Hello everyone! I have received truly devastating news! I have misplaced a character. Luna Lovegood was put in Harry's year level by accident, when she is a year below him. Thus, I had to change a good portion of the story. I hope you all forgive me for this, and that the story doesn't become too different.

Chapter five

The Teaching Begins

The light of the sun filtered through the windows of Gandalf's room, rousing him from his sleep. He rose, and prepared for the lesson, making sure he has his own copy of the books, and knew which pages to turn to. For the first time in many centuries, he felt nervous. It wasn't because he was new to teaching, for he had been a teacher many times before, though it was many millennia ago. No, he feared rather that he might fail them. He had sensed great hostility between two of the houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin. He did not wish to be the catalyst for even greater rivalry. In many ways, the house of Slytherin reminded him of the Eldar, the Elves, long ago; their core values of ambition were akin to the Elves of old, such as the Noldor. He desperately hoped they did not go the same way that many of the Elves did. But the house of Gryffindor reminded him more of the race of Men. They were neither the wisest, nor the most ambitious. But their bravery was unmatched. However, bravery can oftentimes be misplaced, or even mistaken for anger. And more often than not, bravery could take over foresight.

But to Gandalf, ambition and bravery were not direct opposites. Indeed, they often complimented one another. So, there must be something deeper.

There's still much to learn about then nature of this world, Gandalf reassured himself. Perhaps such rivalries are natural here. A mere school tradition. He tried to ignore the nagging doubt in his mind telling him that he felt no other such rivalries.

Gandalf sighed. What he did here could very well be one of the most important things he had ever done, second only to his mission in Middle Earth. He looked out the window, where he could see a good deal of the castle. He saw the Forbidden Forest and could see the dim shape of Hagrid's hut. He bowed his head. Gandalf drew on the power of Narya, and he felt his fear dissipate. He then raised his head, and smiled, with a new certainty he would not fail them, before he turned and left for the library, donning his hat.

This time round, he did not wish to find the book on Hobbits, but rather a map of Hogwarts. He knew his way to the kitchen, and to his room, and to the library, and the Great Hall, and Dumbledore's office. However, he still had difficulty, and didn't know how to go to where he needed to be, especially for today. The accursed stairs did not help, and more than once did he feel the urge to shatter them or freeze them. Fortunately, there were still some hours to go before his first class.

After he found directions to a map from a very kind, if a bit possessive and overprotective, librarian, and after committing it to memory, Gandalf spent a while reading. He decided that, as he would very likely get nothing on the subject of Hobbits, he would read up on mystical creatures. He had very little time to research them when he was preparing for his test. He decided to start with the winged creatures.

The time passed, and Gandalf found himself deeply invested. One could spend days and days studying a single one of these creatures. He finished reading about the thestral, skeletal like horse creatures with wings that could only be seen by someone who has seen death, when a young girl approached him, nervously.

"Excuse me, professor," she said, hiding the quiver in her voice.

Gandalf turned to her, a warm glow in his eyes. "Yes, my dear," he replied. "How can I help you?"

All of a sudden, the girl felt her nervousness wash away. Later on, when she would retell the story to her friends, she would only describe it as some sort of ancient magic. She continued.

"I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me," she began. "See, I was curious last night, during dinner. I wanted to know a little bit more about you. It's a little bit of a hobby of mine. However, I haven't found anything, no biography, or references or anything, but then I saw you here, and I just wanted to ask: where are you from? I've never heard of you, and you seem like someone I should've heard of."

Gandalf smiled at her, warmly. He perceived why she wished to know where he was from. In a rare moment of transparency, he distilled her doubts, if only a little bit. "I am from far off, a place that is not charted on your maps. I am not in any of your records because I did not exist in this world until very recently. I am here because Dumbledore offered to help me find a way back to my home world, if, in exchange, I teach the children of this school. I know only very little of your war with Voldemort, but I've swore to aid you however I can. And I assure you, I am here to help. I will explain more later, should we have the time."

The girl nodded, slowly, as if unsure. "Thank you," she said. Just then, the bell rung.

"I think it's time we each go to our classes," said Gandalf, asking, "What do you have?"

"I have…" she pulled out her schedule and cried softly in surprise. "I have DADA."

"Indeed?" asked Gandalf. "Well, then, shall we be off?" With that, he rose, and followed her out.

