Sorry for the long delay. This is my first fanfic and I have my hands full with an almost 4 year old and an almost 1 year old plus suffering from fatigue issues, so please don't be mad at me! I know, being a reader myself, I hate to wait so long for updates, so I promise I will try to make sure that I update more frequently! Thanks to all who reviewed and are following-I love happy reviews so please keep them coming! Also, I do not own any of the characters or the Hobbit (just the AU storyline) those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reull Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.

Unbeknownst to Bilbo, there was one small window that he had forgotten to lock. It was in his guest bedroom, and he had briefly cracked it open two weeks prior while dusting the room, as it had not been used for a while and the amount of dust was making his nose run and eyes water. He had of course intended to close the window and lock it that evening after the dust had settled and the room had aired out, but had completely forgotten about it. He was usually more careful, but when he had started going toward the guest bedroom to do it, an unexpected knock from a peddler at the door had disrupted his course and he had been forced into trying to convince a rather stubborn dwarf peddler that no he did NOT need swords, or knives, or axes, or whetstones or trinkets or anything else that the tenacious dwarf had presented him.

The dwarf was aghast that he hadn't seen any sort of weapon on the wall in Bilbo's living room, and when he had presented his wares, he simply could not believe that Bilbo possessed little more weaponry than the knife block in his kitchen. So of course, being a dwarf, who's people as a rule not only made beautiful and exquisite jewelry and trinkets, but were among the best weaponsmiths in the entirety of Middle-earth, could not perceive that anyone, especially someone so small as a hobbit, would have absolutely no use for a weapon. The peddler had taken an hour to try and convince Bilbo that he had needed something, ANYTHING, to protect himself or at the very least hunt with or chop wood with (to which Bilbo responded that he had a small chopping axe and it sufficed VERY well thank you! And showed it to the dwarf who, needless to say, was VERY unimpressed by the tiny wooden handled iron headed axe and proceeded to try and sell a highly decorative, much sharper, much heavier (and more battle worthy) axe to him, but ceased when Bilbo couldn't possibly lift the thing more than an inch off the floor no matter how he strained and grew red in the face).

Finally, the dwarf relented and left, seeing that the hobbit was very much against the idea of a weapon (and seemed convinced that the hobbit wouldn't know what to do with a weapon even if he had bothered to buy one in the first place). In that hour, Bilbo had quite forgotten about the window and the guest room entirely, and never paid it a second thought.

Lobelia hadn't been able to sleep that night. For whatever reason, she had tossed and turned, doing everything she could think of to get to sleep but nothing worked. So she had gotten up and walked around in her front garden, hoping that the brief respite would help ease whatever was keeping her awake and allowing her a decent nights rest. Goodness knows she needed it!

That stubborn Bilbo Baggins was far more tenacious than she had given him credit for. She almost couldn't believe that he had been able to stand her crack of dawn and evening interruptions-especially since it was well known that Bilbo Baggins was NOT a morning person. So, being the crafty and devious hobbit she was, she had purposely gotten up every day while it was still dark (an impressive feat given that the days were getting longer), so to be sure that she knocked on his door PRECISELY at dawn. And all it had seemed to do was mess with her sleep patterns and make her even more grumpy and tired and irritable than usual.

Now, as she lazily wandered her garden under the full moon, her gaze wandered up to the coveted Bag End. She dismissed the sight with a loud huff and went to reach for the doorknob in the middle of her front door when she froze.

Something wasn't right. She looked back up at Bag End and noticed that the lamps that illuminated the door were out.

Strange, she thought to herself, Bilbo always leaves them on through the night. Not very practical if you ask me-just a waste of expensive lamp oil that is. But her curiosity (and the annoying fact that she was more than wide awake now), led her to return into her house and exchange her nightgown for her darkest dress and cloak. If one was to go, say, explore a hobbit hole in the middle of the night, one shouldn't be seen by the shirriffs. It would give quite the most interesting explanation, she was sure.

She silently crept out of her hobbit gate and made her way up Bagshot Row until she was standing at the hobbit hole next to Bilbo's. She had heard some late nighters merrymaking in the Green Dragon down across the lake, so it must have only been about 9 or so in the evening, however, with her newfound habit of waking at 4 in the morning to bother Bilbo, she felt it to be much later than she had thought, and had realized almost too late that there were still some slightly drunken hobbits still staggering home from the Green Dragon (some far more drunk than others, she scoffed).

She had heard a hobbit carting a jug of what she could only assume to be ale (as hobbits have a keen interest in the brewing of ales and some even professed to have invented the art), and swiftly ducked behind a shrub. The drunk hobbit lazily ambled past her, completely oblivious to her presence, taking a swig from the massive (and from the sounds of it nearly empty) jug in his hands as he passed by Bag End. Looking around to make sure no one else was following, she got up from her hiding place and quick as lightning and much quieter than such, she slipped in Bilbo's gate and stood upon his front porch.

She reached out and felt the cold lamps that she had seen unlit from her front yard, and saw how they were emptied of oil as well. She realized that Bilbo must not have turned them on that evening at all. She peered suspiciously into the windows next to the door, and found the house to be very quiet and undisturbed. She didn't notice a strange symbol glowing down toward the bottom of the door, her interest having been taken by the cold lamps above.

