The wind was fierce that day as the three travelers plodded, scraped, and otherwise slunk steadfastly onward. Fierce enough to discourage the hearts of two of the travelers who — as they were only hobbits — would never fully be used to such ferocious and constantly changing weather. Their spirits were also dimmed for some unforseen happenstance had managed to invite itself into their lives the previous day, and what was once four had dwindled down to three . . . if one was to count Gollum, which the hobbits didn't. So really, it was only a meager two that now made up the company.
"What could have happened, Mr Frodo," Sam mumbled to his master as the unlikely trio eased their weary feet to a halt in front of the Dead Marshes. The endless expanse of rotted peat, foul water, and grey mist stretched before them like the plains of purgatory. Completing the picture were ominous black mountains pierced the horizon. Their hearts, amazingly, sank even lower.
It was Gollum who answered in his usual singsongery. "Flown away, she has. Flown away to her Master and deserted the hobbitses. Birds like she are tricksy —"
"I don't believe tha'!" Sam snarled, leaning menacingly forward. " Harry told her to stay put. She would never think about desertn' us!"
But Gollum only hissed and slithered like a serpent forward into the mist. The hobbits did not follow him, knowing that the creature was likely scouting the area before he would signal to them to follow.
"Perhaps she was hungry?" Frodo offered, his worn face saddening at the thought. "We could have fed her better, or given her more water. Perhaps that was why she left."
"But she feeds 'erself," Sam said in a tone meant to placate, but all it did was cause Frodo to feel even more horribly.
"Yes, Sam, but the rodents here are scarce. Oft times Hedwig would come back with nothing at all, if you remember."
"I'm not surprised. There's nothin' here in this dead land but more . . . dead. I'd like the sun to be shinin' at least. But Mr Frodo," Sam turned to the hobbit by his side and regarded him with soulful eyes," Hedwig, no matter how hungry, would never abandon us because of tha'. You don't need to go blamin' yourself. You have enough things to be thinkin' about now." He looked pointedly at Frodo's chest.
Frodo stiffened and clutched at his chest in response, an action that did not escape Sam's notice. But then the little hobbit seemed to ease. "You're right, Sam. You're right. And Hedwig will be back . . . later if not soon. But I cannot help thinking that perhaps Gollum may have had a point, at least for one thing. I believe something has happened to Harry. Only that would cause Hedwig to leave us. Did you notice how oddly she acted before disappearing?"
"Aye, she flew in circles up high near the clouds, as if . . . as if she were confused by somethin'."
"Yes, I noticed it also."
"But what could it be?" Sam wondered aloud.
Neither hobbit had an answer. Unfounded though their thoughts were, they could not help but feel that only some large misfortune could have taken Hedwig away . . . and what that then led their thoughts to . . . well, it was rather some time before they had calmed down at all.
A figure, bent and slippery, came at them through the mist. Gollum, his eyes alight with excitement, bounded forward, skidding to a stop at Frodo's feet. "Come, come, come," he sang in his raspy voice. "We's found the way! We thought we might have forgotten it at first, but the smell lingers, yes, yes, it does!"
Sam could not help but wonder if the smell Gollum was referring to was a remainder of his own stench after all this time. "Wonderful," the hobbit grouched. "More foul smells. If my nose don't fall off by the time we reach Mordor I'll seize my sword and do it m'self."
Frodo smiled for the first time in days. "Whatever will I do without you, Sam?"
"Grow bored, I expect," Sam said, but he wished he had a bit of grass to chew on. Or a weed. It had been so long since he'd tasted Longbottom leaf on his tongue. Or the Old Toby. Now there was a plant that lingered long after the pipe was put out for the night.
The hobbits, following Gollum, set forth.
Two days later they were still trudging on to the realisation that the Dead Marshes really were dead. Dead bodies lay in the water and Frodo had met with them at one point, almost drowning in the process. After that the hobbits kept their eyes to the ground, thinking that heeding the advice of Gollum/Smeagol — they weren't sure which since he answered to both names now — was probably a good idea.
Ring wraiths had also set upon them. Ring wraiths riding what the hobbits could only describe as a type of dragon creature that had yet to be named. They were inclined to think it was most likely a hybrid abomination, like an orc, but they didn't dwell upon it for too long. Already Mordor approached.
The stench in the Edoras stables was overpowering.
Legolas did not let such things bother him usually, but on this new noontide a grim feeling had settled upon his heart, as though a heavy stone was holding it in place. And he was not the only one to be feeling so. He knew this. The entire Company, or what was left of it, was feeling it also. His keen senses, bequeathed to all elves, could distinguish the waves of despondency as soon his ears heralded the approach of their footsteps.
It had been too long since Harry was lost to them.
Too long to trust in the hope that the young man would somehow find his way back to them. Gandalf was long gone; riding out of the stables just this morn as swiftly as if he'd never been there at all.
The White Rider.
Even he had not been certain of Harry's fate. It had been too long.
The elf sighed and leaned his back against a support post, letting his eyes flit to the people inhabiting the stable. They scampered this way and that, preparing for the long move to Helm's Deep. In a horse stall, the occupancy of which had been long since abandoned, a blind crone was fiddling with a few shells of straw — later to be weaved as a basket no doubt. Legolas briefly pondered on this woman. She, blind, frail, and old in the way of mortals, was most likely one of the ones — of which there were so little — to really understand and see the absurdity of this move to Helm's Deep. She who had never seen anything now sees much in the end. As is the curious way with all Edain who have been unfortunate enough to lose their sight.
This woman fascinated him. Her frailty, her withered face, everything about her fascinated him. It occurred to him suddenly, he who had not much experience with mortal death until very recently, that this was how Aragorn would turn out to be if this war was won. Frail, withered, and dying. Possibly even blind and deaf. What little hope that lingered in his heart almost diminished upon that thought.
What was the point of hope when all that went with it on this Earth would die anyway? It was not like an elf to be this way; allowing the prospect of gloom to weave through his thoughts. But that his journey from Rivendell should lead him here, with one of his very dear friends missing and the others bordering on abject misery and the bleakness of impending battle . . .
A movement caught his attention. A small, yellow-haired boy carting a piglet in one arm scurried forward, his leafy eyes sprouting to an impossible width as they spotted him in the languid yet alert pose all elvish warriors learn to master. Legolas offered the boy a small smile in hopes to comfort him, for it was not lost on the elf that mortals found his presence, and indeed the presence of all his kin, to be . . . disquieting upon first notice. And the boy was so very young; not more than six winters. A mere speck in the lifetime of an elf.
