hobbit felt his heels stuck to the chilled ground.
"I think I've gotten found it... but I am not certain. The magic is barely sensible."
"Careful, Severus," the woman warned.
Bilbo did not breathe, but he struggled to lift his feet up, struggling to move as the man closed in on him, the woman not far behind. He wanted to pull out Sting and protect himself, but that would make too much noise, too much risk. He needed to escape in stealth, but now he had to do the next best thing.
Calculating every movement, he picked up a stone from the ground, trusting the darkness to conceal it, and chucked it; it hit the man's hooked nose. The man yelled, stumbled back in surprise, and Bilbo's heels lost its pressure. He bolted.
Leaves exploded under his steps, the trees racing by. He kept running, forgetting about his abused legs, and even when something like lightning bolts flew passed him. Blue and white magic -- magic like Gandalf's fireworks -- lite the trees and dimmed.
"After it!" the woman yelled. "It's getting too close to-"
"Confringo!"
Another lightning bolt appeared and nearly hit Bilbo's shoulder.
"No! We need to know of the disturbance first! He said it may be-"
The forest floor was gone. The hobbit yelped as he fell down a hill -- not as steep or violent as the one in Mirkwood, but enough to knock the air out of him and have leaves cling to his clothes. He rolled for what felt like a league and whiplash buzzed in his head once he hit the bottom. He groaned, but he rose up and ran, unsure if the man and woman still had his trail. Within seconds, he tripped over a ceramic pot and hit cobblestone.
"Wh-what's this?" he breathed, hot air flooding out in puffs. "Ow, my back..."
Above the pot shards, a village stood. Humble buildings and clean, shining streets. Reassurance welled inside him.
This, Bilbo knew, was the second best thing to find: a civilization of men. They could nourish him, warm him, inform him, and send him on his way back to the Company. Perhaps they were friends of the elves as well, he hoped. They could be advocates for him. Perhaps this village was as friendly as Bree.
After checking to see if the man and woman followed him, he got up and entered the village.
While he formed a plan, brushing the mud and leaves off his pants, fixing his matted hair -- the curls sprung back up -- and making sure his ring still concealed him, he traveled down the street, unseen by the few passing strangers. He had to find a tavern, someplace to warm up and dry. So far, there were only shops for quills and parchment, for robes, and for sweets. Their signs had strange fonts, but he read them without trouble.
He walked pass a gang of alley cats, who were sleeping in a pile underneath a porch, escaping the rains the best they could. And later, when he passed the post office, he was pleasantly surprised to find it full of sleeping owls: brown, white, and spotted. The orange street lamps highlighted their rising and falling bodies like potatoes bobbing in broth.
Eventually, in the thickest part of the storm, he found shelter: The Three Broomsticks.
Slipping off the ring and fixing himself to be presentable once more, he stepped inside: the smell of hot butterscotch and bread. A fireplace greeted him to his left and people laughed over their drinks. The atmosphere reminded him of the Green Dragon.
He slipped around Big Folk -- mostly adults -- and climbed up a stool to see the bar. The drinks on the shelves seemed to glow, fizz, and pour themselves, but he was not sure if they did or not; his chin barely perched on the bar, barely high enough for him to read the drink labels or to see the display of fried fish on the back counter.
Before he could call for the owner, she already appeared: a woman with blonde curls, pink cheeks, and strong arms.
She frowned. "Oi, I don't serve lil' ones. Now, go getcha mommy so you can get a nice, non-alcoholic --" she squinted at him and noticed the wrinkles around his eyes "-- Oh, pardon me, sir! Sorry, I'm not used to serving too many goblins in these parts. It's been a long night, y'know?"
"Goblin?" Bilbo scoffed. "Good gracious, where did you get that from?"
"Sorry, sorry! Half 'n' half, then." She smiled. "You don't happen to be a brother or cousin of Professor Flitwick?"
"Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm not from around here." He looked over his shoulder in paranoia, only seeing the patrons cheering on a chugging contest. "In fact, I need some help. I'm in a bit of trouble, y'see. I've been separated from my company -- uh, a wizard and twelve dwarves -- and I'm rather lost. Could you tell me where I'm at and, if you can, spare some bread for me? I haven't eaten all day."
The woman -- Madam Rosmerta, he heard someone call her -- poured a few drinks together and slid them down the bar. "Well, for one, you're in Hogsmeade. Second, no, haven't seen any dwarves. They usually come around Valentine's day to fill in as candy-grams."
"Huh, that's... strange." He could not imagine a dwarf like Thorin or Dwalin working as seasonal entertainers. "I'll have to ask about that later. Anyways, have you seen a wizard about these parts?"
"A wizard?" she snorted, pulling out a polished stick and waggling it. "You must be very lost if you're asking for only one wizard." Within a blink of an eye, a nearby glass filled with rum.
He stared.
"So, what parts are you from? Your accent doesn't sound foreign enough to be from too far away."
"U-uh, how did you...?" He pointed at the rum, watching it float off to a table. "Wha...? There are more wizards here?"
"Yes," she smirked. "You must be very lost if you haven't seen too many wizards in one place."
Within seconds, the warm air turned heavy and uncomfortable. Bilbo looked around the tavern with new eyes; he noticed the sticks in people's hands and the shreds of casual magic they casted. Could there be more than just a few wizards? Were these people even wizards, or were they unearthly beings posing to be wizards? Suddenly, the lightning bolts the man and woman fired at him made sense. They were specifically hunting him -- for the magic he gave off, he remembered -- and he could guess why.
