The dark-haired man clambered to his feet, his body wracked with pain. As his head cleared, he looked around in shock.
"Ugh, portkeys." He muttered. "Bollocks. Bloody Bella." He concentrated and attempted to apparate back to the Ministry.
Nothing happened.
He sighed and attempted to apparate to Grimmauld Place.
Nothing happened.
Alarm settled on his face and he paced in circles before his head lifted sharply and he squinted at the sun.
"Oh, have got to be kidding me…" He whined. "How bloody long was I out?" He shook his head and moved a long narrow stick from one hand to the other. "Expecto patronum." He huffed and a massive silvery shape appeared, similar in shape to a dog but of larger build and with a shaggier coat. "Whoa… that's a bit bigger than I remember…" He shook his head again. "Message to Dumbledore. Bella slipped me a portk-" he stopped as the Patronus faded away. "That's not supposed to happen. Expecto patronum. Message to Moony. Bella slipped me… Again?" Another silvery shape appeared and faded. "Expecto patronum. Message to Harry." This time he waited and for a third time the Patronus faded. "Bugger." He tried to think. What was the distance limit of a Patronus? He had a vague memory of hearing Dumbledore recount receiving new of Grindelwald's arrest in New York, Newt Scamander had sent a Patronus to warn him before it reached the newspapers. "Ok, so a Patronus message isn't limited by distance, but by someone to receive it." His heart cracked with the thought that Moony and Harry weren't alive to receive his message, but someone had to be. "Who? McGonagall. Hagrid. But what if old snakeface has taken Hogwarts? Aberforth? Rosmerta? Andi?"
Over the next few minutes he tried them all and more. Every time, the Patronus faded before he could complete the message.
"Oh, shite…" He shuddered as he reached into a pocket and brought out a bristly broom. "Gods, I hope this thing works." Would magic even work in this place? "Up." He ordered and sighed in relief that the broom floated into the air.
He mounted the broom and commanded it into the sky. From fifty feet up, he saw nothing but mountains. From a hundred feet up, he saw nothing but mountains. He cast a bubblehead charm on himself and pointed the broom almost vertical and began to climb into the sky. At five hundred feet, all he saw was mountains. At a thousand feet, he knew he was in trouble. England and Scotland don't have a mountain range that runs pretty much directly north-south, not like that. At ten thousand feet he whimpered, he could see no cities or large areas under farming. At twenty thousand feet, the broom shook, but the man could barely see the coastlines. He was not in England or Scotland.
He sighed and let the broom settle back to earth. There was only one last thing to do…
"Tempus et locus."
Letters began to appear in the air in his own handwriting.
2.47pm
18June 2939.
Unnamed ridge.
Misty Mountains.
Middle-Earth.
Arda.
49°7'53" N, 4°58'2" E.
"No…" The man moaned, then there was a massive dog where the man had stood.
A long heartbreaking howl filled the air, followed by a second, then a third and a fourth. Silence slowly fell in the mountains. The local wildlife hunched in on themselves at the pain in the beast's howls and stayed in their hiding places.
The beast, a massive bear-sized Grimm, stalked across the mountain ridge, the man inside retreating into the animal's brain, it had protected him once, it would protect him again.
The Grimm stayed in the mountains, never venturing down to the lowlands, it haunted the upper valleys and ridges. The larger denizens of the mountains grew to accept the Grimm, learning quickly that it had no intention to hunt them, the small animals were its preferred prey and were hunted down with surprising ease.
Occasionally the Grimm saw signs of humans, the first time startled it so badly that it nearly fell into the hunter's trap. After righting itself and finding a secluded patch of forest, the Grimm became a man, who whispered "Expecto patronum" into the air and watched as a silvery Grimm grew then faded again. The man became the Grimm and faded into the night.
Days passed into weeks and weeks passed into months, and still the Grimm stayed in the mountains. Each time the moon rose full, the grim became a man, and just as the sun set, he whispered the same words. When the silvery Grimm faded each time without taking his message, the man retreated into the Grimm and the beast would howl its pain to the moon.
Two winters passed and the Grimm stopped becoming a man, stopped casting its spell. Instead it tracked the movements of people through its territory. Up into the areas where the underground-dwellers roamed and back down into the lowlands. It took upon itself, the responsibility for seeing those that entered its territory, all left safely.
