"Good Morning, Frodo. You've recovered quite well," Albus said to the hobbit as he entered the infirmary.
"Gandalf?" The Hobbit asked, as he looked up from his breakfast tray, now almost empty.
"I'm sorry. I'm not. My name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the headmaster here."
"Headmaster? Is this then a school?"
"Yes it is. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Frodo frowned as he thought. "You are only a man, then?"
Albus nodded. "We found you two days ago, Frodo," Dumbledore said, taking a seat at his bedside. "You've kept us quite busy."
"How do you know me?" Frodo asked.
"We read about you," said Dumbledore with a frown of his own, "but I must tell you, we do not understand how that is possible."
"It was Ronald," Frodo said sadly. "It was through him that I learned your language, although he did not know." Frodo felt for the chain around his neck, asking, "How much do you know about me?"
"We know about the ring, and that it was destroyed. Is that the ring you have now?"
"You are right on both counts. The ring was destroyed, and I do have it with me." The Hobbit smiled ruefully. "Now is the time when I tell you my tale of wonder and woe, isn't it? The stranger awakens in the strange place, and tells of harrowing escapes and enemies in pursuit."
"Hopefully, it will not be a long story," Dumbledore said with a grin of his own, "I have a school to run." Albus found himself chuckling along with the hobbit.
"And where should I start?" Frodo said, as his grin faded. "Yes, with the Nazgul. But we will wait for our guest to arrive. He will be here shortly."
"There is no one coming," Dumbledore assured him, "I've left instructions not to be disturbed for any reason."
"Albus," Madam Pomfrey called, "Harry Potter is here. I think you should talk to him."
"If you will excuse me," Albus said as he stood up.
"Bring him back with you, Albus Dumbledore. He is the reason I am here."
Albus looked at the Hobbit carefully. "Poppy, send Harry in."
Madam Pomfrey was surprised, but signaled Harry to enter. As he walked past her, she held out her arm to stop Ron Weasley from following.
"Professor, how about it?" Ron called out to Dumbledore. "It'll save Harry the trouble of telling me about it later. Hagrid can always tell us what we're missing in class."
Frodo laughed, saying, "Please? He reminds me of an old friend."
Giving a wry smile, Dumbledore waved the red-haired boy into the infirmary.
"Sir," Harry said, "There's a problem. Neville Longbottom told me he heard Pansy Parkinson teasing Draco Malfoy about reading a book. It was called The Two Towers."
"This is bad news." Albus said, "If Mr. Malfoy is reading that book, then others are, as well."
"Including the Dark Lord," Harry said.
"Name Him!" demanded Frodo.
"Voldemort," Albus said. "It isn't Sauron, as in the book."
"Albus, I can feel Voldemort. He is a great distance away, but he is coming closer. He knows I am here, and if he has read those books you have told me about, then he knows what I bear. He may not be Sauron, but if he gains the ring, it will not matter. It will be a difference only of name. I also feel this boy, Harry. What is the connection between the two?"
"It's the scar," Ron offered, "It's been feeling funny ever since you showed up. He got that scar from. . .You Know Who."
Frodo looked at Harry's frown, trying to guess what thoughts were passing through the boy's head. All he could tell was that they were not happy memories. "Albus, could we have some food. I could use something more to eat?"
As he finished his second breakfast, Frodo began his story, knowing it was expected of him sooner than later. "I will assume that the books you have read tell a true tale. With your help, I will review them later, and tell you how much is accurate. This tale that I tell will be much shorter, I will dwell only on the important points, and there are few of those.
"My tale begins five days out from the village of Bree. We had lost our horses, and were marching across the countryside, led by our guide, Strider. We were in camp near Weathertop that night, when the Nazgul attacked. It was there that I received my wound. It was there that I was first touched by Sauron's hand.