As they walked, they chatted. The girl, who Gandalf learnt to his surprise was Hermione, was a wonderfully curious and clever person, reminding him of a very young Galadriel. She explained to him all they had covered in the DADA classes, which fortunately did not include legilemency and occlumency. She led him down the path to the classroom, asking an assortment of questions on the coming classes, refraining from asking about himself only just. Gandalf told her he would explain everything in the classroom. Gandalf felt an urge to tell her more about the world, and his nature, but found no way to explain in short time what he was. He felt her curiosity refreshing, in a way. He had not seen such curiosity since the First Age of the world, save for the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins, and the First Age was now to him but a distant memory.

He was glad when they arrived at the classroom. He had to calm Hermione down when she realized that she never actually got any books. He explained that Dumbledore had placed them on the desks in the classroom.

They arrived at the door, and went in. Gandalf watched as Hermione found her way to her friends, Ron and Harry, Gandalf guessed. He strode to the desk confidently. He saw a parchment on the table that had names on it. The students, most likely. He stood in front of the desk and turned to the students. They gazed at him, many curious about the nature of this strange man. He saw Hermione elbow her redheaded friend in the ribs, and thought he caught the name 'Ron'. He took a deep breath, then spoke.

"Well then," he said, slowly but clearly, holding his staff in front of him, leaning on it. "Welcome all to another class of the Defense Against the Dark Arts. As you heard last night, I am Gandalf the Grey, your new teacher for the year. I understand that in the past few years, besides one, you have had only less than competent teachers, servants of Voldemort, pompous fools, madmen, and worst of all, if I gather correctly, Umbridge." There was muted chatter and laughter. He smiled. "I would like to reassure you," he continued, stopping the noise, "that I am none of those. If I might boast, I should say I am better than any who have ever taught here. If we have the time, and I the patience, I may tell you more about myself, and where I am from. However, in the coming lessons, I will teach you the subtler parts of battle, and defense against the darkness. But beyond that, I will teach when and where and how to use your powers." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Now tell me, who here has heard of occlumency?"

Only a two hands shot up, although some others were raised tentatively. Hermione, and the other boy next her, Harry, if Gandalf had to guess. Gandalf frowned a little. There was something wrong with the child's head. It was as if something was there, that shouldn't be. He would worry about it later. With his staff, he gestured to Hermione.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Occlumency is the art of defending one's mind against legilemency, the art of invading another's mind," Hermione answered. "It is very difficult and only highly skilled wizards can do it with any proficiency."

"That is correct, miss Granger," Gandalf told her. "One point to Gryffindor." There were a few groans, which soon died down. "Now, has anyone here had any experience with either?" Only one hand was raised this time, although one person at the back seemed to raise it, before changing his mind and keeping it lowered. Harry's then was the only one raised. Gandalf gestured to him with his staff. "Yes. Harry, is it not?"

"Yes sir," Harry responded, swallowing nervously. For some reason as was yet unknown to him, he desperately wanted to impress this teacher.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what are the basic principles to occlumency?" Gandalf asked, raising his head.

"Um, I believe it was something to do with, um, clearing your mind, and hiding your emotions," stammered Harry. He tried as best he could not to bring up too many memories from his private sessions with Snape.

"Correct, Harry," commended Gandalf. "Now, before I teach you the key to guarding your mind, I will teach you how notice a foreign mind. It is tiresome to guard your mind at all times, and foolish. Rather, it is wiser to learn when to guard your mind." Gandalf moved to the back of the table, opening his book. "Now, open your copies of The Subtleties of the Mind to the page 256. There, you will find how to identify an alien mind. Now, the key to recognizing another's mind is to understand your own mind, so after we read this chapter, we shall do a…" Gandalf stopped. His gaze had fallen on a blond, bored seeming boy at the back corner of the room. There something dark lay upon him, a spell which Gandalf was not yet familiar with. He sighed. "You, child, at the very back corner." The boy looked up, suddenly, as if woken from deep thought. "Tell me, what house are you in?"

"Slytherin, Professor," the boy answered. There was an air of defiance, and boredom.

"Well, then, I am afraid I shall have to remove ten points from the House of Slytherin, for refusing to pay attention." At this, there was an uproar from the rest of the Slytherin students, many of them pointing out that it was unfair. This did nothing to change Gandalf's mind, indeed only making him mad. He was silent for a moment, hoping they would be silent, then he tried to quell the outrage peacefully, but when they persisted, he drew himself up, and seemed to grow in stature.