The howl of a lesser canine echoed in the later summer evening, causing the Grimm to snarl, it disliked the filthy newcomers, they tainted the water and hunted the animals he tried to protect. He tracked them down to a spit of rock that jutted out over the mountain's edge, a few tired old pines clinging to the poor soil.
As he watched the beasts hunted a group of small beings, those that reminded the Grimm of a certain charms Professor, but far more robust. Given the weapons they carried and the fight they were putting up, they were well accustomed to battle. As the beings were driven up into the trees, a single being, even smaller than the others was left standing, trying to remove a dagger from a beast's head.
The Grimm heaved a sigh and became a man, he began to make his way down the incline, charms and spells falling from his lips, to conceal his presence from them all, at least until he was ready to show himself.
When the beasts began to attack the trees, the man sighed again, they weren't going to walk away from this without a fight. "Bollocks." His cracked voice went unheard. When the trees began to uproot themselves, he knew they were running out of time. With only one tree standing, there was nowhere for the little ones to go, but down. The man wasn't sure he was strong enough or fast enough to save them all and even if he did, there was still those that followed the part-man-part-troll monstrosity, to deal with.
When the only human, in either party, used a staff to set pinecones on fire, the man blinked. Who carried a staff? Too cumbersome and visible. But it worked, sort of, driving the beasts back, creating a ring of fire that the beasts were afraid to cross.
Just when it seemed like they might drive the beasts away, there was a deep cracking and the last tree, began to tilt, its roots losing their hold on the rocky ground. It came to a stop almost level with the ground, hanging out over nothing but clear air for at least a hundred feet.
As the man positioned himself to retrieve the tree's occupants, one of them stood up and walked down the trunk like it was a broad staircase. Regal and powerful, a long and elegant sword in his hand. Slowly he broke into a run, he was going to challenge the white man-troll. The man-troll's canine version of a nundu tossed the smaller being aside like it was a chew-toy, not once but twice. The smallest of the beings entered the fight, when the canine-nundu picked up its thrown aside toy, like a bone. A flash of metal and a body rolled across the ground. The man-troll told an underling something in its foul voice and the underling approached, a sword raised to end a life. The littlest one knocked the underling from its feet and a bright blade was buried in the underling's chest.
The little one stood between the man-troll and his fallen comrade, with his blade held high. After that it was a little wild, blades flashed and more beings from the tree entered the fight.
But the fight was lost before it began, and the man stood beside the little one, his concealment spell dismissed and his wand at the ready, having cast cutting curses and blasting hexes at any of the man-troll's forces that got near them. The two shared a glance, resigned to their end, when suddenly… eagles the size of a bloody dragon appeared and began to tear into the man-troll's beasts.
Their wings fanned the flames and drove them towards the man-troll, they picked off his beasts and dropped them over the cliff, felled trees onto them and one by one, they swept up the little beings carrying them in their claws only to swap them over to the back of a flock-mate. One swooped in and scooped up the leader, the one that lay unconscious after being tossed around by the man-troll's white beast. Talons gently scooped up the warrior and as he left the ground a piece of branch with metal tipped ends, fell to the ground. An eagle swooped in and its talons closed around the littlest being, right beside the man, he simply turned his head to avoid the dust from its wings, before he shrugged, scooped up the fallen branch and shoved it into his expandable pocket. Then he took a run-up and leapt from the cliff, not sure whether to hope an eagle would catch him or not.
But one did.
They flew through the last of the night and into the dawn. Soaring above the clouds made him miss his bike, which in turn forced him to think about people. Remus, Moony, his best mate, the one he would happily have shared his life with. Harry, his cub, his beloved godson, the closest he would ever have come to child of his own. James, Prongs, the brother of his heart. Lily, Flame, the brightest and scariest witch of her age. And behind them was Dumbledore, his headmaster and one of the few people he both admired and hated.
A pinnace of rock seemed to be their destination. It jutted up out of the ground like a spire of a cathedral, the tip tilted and flattened. The eagle carrying the fallen warrior was the first to touch down, lowering its burden to the ground, a sword clattering against the rock. Then the grey wizard, he leapt from his mount and hurried to the warrior's side, as he leant over the fallen warrior, the other eagles deposited their passengers, one-by-one, the man the last to join them.
There was a tense moment between he warrior and the littlest one that turned into an emotional feelgood moment.
Then the wizard spotted the man.