"My injuries made my flight to Rivendell more urgent. With Strider's help and aid from the elves, I made a narrow escape. It was at the Ford of Bruinen, that the deed, unknown, occurred. I was alone, facing the black riders. Behind them, I could see the flaming eye of Sauron. He pulled at me with his mind, yet I seemed to know it, and not to know. By elvin magic, the waters of the Bruinen rose up and engulfed the Nazgul, their horses rushing madly into the torrent. I felt, and did not feel, a tearing in my soul.
"I can not say that this is true, but this is my best guess as to what occurred, and it is a guess. I know nothing of magic, nor of what its limits are. As I have said, I was wounded at Weathertop. The poison which flowed through my veins would do more than kill me. It would, in time, make me into a wraith, something like the Nazgul but of a lesser order. It had time to begin its work, and when Sauron put the strength of his mind upon me, it was upon that part which had fallen into the darkness. When he and his minions were forced away, I was torn in two, the body and the spirit, yet still attached by the connection of the ring. I do not know if the spirit form of the ring came with me then, or as a last resort, when its physical counterpart fell into the flames of Mount Doom."
Albus interrupted to say, "I assure you, Frodo, we are familiar with at least one case similar to yours. The Dark Lord, Voldemort, also became a Wraith, and returned to his physical form."
"And he somehow discovered me," Frodo surmised, "and brought me back, and the ring. As you can guess, I did not know what had happened to me until the day that I left the Grey Haven to go into the west. I boarded the ship, and found myself floating in the air. I could see myself on the elvin ship, with a look of relief on my face, as though a great weight had been lifted. I watched as I sailed away, and left the world of Middle Earth behind.
"It was a cruel fate. I could do nothing but watch the world around me. I did so with great intensity at first, but when Sam finally sailed away, I lost interest. I had determined what had happened, but I could do nothing about it. I tried to contact living people, but they would go mad, not knowing what was happening to them. I gave up. I wandered anywhere and everywhere, seeing nothing and not caring.
"Recently, a century ago, or there about, I suddenly felt the urge to try again to make contact. I picked out a young man, Ronald he called himself, and instead of contacting him directly, I shared my thoughts with him, in his dreams. It was through this contact that I learned English, which is fortunate, as it turns out. I also gave him everything I knew about my world, which he apparently put into the books he wrote. I did not stay with him, because I came to realize that my joining with him was because of the influence of the ring. But it seems I had done enough damage already. The ring has made itself known.
"Now to the last part. I felt the summoning spell by your Dark Lord, and found myself drawn to him. As I neared, and the time of my restoration came close, I felt a weaker pull that I now know was Harry Potter. I followed that call, in hopes of reaching a safe place, and I was successful, or so it appears."
Ron spoke up, despite a warning look from Dumbledore, "How do you feel, about the ring, I mean..."
Frodo gave Ron a smile, telling him, "I know what you mean. I can feel it, the same as when I was at the ford. I was not the Frodo who faltered at the edge of Mount Doom." Then he added in a hush, "But I will get my chance."
"That means we have a problem," Ron said suddenly. Three pairs of eyes looked at him. "We have to destroy the ring, rather than risk You Know. . .Voldemort getting his hands on it. According to the book, it can only be destroyed one way." Both Harry and Albus frowned, as they knew what Ron's question would be, "Where is Mount Doom?"
Frodo shrugged his shoulders. "The world has changed so greatly, I doubt that I could recognize anything, but I will try."
Albus muttered, "it is unfortunate that the elves have all gone. It would have been useful to talk with them."
"The book said that some stayed behind," Harry said hopefully, "Do you think we can find them?"
"As long as they aren't like Dobby, they could remain hidden forever," joked Ron.
"Who is Dobby?" Frodo asked.
Ron looked at Dumbledore, who was sitting back and smiling. Ron knew he would have to explain what a house elf was, and it would be an embarrassment. He also knew that Dumbledore was fully prepared to laugh at him. Harry helped Ron out with a simple solution.
"Frodo, would you like something to eat," He asked.
"Always," the Hobbit replied with a laugh.
"Dobby," Harry called out, in a way that his friend would hear, "We need sweets in the infirmary."