"Do you have a name, little one?" he asked the boy in his most gentlest voice.
"H-Hanaard, milord," said the boy, barely containing his awe that an elf should wish to speak to him. "Hanaard is my name."
"Hanaard," Legolas repeated, smiling at the sweet sound of the young voice. "That is a very strong name. And where do you go with that piglet, Hanaard?"
Hanaard glanced down at the squealing piglet in his arms then reached up to wipe his nose with the sleeve of his tunic. Legolas had to hide a laugh at the childish gesture. "Felin is my pet. Only three weeks old and a runt of the litter. I saved him and he's not going to ever be eaten. Mama said so. I'm hiding him in the cart, that way no one can find him but me."
"I see." Legolas frowned thoughtfully. He had never heard of anyone keeping a pig as a pet, but then children were very strange no matter the Race. He himself remembered a carefree time spent playing in the trees on the outskirts of his father's palace with a worm he had found whilst digging in the dirt one day. Alas, the worm had died not long after he had discovered it — being a worm, its lifespan was much, much shorter than even an average dog's — but he had mourned that slippery creature, it being his first experience with death.
"Are you really an elf?" Hanaard asked, shifting the wailing piglet in his arms so that the little snout rested on his shoulder blade.
Legolas leaned down upon his knees in order to better speak with the hobbit-sized young one. "Yes."
"Do all elves look like girls?"
Legolas did not even have time to blink as a hearty guffaw sounded from behind him.
Gimli.
"Is there something you wish to add, my friend?" he asked, shifting around to be met with the still laughing dwarf. "It was naught but an innocently worded question, as is the way with all children. They cannot know better."
Gimli hmphed. "What they are is too honest by half! And if you do not turn around you'll never discover that I'm right!"
Legolas, still squatting, spun on his toes. The space before him stood empty but the path before him did not. Hanaard was already sprinting — as fast as he was able with the piglet in his arms — out of the stable doors to be lost among the countless other passers-by.
Legolas stood, disappointed. "He is a sweet child."
"Worth dying for," Gimli agreed, and at that moment Legolas knew he was right. This was what they were fighting for; better futures for all the precious little ones like Hanaard. And a stubborn dwarf had comprehended this a lot sooner than he had. An elf.
He smiled inwardly. How very proud he was of his friend. "You're right, Gimli. He is worth dying for."
"Enough of this melancholy," Gimli said after a few moments of silent thought. "Too long have we mulled over this thankless emotion of late. Though, I admit, not without a good brew by our sides. Agreeable that was, very agreeable to a dwarf. Theoden serves good ale. Have you seen the cellars? Mightier than the entirety of Edoras. Ha ha!"
"Have you been drinking?" Legolas teased.
"Only a pint, elf, only a pint." At his friend's look Gimli amended, "Or ten."
Legolas allowed his musical laughter to spill forth. He never noticed that the sound halted the workings of everyone in the stables. A bit awestruck, a bit alarmed, they stared nevertheless, utterly captivated.
Gimli snorted, shaking his bushy mane. Leave it to an elf . . .
"Come, my friend," Legolas said at last, wiping a tear from his eye. "I suddenly find myself insatiably thirsty. What say we find Aragorn and Boromir and hasten them down to the cellars? I have yet to sample this brew of Rohan. If it is as good as you claim, then I would not mind a sip or two."
"Better than good it is, lad," Gimli assured. "And I'll soon have the stomach to prove it!"
Legolas' tinkling laughter sounded again as they walked from the stables.
Gimli resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he spotted several lassies, who had been hovering outside the stable doors for a glimpse of the elf, attempt to straighten their hair. Legolas nodded to them politely and they all three blushed the colour of freshly ripened raspberries. Which Gimli new to be very red indeed. It was, after all, the only fruit he dared enjoy. Glittering, red jewels they reminded him of, especially when freshly washed.
As they made their way up the hill and to the Golden Hall, Gimli muttered, "If you would but cease to laugh, and smile, and nod, they would be less inclined to follow us. You might as well remove yourself from their sight altogether and hide in the cellars."
Legolas smiled, proof that he was not oblivious to what was going on around him. "I must give them some hope in these dark times, Gimli. If they believe I wish to bestow my attention upon them —"
"Courtly attention, you mean," Gimli interrupted, muttering.
"Aye. If they think that, all the better. They would not be concerned with what is happening around them. I am giving them a focus. Something for their hearts to aspire to."
"You will not think so when they start chasing you, lad. Women, no matter what Race, become worse than orcs when in pursuit of something they desire. I'd bar my chamber door tonight if I were you. Put a chair across it! And do not dare laugh, elf!" for Gimli had spotted several women slinking along the smithy wall beside them.
"I would not cause you discomfort," Legolas said.
They walked in companionable silence all the way to the Golden Hall. A few times the elf garnered much attention — even from some of the older women and most men who could not help but stare — but most times everyone else was busy packing provisions for the long journey to Helm's Deep.
"They've never seen an elf," Gimli growled as he and Legolas stepped into the hall.
"Aye. The people of Rohan think us to be walking legends, far out of their reach."
"Well, they can certainly reach you now, and not for want of trying!"
Legolas smirked at Gimli's meaning. "If it would please you, I will cease to encourage them."
"You encourage them by existing, Legolas. Nay, you cannot help it. It is their hearts that are so overcome by your comely features, and hearts have a way of speaking for themselves. You have naught to do with it."
Legolas clapped Gimli on the shoulder. "Thank you for existing, my friend. We have been through many perils, yet forever do you stand by my side. Elf-friend I name you. And forever shall you be."
"A distinction worthy for one such as Gimli." Aragorn sat on a wooden crate beside a small table smoking a pipe. He tilted his head at them. Gimli and Legolas then watched, amusedly, as two men scurried forward and bade him get off the crate. Looking resigned, Aragorn did so.
As the men hefted the crate out of the hall he shrugged. "No sooner do I sit on something then they come and take it away for loading on the wagons. I think that one was full of shields." That said, Aragorn settled down on the right corner of the table.
Both Legolas and Gimli wondered why he did not just sit on the stools available that every table hosted, but looking about they could see that the stools were no longer in place, but packed against the far wall of the hall. Everything was slowly emptying.
"Where is Boromir?" Legolas asked, for his perusal of the hall did not reveal the young Steward's son to his eyes.
"He is with Theoden," Aragorn replied, still casually puffing. "I know not what they speak of, but I am certain you can guess as well as I."
