Chapter Four
When Harry came to, he tried to sit up, but immediately fell back, exhausted. His arms and legs felt as if all the strength had been squeezed out of them. Looking around, he found himself in the school's infirmary.
He was not alone. The room was filled with students sitting or laying in beds, nursing bloody noses or bruised heads, sprained and twisted ankles and shoulders, or just looking disheveled or shaken up. Harry looked around for Ron or Hermione, worrying whether they were injured as well, but neither of them seemed to be in the room.
In the bed next to him, however, lay Dean Thomas; Harry saw that he had a black eye, and the left side of his face looked puffy. He was grimacing in pain, having evidently woken up about the same time Harry did.
"Dean!" Harry exclaimed. "What happened?"
"Oh, hey Harry," Dean looked around at him, mumbling thickly through bruised lips. "Great job beating that Muggle earlier, by the way!"
"Thanks," Harry said automatically, still anxious to find out what had happened to Dean and the others. "It looks like you were in a fight." He looked around at the rest of the infirmary. "Like a lot of people were in a fight, really."
"We were!" Dean said, becoming suddenly alert. The tall Black boy swung his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned toward Harry. He spoke in low tones, so that Harry had to lean close, to hear him. "It was the strangest bleedin' fight I've ever been in, Harry. No pun intended," he grinned suddenly. Harry smiled thinly, then nodded for him to continue.
"Well," Dean began, "After you fainted, me, Ron, and Seamus and Neville carried you up here to let Madam Pomfrey have a look at you. We just got you settled into bed when Hermione comes running in, telling Ron that there's two swordsmen fighting in the entrance hall!"
Harry blinked, surprised. "They'd been fighting in front of Hagrid's cabin when we left them. A man dressed all in black, and another one with long, black hair."
"That was them," Dean nodded. "But then things got weird…"
Harry looked at him curiously. "Two Muggles fighting with swords in the entrance hall, and then it gets weird?"
"Wait'll you hear," Dean promised. "The front doors open, and two more blokes come in, all dressed up in old knight's clothing. One of 'em's got two coconuts in his hands, and he's banging them together, to sound like a horse trotting!"
Harry stared at him, openmouthed.
"You see what I mean, then," Dean, noticing Harry's expression, pointed out. "But the other guy, now! He had a crown on his head, like a king, and a bloody big broadsword in his hand, and he says, 'I am Arthur, king of the Britons!' "
"Was he?" Harry, caught up in the story, asked automatically.
"I don't know!" Dean shrugged. "He obviously thought so, though, 'cause he jumped the first two guys an' started fighting them both."
"So what happened?" Harry wanted to know.
"Well, they both ran their swords through his shoulders and he dropped his sword," Dean continued. "So then he started trying to kick them, and they each stabbed him in the thigh and he fell down. Then he started crawling around trying to bite them on the ankles."
"And then," he went on, getting more and more agitated, "two more people ran in through the front doors and jumped halfway across the room to kick these two swordsmen on their prats!"
"Who are these, now?" Harry exclaimed, starting to get upset as he heard everything he'd missed.
"They didn't say," Dean shrugged. "It was a man and a woman, both of 'em dressed in black — the woman was all dressed in shiny leather, and they both had on these cool dark sunglasses. She was pretty hot, too, Harry," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows. Harry didn't say anything; Dean basically thought anything in a skirt and breathing was hot.
"Anyway," Dean went back to describing what happened, "I heard someone yell, 'Stop those two!' I thought it was Malfoy, stirring up trouble," Dean grumbled. "But then some idiot seventh-year Hufflepuffs tried to grab them, and the fight was on!
"Harry, it was bloody unbelievable," Dean marveled, shaking his head as he recalled what had happened. "They were swatting us down like flies. Even teachers couldn't touch 'em — Flitwick tried a Rope-Bind Charm and the guy just ran up the wall to dodge it! The fight spilled into the Great Hall and there was Stunners and Confundus spells flying around all over the place. But we couldn't touch those two!" Dean sat back at last, rubbing his bruised face.
"So how'd it end?" Harry asked at last.
Dean looked up at him. His eyes were wide with fear, Harry saw. "Harry," he said, his voice full of wonderment. "A dragon showed up!"
"A dragon!" Harry exclaimed. "What d'you mean, it showed up? What'd it do, fly in the front doors?"
"Uh, yeah!" Dean nodded excitedly. "That's exactly what it did! Broke right through the front doors and came charging into the Great Hall, roaring 'Draco's here!' and that it was looking for some bloke name Einon."
