Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.
A/N: An extra special thank you to all those who reviewed and offered genuine constructive criticism. An extra special kick up the bum to all those who offered genuine flamers.
Also, I have borrowed some lines from the books and the movies. They are fairly obvious and not mine.
Enjoy.
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Chapter Twenty-One: Hogwarts in Middle Earth
"You can tell us nothing else?" asked Gandalf, still looking less than relieved.
He wasn't the only one. The entire company (or what was left of it) was gathered about Harry, who'd just been woken up by the wizard, and seemed overly concerned.
"I've told you already that there's nothing else to tell, Gandalf." Harry rubbed a hand over his face. "He was creepy and horrid and smelled like sulphur and I've had enough of experiencing a dark lord's feelings to last me several lifetimes. Can I go wash my face or something, I feel . . . unclean."
Gandalf muttered something in his deep voice that sounded like, "Beg your pardon," and sent Harry a look from beneath his enormous brows. "Off you go, my lad. Use the scullery chamber offside the great hall."
"Thanks," said Harry, feeling a little uncomfortable, then walked out of the large room and into the corridor. He roped a passing soldier into telling him where the scullery was and when he got there he had to wait until the cook finished making breakfast for the king before he could pore himself some water. All the pails were being used so Harry transfigured his hat into one. Then he wandered outside, found the darkest corner in Shadowfax's stall, stripped, and washed. It was only after he ran out of water that he remembered he could conjure his own, but that reminder only served to make him even more irritated.
"Stupid eye," he murmured under his breath, scraping a transfigured sponge down his chest. He accidentally pressed too hard, and winced. He'd never been that good at transfiguration and the sponge more resembled a kiwi fruit than something he could use to wash himself with. It was the best Harry had, though, so he would put up with it.
What really irritated him was that he didn't know why he was so irritated in the first place. It had something to do with what had happened, he knew that, but what?
"Maybe it's because He won?" Harry hadn't even tried to put up a resistance. He'd merely stood there and let himself be . . . what: talked to? Put like that it sounded stupid. It is stupid. The whole thing's stupid. Aragorn and Pippin spoke to Him too, and they're not acting like a bunch of . . . Harry yanked his trousers up furiously.
It was not because of the pain he'd felt either; the cruciatus curse being far more agonising, and still seeming to linger about the limbs for hours after it was lifted. More likely it was because, yet again, he'd let a Dark Lord enter his mind. All those hours of practising Occlumency with Snape (admittedly under duress), even letting Voldemort trick him, even letting Voldemort brief possession of his body at the Department of Mysteries; all that learning gone down the drain. Half a year wasted which could have been better spent learning something more productive — like healing spells. Harry was beginning to wonder if he would ever become an Occlumens. It seemed such a hopeless endeavour, now that he looked back on it, that he thought he ought to just give up learning how to clear his mind.
It infuriated him that he was reduced to thinking like this. He didn't normally pity or doubt himself, and he wondered now if this was what Sauron had reduced Aragorn and Pippin to think; if this was what Sauron specialised in. Being a Dark Lord, he supposed it would be part of his job, not least to say of killing. Thinking this made Harry feel a lot better.
After dressing in a new set of robes he went to pat Shadowfax. The white horse nudged him on the shoulder affectionately when he offered it some sugar-cubes from his trunk.
I wish I can change into an animal already. Bet I won't have half as many problems. But I can't even not think about thinking! "What's it like being a horse, then?"
Harry became a little unnerved when Shadowfax sent him a distinctly Gandalf-like look.
Creepy horse.
All right, so he had to practise not thinking. The hand stroking Shadowfax's long silky main slowed without his being aware. Gandalf had said something that night back at Helm's Deep: "Why, I sleep, of course". Initially Harry had thought the wizard had been telling him to sleep on the problem, but he had already done that and got nowhere. Perhaps Gandalf, in his wise and wizardly way, had been trying to tell Harry something else. Give him a clue, perhaps, that Harry had been, and still was, too dense to see?
But what?
For some indescribable reason his mind travelled back to the pain he'd felt earlier when talking to Sauron. What a stupid thing to think. As if pain could help . . . Harry froze, mind whirling. But didn't it, though? Harry hadn't thought of anything while he'd been under Sauron's curse. Sauron's mind curse, as Gandalf had explained.
His heart sped a little. Was it possible? In the physical sense, it wouldn't hurt him to try.