"Indeed," Legolas frowned. "It is a useless attempt on his part to convince the king, for Theoden is about as stubborn as a dwarf. But I must commend him. He tries at least."
Gimli held up a hand and drawled gruffly, "I thank you for the compliment."
Legolas felt his lip twitch. "Gimli and I were hoping that you and Boromir might join us for an interlude in the cellars . . . strictly for the purpose of tasting, of course."
"I myself have already tasted ten pints," Gimli said. "What say you, Aragorn? Care to join us for some more tasting? There is naught else to do except sit and wait."
Aragorn nodded, pretending to think. "Tempting. I—" The ranger stood up, eyes widening onto something over Legolas and Gimli's heads. They did not have a chance to turn around for a flash of something large and white hurtled over their heads.
"Hedwig!" Legolas cried, as the bird flew above their heads in dizzying circles, fit to bring upon the whole of Edoras with her hooting. "What is wrong with her?"
"I do not know," Aragorn breathed. He stretched out a gentle hand to the agitated bird. "Hedwig, mani naa ta?"
The bird stopped her racket immediately in response to the elvish and settled onto a crossbeam near the ceiling, but no matter how much they coaxed her she would not come down. Eventually, Aragorn plucked a bit of leftover bread from his lunch plate and placed it onto the table. Seeing this, Hedwig swooped down, landing awkwardly on the flat surface which was not designed to host owl talons, and gobbled it up. Next, she moved on to Aragorn's plate to pick at the bit of meat still left on the bone.
The three companions watched her eat with somber eyes. At last, Gimli voiced what they had all been thinking at some point. "Something has happened to the hobbits."
"It is possible," Aragorn said. "But they would have written a letter, or offered her a piece of their clothing to let us know if they were really in trouble. More likely she is here because of Harry. I believe she cannot sense him anywhere, and that is why she came to us, believing he was here as well."
Their previous teasing mood had long since abated at the appearance of Hedwig, for she brought the young wizard into their thoughts. They could not think of anything else he could be but passed away, even though Gandalf insisted he was not. For, they argued, how could a person stay unconscious for days on end? Of course there were people in the world who had that misfortune, but not Harry; otherwise Hedwig would have found him, was that not so? The fact that she did not led them to think the worst.
Harry was dead.
Harry's dreams had been torturous lately.
More often than not, she was accosted with images of orcs; their great razored mouths devouring something red and chunky, almost making Harry gag in her sleep as she could only guess what that chunky something was. She'd had half a week of reprieve after arriving at the Weasley's, and then the dreams had started.
She hadn't mentioned them to anyone save Hermione and Ron, who had been, perhaps, the least helpful in helping her to figure it all out. They had gotten over Harry's dimension travelling, it was true — although, not without thinking about reserving her a ward in St Mungos first — but they were still slightly overwhelmed by it all, to the point where they had taken to somewhat ignoring it whenever it was brought up by Harry. So when Harry told them about her dreams Hermione either changed the subject in her usual flippant way, or Ron remembered something important he had to do for Mrs Weasley, like peel the potatoes or clean the toilet bowl.
Harry would never admit it, but the brush off hurt. She though her best friends would have been fascinated at learning that their best friend was a dimension traveler and would then, subsequently, demand to be taken to that dimension. She had even prepared a speech to explain why she wouldn't be able to take them yet. But they hadn't been excited. They seemed almost . . . Harry wasn't sure if 'afraid' was the right word, but . . . 'permanently startled' was closer but still not exactly the right description.
Determination was how Harry got through it. Determination to ignore how Ron and Hermione were acting and just enjoy the days she could spend with his best friends before it was time to go to Middle Earth again. And that was another thing Hermione and Ron were not pleased about — that she would be going back at all! They didn't understand why Harry had to go back even though she had offered a number of explanations ranging from the repossession of her belongings, to helping her new friends.
That mention of her new friends added to the tension as well. Harry wasn't sure what to think.
Tension or no, Harry had not dared to tell them that there was currently a war brewing in Middle Earth. She could just imagine Hermione's reaction: "Oh, Harry, a war? You do realise you could die, don't you? I mean, they have swords and stuff. You're not going, and that's final!" and Ron would probably think it was cool at first, but be terrified for Harry later. In fact, she wouldn't put it past them to tie her up in her sleep and leave her there until September first.
Despite all the conflict, she'd been having a restful time at the Weasleys, noticable by all by the healthy glow she admitted. Even Mrs Weasley had noticed, commenting that she had never seen Harry look quite so well and happy. Harry's time spent outdoors in Middle Earth and the subsequent frolicking under the sun in the Weasley's garden granted her a golden tan that shone with vitality. Hermione had even observed one afternoon that her green eyes now stood out even more dramatically from under the tan of her skin.
"You've gotten even prettier than before," she had added, peering speculatively at Harry's face. "You should really lose the glasses though. You're eyes would stand out so much more without them. Besides, they're going to be too bothersome in that, um, place you're going," which was the only time Hermione had ever, willingly, mentioned Middle Earth without any prompting from Harry.
She had gotten a shock one morning not long after arriving at the Weasley's when Hermione plonked several large texts that Harry immediately recognised as their assigned school books onto the kitchen table, and ordered for her and Ron to begin their summer homework.
'Hermione Granger!" Harry had said, hands on her hips in exasperation. "I was alone for almost a month with nothing to do but homework and practicals, don't you think I'd have finished my homework during that time?"
"Did you?" Hermione returned challengingly, crossing her arms.
The two stared each other down. When Harry tilted a stubborn chin in response, Hermione huffed in defeat.
"You should still revise with us," The curly-haired girl insisted, not willing to concede farther than that.
Revise they did, Harry barely remembering what it was she had been assigned that summer. Hermione, predictably, had already finished hers but Ron hadn't, and Ginny still had an essay to write so the three, with Hermione lecturing on the side, sat at the kitchen table while Mrs Weasley's cooking scents floated tantalizingly about the room. Ron would sometimes nick a newly baked sweet or two from the cooling rack when his mother's back was turned.
Sometimes Fleur and Bill would join them when they had some time to spare and Bill would use his wand to summon a few cakes — but Mrs Weasley always caught him at it. Even going so far as to say one time, "Ron hasn't even tried to steal any! Really, I'm disappointed in you, Bill!" Such a statement produced much choked sniggering from everyone else, leaving Mrs Weasley bewildered.