"It could talk?" Harry blurted, dumfounded. "And — it said its name was 'Draco'?!"
"I know — I thought for a second that Malfoy had become an Animagus, but then I saw him running dead fast out through the teachers' exit," Dean shook his head. "I thought we was all goners, but those two Muggles started fighting the dragon. We all beat it out of there, and we — those of us with injuries — came to the infirmary. Dunno where anyone else is right now…"
Dean didn't say anything else for a few moments, and Harry tried to get his head around what his fellow Gryffindor was telling him. All day now, strange, unnatural Muggles had been showing up at Hogwarts, along with weird reports from around the world of fights breaking out among wizards and Muggles alike. Dumbledore and several other teachers had gone to investigate, but it hadn't prevented things from happening here. Harry was beginning to worry whether they would make it back.
"Have you seen Ron and Hermione?" Harry finally asked Dean, who was still sitting motionless, expressions of concern, uncertainty and perhaps fear playing across his face. Dean looked up at him, jolted out of his reverie.
"Uh, they were in the entrance hall when the big fight started with the two Muggles," he mumbled, trying to remember. "I remember Hermione trying to cast a Confundus Charm. I don't remember seeing them after that."
Harry stood. Some of his strength had returned, though he wobbled a bit, still shaky from lingering effects of the iocane powder, even though the bezoar had saved his life. "I've got to find them," he said to Dean, looking around for and finding his wand on the table beside his bed. "We've got to do something about whatever's been going on with all these strange Muggles today."
"Those two Muggles mopped up the place with us, Harry!" Dean protested, though he didn't stand to try and stop him. "And I dunno what we're gonna do against a bloody dragon!"
Truth be told, neither did Harry. That was the basic flaw in his plan — he didn't have one. But it was better than lying around waiting for something to happen. "I'll figure that out when we get to it," he said, vaguely. Harry turned to go, but stopped and looked back at Dean.
"I see some of us from Dumbledore's Army in here," he said quietly, as Dean looked around, nodding as he recognized them, too. "You should get Madam Pomfrey to magically lock and brace the infirmary doors as best she can, and don't let anyone in unless they can answer a question only they would know." He and Dean gave each other a final nod, and Harry slipped out of the infirmary and into the corridor outside.
There was an obvious solution to figuring out where Ron and Hermione were, if they were still at Hogwarts, and Harry planned to use it. Taking his Invisibility Cloak out again, he threw it over himself then hurried up to the seventh floor where the entrance to the Gryffindor common room was located. He gave the password while still invisible, startling the Fat Lady rather severely; however, she was persuaded by the familiarity of his voice to allow him entrance. Up in his dormitory, he rummaged through his trunk, finding the folded piece of parchment hidden within it: the Marauder's Map. Given to him in his third year by Fred and George Weasley, it showed Hogwarts and the grounds surrounding it, along with the location of every student, every teacher, every ghost within its range. Tapping it with his wand, Harry muttered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," and anxiously went over the names appearing on it along with the diagrams of the castle, looking for Ron and Hermione. But he could not find them.
"Where could they be?" Harry muttered to himself, irritated that he couldn't find them on the Map. He did not want to consider the alternative — the Map would not show anyone who was — dead.
"That's no way to think," he told himself. He started to pace the room, racking his brain, trying to think of a spell he could use to find them. Too bad he couldn't use the Patronus Charm to find them; he'd seen Tonks send a message to the castle after she'd rescued him from the Hogwarts Express, after Malfoy had frozen him and left him under his Invisibility Cloak with his nose broken.
But wait a minute! Why couldn't he use the Patronus Charm, Harry argued to himself. Tonks had intended her Patronus to reach Hagrid at the beginning of year feast, but Hagrid had been late to the feast, so someone else there had gotten the message — unfortunately, it had been Snape. But if he sent his Patronus specifically to find Ron or Hermione, maybe it would go directly to them, wherever they were!
Pulling out his wand, Harry concentrated on Ron and Hermione, then said loudly, "Expecto Patronum!" A silvery-white stag formed in front of him, then trotted through the door of the dormitory and down the staircase, with Harry close behind it. The Patronus moved slowly enough for Harry to follow it, as he'd hoped.
He followed along several corridors on the seventh floor, finally passing a large vase and window near a corner, then entering a long corridor where the Patronus paused, pawing the floor and dipping its antlers toward the wall. Harry realized two things: first, that Ron and Hermione were probably beyond the wall; and second, upon seeing the large tapestry on the wall opposite, of Barnabas the Barmy trying to train trolls to dance ballet, that they were in the Room of Requirement. No wonder he hadn't found them on the Map, Harry realized — it probably didn't work when someone was in there, since the Room of Requirement had never shown up on the Marauder's Map!