He sat back down in the corner of the stall (much to Shadowfax's displeasure — the horse having been nosing him curiously for more sugar cubes), closed his eyes, and concentrated.
'What business brings you here, Istar?'
'Certainly none of yours,' Harry told the eye, and that was the last thing he thought before pain overwhelmed him.
Harry concentrated hard on that pain. He wrapped it in metaphysical hands and yanked it to himself. He remembered how it had felt, jabbing into his head, invading his head, throbbing through him . . .
"Harry?!"
Harry blinked, opened his eyes. Crouching before him, startled and wide-eyed, was Aragorn. He had been trying to get Harry's attention for the last few minutes, it seemed: including slapping and shaking him awake. No wonder his cheek stung.
"You almost missed breakfast. You were gone for a little over two hours," Aragorn explained as they walked out of the stables, and Harry froze.
"You're not serious?" Then, then it had worked far better than Harry had ever hoped it could have! But surely that wasn't possible? Surely magic didn't work like that. Surely you couldn't just wave a wand and . . . oh. Right. But still, it seems too easy almost, especially as I've had trouble with it for so long. He and Aragorn made their way into the great hall, Harry's mind still flummoxed.
Just as they were about to step foot through the doors a shriek sounded about their heads. A faint shriek, stolen by the wind. A familiar shriek.
He and Aragorn looked up, Harry's heart thumping. It had to be, it had to be . . . "Hedwig!"
And there was his beautiful snowy owl, wings beating furiously against the high wind, no more than several dozen metres away. Harry cursed the Golden Hall for being situation on a high outcropping and in the middle of bloody nowhere. Hedwig was struggling against the force of the alternating wind pressure, but looking determined. Heads swivelled up as she gave another joyful cry and flew over Meduseld, descending, and — too tired to even try to perch herself on Harry's shoulder — struck him ungracefully in the chest, his arms immediately enfolding her so that she wouldn't flop on the ground.
"Hedwig," Harry whispered, the absurd lump in his throat finally subsiding.
Hedwig gave a weary hoot and lifted her leg. There was parchment clutched in her talons and Aragorn immediately pried it out and unrolled it. By now the rest of the Fellowship had congregated by the doors and were looking on anxiously; the sight of Hedwig having an adverse affect. There may yet be something wrong with Frodo and Sam.
"What does it say?" Gandalf demanded, situating himself between Harry and Aragorn, his staff almost smacking Harry in the head.
He frowned. "Let's just all go inside; I have to take care of Hedwig."
This suggestion was approved by all, except an impatient looking Gandalf, and only once they were seated about the king's long breakfast table did Aragorn read the letter: the hobbits, at least, seemed to be healthy by their account, if not a little despondent, but that was only to be expected.
". . . And down the bottom, written in what looks to be mud if I am not mistaken —" Gandalf peered closely and nodded "— it says: 'Near Minas Morgul now, according to Gollum. Lost pack. Please send more food.'"
"Is that bad?" asked Merry, looking back and forth between Gandalf and Aragorn.
Gandalf snapped. "Are you deaf of hearing, Merry, of course it is bad! They have no food or water."
Merry flushed in embarrassment. "Only I meant if it was bad that they were near Minas Morgul now." He looked very small and hunched over.
Gandalf sighed, obviously apologetic. "Forgive me, Merry. It is this whole business today of which I am still weary; nonetheless Frodo and Sam seem healthy, if hungry, and we shall immediately send Hedwig back to them —"
"No we won't," snapped Harry, looking up from feeding Hedwig; presently in his lap resting her head against one of his forearms. "She's tired and hungry and just flew who knows how many bloody miles—leagues, whatever!" They all stared at him, Gandalf with a sort of understanding frown. "I'm worried about Sam and Frodo, too, but I won't sacrifice my owl either. If I send her out now she'll fall from the sky out of exhaustion and then what will the hobbits have?"
There were mutterings of "quite right" "the lad speaks true," and "beg your pardon"; the latter by an apologetic Gandalf. "I thought too quickly and spoke too hastily," he said now, patting Harry on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way. "We shall wait until Hedwig rests before sending her back."
Harry nodded, grateful that they understood so that he didn't have to argue anymore.
The conversation then changed to what had happened early that morning, which Harry mostly tuned out of, preferring instead to take care of his owl. She was strong enough now to perch on his shoulder, and lovingly bumped her head against his when he gave her some owl treats.