Fred and George would join them for dinner most nights, or rather every night they got hungry which was pretty much every nights except when they ate at the Leaky Cauldron. These nights the twins would regale them all with stories of characters that entered the pub to eat there. Fortunately — or unfortunately fortunately depending on how you looked at it — none were Death Eaters. They had also seen a hag at one point, and Fred swore he'd spotted a vampire slink into the pub from the back entrance but no one except George had really believed him.
As Ginny had pointed out, "Vampires wouldn't dare to lurk about any wizarding establishments, let alone in them for that matter! They're not stupid."
No one except perhaps Mrs Weasley got to see Mr Weasley. He left for work before the sun was even up and came back long after it had set again.
"Now that Scrimgeour is the new Minister, things are actually getting done," Mrs Weasley had said while pottering about the kitchen one morning, stopping only to flip a pancake or two. "He's got your father working on that case with the exploding trunk up in Nottinghamshire. Not to mention all the other things that have been happening. Just last night some poor old dear acquired a set of false teeth that'd been enchanted to bite her tongue every time she had the urge to eat or drink. Well, you can imagine how horrible . . ."
"Why?" Harry, Ron, and Ginny had asked leaning forward so far in their seats that they were in danger of falling off.
"It's all this You-Know-Who business. It's got people antsy. Even if they're not on his side, well, all I'll say is that there're some funny people out there — people who aren't exactly that fond of muggles. Now help me set the table, Ginny. You can start with the placemats. Here you are, dear."
Voldemort, Harry realized, was impossible to ignore as she had so foolishly tried to. But that did not mean that Harry actually had to think about him all the time, and she stubbornly told herself that she wouldn't, especially since she still had to think about her return to Middle Earth. It was comforting in a way that there was a place where Voldemort couldn't influence and the realization of that pulled her away from the overwhelming despair of it all.
For the time being, Voldemort and his Death Eaters would only linger in the back of Harry's thoughts, not take up most of them. The relief Harry felt at actually being able to do this was substantial, and it was all due to her dimension traveling. Again, she could not be grateful enough to that lightening bolt for having shot out of the sky and zapped her into Middle Earth.
A few nights after Fred and George's vampire sighting had passed, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were lounging in Harry's room. The room used to belong to Fred and George so still had a few odd and interesting titbits lying about or hidden in mouse holes or under the bed.
Harry was telling them about her adventures with the Fellowship — for once interesting Ron and Hermione so much that they didn't even think to leave or change the subject — and had just gotten to the part of the cave troll in Balin's tomb when Fred and George themselves clattered into the room. Harry's mouth froze in mid-speak as the twins eyed her suspiciously.
"You're quite the storyteller, Harry. Never knew you had it in you. Excellent imagination," Fred said casually, sauntering past Harry on the bed, his twin right behind him.
"Er . . ." Harry said, and scuttled back when it looked like Fred was about to sit on the bed.
Fred only eyed her a moment with an arched brow then said, "Huh."
"What are you two doing here so early?" Ron asked. He had been lying across Harry's pillows in order to better see the ceiling for whatever reason and now lifted himself onto his elbows to glare at the twins.
George spared a glance at Ron, looked at Hermione — who was settled in a corner, an abandoned book in her lap — then stared at Harry, who tried for a politely innocent expression. George shook his head almost disappointedly. "Ah, Harry, you've got it all wrong. Take it from the experts. If you want to look innocent, you don't act as if you've drank a gallon of laxatives."
There was a strange sort of cough/gurgle/splutter in the corner where Hermione was sitting. "Don't mind me," she rasped when they all looked at her. But her face at gone extremely pink.
"Alright, so you found me out," Harry grumbled, not that put out or horrified at whatever imagined repercussions would result. "What now?"
"You tell us what all that was about, that's 'what now'," Fred said, making himself comfortable at last. "Hey!" Ron yelped when Fred pushed his long legs off the bed in order to make room for George.
The twins, identical in face and expression, then stared at Harry expectantly.
Harry stood up, rubbed her suddenly bleary eyes beneath her glasses, focused on a small stain on the wall opposite, and began:
"It's really none of your business but about a week or so ago there was this storm in Surrey — you know the one — and all through it, I kept hearing this odd noise. It sounded like tapping and it would come and go. It worried me a bit since I had no idea what it was and . . ." Harry explained about the storm and the deafness the continuous sound had caused her, her conversation with Dumbledore, the fact that the phenomenon had chosen to take her to another dimension, and finally, the lightening bolt from the thundercloud sky. ". . . and then I landed on this mountaintop in the middle of a bloody blizzard."
"Hang on," Fred said slowly as Harry took a breath. "Just hang on a tic. You mean to say that you actually journeyed to another dimension? Literally? Like, without being sedated?"
It only took Harry a split second to grasp what Fred meant. "Yes!" she snapped, offense heavy in her tone.
"Right," Fred's face looked twisted in a strange half-confused, half-amused hybrid of thought. Harry looked at George, who was mimicking the same expression.
"I'm not making this up," Harry told them, her eyes flitting between their faces. "You can ask Professor Dumbledore."
"No, no, no!" said George, waving his hand flippantly. "It's not that at all. We believe you, munchkin, full on! It's just, well," he threw a glance at Fred, who glanced back, "We're all sorts of disappointed it didn't happen to us!"
"Oh," was all Harry could think say. That was the last thing she had expected to hear.
"Yeah," Fred continued. "All the wicked things always happen to you. But, all's fair and that sort of thing I suppose. With all the fun come the worst luck as well. A question though . . . can we come?"
Harry started, blinking. "What?"
"I mean, the next time you decide to go there, can we come with you?"
"Oh, she hasn't figured out how to do that yet." Ron was lying prone on the bed once more now that Harry had taken leave of it, hands folded casually over his stomach. He wasn't even looking up at the rest as he spoke. "Still got to teach himself."
Fred frowned at Ron. "I guess we'll have to wait then."
He had said this so confidently that Harry could not stop the image of him and George atop a talan in Lothlorien, offering Haldir a Puking Pastille in a gesture of good will.
She nearly choked on her snort. Fortunately, no one else noticed.
George slapped Fred on his shoulder. "We'd best be off then, we left Verity in charge. She gets a bit . . . antsy."
With that the twins skirted off the bed, straightened their clothes, and were just about to leave when Hermione ordered "Stop!" in a tone not unlike Professor McGonagall's. The ex-pranksters obeyed at once. They whirled around, pinning equally innocent gazes on the bushy-haired girl.
She snorted. "You should think about taking your own advice," she said dryly, before straightening up. "Why would you leave your store now, at this precise time, only a few hours before closing?"
