The True Tournament
By Leafy Rose
Rating: PG-13 for violence, bad attitudes, and tense situations.
Disclaimer: I own nothing Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter.
Thanks to Anarril and Star_Stallion for their reviews of the last chapter of "What Good This Deafness"!
Author's Note: I decided to write this fic after seeing other authors' funny LOTR versus HP fics. I thought it would be fun to try to write one, myself. I don't own any of the LOTR/HP fics that gave me the idea to write this, and I didn't copy them in any other way.
Author's Additional Note: Sorry for not being here in so long! I've suddenly become very busy in RL, but the biggest problem lately has been a huge writer's road block with the TSO Series.
Sooooooooo, so as not to lose any more momentum with that series, I'm making a departure for the moment to write this light humor story. I hope you all enjoy it. Please review, as I'd love to know what you think. I've not given up on What Good This Deafness or the Trans-Siberian Orchestra series, I'm just leaving it alone for a little while. I'll continue it when this story is done.
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"Albus, have you seen the old third-year transfiguration textbooks? I need to cross-reference a few--," Professor Mcgonagall paused as she stepped into the headmaster's office, looking around. The room appeared to be empty. "Albus?"
The response came in the form of a scuffling noise under the desk and a loud thud that sent most of the noramlly-stationary objects on the surface off balance, onto their sides. Dumbledore rose from beneath the rim of the desk, massaging his left temple lightly. He blinked up at Mcgonagall distractedly.
"Forgive me. I was looking for something, myself," he said quietly, rising completely, to his feet. "What is it you're looking for? The third-year transfiguration textbooks?"
"The old ones, yes," replied Mcgonagall questioningly. "I need to cross-reference a few things for the next class' quiz."
"Yes, well, I'm afraid I haven't seen them," said Dumbledore. "You might try the library."
"I will," Mcgonagall said, turning to leave. She paused for an instant then turned back around, looking confusedly for Dumbledore, who was back under his desk, shuffling around. "And, er, what are you looking for?" she asked, trying to be tactful.
Dumbledore popped up again, a look of anguish on his face.
"Sorry to bother you," she added hurriedly. "But perhaps I know where it is."
"No bother, Minerva," Dumbledore sighed, standing up again. "And I doubt anyone knows where what I'm looking for is."
"What are you looking for?" Mcgonagall persisted.
"A very old spell book," said Dumbledore shortly. He turned around and headed over to a closet in the back of the room. "Come look at this."
Mcgonagall furrowed her brow in confusion, but followed him, looking into the dark closet cavity as Dumbledore opened it. Dumbledore reached inside, pulling out a large cloth bag, packed to the gills with what sounded like paper. He unclasped the bag's opening and dumped the contents out onto the floor. Letters in opened envelopes spilled out around the headmaster's feet. He bent down and picked one up, pulling the letter out and reading it aloud.
"Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I have a question which has been plaguing me for a very long time; which is better, the Lord of the Rings trilogy or the famous exploits of our own Harry Potter? I can't think of anyone more capable of answering this question than you. Please help."
Dumbledore folded the letter up again, glancing furtively at Mcgonagall, who still looked confused. With an understanding smile, he scooped up a handful more letters, opening them in turn and reading them aloud.
"Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Which is better, the Lord of the Rings trilogy or the story of Harry Potter?"
"Dear Professor,
Which is better, the adventures of Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings?"
"Dear Dumbledore,
Who, in your opinion, is a more capable wizard, you or Gandalf the Grey?"
"Dear Professor,
Who is greater, Harry Potter or Frodo Baggins?"
"Who is better?"
"Which is better?"
"What is better?"
Dumbledore cringed slightly now, dropping the letters back to the floor. He paused, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to calm down. He turned back to Mcgonagall.
"Many of our colleagues have sent me letters, asking my opinion on this matter."
"What matter?" Mcgonagall raised her eyebrows, this being the first time she'd heard of this. "Whether or not a work of fiction is--superior to the true hardships Harry Potter has had to endure?"
Dumbledore smiled slightly, looking back into the closet.
"Why do you say that, Mcgonagall? You know what the truth of the matter is…" his voice trailed off for an instant, then came back as a minor triumphant exclamation. He bent down to the floor inside the closet hurriedly, straightening up and turning around with a small book with a brown, tattered cover. "Or have I never told you about this?"
Mcgonagall's gaze shifted to the book.
"Ah," she said, a bit unsteadily. "Yes, you have. I'd forgotten about it…I also suppose I didn't really believe it existed."
"It does," Dumbledore said kindly, inserting his fingers between the pages.
"Wait!" Mcgonagall exclaimed. "What are--surely, you're not going to--?"
"Nothing bad will come of it, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "And I think it's the best way to finally put this matter to rest."
"Does it really warrant such a drastic action, though? I believe they meant only for a discussion…" Mcgonagall frowned.
"This action is not very drastic," Dumbledore smiled. "I think of it more as fascinating."