"So that's how you sneak food out of the kitchens, Harry," the headmaster said with a grin, "it's an inside job."
In a matter of minutes, Dobby appeared with a tray filled with various kinds of pastries, placing them down before the hobbit. The house elf stared at the hobbit, who stared back in amusement at the mismatched clothes and the tea cozy hat.
"He dresses himself, doesn't he?" Frodo asked, laughing again.
"Friend Harry, who is this? Is this a new friend of yours?" the house elf asked excitedly.
"Dobby, this is Frodo Baggins. He wanted to meet a house elf, and I immediately thought of you."
Dobby filled with pride at the compliment. "Harry Potter is a good friend. He always thinks of poor Dobby. Hello, Frodo, friend of Harry. I have never met a hobbit before."
"How did you know he was a hobbit, Dobby," Albus asked with great concern.
"Because he looks like one, Mr. Dumbledore, Sir," came the reply.
Everyone was stunned by that remark, except Frodo, who said, "Suilad, Mellon. Cuio Mae, Dobby."
"Mae Govannen, Frodo," Dobby said in delight, stunning the three humans, again.
"May I speak to your father, Dobby?" Frodo asked.
Dobby looked confused. "Dobby does not have a father. House elves do not have parents. We are. . .house elves."
Nervously, Dobby asked if he could leave, and he fled the infirmary when given permission.
"Are they all children?" Frodo asked aloud. "Are there no adults? Have none of them made the choice?"
"By my beard and whiskers," Albus said, as he understood. "We have found the elves much faster than I ever thought possible."
"Cor," muttered a surprised Ron, "You don't mean that Dobby and Elrond are the same?"
This confused Harry, and he had to ask, "How long does it take for an elf to become an adult?"
"I'm not sure," Frodo answered. "I know little of that. I have only met one elvish child before, and that was by chance. I would guess two or three hundred years. That's not a very long time for elves. But I do know that they are children, like Dobby, until they feel themselves ready to accept the mantle of adulthood. Then they make the willful choice to mature, to grow up." Frodo shook his head. "What a cruel fate for such a fine race."
*
"That explains a lot," Hermione said when Harry and Ron told her, "They always act like children. Do you have any ideas on how we solve this problem?"
"Yeah," said Ron, "We find an active volcano. One should be as good as another, right."
"Unless there's magic involved, Ron, you said so yourself," Hermione replied. "So what is Frodo doing?"
"He's reading the books, to see how they square with his memory," Ron told her.
"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore," Hermione told Ron. "Tolkien wrote other books as well. There has to be an answer in one of them." With that, she ran off to Dumbledore, to make plans to visit the book store, again.
"That girl is in heaven over this," Ron mused, "The only way to solve this problem is to read."
*
Draco knew what to look for. He knew exactly what to look for. And he knew where. He knew he was safe from Filch and Mrs. Norris. He also knew that Madam Pomfrey was busy elsewhere. He slipped into the dark infirmary. Stealth would solve this problem, not magic. He judged the sleeping form on the bed carefully. A quick thrust in the right place, and the ring was his for the taking. And for the keeping.
He carefully raised the blade of his knife, and thrust downward, meeting little resistance. He was not surprised to find out he had murdered a rolled up blanket.
"I've played this game before," said a voice from the corner of the room. Draco looked over to see the hobbit standing beneath a window. Unthinking, Draco turned and began to approach Frodo, the knife ready in his hand. In his hand, Frodo held the ring for Draco to see.
"Now, let us play my favorite game, Catch As Catch Can." With that, Frodo put the ring on his finger and disappeared.
Draco stabbed randomly with the knife, striking out in any direction, but meeting only thin air. He heard a noise in one direction, and quickly ran, making his wild stabbing motions. Another noise, he ran in another direction. He turned around, and something struck him just behind his knee. He landed hard on his leg, but held onto the knife, again slashing wildly around him. He paused, and was hit in the side of the head. He shook his head, but was hit again. He was hit once more, and fell over, unconscious.