"Go on," Harry nodded to his Patronus. "Tell them I'm here." The Patronus turned and leapt through the wall, disappearing from view. Harry waited anxiously for a minute or so, before a door finally appeared on the wall and it opened, disgorging an excited Hermione and Ron.
"Thank goodness you're okay!" Hermione exclaimed, hugging Harry quickly then stepping back to examine him critically. "You are okay, aren't you, Harry?"
"Course I am," Harry said bracingly, though he still felt tired and somewhat weak. He suddenly caught the scent of something like butterbeer on Hermione's breath. "What's up with you two?"
Hermione and Ron looked at each other, hesitating, and Harry suddenly got a strange feeling. "You two didn't — didn't nip into the Room of Requirement for a snog or —"
"Harry!" Hermione looked scandalized. "What would we be doing that for?"
Harry gave an annoyed shrug as he looked at Ron, who was giving him a guilty-looking grin. "Oh, I dunno," he said, irritably. "It's just that all your friends are getting the crap beat out of them, and you're up here doing bloody knows what —"
"You better come in and see this, Harry," Ron cut over him, pointing toward the door. "You won't believe it."
Wordlessly, Harry followed the pair into the Room of Requirement. Inside, he looked around in surprise; he'd never seen the room in such a state as it was now. It was almost cozy. There was a small table and several chairs, hardly big enough for a child to sit in, and some chintz chairs of similar size. There was a fireplace with a small fire crackling pleasantly. There was another smoky aroma in the air as well, one that reminded him of tobacco. On the table he could see four pewter flagons, all filled with a brown liquid that couldn't be butterbeer, though he could detect the smell of alcohol from them.
None of this, however, compared to the surprise he felt as he beheld two tiny men, both of them staring at him with wary eyes, sitting at the table. Neither of them, Harry imagined, could stand much higher the four feet tall, even on tiptoes — and, Harry now realized, their feet seemed too large, and were covered with a mat of hair on the instep. "Who — who are you?" Harry finally asked.
"And who might you be," the lighter-haired of the pair spoke up at once.
"He's Harry Potter," Hermione broke in, trying to keep the conversation cordial. "He's the one Ron and I spoke of earlier."
The one who'd spoken up before nodded, then said, "I'm Sam — Samwise Gamgee, at your service. And this here —" he gestured to his companion "— is Mr. Frodo Baggins, former owner of Bag End, of the Shire."
The two small men looked closely at Harry, and he at them. Both of them, it seemed to him, looked like children, both in stature and in features — their faces were those of young men, though the one who'd called himself "Samwise" was holding a long-stemmed pipe, the source of the tobacco aroma Harry had smelled.
"What — what are you doing here?" Harry asked. It was the only question he could think of.
Sam looked embarrassed to say. "Don't rightly know," he finally admitted, with a shrug. "We were heading to —" a look passed between him and his companion; Harry thought he detected the slightest shake of the other's head "— er, to our destination when we found ourselves near a great gate set with flying pigs on either side.
"Well, I says to Mister Frodo here, I says, 'Blamed if anyone who puts pigs on their gate, even flying ones, could be bad company. I think we should pay them a call and see if they can tell us where we are.'
"When we got to the front door, however," the other man took up the story. His voice had a haunted quality about it, as if he were carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders. "We realized that things were very wrong. We were not in our own lands anymore. There was a fantastic fight going on inside the front doors of this castle, with beings we had never seen before."
"An' we've seen some mighty fantastic beasts, let me tell you!" Sam added, emphatically. He started to say more, but the other one, Frodo, interrupted him.
"We don't know where we are now," he said, looking at the three Gryffindors, "but we need to find our way back home as soon as we can. We have urgent business to take care of."
Harry looked at Hermione, then Ron. Neither of them looked as if they had the least idea where this "Shire" the two little men spoke of was, much less how to get them there. "I'm sorry, we don't know how to help you do that."
"Your friends tells us that you are a wizard," the one called Frodo said, his eyes wary yet full of hope. Harry nodded. "Perhaps you know, or have heard of another wizard — one called Gandalf."
"No." Harry looked at Hermione, then Ron, but he knew their answers would be the same as his. "Who is he?"
"He's helping us defeat the Dark Lord —" Sam stopped as Frodo suddenly gripped his arm.
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at one another, amazed. "How do you know about the Dark Lord?" Ron burst out.