He clutched onto his pocket. "I need to find Gandalf," he blurted before Madam Rosmerta shuffled off to serve fried fish. "I have to find him, please!"
"Whoa, whoa, okay! If you want to stay after hours, I'm sure I can help ya."
"B-but, I need-"
The tavern door opened and it sounded like a bomb in Bilbo's ear; the delicious smells spoiled. Before his eyes darted toward it, he knew who it was with the way the figures oozed danger, with the way they held their sticks out tensely. An emerald cloak. Black hair.
He leaned closer to Madam Rosmerta. "May I use your back door?"
"Sure? But, if you'll wait a few hours, I can-"
He took off.
Disregarding stealth, he passed through and around crowds, his feet finding every splinter in the floorboards. When he tried to look back at the man and woman, he ran into a table; a plate of empty glasses fell and silenced the entire tavern.
"There!" someone barked.
Before anything else, before he could see the man and woman charging after him, Bilbo found the back door and escaped into the night. The storm roared on.
He created a fair distance between him and the tavern, crossing a creek and passed a few trees before his legs finally gave out. He fell into a dark puddle, icy water soaking his waistcoat and ruining all of his warmth, all of his security. And, for a while, he laid there, lost and unsure, and let the cold seep into his strained muscles.
He did not know where to go, what to do, or what to make of this place. How was he supposed to fend off two wizards? He did slay a few Mirkwood spiders earlier, but what could he do against two big people and magic? Perhaps he could not do anything, he thought. Perhaps he had to stand by and hope for Gandalf. But, until then, he would hide in shadows, the ring his friend.
He was about to put it on and hide, but he delayed too long. A dark figure appeared and rough hands grabbed him.
"Wh-? Let me go! Let me go!" he cried, thrashing as arms ensnared him and hoisted him off the ground. "Get your hands off me!"
"I've got it! This is it!" a young man yelled. "Hermione, paralyze the thing! It's the source!"
"No!" Another dark figure came into existence. "We need it to talk because we don't know if-"
"I know this thing's evil! Just hex it already! That's why I caught it; I need you to hex it good and hard!"
"But, Dumbledore would-"
"Where's Ron?"
"Harry! Just stop and think for a-"
"I'll do it then!" The young man tightened his hold on Bilbo with one arm, then pulled out a polished stick.
Bilbo struggled harder. "You'll do none of that!"
He tried to pull the ring out, but the young man's elbow jabbed his pocket instead. In half a second, the young man screamed, released him, and clasped his forehead in pain. Bilbo, not questioning his luck, sprinted away before the other figure could catch him.
"After it!" the young man hollered and chased after him. The other figure was not far behind.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
A fallen limb rose up in front of Bilbo. He barely jumped over it, knees buckling, then collided into a wall of bushes. Twigs pierced into his thin, soaked clothes. Quickly, he pushed through it, eyes shut tight, and fell out of the other side. He could not tell if his eyes were open or not, but, regardless, he ran, sweat dripping off his temple and drizzling down with the rain.
He ran, but he went nowhere.
"Oh, Gandalf, where are you?" He winced, stopping and leaning against a tree. He knew the figures would catch up -- he heard rustling behind him -- but his legs felt broken. And once again, the ring, even though it gave him terrible headaches, would be his saving grace.
He was about to put it on again, but something caught his eye up ahead; a figure stood in a clearing. A gray beard and familiar robes. He could not believe it.
"Gandalf?" the hobbit breathed. "Gandalf! There you are!"
In a few anxious bounces, Bilbo reached him, grabbing his sleeve like it was a lifeline. The wizard could not have come at a better time.
"Gandalf, you don't know how happy I am to see you!" He looked back and saw the dark figures -- now three of them -- growing larger. "I-I need some help right now. We can discuss the details later because-"
"A child?" the figure asked, and suddenly Bilbo spotted a polished stick in the figure's hand. Gandalf's staff was nowhere in sight. "What is a child doing out so late and alone...?"
In a ray of moonlight, now that he was closer, Bilbo saw a flash of spectacles on the figure's face, seeing purple robes instead of gray ones. Hopelessly, this was not Gandalf, even if the old man in front of him had the same wise, kind eyes.
Bilbo stepped back. "O-oh! Pardon me, uh-"
"Dumbledore!" The young man caught up, green eyes flashing toward Bilbo. "Get away from that thing! I can feel-"
The man lifted a hand. "Be still, Harry."
"Dumbledore!"
"It's alright."
"But-"
"All is well."
"My scar-"
"I know."
In the same reassuring way that Gandalf would have done, the man knelt down slowly and put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. Perhaps that was why the hobbit did not run again: the man was the only familiar thing he had encountered so far. Also, perhaps, his legs refused.
"My good sir, will you care to enlighten us about yourself? We have many questions concerning you and a recent phenomenon."
"A-as do I!"
"Splendid. Now, will you come back with me to Hogwarts? You look you may need a change of clothes and something warm to eat."
"That would be appreciated." Bilbo nodded. "Just, uh, where exactly is Hogwarts?"
The man's eyes twinkled. "Far from your world."
--E--
Have a golly good day!
(Happy Thanksgiving!)