"Enough!" he roared, and it seemed as though the light of the candles was extinguished, and all fell silent. The room grew chill, and it creaked as though from a great gale, but there was no wind. "I have not spent my time studying the magic of this world to become a teacher, only to be ignored by those I wish to help!" The light seeped slowly back into the room, and the roomed became still, and quiet. Warmth, however, was still far away. "Now, unless you wish for me to remove an additional hundred points from this ridiculous system of yours, you will pay attention and be silent!" He calmed down after that, and seemed to return to his natural stature, although the students were now all but certain he was far beyond natural, and the light and warmth seemed to return to the candles, and from the sun. Then he looked at the boy, now pale in fear, and felt a great deal of pity, and no small amount of regret.

"I am truly sorry," he said. "Perhaps I should not have done that. But I need you to pay attention. I really am trying to help you." The boy nodded and cast his eyes to his book. Gandalf sighed. Then he looked down, and began to read. The incident of the beginning of the class seemed to fade away, and soon all became invested in what Gandalf was saying. There had been many questions: why were we meditating, why did we need to know our own mind, what does this have to do with DADA. They were brought up shakily at first, by Ron, of all people. But when Gandalf answered each question cheerfully and most satisfyingly, they became more and more, for which Gandalf was very glad.

Soon, the end of class came. Ten minutes before it finished, however, Gandalf told the students to ask any question they may wish to, about any matter that came to their mind. It was, to the surprise of none, Hermione, who asked the first question.

"What do you mean by this worlds magic?" she asked.

"A perceptive question, young Hermione," remarked Gandalf. He sat forward, thinking. It would be rude to simply dismiss her question, unless there were some danger in the students knowing the truth. But there did not seem to be any risks.

"I fear it shall be rather difficult to explain properly, but I meant precisely what I said," began Gandalf carefully. "And what I meant, in the simplest of terms, is that I am from another world."

A hush fell over the classroom, and the students shared glances. Their thoughts were clear to Gandalf: they thought he was mad, though none would dare say so out loud. A tentative hand was raised

"Yes, Harry," said Gandalf.

"Um, sir, how can you be from another world?" Harry asked, frowning. A hint of suspicion was in his voice.

"If you mean how is it possible that I came from another world, then the answer is simply that there are other worlds, or rather other Eä, that is universes," said Gandalf. "If you mean did I come from one Eä, one universe, to another, that is a different matter altogether, one I cannot answer at present."

Now there was some murmuring, and Gandalf heard, from both Hermione and Harry, and perhaps two other students, the term multiverse theory.

"Professor, are you honestly trying to tell us you're from another universe?" asked Draco Malfoy, scorn heavy in his voice.

"I did say that, yes," answered Gandalf.

"That's impossible," snorted Draco. "Even if there are other universe, it's impossible to travel between them." He spoke with utter certainty, the type of certainty only ever found when you desperately want to prove someone wrong, typically for revenge.

"Oh," said Gandalf, raising an eyebrow. "And on what authority do you make this claim? Who told you this?"

Draco stuttered, and began to say something along the lines of "it's never happened before", but Gandalf stopped him with a hand.

"But you are quite right, Draco," said Gandalf, to the boy's surprise. "It isn't possible. Or rather, it shouldn't be possible. The fact that I am here is confusing, and it borders on concerning."

Then Hermione's hand shot up. "How do you know you're from another world, and not just in the future or the past?"

Gandalf nodded to her. "A good question, one I suspected myself when I first arrived here. But there were too many differences. I had not found any signs of my world, Middle-Earth, for instance. And what you call magic, and what is called magic in the tongues of Men and Hobbits in Middle-Earth is rather different."

The classroom began muttering again for a couple of minutes. If Gandalf's guess was correct, then the bell would go quite soon. In a minute, most likely.

"How can magic be different in your world?" asked Ron.

Gandalf considered this. "It would take very long to discuss, much longer than we now have, I'm afraid. Perhaps in the next class, we can discuss it."

With that, Gandalf donned his hat, and made for the door, ignoring any protests, which were drowned out the moment the bell tolled.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walk down the hall, discussing their new teacher and the strange class they just had. Most of the other students had readily gone off to share the bizarre news.

"I take back what I had said," said Ron. "The guys a nutter. Other worlds? And did you see his hat?" He scoffed.

"I dunno, Ron. He seemed like he was telling the truth." Harry racked his brains, trying to remember something, although he wasn't sure what. "Anyway, I don't think I'd want to argue with anyone who can shut up Malfoy the same way he did. Did you feel it? It felt like all the heat in the room just... left. Whatever he did, I'd like to learn it." He and Ron chuckled. "Do you know, I swear I've heard the name Gandalf before," said Harry. "I just can't remember where."

"I have to admit, I'm sure I've heard it somewhere as well," commented Hermione, a bit hesitantly though. "The only thing is that, although it sounds like a wizard's name, I've never heard any wizard called anything like Gandalf before. I suppose it would make sense though if he came from another world."