Frodo, who had up 'til now been reluctant to speak, said, "We've been trying to stop him from returning to power for a long time now. He has been gathering forces; before long, it will be too late to stop him. We must get back home, and destroy what he is trying to obtain, in order to stop him."
"What is he trying to obtain?" Hermione asked.
Frodo looked up at her, then at Sam, who studied them all very carefully for what seemed like a long time. "I think we should tell them, Mister Frodo," he said at last. "They been kindly to us, for men-beings, and don't seem the type to be on the Dark Lord's side."
"Bloody well right about that!" Ron agreed forcefully.
In reply, Frodo reached under his shirt, pulling up on a silver chain until the end appeared. Dangling upon the end of the chain was a golden ring. It glittered in the light of the fireplace, and each of the Gryffindors held their breath upon seeing its simple beauty. It seemed mesmerizing, drawing them in. Harry put out a hand to touch it —
"No!" Frodo said sharply, backing away. "No one can touch it but me! It has destroyed the lives of many people, over thousands of years!"
"How can that be?" Harry said, confused. "Voldemort has not been alive for even one hundred years!"
"Who?" Sam was looking at them in confusion.
"We don't know any Voldemort," Frodo said, shaking his head. He still kept his distance from them. "This is Sauron's ring."
"Sauron?" Hermione repeated. "I've never heard of a Dark Lord named Sauron."
"He has been the Master of Mordor for thousands of years," Frodo said solemnly. He was defeated by Isildur, who cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand, forcing his spirit to leave his body and hide in wastelands."
Like Voldemort hid in Romania, after his body was destroyed, Harry thought.
Frodo pointed to the ring on the chain. This is the One Ring, the ring that Sauron's spirit is tied to, the ring that will make him whole again, and allow him to rule the Middle World. To stop him, I must return the Ring to Mount Doom, to cast it into the fires from whence it came, and destroy it. Only that will break Sauron's power."
Harry took out his wand. "I don't know if we can help you get home," he told Frodo, "but I know someone who can, if anyone can." He turned toward the door and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" A silvery stag erupted from the tip of his wand and charged into, and through, the door to the Room of Requirement.
"What did you do, Harry?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
"I sent my Patronus to find Professor Dumbledore," he replied, "and tell him we need him back here." He looked at Frodo and Sam. "It's pretty obvious that Sauron isn't Voldemort," he told them, "but if you're here, it may mean that others from your world are here as well; if Sauron is as powerful as you say, we will need all the help we can get to stop him, if he comes for that Ring."
Ron and Hermione paled, and the two small men nodded, seeing the wisdom in Harry's words. "So what do we do now?" Ron, now agitated, asked. "Sit tight here, or go tell Flitwick we've sent for Dumbledore?"
Suddenly the room filled with a brilliant light. All of them shielded their eyes from the form that had appeared at the door, lessening in brightness as it settled to the floor. Harry could see that it was a phoenix, much like Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet, though it was silver instead of the characteristic red and gold of the phoenix's natural plumage. Looking up at him, the phoenix said calmly in Dumbledore's voice, "Harry, would you and your friends join us in the Great Hall as soon as possible, please?" The phoenix form then spread its wings as if to fly, but instead vanished on the spot.
"I guess that answers that question," Harry said, diffidently. The two little men were looking at each other, clearly amazed to see such a beast talking. "Professor Dumbledore is waiting for us downstairs," he told them. "He'll be able to help you. I hope," he added, almost under his breath, as the two diminutive fellows gathered up their belongings and followed them out into the corridors of the caslte.
Within a few minutes they were walking down the main staircase into the entrance hall. Ron and Hermione were pointing toward the great doors leading outside. "The dragon ripped them right off the hinges, Harry," Ron informed him, though Harry already knew that from Dean, of course. "We never even got around mentioning that to you!"
"I heard about it," Harry said, looking around as they entered the Great Hall. It, too, had been quickly repaired; the doors were back on their hinges and the Gryffindor table seemed to be in one piece again. Except for the trio and their two guests, however, the room was empty — except for the High Table, at the top of the room, where several familiar faces awaited them. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape were seated at the table — the Headmaster in his customary spot at the center, with McGonagall on his right and Snape on his left.
Dumbledore, as usual, wore a calm, encouraging smile for them, but McGonagall and Snape's expressions were more stern. "What could have been so important that you needed to call us back," McGonagall began, severely. "And who are those two first-years with you? I don't recognize them."
"They aren't first-years, Professor," Harry said quietly, as the five of them approached the High Table. "They're our guests, here from a place they call the Shire, in the Middle World."