"And who do we have here?" The old man asked, drawing the attention of all the others.
"Who's that?" One young person asked.
"He fought against the wargs." The littlest one said. "I think he's a wizard like Gandalf, he threw lights at them that cut them or blasted them into the trees."
The old man, that had been identified as a wizard, moved closer. "A wizard? No, Bilbo, it's not possible, I'm sorry to say."
Something pulled in the younger man's chest and a smirk grew on his face.
He pulled his wand from his sleeve, again and with a flick, conjured up a plush cushion. He sat down on it and with another flick a pile of small logs appeared in front of him. The voices that had been asking questions about him had gone quiet, in shock.
"Incendio." Flames burst from the tip of his wand and engulfed the logs, when they were burning merrily, he picked up a pebble and transfigured it into a kettle that he filled with a quiet, "augamenti."
Then he began to dig around in his pocket, his hand emerging with a small drawstring bag.
"Anyone for tea?" He asked.
"Finally!" The littlest one, the one that the wizard called 'Bilbo' yelled, making the others jump. "A civilized being." This comment earned him some objections from the others. "Oh, shut up. How many of you have got tea in your pockets? Hmm...?" Mutters answered him but he ignored them and turned to the man.
"Would you like a cushion?" The man asked with a cheeky grin.
"Please. I don't suppose, that thing makes biscuits, does it?" A small hand pointed at his wand.
"No, unfortunately not. I might have some of Molly's cake, though…" He proceeded to dig into the bag, his hand going into it, then his forearm, then his entire arm. "Blast it, where is it?" He muttered. "Oh, bugger it. Accio Molly's cake." The bag's neck ballooned and swelled, and a plate enclosed by a crystal cloche flew out, to be grabbed by the man. "Woman's a harridan, but my gods, she's a brilliant cook."
The little one sat down on the cushion opposite the man. "Chocolate cake for breakfast? My mother would be rolling in her grave." He shook his head.
The man snorted. "Yeah, mine too, but not just because of the time of day. She hated anything I liked." The second sentence was muttered quietly.
"Well, what sort of hobbit am I, to refuse a meal?" The little one held out a hand. "Bilbo Baggins, the Baggins of Bag End, at your service." The two shook hands in a very genteel manner, the man showing years of etiquette lessons.
"Well met, Master Baggins. Sirius Orion Black, Marauder and Gryffindor graduate." He stood and gave an elaborate bow, one that spoke of long experience. "And apparently Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black." That last sentence was said with reluctance and dislike.
"Well met, indeed, Lord Black." The wizard started only to find that neither seated being acknowledged his presence, as the man who'd called himself Sirius Black, summoned a tea set on a silver tray, from his little bag.
Sirius knew it was irking the older wizard but as the man had yet to attempt to introduce himself, Sirius was sticking with Bilbo and the more refined manners that James' mother had literally beaten into his head with year upon year of summer lessons.
"Tea, Master Baggins?" Sirius asked, pouring hot water into the teapot, swirling it around and emptying it over the side of their precarious location.
"I'd be delighted, Lord Black." Bilbo responded while the rest of the Company watched on.
Sirius placed a delicate china trio of teacup, saucer and plate, in front of the self-identified hobbit, before refilling the teapot and adding a spoonful of Remus' preferred Darjeeling tea... how that got into his bag, he wasn't admitting.
"I'm afraid I cannot offer cream. Milk, lemon and sugar, yes, but not cream. I wasn't expecting to be in such… remote conditions." Sirius let the tray float between them.
"Ah, no apologies necessary, one is relieved to find people in such remote conditions, who understand the fine art of taking tea." Bilbo waved him off. "I, personally, prefer sugar and a dash of milk with my tea, father despaired over my appalling taste."
"I confess that taking tea has rarely been something I had time for, my studies and trying to keep my foster brother out of trouble, limited my time. However, summer was often spent with my foster family and high tea was a special treat." Sirius smiled fondly, as he recalled trips with Euphemia, he and James accompanying her to the Ritz Hotel's Palm Court, as a reward for leaving Hogwarts still standing at the end of each of their senior school years.
"Oh, high tea is a most wonderous thing, but completely different from taking tea with friends." Bilbo allowed.
"Oh, yes. Cake?"
"You say the woman's a good cook?" Bilbo asked, he'd had experience with bad cakes and had no wish to be ill.