"Oh, come on, Mione," snorted Ron. "You don't actually believe that old nutter, do you? The guys clearly off his rocker."

"I—"

"Interesting," said a terrifyingly familiar voice behind them. They all turned around to see their new professor standing right behind them, a twinkle in his eye, though whether or not it was a dangerous one, they couldn't say. "I have been given many names, in ages gone by. Olórin, in the very far western parts of my world. Incánus to the south, and Tharkûn to the Dwarves. And I am also known as Mithrandir to the Eldar. And I have many derogatory names by my foes in darker lands. But nutter" he put special emphasise on the name, "is an especially new one."

By this point, Ron had turned white as a sheet, and his mouth was opening and closing like a fish, unable to even croak out a word. Hermione too was going pale, though not as pale as Ron, and was trying to think up an excuse. Harry, however, appeared mostly unafraid. However, none of them spoke for a few seconds. In the end, Ron managed to speak up first.

"Uh, um, s-sorry, P-Professor," he managed to stutter. "I didn't m-mean to—"

"Oh, I rather think you did, Mr Weasley," said Gandalf, not betraying whatever emotion lay beneath him. "Tell, what is the punishment for disrespect towards your elders, and more importantly, your professors?"

"I don't know, sir," cringed Ron.

Gandalf raised his eyebrows, turning to face Harry. "And what about you, Mr Potter? Do you happen to know?"

"No, sir." Harry shook his head, lying only slightly, as the punishment was often whatever the professor wanted. He wasn't going to let this new teacher intimidate him, no matter what spells he may know, and how much he wished to impress him.

"Hmm." Gandalf turned to Hermione, and asked, "and what of you, Ms Granger." He looked hard at her, and his eyes seemed to bore into her.

"U-usual just whatever the professor decides," said Hermione. She lowered her gaze, abashed.

"Indeed," said Gandalf, a smile creeping over his face. He stepped back to face all of them. "Very well then. Tomorrow, instead of lunch, you three will join me at the lake. I will explain what is to come then." And with that, he was off.

Ron, shaking still, turned to Hermione. "Hermione, what've you done?"

"Me?" she cried. "You're the one who insulted him, calling him a nutter!"

"You basically told him he can do anything to us now!"

"Which I wouldn't have to do if you didn't insult him!"

"You didn't have to tell him in the first place!" cried Ron in turn.

"You want me to lie to a professor?" asked Hermione, aghast.

This went on for some time, and Harry tuned it out, wondering exactly what the punishment for them would be.

Gandalf hurried to the library, his mind racing. He had things to research. Things that could not wait. He knew of the recent history of Hogwarts, and decided that investigations were in order.

As he walked, his mind turned to the punishment of the three children. He chuckled to himself. That should keep them worrying for quite a while. As for what his punishment would be, he would set aside a moment to find something useful for them.

Upon reaching the library, he headed straight towards the sections regarding summoning enchantments and curses. He poured over books in the Dark Magic section, looking for such a curse for many hours. Once he had emptied and refilled an entire shelf of books that were in the unrestricted area, he decided on changing subjects. As it were, there was far too much information to be helpful. It may very well be he had read the spell that was used, although that was unlikely, but because there was so much similar information, he had no idea what it was. He had little doubt that the answer lay in the restricted area, but he had another thing he wished to research, and it grew late. So, he turned to another matter.

Slamming a book back into place, he sat back down and sighed, frustrated at his, for him, unusual lack of information. He pulled out his pipe from his staff, and smoked for a while, calming his nerves. There was still a year to go, he reasoned, and he would certainly find something before the year was over. But for now, he needed to find something that would prove a suitable punishment.

He rose again, and decided to delve into lore, which was ever a helpful subject. He had a theory, which, if proved correct, would make his punishment against the trio would be useful for them, but also difficult enough for them to hate it, at first at least. And so, for the better part of the night, Gandalf studied. He bumped into Hermione, at one point, who tried to convince him not to give them detention. She mentioned that she completely disagreed with Ron, and that she can't have a detention this early in the year, and some other things that Gandalf missed. In the end, Gandalf said no, and sent her back to her dormitory, threating her with taking points away, and even graver punishment if she did not.

At last, he found something he thought would be most useful. He went straight back to his room, content that the knowledge would be troublesome enough for the three students, and yet useful enough for them to appreciate it. Especially considering their struggle against this Voldemort foe of theirs. With that thought, he slept.