McGonagall's eyes widened in surprise, while Snape's narrowed. Dumbledore's expression had not changed, except to smile a bit more as the two little men stepped forward to greet them.
"P-please, sir," Sam said, with a small, nervous bow toward Dumbledore. "I'm Samwise Gamgee, of the Shire, and this gentleman is Mister Frodo Baggins. We don't rightly know how we got here, but we need to get back home. See, we —"
"You have an important mission to complete," Dumbledore said, softly. "To return to Mordor and destroy the One Ring, Sauron's ring, in Mount Doom."
Every head in the room turned to Dumbledore in surprise. "Albus, how do you know these things?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Have you met these — these —"
"They are called 'hobbits,' Minerva," Dumbledore told her. "And no — until this moment I've never set eyes upon these two gentlemen." He stood and walked to the door in the southeast corner of the Hall. "I have, however, had the opportunity to have an interesting chat with these two young men." He opened the door, revealing two more of the half-sized men waiting behind it. They walked cautiously into the room at first, unsure of what they would find there, until upon seeing Frodo and Sam they whooped with joy and ran forward, embracing them.
"Merry!" "Pippin!" the two beside Harry exclaimed as they rushed forward. He saw that the taller of the two new little men, or "hobbits," as Dumbledore had called them, had light brown hair and a cheerful yet intelligent look upon his face. Harry gathered his name was "Merry," as he greeted Frodo and Sam enthusiastically, yet stood aside to let his companion, who seemed younger and more exuberant, do the lion's share of telling them what had happened. The younger hobbit, called "Pippin," by the others, had a head of golden, curly hair, and was chattering excitedly about meeting the great wizard, Professor Dumbledore, in a land far away, and how they'd traveled here in the wink of an eye.
Catching Harry's eye, Dumbledore turned to Snape and said, "Severus, will you and Professor McGonagall entertain our guests, please, while I have a word with Mr. Potter and his companions? Minerva, may I borrow your office for a few minutes?"
"Of course, Albus." Leaving a chagrinned Snape staring after him in disbelief, Dumbledore led the trio up to the first floor and along the corridor to McGonagall's office. When he tried the door, however, he found it locked.
"Ah, I almost forgot," Dumbledore said, taking out his wand and tapping the handle. He paused for a moment, looking at the door curiously, then opened it, ushered them inside, and shut it again behind them. As the trio watched, Dumbledore made several passes of his wand in front of the door before seating himself in McGonagall's chair. Harry couldn't help but look back at the door with a bit of apprehension; the headmaster had obviously done much more to the door than simply relock it.
"A bit of precaution, Harry," Dumbledore said, seeing Harry's look. "The information I am about to divulge should only be heard by you three." Dumbledore steepled his hands in front of him on the desk, then began.
"I had intended for you to learn this over the course of your sixth year, Harry," he said, his voice becoming more serious than Harry had heard it in a long time. "But the events of the day have made it necessary to accelerate your learning.
"I met the two young hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, in a forest in Romania. It is perhaps a coincidence that it was the same forest where Lord Voldemort spent much of his exile in the years after your parents' death and the destruction of his body. When I met them, they mistook me for another, a wizard they said was called 'Gandalf' — a person of no mean ability, to judge from their description of him."
"They mentioned a Gandalf to us as well, sir," Harry said. "But the name is unfamiliar to us."
"Undoubtedly," Dumbledore concurred, "since he does not belong to this world."
"But what can we do?" Hermione asked. "There is no magic known that can move wizard-kind between worlds."
"That is not precisely true, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, though his gaze remained on Harry. "Have any of you ever heard of a…Horcrux?"
Harry and Ron looked at each other, then at Hermione. She slowly shook her head. "What is it, Professor?"
"It is a…most unpleasant example of Dark magic," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy. "I am not surprised that none of you have heard mention of it — there is almost no mention of it in all of the Library at Hogwarts, not even in the Restricted section." When Hermione looked surprised at this fact, Dumbledore added, "That was by my design, Miss Granger. I saw no reason for students to come by its knowledge easily, as some have in the past."
"So what is it?" Ron asked, voicing the obvious question.
Dumbledore smiled. "Succinct, and to the point, Mr. Weasley. The answer may not be so brief, though it does not require much to tell of one. A Horcrux is an object enchanted to hold a fragment of a wizard's soul."
"A fragment?" Harry echoed, as Hermione gasped. Both he and Ron looked at her quizzically. She looked from them to Dumbledore, her lips trembling.
"Harry," she said finally, her voice so subdued he could barely make out what she said. "A soul can only be divided by the act of murder."