The twins shared a look, their eyebrows raised. They leaned towards each other and exchanged a mumble of words, among which "you idiot" and "not my fault" were discernible. At last, George slumped. "You do know that you can be very irritating sometimes, Hermione?"
"Yes. I do," Hermione said proudly, and Harry and Ron were left wondering what on earth was going on right under their noses that they had no clue about.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Ron voiced in his usual subtle way.
"They already knew that you had traveled to Middle Earth," Hermione explained as Harry and Ron jerked their heads in the twins' direction. "Before they pretended to stumble into the room and tried to intimidate you."
"How the sodding . . ." Ron trailed off. It seemed as if a shrug had entered his voice, as though he was so used to the twins' antics by now that even attempting to decipher them was a useless endeavour and not worth bothering about.
Fred took off an imaginary hat and bowed to Hermione. "If you would explain, madam."
She sighed and briefly straightened her skirt so that it fell neatly over her knees before explaining. "They'd obviously overheard us at some point, probably when you first told us about it, Harry, and realized that you were being serious. Their curiosity could not keep them away for long so they concocted a somewhat hasty plan to confront you today, now, in hopes they would catch you talking about it, not realizing that it would have served them better to wait until after work to catch you at it then. You speak about Middle Earth often enough, I'm sure it wouldn't have been hard."
Ron and Harry only stared at Hermione disbelievingly. It was ridiculous how she could so quickly come to such conclusions!
The twins however just nodded, looking impressed. "She's right," they said.
"The day you were wrapped up in Ronnie's old blankiepoo on the couch, Fred floo'd home for a design we'd left in the kitchen the night before," George continued. "He overheard you talking."
Harry could not believe they hadn't noticed Fred lurking about like some sort of . . . lurking pervert. It wasn't as if the Weasley's had a big house. "Where were you exactly?"
"Stairs," Fred grunted. "Afterward, I apparated back to the store and told George all about it. Of course we were excited as all heck. I mean, traveling to different worlds . . . it would only happen to you, Harry!"
"It's not like I go to several worlds. It's only the one."
"Still, you traveled to a world, didn't you? One completely different than this one? You will let us know when you actually manage to perfect that technique, won't you?" This, from George.
"I—"
"Because Fred and I want to come with you. Purely for work purposes of course, Strange, unpronounceable plants that no one can find in our world will be a great benefit to us. Competing stores like Zonkos won't be able to steal our ideas then. We would never think of, say, tagging along only to have a little fun and cause loads of mischief."
"No, never that," Fred assured, excessively solemn. "And would you look at the time," he said checking his watchless wrist. "We really must dash. We'll see you tomorrow night at dinner. Tell Mum we dropped by."
There were two pops and nothing but empty air in place where the twins had stood.
Ron turned to Hermione. "You know, I don't buy that story you told Fred and George. You can't have guessed everything that accurately."
Harry was impressed. It was not like Ron to be so insightful.
"You're right," Hermione admitted, to the surprise of the other two. "I knew someone was on the stairs that day Harry told us about Middle Earth. I heard a creak and saw a shadow and a flash of ginger hair but that was it. I thought I must have imagined it at first because the only redheads in the house at the time were busy being useful somewhere else, but when the twins stumbled into the room like that today looking so . . . contriving, I re-evaluated my earlier thoughts.
"I mean, Fred and George were put into Gryffindor for a reason, weren't they? So they can't be sly if their livelihoods depended on it! They're all about charge first and think about the consequences later, aren't they? It was easy enough to guess where they were going with their needling."
"For you, maybe." Ron said.
"Gerroff, you l'ttle— aaaaaghhh!"
The gnome flew the length of sixty feet before landing in the next field.
Hermione shook her hands and did a sort of jig on the spot. "Did you see that?" she squealed, beaming. "Did you see what I did?"
Harry and Ron only stared at her, too dumbfounded to speak.
"I gave that gnome what for!" she continued, this time emphasizing her words by punching the air in the direction of the fallen victim, who now drunkenly climbed to its feet. The tiny figure then dived — just as drunkenly — into a nearby rabbit hole. But not before popping out for a quick one-fingered salute.
Hermione hmphed, hands on hips. "Well, how rude!"
"We don't know if that's what it really meant, Hermione," Ron said, giving Harry a look full of mischief. "I mean, it could have just been picking its nose," he finished matter-of-factly.
Harry found her snort of laughter turning into a not-very-cleverly disguised cough as Hermione spun around, gaping. "I doubt that very much, Ron! And for future reference . . . that just might have been the most disgusting thing that's ever left your mouth."
"Clearly you've never heard him talk about girls with Dean and Seamus when they think no one's listening," Harry interjected blithely.
"Harry!" both Ron and Hermione exclaimed, the former in mortification, the latter, scandalized.
"Anyways!" Ron said loudly, cutting off Hermione before she had a chance to comment. "You're acting . . . not yourself. I thought you hated it when we remove gnomes. You're always complaining about it. 'Oh, leave the poor creatures alone!'" Ron said, in a mockery of Hermione's voice. "'They have a right to be here, the same as anyone else!'"
Hermione crossed her arms. "That sounds nothing like me."
"You sound like a banshee that smokes too much," Harry agreed.
"That's not the point," Ron continued, not letting himself be dismissed. "You did used to hate it when we tossed gnomes. Why the change of heart?"
Hermione slumped, and looked up at them through her bushy hair. "One of them thought it funny to . . ." she trailed off, her face scarlet.
"What?" Harry and Ron said at once.
Hermione expelled a harsh breath. "When we were out here the other day doing homework, well, one of them thought it funny to relieve itself in my knapsack! Travelling with Trolls is now beyond repair because . . . well, because that thing smudged its . . . business all over the ink. And I can't Evanesco it or I risk erasing the words on the pages!"
Harry and Ron did not dare to look at each other, afraid they would laugh otherwise. Shuffling their feet seemed like a better alternative and that's what they did, whilst trying not to blink at the same time. "Oh," Harry said, her eyes watering and her upper lip twitching. "So, you thought to get revenge on the little, erm, blighters . . .?"
Hermione nodded sharply, "Exactly."
To save Ron and herself from the bodily harm Hermione would afflict on them if they laughed, Harry pulled out her wand from where she had it behind her ear and flicked it about at a pile of stones that sat next to the stone fence of the Burrow. "Ini pupas."
Jerking and bubbling, six of the stones turned into little rock golem that stood in two lines.
Harry grinned at her friends. "If we're going to go to battle against the gnomes, we need soldiers."
"What was that one?" Hermione asked, impressed. She pulled out her own wand.