The sun rose again, and Gandalf woke up, and prepared for the morning. He looked at the time, and determined that it was time to head to breakfast. He made his way there, casting a spell of his own to freeze the stairs in place for a couple hours, to the delight of the students. When he sat down to eat, a rather fat, old looking man with a silver moustache approached him. There was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his ambition.

"Ah, Professor Gandalf," he said. Gandalf recognised him now, as the new professor Slughorn. Once again, Gandalf reflected on how bizarre many of these names were. They seemed to be oftentimes that they were no more than the combination of different words, which one would never have thought to give to a child.

"Yes, hello," greeted Gandalf in turn. "You must be Professor Horace Slughorn."

"Yes, yes," said the Professor, grinning. "We haven't really had a chance to meet, I'm afraid. I imagine you've been just as busy as I have, if not more so. But now that I have a chance to meet you, I'd like to invite you to a little club of mine, if you have the time."

Gandalf pondered this for a moment. On the one hand, he wanted to do as much research as he can. On the other, perhaps this would be a good way to meet more people, and perhaps make some allies. He certainly would need some. At last he agreed.

"Splendid, splendid," cheered Slughorn. "We're having a meal on Saturday, at eight o'clock. There'll be dinner, and some supper."

"Very well," said Gandalf, nodding. "I shall be there, at eight o'clock."

"How wonderful!" cried Slughorn, and then was off to have breakfast.

Severus, who had witnessed the final few sentences of the ordeal, turned to Gandalf. "Gandalf, are you certain you want to join him for his club?"

"Ah, Severus," said Gandalf cheerfully. "I'm glad to see you again. And I suppose so. I still know very little of this world and its people, and going to a meal such as this may be beneficial."

"Hmm, perhaps," muttered Snape. "I warn you though, I had him as a teacher for many years. He likes to think of himself as some sort of a collector of people. He likes to think himself as the one who works behind the scenes, as it were. He's a pompous fool."

Gandalf chuckled. "Well, he certainly seems pompous, though only a little foolish. He will prove very foolish, of course, if he tries to collect me." He started to eat, spreading butter and some spread on his bread. "Which classes do you have, Severus?"

"I have the year 6 Slytherin and Gryffindors, immediately after breakfast." He spoke the word Gryffindor with such venom. Gandalf was curious.

"Tell me, why do you dislike the Gryffindors so? They seem like noble house."

Severus scoffed, folding his arms. "Noble? Please. The moment they set foot on that train, they get told that it's the best house, and when they get sorted into it, get delusions of grandeur. They think that because of this they do not need to work hard in any study other than Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Indeed?" asked Gandalf. A smile crept onto his face. "And it would most certainly have to do with the rivalry your house shares with them?"

Snape turned his head sharply to retort, then closed it again. Gandalf let the power of Narya wash over Snape, compelling him to tell the truth. "Possibly," he conceded, reluctantly.

Gandalf smiled warmly. "I see. But I also see you hold a deeper grudge against the house. One far more personal." This certainly struck a chord, as Snape turned his head away, to focus on his breakfast. Gandalf leaned forward, earnestly. "You can tell me, Severus." This proved too much.

"With all due respect, Professor," said Snape, icily, "I have a class to prepare for." With that, he got up and left. Gandalf sighed, disappointed.

He finished his food, and looked around for Dumbledore, only to not see him anywhere. He sighed, and left. As he walked down to the library, he was stopped by a tug on his robe. He turned around, but saw nothing. But when he looked down, he saw an ugly little creature. It had large eyes, massively oversized pointed ears, and little more than a pillowcase on it to serve as clothes. It was holding what looked like a folded-up scarf.

"Oh, um, hello," said a startled and confused Gandalf. "Who might you be?"

"Dobby, sir," said the creature. "Dobby has been asked to bring this to you." He, for at least it sounded like a he, lifted up the scarf.

Gandalf took it, and had a look at the scarf. He could detect no magic of any malicious sort. It seemed it was enchanted only to hold together.

These wizards and their dependency on magic, thought Gandalf, once again. I would be amazed if they could survive without it. Then he turned his attention to Dobby. "Thank you, master Dobby." He bowed.

"Master!" cried Dobby, quite amazed, if a bit alarmed, smiling brightly. "Dobby's never been called Master before. Professor is too kind."

"Am I?" asked Gandalf, slightly amused. Too kind was something he had never been called, or rarely at the least. "Then we have something in common. I have never been called too kind. Well, better too kind than not at all, I suppose. But if I may ask, master Dobby, what manner of being are you?"

"Professor doesn't know?" asked Dobby, thoroughly confused.