"Murder?" Ron gasped. "D'you mean You-Know-Who had to kill someone to make one of these Horcruxes?"
"Quite so," Dumbledore said, his voice as quiet as Hermione's. "A fragment of soul, thus torn, may be placed in an object prepared to hold it. Once done, while that object survives, the soul is protected from dying. And, so is every other part of the soul."
Harry went cold as he understood Dumbledore's meaning. "That's why Voldemort didn't die when the Killing Curse rebounded from me and hit him!" he exclaimed.
Dumbledore nodded. "In tandem with the ancient protection your mother died placing on you, it utterly destroyed his body, but could not destroy the immaterial part of him. That is why he survived, and how he was able to reconstitute himself last year."
Hermione had been thinking hard. "So if this Horcrux keeps his soul bound to earth," she said, reasoning it out. "Then destroying it will allow him to be killed, won't it?"
"Excellent deduction, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, and Hermione blushed, pleased to be praised by the headmaster. "However," he went on, "it will not be quite as simple as that, since I believe Voldemort made more than one Horcrux."
"More than one?" Harry said, stunned, and Ron and Hermione looked at each other, horrified at what that thought implied. "How many?"
"Since it is well-known that seven is the most powerful number, magically, I believe that he divided his soul seven ways," Dumbledore said flatly.
"He created seven of these things?" Harry said, incredulous.
"Six, actually," Dumbledore corrected him. "Those, and the fragment of soul still in his body, would mean it was divided seven ways. Until all of those Horcruxes are found, and destroyed, Lord Voldemort cannot be permanently killed. I have undertaken, these past several years, to learn all that I could about Voldemort's history, in order to determine what objects he might have used to create these Horcruxes and where he might have hidden them."
"Have you found any, sir?" Harry asked quickly, hoping that Dumbledore had already found them. In reply, Dumbledore extended his right hand, the one that had somehow been blackened and shriveled. On it, Harry could see a ring. It was the same ring the professor had been wearing when they visited Professor Slughorn, after leaving Privet Drive.
"This ring," Dumbledore said, holding it so each of them could see it clearly, "was one of the first Horcruxes created by Tom Riddle, the young man who grew up to become Lord Voldemort. I have since destroyed the Horcrux, releasing the soul within." Harry could see that the black stone set into the crudely-made ring was cracked.
"Did the ring crack when you destroyed it, sir?" he asked.
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Unfortunately, the ring also carried a curse for anyone trying to put it on, except a pure-blood descendent of Salazar Slytherin."
"Did you try to put it on, Professor?" Hermione asked, surprised. "Why?"
But Dumbledore seemed not to have heard her. "You also destroyed a Horcrux, Harry," he said. "Though you may not have realized it at the time."
Harry, looking startled, asked "When was that?"
"When you destroyed Tom Riddle's diary. It was that diary that confirmed for me the theory that Tom had divided his soul, though I did not suspect that he had created more than one Horcrux until you recalled his boast, in the Little Hangleton graveyard, that he had gone further than any other wizard along the path to immortality."
Hermione had been looking pensive for several moments. "Professor, do you think there is a connection between this ring and the one the hobbits have?"
Dumbledore favored her with a small, pleased smile. "Excellent question, Miss Granger! But, I must admit, I do not believe there is a direct connection between the two." As Hermione blushed, his expression sobered. "However, if Voldemort has encountered anyone else from the lands of Middle-earth, as Frodo and his friends call it, then he may have learned of the One Ring as well, and may wish to possess it for his own gain."
"But what use could such a ring be to him?" Hermione wondered.
"Perhaps none," Dumbledore said with a small shrug. "But it may be sufficient to him that another 'Dark Lord' once possessed it. Tom confuses power with knowledge — for him, it is not about understanding, it is about control."
Dumbledore was about to speak further when suddenly, a silver figure passed through the door of his office and leaped onto the desk in front of him. It was a Patronus, in the shape of a cat, and it spoke to Dumbledore urgently in McGonagall's voice.
"Albus, come quickly," the Patronus said. "We are being attacked! The Great Hall!" The cat jumped back to the floor and ran out the way it had come in. Harry leaped to his feet as well, along with Ron and Hermione, but even so, Dumbledore had gained his feet and was moving quickly — but not to the door.