"Temporary golems. It's a sustained spell so you can't cast anything else while you're maintaining it, but they can attack multiple targets."
"Where'd you learn this one?" Ron asked, crouching down to poke at a golem. Harry hadn't given them any directions yet so they just bumbled about.
"One of those cheesy romances Ginny sent me had a character that was a puppeteer." Harry shrugged. "It was actually closer to a horror story than romance but I guess everyone has their kinks."
Ron grimaced. "I don't want to think of 'Ginny' and 'kinks' in the same thought."
Harry rolled her eyes as her friends gave the spell a try. They ended up with her original set made of stone, a set made of leaves, and one of dirt. Her eyes narrowed as she saw gnomes peeking out from where they were hiding to assess what the wizards were doing.
She pointed her wand at a cluster of gnomes that looked disdainful and her golems fell into formation, standing at attention. "Shall we go to war then?"
Not much happened in the days after Hermione had set the record for the longest gnome throw ever witnessed in the Weasley garden.
Remus visited a couple of times, the last looking even more tired and subdued than usual. When Harry asked what had happened, Lupin smiled wearily.
"I haven't been getting much sleep lately. The werewolves have been congregating in even larger numbers, which means I need to keep on my guard constantly now. They still don't trust me because I associate with wizards."
"Aren't they wizards themselves?" Harry had asked, confused. She'd assumed werewolves were normal wizards who got fuzzy once a month but lived relatively ordinary lives, if a bit poor.
"No. Not trained ones at least. Most were bitten before they were of school age so they never had the chance for a magical education. Especially those that Fenrir Greyback has bitten. Those wolves are almost complete animals and have never even thought of getting a wand. I was fortunate."
Remus had stared over Harry's head, a far away look in his eyes. Instinctively, Harry knew he was thinking of the Marauders.
He shook his head and looked in concern at Harry. "But what about you, Harry? Are you feeling alright? Are you feeling . . ." He leaned in closer, glancing about covertly despite the fact one of the others were listening in. "Are you feeling prepared?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, things are really starting to heat up and I've been worried about you. That and all the other dangerous business you've found yourself in." Remus then produced a shabby, dog-eared book from out of an equally shabby knapsack and handed it to Harry. It read, Uncommon Curses and Jinxes for Uncommon Situations.
"You know full well how I feel about you going to this Middle Age place," Remus continued, staring steadily at Harry. "I mean, I'm not thrilled with the idea since it sounds far too dangerous but Dumbledore's assured me that he'll be going with you this time so at least there's that. Though, why he had to be so secretive about all this when Tonks and I first found you in Privet drive . . . Anyway, I want you to look that over." He nodded at the book. "Memorize as many spells as you can. I know you won't be able to take it with you, so you'd best start now."
Harry was touched by the gesture.
"Oh, another thing." Remus led her out of the room. He quietly asked if there was a place they could talk that wouldn't disturb the others and Harry curiously led him to the room she was bumming in.
Remus spelled the walls and doors so no sound would be heard outside the room. After a brief pause, he also spelled the floor.
"What's all that for?" Harry asked.
"Ah, right. Sorry about that," Remus said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's likely going to get noisy very soon and I didn't want to disturb the whole house."
"Noisy?"
Remus nodded. "You see, we're in a bit of a bind. We meaning the Order. Last week it was discovered that Siri—" He choked up a bit and stopped.
Harry moved closer and hugged his arm. "Something to do with Sirius?" She asked softly.
She received a jerky nod in reply. "We found his will and it turned out that he left you everything he owned. That includes Grimmauld Place."
"So what's the problem? I'm perfectly fine with the Order using it as headquarters."
"We've cleared out just to be safe. Black family tradition had the house being handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it's possible that some spell or enchantment has been set up to ensure that it can't be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."
Harry snorted in disgust. "I'll bet there has. Still, it's not like it's a big loss if you can't use it. The place is still a dump."
"Normally I'd agree but if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."
Harry gripped at his arm and snarled, "No!" Like hell she was going to let Sirius' killer inherit his house! She'd burn the damn place to the ground and dance on the ashes on front of muggles before she'd let that happen!
"Obviously I don't want that either," Remus said, placing a comforting hand on hers. "Now here's where it gets muddled; the Blacks were a Noble and Ancient House and on top of leaving everything to you, Sirius also made you his heir. That means he left you a Ladyship."
Harry looked at the man skeptically. "You're kidding me, right? I'm suddenly nobility?"
"You always were; the Potters were a Noble House as well, though not as old as the Blacks. The problem is, we're not completely sure if Sirius actually managed to make the inheritance stick. That pureblood male tradition was magically enforced." Remus rubbed at his face. "Quite honestly, this would have been much more straight-forward if you were a boy. As it is, as a girl, you can't claim ladyship until you're seventeen."
"So how do we found out if it worked?"
"Fortunately," Remus said. "There's a simple test." He extricated himself from Harry's grip and pulled out his wand. "You see, if you did manage to inherit the house, you'd also have inherited —"
He flicked his wand. With a loud crack, a house-elf appeared.
Snout-nosed, giant bat ears, enormous blood-shot eyes, Kreacher flung himself to the floor and wailed.
"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" was croaked out with growing volume. The grimy thing kicked his gnarled feet, pulled at his ears, and beat on the floor. "Won't, won't, won't! Kreacher wants to go to Miss Bellatrix! Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, he won't go to the Potter brat!"
"As you can see," Remus said loudly over the noise, his eyes hard as he took in the miserable elf. "Kreacher is rather unhappy about the situation."
"What the hell does he even matter?" Harry growled, yearning to kick the stupid thing. "I don't care what he wants. I don't want him either."
"Won't, won't, won't —"
"He has to stay or else he'll go to Lestrange. He's heard too much."
"Won't, won't, won't, won't —"
"I say we Obliviate him back to infancy and chuck him. After we give his traitorous arse a proper beating, of course," Harry retorted, not failing to notice the gleam of interest in the werewolf's eyes.
"Won't, won't —"
"Shut up, Kreacher, before rip off your arm and choke you with it!" Harry finally snapped, the last of her patience gone.
Kreacher appeared to spasm for a bit, his limbs jerking out of his control. He grabbed his throat and gaped his mouth. No sounds came out. A few seconds of silent, frantic gulping, Kreacher admitted defeat and beat on the floor desperately in a violent but entirely silent tantrum.
"Get up," she hissed. Reluctantly, stiffly, the elf did as it was told.
"Filthy half-blood mistress," it mumbled under it's breath, narrowing its eyes at her.