"No, I'm afraid not. I have not had much time to learn about all the beings here, and I am very new to this world."

"Oh," said Dobby, and continued proudly, "Well, Dobby is a free house elf."

"You!" exclaimed Gandalf, his eyebrows shooting up. "You are an elf?" This was the most confusing and alarming thing Gandalf had ever heard of. He thought back to his conversation with Severus, yesterday. Now he understood what he meant. He looked at Dobby, and realised that was rude in any circumstance. "My apologies, master Dobby. I meant no offence. I was merely surprised. Where I am from, elves are very much different. But what, if I may ask, and it is not too rude, do you mean free?"

"Apology accepted. Professor is the kindest wizard Dobby has ever met, along with Harry Potter. Dobby has never been apologised to. And to answer professors' question, house elves are servants. There are many house elves in Hogwarts, and we clean the rooms for the professors. Most house elves like their position, but if their master treats them badly enough, they will dislike it. House elves must do whatever the master demands of them. If their master gives them clothes, they are free. Dobby was once enslaved to the Malfoys, but Harry Potter saved him."

Gandalf stood silently while he processed this new information. A thought occurred to him. "Tell me, please, how did the house elves come to be? Do you know?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby does not know much history. Dobby has never had the chance to read anything other than instructions."

"Hmm. No matter. I shall research that myself then, I suppose. You have been most helpful, master Dobby. Thank you, and thank you for the scarf."

Dobby smiled even brighter. "Professor is most welcome." With that, the two parted, and Gandalf left with more things on his mind than before. When Gandalf turned to his room, instead of the library, he was pleased to see his spell on the stairs was holding.

He reached his room, and removed his scarf, placing on the table, and put on his new scarf. It was long, and on one end was green and white, which faded into yellow and black, and then finally into red and yellow. Gandalf tried it on. It stuck out, the bright colours against the grey. He decided only to wear it on occasion. He replaced the new scarf with his old one, leaving it on his desk.

Gandalf checked his schedule. He had only one class, which was after lunchtime. The seventh graders, it read. He put his schedule down, before noticing he had a message on his desk. He looked at it, and saw it was from Dumbledore. It read:

Dear professor Gandalf,

As you may have noticed, I did not attend the breakfast. This is because I am currently not in Hogwarts. Therefore, I cannot ask you this in person. It came to mind recently, today, in fact, that you possess knowledge about magic that far surpasses that of any wizard or witch, even though it is from another world. So, I must ask if you would be willing to share some of what you can. Even a small defensive or offensive spell, particularly to the year 5 through to 7 students, would be wonderful. Of course, if you do not wish to, or find you cannot, that is perfectly acceptable.

Regards, Albus Dumbledore.

Gandalf frowned. It was curious, that Dumbledore would ask this of him. But then he remembered the oncoming war with this Voldemort creature. Dumbledore wanted his students to be, at the least, protected against Voldemort and his servants with something they were unaware of. And of course, it would be much better if he could teach them spells that their enemy could not quite so easily defend against. And it would be nice to teach something a bit more familiar. It was a good idea.

But there was still the issue of whether or not it would work. The magic of this world was so much different to what passed as magic back in Arda. Even in the Elder days, when Elves and Ainur walked the lands together, magic was in no way similar to this worlds magic. Of course, if the peoples of this world could not use magic the same way he did, then it would not be too much of an issue. If they could, however, then the tide of the oncoming battles would most certainly shift in their favour, if only slightly.

But sometimes, slightly was just enough.

Gandalf headed down to the forest, once again deciding to forgo the library. He went down to the Game Master and Magical Beings teachers' little hut. Upon reaching it, he knocked on the door with his staff. The door opened reluctantly. He saw the half giants face drop, slightly, before rising again.

"Gandalf," cheered Hagrid. He pulled Gandalf into a hug.

"Hagrid, my friend," said Gandalf, breathless. At last he was let go. "You had a class, didn't you?"

"Aye, earlier today," said Hagrid. There was a noticeable, if slight, change in the teacher's expression.

"What's wrong?" asked Gandalf. Hagrid waved his worries aside.

"Wha? Nah, nothing," said Hagrid. "Come in, ah'll put on the kettle for you. What house you in?"

Gandalf followed him inside, frowning. He was very fond of Hagrid, for his love of nature of all sorts, and the birds and the beasts, and his simple, kindly nature. He reminded him of Radagast the Brown. And he was first to help him, when needed.

"Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin," began Gandalf, sitting at the table as Hagrid put the kettle above the fire. Hagrid was shocked at the mention of three houses, but Gandalf stopped him from asking about it, saying, "Listen to me Hagrid. I am very old, and have seen many people, and been many peoples friend and ally, and have stopped even more conflicts from forming than I care to count. I know when something is amiss." He leaned forward, as Hagrid turned slowly to him. "You have helped me before, my friend, in perhaps my greatest time of need. Let me help you, however I can."

Hagrid sat down, not meeting Gandalf's eyes. "It's nothing much. Just a few kids not in my class, 's all."

"Ahh," said Gandalf, his eyes lighting up as it all became clear. "You miss the three children, Harry, Ron, and Hermione."

"Yeah, 'spose so," sniffed Hagrid. He sighed, and Gandalf put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

"Have you spoken to them yet?" asked Gandalf, prompting Hagrid to look up at him. Hagrid shook his head. "Then you must speak to them. It would not do for friends to be silent to one another. Just as two kingdoms must communicate, so must friends. And believe when I say not Harry, nor Ron, nor Hermione seem like people to spurn friendship."

"I dunno," mumbled Hagrid. "I'm a half-giant, after all, an—"

"Rubeus Hagrid!" shouted Gandalf, sitting up straight. The wind outside howled, causing the cottage to shake. Hagrid sat upright in an instant. Gandalf's voiced boomed like thunder. "Do not think so lowly of your friends. They have been your friends for years now, and they are still your friends, and will be your friends for much longer. If you will not go and talk to them, I will bring them to you and force you to myself!"

Hagrid looked terribly frightened, but relaxed as the wind stopped and cottage stilled. Gandalf relaxed his posture. "I have taught them yesterday, Hagrid, and I have heard the stories. They are a most loyal group. They would not scorn your friendship."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," mumbled Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Gandalf. "Come now, perhaps you could introduce me to a strange and dangerous creature. Perhaps a flying one."

Hagrid smiled, and wiped his eyes. "Sure thing, Gandalf. You 'ave a preference?"

"Well," said Gandalf, sitting back in thought, "I have read somewhere that there are beings in the Forest that are half man and half horse, though I cannot rightly remember the name."

"Ah, that'd be the centaurs," said Hagrid. "Don't know if they'll be up for meeting you. They don't do very well with humans at the best of times, and recently their relationship's been rather bad with the Ministry."

"Indeed?" said Gandalf. "Well, perhaps some other time, then. Are there any creatures in the lake?"

"Oh, plenty," said Hagrid, cheering up significantly. He stood up and went to the door, after turning of the stove. "C'mon, I'll show you. There's a giant squid, the Merpeople…"

Gandalf and Hagrid strolled down to the lake. Hagrid named the many denizens of the lake, and listed of their nature and magical properties. He grew much cheerier, barely taking a breath, clearly glad to have something to be distracted by, and to talk to someone who was actually interested in what he was saying, and Gandalf was very interested. At last they came to the lake, where a great tentacle arose to greet them. Gandalf's eyebrows raised slightly. It appeared that he had underestimated Hagrid when he said the squid was giant.

The two stood there for a time, till Hagrid said he was off to feed his boarhound, Fang, then head off for lunch. Gandalf bid him farewell, and sat on a nearby stump. He pulled out his pipe, and smoked, awaiting his detentionees. He smiled. He would have them attempt the magic of Middle Earth first, and if that fails, he would then move on to the other tasks he had thought up for them.

It was a little over ten minutes when they arrived at the lake, where Gandalf was blowing smoke rings, and making them all sorts of different shapes and colours. He had sent a rather large ring, which was changing colours every so often, over the lake, where the squid was sending bursts of water through it occasionally, and there was a ship next to it. It was three minutes past the point where lunch began. Gandalf turned and rose to greet them.

"Ah, Harry, Hermione, and Ron," he said, keeping his voice mysterious, a skill he had become quite adept at over the millennia. "Three points each from Gryffindor for your lateness."

"What?" exclaimed Ron. "But we can't be more than five minutes late!"

"Three, rather," said Gandalf. "A wizard or a witch should never be late. Nor should they ever be early. They should arrive precisely when they mean to." He turned and strode down to the lake. He turned when they didn't follow along and shouted, "Well? Don't just stand there like a trio of statues! Come along long!"

They followed him down the hill, wondering what tasks they would be forced to do.

Gandalf put down his staff, and heft a large rock from the riverbed. He quickly evaporated the water. When the trio reached him, he ordered Hermione to turn the stone into a bowl, and for Ron and Harry to fill it up with water. They did this without complaint, for they were simple enough tasks.