"But at this time we have been strangely fortunate," said Gandalf, taking a sip of water. "I have been saved by this hobbit from a grave blunder. Many times had I considered whether or not to probe the Stone myself to find its uses. Had I done so I should have been revealed to Sauron. That would be . . . not good, to put it lightly. Alas that he has seen the Black Wizard!"
Harry's head shot up. Gandalf was staring at him. So was everyone.
"Harry told me nothing untoward occurred, except for the enemy appearing overly happy at finding him. This does not bode well, I think, and I am not sure what it means. He may perhaps want to capture Harry for some nefarious purpose; use him and his magic against us. He thinks we are still in Orthanc, and that is one good thing. For the moment all we can do is change our plan." He shrugged a little, turning to the king. "As I said we have been strangely fortunate with Pippin's blunder. We know now the enemy's plans and can move against him accordingly."
Theodan stared in silence, hand stroking his beard
Gandalf sighed. Irritably. "Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. If the beacons of Gondor a lit, Rohan must be ready for war!"
At last, and after an awkward silence, the king spoke. "Tell me. Why should we ride to the aid of those who do not come to ours?" He looked at Boromir particularly pensively as he said this. Boromir clenched his fists but said nothing. "What do we owe Gondor?"
"I will go," said Aragorn and Boromir together.
"No, Aragorn," said Gandalf hurriedly, then whispered something in the man's ear.
The rest of breakfast was a sullen business for all except Hedwig, who was tucking into a dead mouse that Harry had conjured; with great relish, as it were, and there was many a pinched nose about the table. Indeed breakfast probably would have been entirely missed if it weren't for Gandalf announcing his, Boromir's, and Pippin's leaving and, after a moment's thought, Harry's.
"Why you ought to argue with me I have no idea," Gandalf was saying impatiently to Harry's questions a little later while loading up a couple of saddle-bags onto Shadowfax. "You shall be of much more use in my company than the king's, and not to mention your studies; neglected presently I am sure, and which none but I may help you with."
"I never said that, Gandalf," Harry said back, getting angry in turn; partly because of the studies remark (which wasn't true, but then Gandalf didn't know that yet), but mostly because Gandalf was way out of line. The wizard seemed more short-tempered than usual this morning, which Harry could only take to mean that he was still agitated over what had happened with the palantir and Pippin. Not to mention all that came after. "I just asked why exactly I have to go with you, although now that you've told me in precise detail . . ." Harry trailed off, letting sarcasm enter his voice.
Gandalf sent him a side-long long, which was not entirely missed by the others who were hovering in nearby stalls, and threw a light blanket over Shadowfax's back. "Indeed, Harry, and so have you packed?"
"Everything's in my pocket," Harry sighed.
"I shall fetch your horse," Aragorn volunteered. Harry sent him a grateful look. He did not yet know how to saddle one.
Meanwhile, in one of the stalls, Pippin and Merry were arguing in low voices; which was to say, not very low.
"Don't you understand? The enemy thinks you have the ring. He's going to be looking for you, Pip. They have to get you out of here."
"But then why are Harry and Boromir coming?" questioned Pippin.
"I expect Harry for the same reason as you," said Merry, sounding annoyed. "And that is your fault too, you know. If you hadn't looked . . . why do you always have to look?"
"I do not know," said Pippin sullenly.
Merry tutted. "Well, I should think Boromir is going because that is his home. As luck would have it you had nothing to do with that . . . although, what with all your messes, I'm beginning to wonder."
"Yes, but I am not going now," Boromir injected, to the surprise of everyone. He had always expressed a desire to go back to Minas Tirith, even as far back as Rivendell.
Gandalf paused in his packing. "You do not wish to go, Boromir?"
"I find myself contended with Harry going in my stead. I shall be of more use here as a representative of Gondor, especially with Theodan and his misgivings barring our way. And it is not as though we shall not meet up with you later. The black ships call upon the wide river."
Harry blinked.
"I feel my city much safer with two wizards in it," Boromir smiled, again shocking both Harry and Gandalf. "If Lord Denethor ought protest to my lack of presence tell him I shall be along shortly, which is the truth besides."
"Your father . . ." Gandalf began, then changed his mind. "As you will," he said.
Nothing more was said. Harry slung a leg over his war horse (managing to do it himself this time but only because he'd climbed on a stall beforehand), plucked Hedwig gently off of his shoulder and bundled her in his lap. She was still too exhausted to go long distance flying yet. Harry would send her away a day from now when Gandalf wrote the letter. In the meantime she would be riding with him on Hammrod.
He hoped she liked horses.