Snatching an item off his desk, an oddly-shaped trinket that resembled a corkscrew made from a red, shiny substance, Dumbledore tapped it with his wand. The trinket trembled for a moment and glowed blue; Harry knew that the professor had turned it into a Portkey. "We'll be landing in the entrance hall," Dumbledore said quickly, holding the item so they could each touch it. Harry and Hermione each immediately put a finger on it. "Quickly, now, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore added; Ron had given him a look of trepidation, but he reached out and touched it as well. "And three — two — one — now —"
There was the sensation of being grabbed behind the navel by a hook, of colors swirling madly around them, and almost immediately they were in the entrance hall, staggering as their feet hit the floor hard. Dumbledore was facing directly away from the doors to the Great Hall, and as the three of them started that way he spread out his arms, stopping them.
"The three of you stay out here," he said quickly in a low voice. "If anyone attacks you, try to get away, but don't hesitate to defend yourself." He turned and moved quickly to the doors of the Hall, which had been thrown open. Harry and the others stared in shock at what they saw: the Great Hall was burning.
Flames were roaring around the entrance to the Hall, nearly obscuring it, but Dumbledore passed through them without breaking stride, and out of view. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other for only a moment before racing forward, to nearly the edge of the flames. As they did, the flames died down and parted, and they burst into the Great Hall.
It was once again in shambles, and now a smoky ruin to boot. The four House tables had been crumpled against either wall, and were still smoldering, though only a few fires were still burning among the wreckage. In the center of the hall stood an old man, dressed in white and wielding a long, white staff, a staff that was now blazing forth with white-hot flames that surged around Dumbledore, who was standing his ground forty feet away, directly in front of them.
"Gandalf, NOO!" One of the hobbits — Harry saw through the smoke now beginning to fill the room that it was Frodo, standing over the fallen figure of Professor McGonagall, who was calling out to the man who'd unleashed a hell-like fury at the Hogwarts Headmaster. The other hobbits, Harry saw, were cowering behind the chairs of the High Table.
But Gandalf — if that was who the white-robed wizard was — paid no heed to Frodo's word. Instead, he continued furiously attacking Dumbledore with bolts of white fire, bolts which Dumbledore deflected into the floor and ceiling of the Great Hall, leaving great gouges and scars. There was no expression on his face, Harry saw, except concentration. He was fully occupied with defending himself, and could not yet mount a counterattack.
Harry's wand came up automatically, pointing toward the white wizard, and he shouted, "Expelliarmus!" But though the bolt struck Galdalf's staff, it did not fly from his hand. Instead, it pointed toward them and a white-hot tongue of fire rushed toward them.
"Protego!" Hermione screamed, brandishing her wand before Harry could recover. The shield held as white-hot fire struck it, setting the doors of the Hall on fire again. At the same moment, Ron pulled out his wand as well, wanting to do something to help, but not knowing what.
Finally, he pointed his wand over the edge of Hermione's Shield Charm and shouted, "Aguamenti!" The stream of water hit Gandalf in the head, startling him, and the flames attacking Dumbledore ceased momentarily. A second later, at a gesture from Dumbledore's wand, the white staff flew from Gandalf's hand and was caught by the Hogwarts Headmaster.
Disarmed, the wizard stared fiercely at Dumbledore as he waved his wand a final time. The flames still burning in the Hall all died out, and Dumbledore regarded Gandalf calmly.
"Gandalf, we're fine!" Frodo was now running toward the white-robed figure, who turned to look at him. "They haven't harmed us!"
Gandalf bent down on one knee as Frodo reached him. They were now almost eye-to-eye. "Are you sure, Frodo?" he asked, his voice deep yet melodic, similar in a way to Dumbledore's but more powerful-sounding. "I've had some nasty business with a couple of these 'wizards' since coming here."
"They've been nothing but kind to us," Frodo averred. "They took us in and gave us drink and a place to rest, and they'd found Merry and Pippin as well!"
Dumbledore was approaching the pair, and as he reached them the white-robed wizard stood and regarded him. "I may have been a bit hasty in attacking you and your fellows upon my arrival here," he said, a bit awkwardly. "I have been terribly worried about what might have happened to Frodo and the others."
"Quite understandable," Dumbledore agreed, returning the white staff to Gandalf. "And no harm done. Or at least," he added, looking around smoldering walls and wreckage lying about, "nothing that's irreparable."
"Good news for all concerned," Snape, rising up from behind the Great Table, said sourly. Harry suppressed a laugh; much of Snape's long, greasy hair, as well as his eyebrows, had been singed off.
In short order the damage to the Great Hall and its contents were repaired, Professor McGonagall was revived, and Snape's hair and eyebrows were restored, although Harry wished Colin Creevy could have been there with his camera.