Mcgonagall's stern look didn't shift at first. She eyed Dumbledore for a moment, then looked down at the book, poised to be opened. She sighed, her frown turning to a reluctant half-smile.
"Well," she said. "Where are you going to do it?"
"Right here," Dumbledore said, his smile broadening with her words. "The weekend has just begun, and I don't wish for all the students to learn about this."
"No?" Mcgonagall responded skeptically.
"No," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Just a few."
**********
"We shall head north now," Gandalf spoke in a voice loud enough for all of the fellowship to hear but soft enough not to raise any alarm from whatever might lurk nearby. "The edge of the forest is close in that direction."
They took off, the nine of them moving moderately, pacing themselves, as this was but the beginning of the night, and they had hours of traveling ahead, they knew.
Gandalf headed up the line, leading them straight north, as he had said. The deep blue of the night sky bled through the branches above them, casting a dim, eerie aura over the atmosphere. The branches were thick and many, so even with this, their vision was mostly stunted.
Legolas came up next to Gandalf, looking easily through the darkness at the many tree trunks crowded before them. He could see between them, there was a clearing up ahead. He smiled a bit, then frowned as he saw something moving in it, heard a slight hissing. He raced ahead, pushing between the trunks, until he was in the center of the clearing.
Aragorn spied the Elf hurrying away and ran up to meet him.
"What is it?" he said, looking at Legolas, who was staring up at the canopy.
"Nothing," he said softly. "I thought I heard something. It must have been the wind."
"The wind?" Aragorn replied, raising his eyebrows as he followed his gaze. "The branches aren't moving."
"I know," Legolas whispered.
Suddenly, the faint hissing that had permeated the atmosphere escalated for a sharp instant and Legolas' pale form vanished from the corner of Aragorn's eye. The ranger turned his head violently and found himself peering into the empty space of the clearing.
"Legolas!" he cried.
"What's happened?" Frodo yelped, charging into the clearing, Gandalf at his heels.
Aragorn turned fast to meet them, a stunned look in his eyes.
"He's--," he gasped, and disappeared with a hiss, leaving nothing but the slight impression his feet had made on the leaves.
Frodo skidded to a halt, staring in bewilderment.
"Saruman," Gandalf breathed, grasping his staff tightly and stepping away from Frodo, closer to the center of the clearing.
"What's going on?" Sam raced into the clearing with the other hobbits, Gimli, and Boromir, just in time to see Frodo vanish several paces away.
"Frodo!" Sam yelled, running forward.
"Stay back!" Gandalf cried, throwing his hand out and raising his staff, preparing to perform a counter spell, the first one that had come to him. He prayed it would do the trick. As he lowered his staff a bit, beginning to rotate it, he heard another hissing noise and another as two more were taken, then he felt as if a blast of hot air had hit him, and he was no longer standing on the dirt in the leaves.
**********
Mcgonagall drew out her wand, waving it slightly, levitating Dumbledore's desk and ushering it to the far corner of the office. She remembered that there would be nine of them.
Dumbledore looked up from the little book. He cleared his throat.
"Don't trouble yourself, Minerva," he said softly. "I'll make sure none of them are summoned onto an inconvenient spot. There's plenty of room here for all of them."
"Of course," Mcgonagall said somewhat nervously, lowering the desk to the floor and backing into a corner, herself. This would, of course, be the first time she ever saw a spell like this take place.
Dumbledore glanced down at the page once more, then closed the book and set it down on the chair beside him, raising his wand then lowering it slightly, rotating it in a half-circle.
"Kuru," he murmured, gazing through the upper window at the long rays of the sun shining into the room. "Eruseen, nosse, leneeme tulta enta!"
There was a whooshing noise like wind, but Mcgonagall felt nothing. She blinked in surprise behind her glasses, starting up against the wall as a tall, lithe figure with long hair appeared suddenly in the middle of the room. As he looked at her, she saw that he looked like a young man, though the impression he immediately exuded was that of an old and deliberate being. He stared in questioning surprise and alarm.
Instantly, there was another gust, and another tall being, this one with a beard and a hardened face, appeared next to him. The long-haired man clamped his hand onto the other one's shoulder, and he turned to him.
Dumbledore cleared his throat again. The two looked at him in unison.
The one with the beard stepped forward.
"What is the meaning of this?" he snapped, glaring in suspicious disbelief at Mcgonagall then at Dumbledore, who returned his look patiently.
As the man ended his sentence, there were several more whirring noises, coming quickly, overlapping in succession. Before Mcgonagall knew it, there were, indeed, nine beings, several of them tall, several of them quite tall, and several of them as short as first-year students. They all looked very confused, some a little frightened, and none of them of them looked like they were pleased with their sudden change of atmosphere.
Dumbledore swept his hands forward and several chairs from around the room mimicked the movement, inching forward to be closer to the beings, who shrank back.
"Don't be alarmed," Dumbledore spoke kindly. "It is an invitation to sit down, only. I think you all deserve an explanation."
~~~End of Part 1~~~