"Far beyond good, I've never known her to produce anything, that wasn't superb." Sirius admitted, with reluctant admiration.
"In that case, yes please." Bilbo calmly held out the plate and Sirius, just as calmly, cut a small slice of the luscious looking cake and laid it on the plate.
"Master Baggins?" The warrior that had regained his feet spoke. "Would you be so kind as to provide introductions?"
"Oh… Certainly, Thorin." Bilbo blinked as he recalled exactly where they were and placed his plate on the ground at his knee. "Thorin Oakenshield, King in Exile of Durin's folk, may I introduce Lord Sirius Black of the Ancient and Noble House of Black." Bilbo had no idea what an Ancient and Noble House was, but by the way Sirius had stated that he was its lord, he guessed it to mean that it was a house of high standing.
"Greetings, Lord Black." Thorin, the warrior he'd watched challenge the man-troll, gave him a slightly pained bow.
"Your majesty, please. You are injured, allow me to provide assistance." Sirius held out a hand in the classic 'stop' signal. He then reached into his bag and pulled out a small free-standing cupboard, a quick tap with his wand and it grew to stand six foot tall. He opened it and tilted his head, searching for something. "Ah, there it is." He plucked up a small glass phial. "And… that one… and probably that one, too." Three phials were withdrawn, and one was laid on his hand and offered to Thorin. "A pain reliever, your wounds must be most painful."
Thorin looked at him, but sensing no animosity, he nodded slowly and accepted the phial, popping the stopper and swallowing the shimmering blue liquid. Seconds later, he blinked in surprise.
"So quickly?" He asked.
"The benefit of a magical potion, sire, is that it is absorbed into your bloodstream almost instantly." He held out second phial. "To close the wounds and repair any internal damage." This time Thorin wasn't as slow about accepting the phial or drinking its contents. "And this one will inhibit infection from the beast's saliva. It does no good to repair a wound only to seal the poison inside the patient's body."
Thorin nodded and drank the contents of the third phial, before offering the empty containers back to Sirius.
"My thanks, Lord Black. Allow me to introduce my Company." He gestured and the Company formed ranks. "My Heirs and sister-sons, Fíli and Kíli, princes of Erebor."
Two of the younger men stepped forward.
"Fíli…" Said one.
"And Kíli…" Said the other.
"At your service." They said together.
Sirius grinned, they reminded him a pair of redheads, two pairs of redheads, in fact.
One by one, the dwarves were introduced. Captain of the Guard, Dwalin. Chief Advisor, Balin. Chief Healer, Oín. Master of the Coin, Gloín. Major-domo, Dori. Chief of Intelligence, Nori. Scribe, Ori. Master of Knives, Bombur. Master of Procurements, Bofur. And Bifur, Thorin's personal valet, turned Honour-Guard.
It was only then, that the other wizard stepped forward and introduced himself with any semblance of polite manners.
"Lord Black? I am Gandalf the Grey, a wizard of the Maiar. How is it that you came to be here? And that you can wield magic?"
Gandalf telling Sirius his name, told Sirius where he was, Lily and Remus had made he and James read that particular set of books, whenever they were in detention in their seventh year.
Sirius sighed, he was never going to see his loved ones again. "I was… there was a battle. A Dark wizard was trying to take over our society, he was killing any that opposed him. I was duelling one of his lieutenants, she hit me with a spell that pushed me into a magical artefact. Everything went black, when I regained consciousness, I was here in the Misty Mountains, a little further north of where we met. The artefact transported me from my world to yours and nothing I've tried has enabled me to reverse that."
"Your world?" Thorin asked.
"Dark wizard?" Gandalf asked.
"Nothing can get you home?" Bilbo asked.
"How many wizards are there on your world?" Kíli asked.
"Um…?" Sirius wasn't sure which to answer and decided that Kíli's question was the easiest, at least there he could speak with a degree of authority. "I completed my medi-wizard training in… um," he wasn't sure, but he thought the time differences were going to cause confusion if he used dates, "when I was twenty, then entered hit-wizard training. We had to be proficient in dealing with the non-magical world and part of that was learning about it, its laws, its transport and its population. The summer before I turned twenty-two, the world population ticked over to four-and-a-half billion people. Roughly fifty million in our country alone. But the wizarding population was smaller, just fractionally more than one in ten million, that same summer the world's wizarding population reached five hundred thousand."