"Now, put away your wands," ordered Gandalf. Curious, they obliged, stuffing them in their cloaks. "Now, what you must do is freeze the water. But you will not do it with your regular magic." Gandalf chuckled at the confused and surprised expressions. He held up his hand to quiet the questions from Ron, and the explanation that they could do wandless magic yet. "You are quite right. You have not. But that is not what you will learn. You did not listen. You will not use the magic you know already. You wish for proof I am from another world? You shall have it. Pay attention."

Gandalf turned to the bowl of water. He spoke loudly and clearly. "Lasto enni nen. No heleg." The water in the bowl froze in front of their eyes.

The three children were silent for a second. Then Harry spoke up.

"Um, Professor Gandalf?" he asked tentatively. "This is certainly different, but we can do the same with a wand."

"Indeed, you can," said Gandalf. "But Dumbledore has asked you learn this, so learn it you will. But I suppose you would do well with a better display of this particular magic."

Gandalf moved away from the lake. He smiled inwardly. This was one of the few times he could show a bit of his true strength, if only for a moment. He was no longer in Middle Earth. The rules he was once bound by were no longer forced upon him, though he would still adhere to them, as best he could, and he wouldn't show off, and he was of course still bound within a physical body, which did limit him. However, he was no longer in his home of old, a land of swords and spears and of shields. Here, he could use magic more, even if it is just the magic of this world for the most part. It was this thought that went through his mind when he raised staff and his empty hand. He spoke, and his voice was like thunder.

"Lasto enni, o gwilwist! Leitha cîn ross! No hin lummor!"

In an instant, great storm clouds appeared in the sky, blocking out the sun, and a great wind arose. There were bright flashes of lightning, and thunder rolled and boomed. Rain began to pour down upon the students and the professor in sheets. Gandalf waited a few seconds, lowering his hands, looking at the shocked appearances of the students. Then he raised his hands again.

"O gwilwist, lasto enni! Daur! No eno!"

At once, the weather calmed. The rain ceased and the lightning and thunder faded away. The sun shone through the clouds. The darkness disappeared, and the light was almost blinding.

Gandalf turned his head to the three students. They stared at him; their mouths agape, and they were shivering. An understanding seemed to come to them: this Gandalf fellow knew what he was doing, and he was most certainly from another world.

Gandalf strode down to the three students, who were still in a state of shock. No witch or wizard had ever managed to control the weather! If they could learn this sort of power, then Voldemort would have a very slim chance.

"Now," said Gandalf upon reaching them, "pay attention. We shall first go through the differences of your magic, and what is considered magic in my world. Your magic comes from within, it is your ability reach within yourself, and affect the outside world. This is a raw, powerful ability. If left unchecked, untrained, it would be disastrous. Thus, Hogwarts. Now, in Arda, or Middle Earth, the ability to cast a spell is determined by your will, and your connection with the world around you. The stronger your will, the stronger your connection, the greater the effect of the spell. The ultimate strength of your will determines on much, which we will speak of another time. Now, magic, as you would call it, is an act of creation. It is an art. Now most beings require some way to channel their will, if they wish to cast a spell, and use different languages to command, in a sense…"

And so, for the better part of the lunch, Gandalf taught them. It was more a language lesson than any other, for Gandalf had them learn some Sindarin and Quenyan words, along with teaching them how to freeze the water, which they all had great difficulty doing. By the end, Ron and Harry were excited, although a little disappointed that it was little more than merely a language lesson. Hermione, of course, was ecstatic, and they would discuss the possibilities of this newfound magic in the common room often.

They were all very hungry, save for Gandalf. He escorted them to the Great Hall, where they each had something to eat. They spoke little of their lesson with Gandalf to the others, on his request, before they went to class again, ignoring the taunts and insults thrown at them, eager and somewhat distracted, for Gandalf had assured them that they would be taught more on this later on, most likely later in the year, and he wished to keep it secret, though he would not tell them why. And although they, through sad memories of years gone by, and the knowledge of the evil to come, were anxious and weary, their hearts were kindled, as if by a flame, and their vigour was renewed. They felt that, despite the dangers and terrors that were to come, despite Voldemort, despite his followers, despite Snape, they would survive, and that they would indeed overcome it. And they felt a hope that they had not felt in many a term, and looked to the year with longing unlike ever before, not even in their first days at Hogwarts. Ron even swore to work hard on his homework, much to Hermione's delight. And so, even as they went to their next class, and Harry was forced to use a substitute book, they smiled, inwardly and out, and it did not falter.

Hello all. Sorry it is so terribly late. And so long. I hope it is good. Do enjoy. Comments and advice are all most welcome.