Without thought, Harry's arm shot forward and gripped the elf by one of its huge ears, twisting the appendage harshly back and away from its head, making the creature hiss in pain and stand on it's toes.
"Did I say you could talk?" Never had Harry felt so livid as she did right then. Her tone fell into a hash snarl. "Filthy you say. So says the traitorous elf that couldn't even take care of its house and led his master to his death!" Harry's words seemed to strike at a nerve. Kreacher face twisted. "You think you can talk down to me when you can't even succeed at your self-assigned position? The position you take such pride in? Show some respect for the heir your late master decided on; it's the least you owe after your disgusting betrayal."
Harry flung the house elf away from her, wiping her hand when she was rid of him. Kreacher huddled where he landed.
Remus looked conflicted for a moment but eventually settled on relieved. "Well, I guess Sirius knew was he was doing. Though you really didn't have to be so mean."
Harry rolled her eyes. "That thing earns the cruelty it receives. I'm not one to have indentured servants, Remus, but I'm not going to put up with a creature that claims loyalty as it stabs you in the back. What do we do with him now?"
"Erm," Remus glanced at the creature on the floor. "I'm assuming you don't want him underfoot?"
"Definitely not."
"Maybe send him to the Hogwarts kitchen? The other elves could watch him there."
Harry's face brightened. "Good idea. Yeah. Kreacher," she addressed the sullen thing. "You'll go to Hogwarts and work with the other elves. You'll help them and do as they say and you'll stay in the castle at all times." A thought occurred to her and Harry's eyes narrowed. "You won't go searching out others related to the Black Family and you will not talk to anyone about what you've seen, heard, read, or perceived in any way at Grimmauld Place or in my presence unless I tell you you can. If you go sneaking around, you'll join your ancestors prematurely and as a free elf."
Kreacher looked up at Harry from where he was, a look of deep loathing and almost respect in his eyes.
"New mistress is cruel, she is." With that, he vanished with a loud crack.
After a second of silence, Remus placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and smiled tiredly at her. "At least that's now out of the way."
A few days after Remus' visit, Harry received an owl from Dumbledore at breakfast. It had first made itself comfortable on her toast but she'd been able to retrieve the letter nonetheless.
Harry,
I do hope you are enjoying your stay at the Weasleys. I myself have just arrived from a long overdue trip to Tibet. Most fascinating, those monks. The yaks milk is also very curious.
Mr Ollivander has informed me that the wand I promised you is now completed. I will be opening the Floo connection to my office at exactly two minutes passed five o'clock this afternoon. This passage will stay open one minute only, so be prompt.
Come alone as we have much to do and discuss.
"What does it say?"
Harry looked up. Everyone was watching her read curiously, but it was Hermione who'd spoken.
"Oh, er . . . I'm to meet Dumbledore this afternoon in his office."
Hermione and Ron looked sharply at each other.
"Well, do make sure to brush your hair, dear," Mrs Weasley said, bustling about with a plateful of egg and bacon and placing it on the table in front of Harry. The Hogwarts' owl screeched at the sudden intrusion to its space and knocked over the plate of water it had been drinking from. Mrs Weasley's "Oh, dear!" didn't stop it from spreading its large wings — in turn, knocking a couple of glasses — and taking flight over Harry's head.
Ginny sniggered into her tea. "Well, at least it's had something to drink."
Mrs Weasley dithered around the table, wand held aloft. "Goodness, look at this mess; feathers everywhere! It's very unsanitary. Have you all eaten? Harry, you haven't finished your second helpings yet! But I suppose you wouldn't be that inclined right now would you, what with that nice fat feather sitting right in the middle of your plate . . ."
"I rather think it makes a nice garnish," Ron put in.
"Oh, it doesn't matter!" Mrs Weasley said tetchily. "Off you lot go then." She shooed them out of the kitchen before any of them could protest, but she also shoved a buttered scone into Harry's hand in the process.
"That's so unfair," Ron complained a while later as they descended to the make-shift Weasley Quidditch pitch. He had spoke in response to Harry's hearty bite into the warm, delicious scone, of which Ron and the others hadn't tasted and which was to be eaten only at lunch. Since lunch was a few hours away, Harry felt Ron had a right to complain. But that did not mean Harry had to share.
"I mean," Ron continued with gusto, his glare turning even more resentful as Harry took another lusty bite, almost finishing the scone in the process, "what's so special about you? You get a treat and we get a boot!"
"Tough luck, Ron. We can't all be pretty," Harry said with not the least hint of amusement, and Ginny and Hermione howled with laughter.
Ron only gaped for a few seconds. Then his ears, slowly, reddened.
"Besides," Harry continued, quite enjoying herself, "you all had second helpings. I didn't."
Ron muttered but didn't offer a counter-argument..
Hermione and Ginny were still sniggering quietly as the quartet settled under the leaves of a giant tree just at the edge of the Quidditch field, leaning their backs comfortably against it. Ron had brought along an old deflated football that Mr Weasley had found in a rubbish bin to use as a Quaffle, but as they hadn't brought their brooms — and therefore, couldn't play Quidditch — Ron ended up tossing it back and forth with Harry. Ginny would have joined in, but then Hermione would have been left out as she was bad at sports, and Ginny didn't want the oldest girl to be the odd one out.
Ron and Harry tossed it to each other lightly to start off but gradually grew to using elaborate throws. The pace grew until the ball was barely touching their hands before it was being thrown back. The girls noted that Ron's throws got aggressive not five minutes in, a frown appearing on his face as he repelled the ball away from him vigorously.
Ron finally stopped, catching the ball as it came at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Why do you have to go back, Harry?"
The black haired girl could not have been more surprised by a question. Neither it seemed could Hermione. "We agreed we wouldn't talk about that!" she hissed.
"Talk about what?" Ginny asked, looking between the three. "Where does Harry have to go back to?"
"None of your business, Ginny." Ron was staring at Harry with an odd look in his eyes. Harry decided she didn't care for such an expression being sent in her direction.
"It is my business!" said Ginny, firing up at once. "You brought up the topic with me sitting here; therefore it's my business as well!"
"That's not how it works." Ron glared at his sister. "Go back to the house. Mum probably needs your help with lunch or something."
Hermione put her head in her hands and shook it.
"Merlin, Ron," Harry groaned. "Do you have to be so — what was the word you said before, 'Mione? — misogynistic. You can't just dismiss her around like that!"
Ron was stubborn in his stance. "We're talking about this and Ginny's not going to hear about it." He jerked his head at the house. "Go on, Gin."