Gandalf stumbled back in shock.
"So many?" Bilbo gasped. "And you can all use magic?"
"Oh, yeah, we go to school for at least seven years, to learn how to control it." Sirius grinned, remembering the pranks he and the other Marauders had gotten up to.
"Lord Black?" Oín stepped forward. "As healer to this Company, may I ask for your assistance in tending their injuries?"
"Of course, Master Oín. But might I suggest that we get down off of here first?" Sirius looked around. "There's nowhere for the them sit comfortably."
"I'm not sure about getting down." Bofur came forward. "The steps are pretty tall and Bifur, Dwalin and Kíli took the brunt of the goblin king, when he fell on us."
Gandalf and Sirius both leant out over the steps and assessed the height of them.
"About ten foot, I'd say." Gandalf muttered.
"About that." Sirius agreed.
"And a long way down, if they fall." Gandalf huffed.
"About eight hundred feet, give-or-take a few." Sirius added.
"Any better ideas than lowering them down each step?" Gandalf asked, not actually expecting an answer.
"Yep." Sirius pulled out his trusty little bag and with a few flicks of his wand, had emptied and cleaned the tea set and packed it and the medicine cabinet away, vanished the fire, kettle and cushions, sealed up the cake and put it back in his bag and pulled out a ratty looking broom. "Time to fly. Up." He commanded and the broom snapped into the air to hover at his side.
The Company blinked at the sight of a broom, floating in the air with no apparent means of suspension.
"Who's first? Someone will have to go first." Sirius grinned.
"You really think that little twig's gonna hold us?" Dwalin demanded.
"With a featherweight charm, yeah, sure." Sirius shrugged. "It's a Cleansweep, they're renowned for their durability."
"I'll go." Kíli eyed the broom with fascination, even as he held his ribs.
"Alright, little lion, come on over here." Sirius gave them what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Pondus paribus." He tapped Kíli on the shoulder and watched the young dwarf's eyes widen. "While the translation is technically… 'weight of a feather', you don't actually weigh the same as a feather, what it does is decrease your weight to approximately ten percent of your uncharmed weight." He reached out a hand and the broom floated over to him. "This has cushioning charms on it, so you won't crush the jewels, don't worry. Now… this is how to mount a broom, as a passenger." He showed them how climb up onto a floating broom. "And away we go…" He leant forward, fractionally, and Kíli clutched at him as the broom edged out over the steps and into free air.
A few hours later they were on the ground and running. From what? Sirius wasn't quite sure, but something had spooked them. He knew it wasn't just the orcs. Although he wasn't quite sure what an orc was, he knew it wasn't them that were the cause of the running. He knew there was the roar of some great beast, but…? Other than that? Nope, not a clue.
Through a forest and across a stream, they ran. More trees and they could see a house surrounded by tall trees and a hedge of bushes.
As they ran across the open field between the trees and the house, there came a screech of a great bird and something knocked him from his feet. He rolled in an awkward forward somersault, coming to his feet and beginning to run again, all in one motion. As he did, he looked to see what had hit him, but he could see nothing as he sprinted to catch the dwarves.
In the house Gandalf explained that the huge bear that chased them was actually their host, and that his name was Beorn, and one of the dwarves… Sirius knew he was either Nori, Dori or Ori, but not which one… said something about the bear being under a dark spell.
"No, not if he can change at will. Dark magic takes away the victim's free will." Sirius disagreed.
"He's under no enchantment but his own." Gandalf added.
"So, he's an Animagus, then." Sirius nodded.
"A what?" Bilbo asked.
"An Animagus can transform into an animal. What animal, depends on the person." Sirius explained.
Then the wizard ordered them to get some sleep, that they'd be safe for the night. Sirius shrugged and shifted into his Grimm form and snorted as the dwarves jumped in fright. He found a corner and curled himself around, his tail covering his snout. A soft touch had him opening his eyes to see Bilbo and the two young princes, layering hay beside him. He huffed and closed his eyes, he needed sleep.
Morning came and there was a buzz in the air and the still three-quarters asleep Sirius, in his Grimm form, barely opened his eyes before he yelped and was standing, legs braced, and hackles raised. The large bird's head tilted, and it cawed at him. He shifted back to his human shape and gaped at the bird.
"Buckbeak?" He gasped.