Dumbledore and Gandalf were seated together at the High Table, with the four hobbits seated behind Gandalf, while Harry, Ron and Hermione were next to Dumbledore, with Snape standing a short distance away, a look deep disfavor on his face. Professor McGonagall had gone, at Dumbledore's request, to the infirmary, to be checked out by Madam Pomfrey.
The two wizards were discussing how Gandalf had come to find himself in this world. Harry was struck, seeing them seated together, talking, how much alike the two men were: both had the appearance of age but seemed unusually spry; both had kindly eyes, though Dumbledore's were hidden somewhat behind his half-moon spectacles; both, Harry had noted, held great command over the magic of fire and light. Gandalf, even more so than Dumbledore, maintained the appearance of a wizard of light in his whitened raiment.
"It wasn't that difficult to escape the two who confronted me," Gandalf was saying to them, when Harry's attention returned to what he was saying. "Once I realized that their intention was not to reunite me with Frodo and Sam, but something much more sinister."
"I thought for a moment we were back in Fangorn, and that Mr. Dumbledore was Gandalf come to rescue us, when we first seen him," Pippin said, laughing. "Sam, where did you and Mister Frodo find yourself when you got here?"
"We were in a forest as well," Sam said, remembering. "But it were strange, because we were making our way up Cirith Ungol, with Gollum, and there was nothing very forest-y about that place."
Dumbledore looked at Sam with some interest. "Do you think you could take us to the place where you first found yourself, Mr. Gamgee?"
"I s'pose," Sam said, a bit uncertain. "But one bit of forest looks a lot like every other bit of it."
"I have every confidence in your ability," Dumbledore said, standing. Soon, the group was walking out the eastern exit of the castle, near the greenhouses, and heading toward the point they had exited the Forbidden Forest, which Sam remembered had been near a large above-ground house; evidently Hagrid's cabin.
"Not sure what good this is going to do," Harry heard Pippin mumble to Merry. "It's so close to dinner, it's hardly worth the trip 'til tomorrow."
As they neared the edge of the forest, however, the smell of burning wood alerted them to some problem. "Didn't see any smoke as we were walking up," Ron muttered to Harry. "Maybe it's just Hagrid's fireplace."
But there was no smoke coming from the cabin's chimney, and a few moments later Hagrid himself appeared, to the consternation of the hobbits.
"Troll!" both Merry and Pippin said, catching Sam's arms and pointing to the half-giant as he walked toward them.
"It's alright," Harry told them. "He's a friend, he's not a troll."
"If he's not a troll," Sam said, wonderingly, "he's the biggest man I've ever seen."
"He's a half-giant," Hermione said gently. "Some giants are two or three times as tall as Hagrid is."
"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid said, seeing the headmaster at the front of the group. "D'yeh smell that, too?"
"It seems to be coming from the forest, Hagrid," Dumbledore said in reply.
"Yeh, a bit worrisome, if you ask me," Hagrid said, then did a double-take as he saw the hobbits. "Who are these little fellows, then?"
"More visitors," Harry said.
Hagrid chuckled. "They ain't lookin' fer a fight, are they?" None of the hobbits came up much past Hagrid's knees.
"I could tie one hand behind me back, if it'd make you feel any better," Pippin quipped, looking up into Hagrid's face, a smile quirking at his lips.
"Nah, I'll pass," Hagrid said, laughing. "I'd be bloomin' embarrassed if yeh beat —"
There was a roar from the Forbidden Forest, a sound like some fierce beast. All heads turned toward it. After a moment, Galdalf moaned softly, "Oh, no."
"What is it," Dumbledore asked him. "Did you recognize that sound?"
"Yes," the white wizard said, heavily. "I thought I would never hear a sound like that again. The last time I did…I died."
"Died?" Ron said, startled.
Harry looked toward the forest, fearful of whatever it was that could kill a wizard like Gandalf, yet glad that, whatever it was, they would be able to face it together.
There was the sound of tearing in the darkness of the Forest, of trees being broken and the roar of flames, as a light began to penetrate from its depths. Then, suddenly, the trees along the edge burst apart, catching fire as a huge humanoid stepped into view, its deep red skin shrouded in smoke and darkness. It towered over the nearby trees, and over Hagrid's cabin. It might have been thirty feet tall, by Harry's reckoning.
"Oh my God!" Hermione gasped, covering her mouth to avoid shrieking. "What is that thing?!"
"That — is a Balrog," Gandalf said, his expression darkening with a growing anger. "A demon from the ancient days of my world."
"What — what does it want?" Ron whispered, aghast at the sight of it.
"Nothing more or less, I would say," Dumbledore surmised, "than to kill us all."