Ginny's lips pursed so much that the blood rushed out of them. "Fine! Alright. You don't want me around. That's fine." She shot up so fast that she knocked Hermione's knee in the process. Stopping only for a short "Sorry," to Hermione, Ginny stalked off in the direction of the Burrow. They could hear her muttering loudly until she was too far for anything to be heard.
Ron turned back to look at Harry. "Well?"
"Ron . . . you mustn't . . ." Hermione said weakly. Her cheeks at two high spots of colour on them.
"You big he-man, you," Harry snarked. "Please tell me what to do, Ron, it's not like I have a mind of my own. Why don't you just club us over the head next and drag us off by our hair to your cave?"
"What are you—?" Ron began.
"That's enough of that!" Hermione spoke over him.
"It sure isn't enough yet," Harry countered, staring down Ron. The boy didn't waver in his returning glare. Harry's lip began to curl. "What's your problem? You're acting like a . . . a . . ."
"Yeah?" Ron said angrily, hands clenching tightly to the football. "Like a what?"
"I'd say a misogynistic swine but I'm not sure you'd know what that means."
Ron's face reddened in anger. "Are you calling me stupid?"
"I don't have to call you anything; you are what you are either way!"
"You smart-arsed bi—!"
Hermione finally exploded "Shut up, the both of you! We're not going to get into a pointless argument over this!"
"It's too late for tha—"
"Yes, I know, thanks to this idiot!" She glared at Ron, who turned away, punching the ball from hand to hand.
A glaring silence preceded Hermione's outburst. Harry began to realise that she had not felt this way since fourth year, when Ron had looked at her just as oddly before their horrible argument. But the difference was that now, Hermione was in on it too.
"Harry," she started, but seemed to trail off when Harry didn't give her any encouragement. She closed her eyes. "Alright. I'm assuming you know what we're talking about. You want to know the reason we don't want you to go?" She breathed deep. "Ever since you told us about Middle Earth . . . well, it wasn't so much that you'd been there, that wasn't your fault after all . . . but . . . well . . . when you told us that you would be going back . . . w-we didn't like it."
Ron's eye twitched.
Harry looked incredulously between them. Hermione dropped her gaze when theirs collided. "You don't want me to go back? Is this more jealousy shit like back in fourth year?"
Before Ron could retort — his ears had gone red again — Hermione beat him to it. "That's not it at all! We just don't want you going back! I mean, why do you have to go back at all? I understand that you didn't say goodbye to your new friends and you might be feeling a bit of guilt over that, but, for what other reason I can't imagine!"
"Because there's a war!" Harry finally shouted, disbelieving that they could be so stubborn. "My new friends, as you called them, are in a war and I have to help. That's why I have to go back. I'd do the same for either of you if you lived in a different world. And have you forgotten about Hedwig? And my father's invisibility cloak? You think I would just leave them there?"
Hermione had clasped her hands over her mouth, looking horrified. After a few seconds of mutual staring she set them aside and spoke. "B-but Harry, you could get hurt! We need you!"
Harry felt like swearing but couldn't get the foul words out when she saw Hermione looking so small. Still, how could they be so ridiculous? "Because I'm 'The Chosen One?'" she said a touch bitterly.
"No," Ron said seriously. Harry saw that he no longer held the squashed football. A brief glance around showed that it was sitting downhill a fair few meters away. "Not because you're 'The Chosen One'. It's because you're our best mate. We . . ." he faded off, his entire face lit up tomato-like.
"What Ron means to say," Hermione continued, her eyes glassy, "is that, we care about you, Harry. We just don't want you getting hurt."
Damn it all. Why did they have to be like this? "I get hurt all the time here! That hasn't stopped me from still going to Hogwarts, has it? And Dumbledore's going to be with me when I go so I don't see the problem."
Hermione's eyes briefly flitted to Ron before coming back. "We know that, but he's not going to always be around, is he? Not every second or every minute. There could be all sorts of strange creatures there. What if one of them sneaks up on you or something?"
Harry had to concede the point. After all she had no idea what sort of things might be lurking in Middle Earth. "Alright. I get that. But still — That's life in general. A person is always at risk, whatever they're doing. What is all this about, Hermione? I'm actually going to be more protected than usual. Surely you're happy about that?"
"Of course I am!" she said shrilly. "It's just . . . ooooh!" Harry and Ron drew back as Hermione banged the ground with her fists hard so that bits of dirt and grass scattered into the air. Sweet Merlin, that girl was an Amazon when she was angry. "Don't you get it? Ron and I can't be sure you're always going to be alright! We want to go with you, and the fact that we can't . . . it's frustrating! It's a horrible feeling when we know we can't be there for you!"
"So that's it?" Harry queried, glancing between his best friends. "You don't want me to go because you can't come along? You want it to be like it always is . . ." As Harry finished, she realised she was no longer questioning them. She finally understood what they had been driving at.
Hermione bit her lip. "As stupid as it might sound, we want to protect you. We want to be there for you . . . like we always have. You shouldn't go alone."
Harry sighed. Alright, she could see where they were coming from. She wouldn't want Ron going off to a strange world where Harry couldn't be there to protect him either. In fact, she would be right furious if Ron was to leave her behind. But he had no choice! The only person who could come with him was Professor Dumbledore, and that only because of the connection he shared with Fawkes, whose feather resided in Harry's wand.
Both wands now.
"Listen," Harry implored tiredly, speaking with a degree of calm and reasoning that surprised even herself as well as Ron and Hermione. "Let's stop carrying on about this. I'm going. I understand now why you don't want me to but I have to go. I've told you why; the friends I've made are in danger and I can't leave them to it anymore than I could if you two were in danger.
"Now, the question is, can you accept that? Can you let me go without acting like gits about it?" Ron snorted. But Harry could see an amused tilt appearing in the corner of his mouth. "I don't want to leave in the middle of an argument, I'll end up endangering myself and others that way. I'd be too distracted by thoughts of you two being angry with me."
"We're sorry, Harry." Hermione smiled and sniffled at the same time. "I guess we have been acting a little selfish. I just like being left out like this."
"Ron?" Harry entreated, turning towards the ginger-haired boy.
"S'ppose I have been acting like a right stubborn git." He smiled a small smile. "But you know mate, if you get yourself killed in that Bottom Earth or whatever—"
"Honestly, Ron, 'Bottom Earth?' The number of times we've talked about it . . . Sorry," she apologized when Ron glared at her for interrupting.
"Anyway, just don't kick it too soon, alright?"