She was puzzled, that is, until she remembered having seen Bilbo from a distance at the market two days ago. He had purchased a leather pack and as he handed the coins, he had glanced up at her before taking off as though a dragon itself was chasing him, ducking into the crowds before she could reach him and give him another tongue lashing about Bag End. She suddenly realized that he had bought a travelling pack, and a smile slowly crept up on her face.

So that's it then, she thought smugly. He thinks he can get away from me by slipping away in the middle of the night. Well, he won't get away from me so easily. I think I will see if I can find a way in and find out where exactly he has gone. Perhaps even help myself to some of those enticing little trinkets of his. It really isn't fair how he had all this wealth handed to him just because his father had had a very advantageous match with one of those rich and foolish Tooks. Very improper for a Took woman to stoop so low as to marry a Baggins. I doubt Old Bungo would have even bothered to even look at that ugly lass if she hadn't had so much money to her name. Tsk, men!

Lobelia seemed to conveniently forget that she was distantly related to Baggins as well, though she most certainly did not forget that she was close enough kin to Bilbo to be able to claim Bag End should anything happen to him, or she drove him so out of his mind that he begged her to take it from him and leave Hobbiton.

As she rounded the house, checking every door and window and finding them locked, she was beginning to get discouraged and more than a little infuriated at the owner of said hobbit hole, for hobbits as a rule don't often lock their doors, except in Buckland and on the borders of the Shire, but the proximity of the Old Forest had made such a move necessary, as did the unsavory characters that often inhabited the areas around the Shire borders.

Suddenly she found a small window cracked open. She almost squealed like a young hobbit lass at the lucky discovery before realizing that it would give her away instantly, as the sound would be sure to carry all the way across the water in the relative quiet around the hobbit holes. Instead, she pushed the window open and had to climb in a very unladylike manner to get into the window. She felt certain that had any hobbit lads been around, she would have given them a very good show of her behind under her skirt, especially as she steadied her hands on a small table inside the window, only for it to buckle underneath her sending her legs flying up and ankles smacking the top edge of the window, yelping as she fell into the room in an undignified heap.

Slowly getting up and smoothing her dress, she huffed and thought the most unpleasant (and colorful) thoughts about a certain hobbit who by now was resting comfortably in his cousin's home snoring to beat the band and content in the knowledge that he would be able to sleep in on the morrow without a contemptuous hobbit woman banging on his door. She closed the window and fumbled around for a candle and match.

Her search in the spare bedroom was in vain, so she felt along the walls until she came into the kitchen. The moon shone directly in the window, and she was able to find a candle and the matches (having discovered the matches in the silverware drawer during a spoon pilfering a few years back) and was able to light the candles in the kitchen and Bag End. She decided after a few minutes that she would light the front door too, because a dark front door would indicate to everyone that Bilbo was gone, and since he hadn't taken any trips since his parent's death 18 years prior, she knew that there would be less attention and suspicion on the house if it was lit like normal and not dark. She felt as though as long as she didn't show herself too much in the windows and used her cloak to hide her face as she lit the lamps outside that none would be the wiser.

Having done so, she suddenly realized that she was a tad bit hungry. Apparently, breaking and entering a hobbit hole and nearly killing oneself falling through a window in the process made one's appetite go up. Either that, or the simple explanation that she was a hobbit, who as a race tend to eat twelve meals a day, and hadn't eaten since she went to bed three hours prior, led her to search the three pantries that Bilbo had for something that would make a decent evening meal, er, snack.

Bilbo, of course, had thought of his departure, and made sure that no spoiling food would be present upon his return, however, like the spare bedroom, he had intended to clean out his pantries and give the food to his gardener after he closed the spare bedroom window, but like with that, had completely forgotten to do so after being so flustered by his peddler visitor. So one of his pantries was still packed to the brim and had plenty of food.

Lobelia located a trout as well as some potatoes and carrots, and set about cooking herself a second supper (or perhaps midnight snack, but then again she had been going to bed so early that it was not midnight at all, but according to her stomach that would have been about right so she went with that anyway). While the trout was sizzling in the skillet, she set about slicing a lemon and gathering some salt and honey and biscuits.

The fire crackling as she used the spatula to place the trout on her plate, she tucked a napkin into her dress (having hung her cloak up on one of the pegs by the door) and began to adorn the fish with squeezed lemon juice, all the while making herself perfectly at home. As she squeezed the lemon, she closed her eyes and imagined as though this beautiful home was hers and hers alone. She smiled evilly at the thought.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of the doorbell ringing. She opened her eyes suddenly, very confused. For half a second she didn't move, the lemon juice from the wedge in her hand all spent. Then she quickly sat up and smoothed her dress and hoped that it wasn't one of her hobbit neighbors, or heaven forbid, the Shirriffs, and as she strode toward the door, she dared to hope that it was simply a drunk hobbit who had gotten the wrong hole, and would hopefully be none the wiser as she shooed him away and hoped that he wouldn't remember a thing about it in the morning.

So needless to say she was very surprised to see a large bald dwarf at the door. Her look of surprise was quickly masked as she realized that this dwarf couldn't possibly know her from Bilbo, as she had never seen this dwarf in the Shire before, and of the few dwarves she had seen, Bilbo generally had made a huge effort to avoid them at all costs. So the odds of this one being a good friend of Bilbo's was about as good as a two headed sheep flying through the sky. She had a general dislike for dwarves anyway, being the wandering, boisterous folk they were, and so merely put on her "Lobelia" stare and crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at the large dwarf.