Judging by the haughty glare she was throwing at Hammrod's back, probably not. Harry had nearly forgotten how jealous and territorial Hedwig became if he were to pet other owls or animals. Likely she thought Harry had gotten a new pet. Hammrod wasn't really his, though. Harry was just borrowing him until he transported himself back to Earth and got his broom. Speaking of which he would have to do that soon; preferably when they arrived at Minas Tirith.
"Of all the inquisitive hobbits, Peregrin Took, you are the worst!" Gandalf hoisted Pippin onto Shadowfax; awkwardly, it would seem, as the hobbit let out a very small yelp. The wizard sat in place behind him.
Legolas walked up to Hammrod and whispered something into the horse's ear, then smiled up at Harry. "May Elbereth protect you, young one." His voice rose, full of majesty. "May Elbereth watch over all of you!"
"Thank you, Legolas," said Gandalf. "I am certain we shall need it," which was, perhaps, not the most rousing statement he could have made in the circumstances. Especially not with an already terrified hobbit in earshot.
"Gandalf, how long until we reach Minas Tirith?" asked Pippin.
"Three days as the Nazgul flies. And you better hope we don't have one of those on our tails!"
A few more farewells and gifts later and they were off, cantering out of the stables, down the slope of Meduseld and out the front gate. A sharp jolt overcame Harry then, as he realised that he may never see his friends again after this. A cheerful start to a perilous journey, he thought sardonically, and tightened an arm about Hedwig.
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They made camp by the River Isen very early the next morning, the horses exhausted, Hammrod even more so. Shadowfax stood grazing pleasantly in the moonlight, his flickering tail glowing molten silver.
A horse elf, was Harry's brief, fanciful thought before he shook his head. Shadowfax was special, there was no doubt about it, but he was no elf.
A couple of feet away Gandalf and Pippin were engaging in a low and intense conversation — or what could be termed an intense conversation between one very wise wizard and one senseless hobbit.
Harry himself now stood (his bottom and thighs aching painfully), stroking Hedwig gently down her wing. He limped a few metres into the dark to give them some privacy. Hedwig was well fed and rested now, having slept in his lap for the better part of the day, but he was loath to see her go. "Hey girl, you're going to have to go back to Frodo and Sam. All right? They need you more than me."
Hedwig hooted sadly and nipped him on the nose.
Harry reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the short sack which was filled with months' worth of food and drink, and tied it to Hedwig's leg. There was also a note in it, but Harry couldn't read it. "Make sure you don't loose that."
Hedwig glared at him, and if the parting nip on his ear was a little sharp, Harry didn't hold it against her. He watched her flap gracefully into the night, moonlight glinting off of her snowy feathers until they seemed made of gossamer.
Owl elf, thought Harry, and smiled to himself.
His pallet looked welcoming in the firelight and Harry sat on it. Then immediately stood back up, having poked himself with the Horn of Gondor — a parting gift from Boromir that Harry was to give to Lord Denethor. The horn presently offside, Harry dug through his knapsack and found his textbook. It wouldn't hurt to read a little. He had already told Gandalf of his achievement, and the wizard, after congratulating him, had immediately pushed Harry to more study. Harry had moved on from not thinking to concentrating and from concentrating to thinking about his Animagus form; the firelight a not very good conducive to page-turning, but warm nonetheless.
Moments later an irritated grunt drew his attention from a brief passage about animal instincts.
" . . . know, Peregrin Took. It is of no use apologising, I have heard enough off it to realise you do not know what you say, and therefore do not mean it! Go! Be gone with you, I have no more patience this morn."
Hurt, shocked, Pippin sighed unhappily and retreated to his pallet across the fire, where he curled up under his blanket looking very small and morose. Harry quickly pretended to read his book when Gandalf looked sharply at him; as though Harry had been entertaining notions of recalcitrance, too.
They slept.
They left the next morning at day break a few hours later, the dawning light very bright and beautiful in the clear sky. He had no earthly clue just where they were, and was a bit hesitant about asking Gandalf. The wizard still hadn't gotten over his crabbiness. Just that morning he had snapped at Pippin for dropping a twig too loudly.
The next few days past in uneasy accord. Something large and winged flapped over their heads one night, luckily after they'd extinguished the fire, and Gandalf hurriedly shushed them. "We ought not make any noise now. Be as quiet as possible."
"Was that a Nazgul, Gandalf?" Pippin asked, terrified. He'd huddled himself beneath Gandalf's cloak and was pressed tightly up against his side. The wizard patted him on the head.
"Most likely," he said, giving the hobbit a small, comforting smile.
Pippin whimpered.
"We should be good to go now," said Gandalf a little while later. "Harry, is there some sort of spell you can use to cloak your horse's footsteps? Shadowfax has no need of one and I shall not take any chances now that we are so close."
Harry put a silencing charm over Hammrod's hooves and asked, "Where are we, Gandalf?"
"In the realm of Gondor," the wizard answered. "The land of Anorien is still passing by. Now let us be off."
They rode heavy and long into the night, twilight threatening to burst the edge of the horizon. Harry was almost asleep when they came upon a group of cloaked men hiding in the mist, huddled down everywhere in front of a white stone wall with packs, torches, and little tables. Meat roasted over small coal pits glowing red and orange, and his stomach, having had nothing for half a night, grumbled pleasantly. These men were quite obviously friendly as Gandalf knew them by name; even scolding them on occasion.
Harry observed all this from under the brim of his hat, wondering just what they were about, lying here in the gloom. Likely they were some sort of scouting party. He would even go so far as to think they were a hunting party. But what are they hunting? Orcs sprang to mind.
". . . you know the pass-words of the Seven Gates and are free to go forward," the leader of the men was saying, his face heavily shadowed by a long hood. "But we do not know your companions. What are they? What is the little one? A dwarf out of the mountains in the North? What is the big one? A man or an elf? We know you travel with odd companions, Mithrandir. We wish for no strangers in the land at this time, unless they be mighty men of arms in whose faith and help we can trust."
"I will vouch for them before the seat of Denethor, Ingold" said Gandalf, Shadowfax stamping a little below him. The men whispered amongst themselves. Obviously this was some great honour. "Sitting before me is Peregrin, of the Shire. The one beside me is Harry of, er . . ."
"Hogwarts," grunted Harry.
"Harry of Hogwarts," Gandalf continued as though he hadn't stuttered. "Very valiant men, both of them."
"Man?" Pippin burst out, surprising everyone. They'd thought he'd been asleep. "I am no man, but a hobbit."
"But what is a hobbit?" asked a gruff voice somewhere in back.
"A Halfling," Gandalf answered. "Nay, not the one that was spoken of," he added, seeing the wonder cross the men's faces. "And now that you know, may we please go onward?"
"Hold, Mithrandir," said Ingold, placing a hand on Shadowfax, who snapped at it. He hastily backed away. "I have no knowledge of this Hog Warts. Is it somewhere in the South?"
"I should say it is nowhere," said Gandalf vaguely. "Tis a magical place, one only where wizards may tread. Yes, he is the one whose magic destroyed the Uruk army," Gandalf added, after hearing the many gasps.
Harry almost gasped as well. How do they know? Come to think of it, how did they know about Frodo?
"And now that you know my companions mean you no harm, indeed are in fact the very opposite, we shall now go on. We haven't time to linger."
They weren't stopped this time. Ingold even called out "Farewell!" in a cheerful voice as they passed through the narrow gate at the wall.
Harry didn't waste a second once they were out of earshot. "How do they know about me, sir?"
Gandalf seemed amused that Harry would ask such a thing. "How do you think? Gossip and rumours abound everywhere, and especially in these suspicious times we need all the hope we can get."
"Are you trying to say they found out about me through word of mouth?" asked Harry, incredulous. "It's only been a week since the battle at Helm's Deep!"
"And how long did it take us to get here?" said Gandalf.
Harry still found it hard to believe.
"Where are we now, Gandalf?" asked Pippin.
"Ithillien," the wizard answered. "It runs for more than ten leagues from the mountain's foot and follows the river, enclosing in its fence the fields of Pelennor, which is where we are going now. Then onto the main gates and the seven tiers of Minas Tirith."
They rode for a little through Ithillien, taking the shortest rode to the Pelennor. When they stepped through yet another gate Harry saw for the first time Minas Tirith. The city reminded him strongly of Hogwarts. Not for the way it looked, but because of its presence. Minas Tirith was purely offset white, gleaming in the morning sun and a hundred times bigger than Helm's Deep. It really sort of looked like an elaborate cake with a knife blade stuck in the middle. Harry had never thought anything could ever come close to the majesty of Hogwarts: Minas Tirith almost topped it.
"Wow."
"Indeed," smiled Gandalf.
"Wow," attempted Pippin.
Gandalf frowned at him good-naturedly.
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