"Harry Potter."
As her name rang out in the silent hall, Harry froze. She didn't want this, didn't want to be a part of this death tournament. Hermione was looking at her in shock, Ron in jealous disgust, and all around the hall, murmurs were starting up. All she wanted to do was crawl under her invisibility cloak and disappear, but it was folded in her trunk at the foot of her bed.
She ought to carry it around. It would be more useful that way.
Dumbledore was opening his mouth again, but the light in the Great Hall changed once more as the Goblet flamed and spat out another piece of parchment. The headmaster closed his mouth and frowned, plucking the fifth piece of parchment out of the air as he had done four times previously.
Confusion passed through his face briefly, before he turned to glance at his fellow heads. They both looked equally confused and even angrier than Dumbledore, which was no help to Harry.
The headmaster turned back to the Hall full of students, who had quieted once more as they waited for the fifth name. "Bronach nos Arnor?" he called out, causing a ripple of whispers to flow through the students as nobody rose. "Bronach nos Arnor?"
Still nobody rose from their seat, though everyone was looking around the room for the fifth contestant. Harry couldn't help but sigh in relief, the mystery student having taken the attention from her, at least for the moment.
Behind Dumbledore, the Goblet's flames had gone out, just as it had been when it was first shown off. The headmaster's eyes swept the room again until he spotted Harry still sitting at the Gryffindor table.
"Will Miss Potter join me and our esteemed guests and Ministry representatives as we attempt to get to the bottom of this?" Dumbledore said, and Hermione kicked Harry in the shin when she didn't move. "Miss Potter, please, this way."
Numbly, Harry got up and made her way up the long aisle to the head table where Dumbledore was waiting for her. McGonagall had gotten up as well, sweeping around the head table to stand next to the headmaster. "Come with us, Miss Potter," she said shortly, veering off towards the side chamber where Cedric and the others had disappeared to. Doing her best to stay on her feet and not trip in her oversized trainers, Harry hurried after the witch, conscious of the rest of the Great Hall watching, and the crowd of witches and wizards following her.
McGonagall marched into the side chamber, raising her hand as Cedric turned to her and asked a question Harry didn't hear. The other adults were bursting into the chamber, questions spilling from their lips, but she couldn't make out who was asking what in the cacophony.
She pressed back against the wall as the adults filled the room, wary of the emotions running high. Karkoff and Maxime looked very unhappy as they stalked to their champions' sides, Crouch looked tired, and Bagman looked befuddled. Lurking in the shadows, she saw Snape and Moody shooting venomous glares at each other, though only when it seemed as if the other wasn't looking.
Though, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Moody was ever not looking, given his eye.
"Enough," Dumbledore said shortly, raising a hand for silence. "What has happened tonight is absolutely unprecedented."
"Eet is easy for you to say, Dumbly-dore," Maxime boomed, outrage plain on her face. "You 'ave two champions."
"And quite possibly three, depending on this nos Arnor wizard," Karkoff said with an ugly sneer. "So please, Dumbledore, continue on about how unprecedented this is?"
"Absolutely unprecedented," Bagman said, seeming to recover as he rubbed his hands together and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. "There has never, not in the history...five champions! And one of them is Harry Potter."
All eyes fell on Harry, and she stuck her chin out in a refusal to let them see how confused and frightened she was. "I didn't put my name in."
Snape grumbled something under his breath, but the Beauxbatons champion pointed her finger at Harry, saying: "She ees just a little girl!"
"She must compete," Crouch said stiffly. "She and nos Arnor."
"Who's nos Arnor?" Cedric asked, looking puzzled.
"After you three left, two more names were drawn by the Goblet," McGonagall said shortly. "Miss Potter first, and then an unknown student named Bronach nos Arnor. It is dormant now, and will not reawaken until the next tournament is opened, if my history is correct."
"She is a child," Karkoff scoffed. "She will die."
Cold washed over her like the breath of a hundred dementors at his words, and Harry forced herself not to show it as Moody pointed out that someone may have very well intended for that to happen by entering her name. The adults bickered for a moment more, and then fell silent, as nobody could argue that she couldn't participate, given her name coming out of the goblet was a magically binding contract.
"Return to your dormitories," Dumbledore said, sounding tired. "I'm sure your fellow students desire to celebrate with you. Champions, we will be in touch with you regarding the first task once we have located our fifth champion. Bartemius, if you would accompany me to my office, I have a letter to write to Bronach nos Arnor."
"An owl on the horizon!" came the call from the edge of the woods, causing Bronach to look up from where she was lounging in the sunlight on the long couch she'd transfigured.
There was a scramble from inside, and a dark head popped out, grinning cheekily. "I could shoot it down for you," Kili son of Dis offered, strolling out from the tent's interior.
"If I wanted it shot down, I could do it myself," Bronach retorted dryly as his brother thumped him on the head. "Or I would have asked Legolas."
Kili pouted as Fili guffawed, the dwarf's laughter growing stronger as the elf in question came down from the tree where he'd clearly been watching for the bird. Legolas glanced up at the owl in the distance, looking thoughtful. "It would be an easy enough shot," he said. "But if Bronach is to be believed, the bird is a messenger and ought not be shot down."
"That is how things tend to work amongst wizards and witches here," Bronach said, sitting up on her couch and setting aside her sewing. "At least I finished the uniforms in time."
"I refuse to wear that while we're at your death-castle," a gruff voice said, and she looked over to see Thorin coming into view with an armful of firewood, Gimli not far behind him. His glare was directed at the pile of completed uniform tunics she had brought out into the sun with her to work on while she waited for the owl. "It offers absolutely no protection whatsoever."
With a sigh, Bronach rolled her eyes. "The children at that school should not need protection," she said for what felt like the hundredth time. "It was only by virtue of my own notoriety that I got into so much trouble as I did."
"Troll, possessed professor, giant poisonous snake, soul-sucking wraiths, death-tournament, dragons, water demons, evil professor, sadist professor, poorly trained assassin, homicidal lunatics, outright battle?" Glorfindel hove into view, leaning on the end of her couch and thumbing through her sewing, humming in approval. "Seems very safe."
"It's just for the introduction," Bronach grouched, trimming the last thread on the last tunic. "We're pretending to be a school, and schools here have uniforms for special occasions."
"I still don't see why we have to be students," Kili complained, earning another half-hearted cuff from Fili. "We're well past our majority."
"Not that you act like it," Thorin muttered, dropping his load of firewood next to the fire-circle they'd created when they set up camp two days ago.
"Gimli's younger than us!"
The dwarf in question's laughter was half-hearted. "Not in experience," the redhead said, his smile sad. "Come find me in another two hundred years and we'll talk."
Kili blew a raspberry at his cousin, and Fili threw up his hands and went to sit by Thorin, who was watching his nephews with sad eyes.
As the owl swooped down to perch on the back of her couch, Elladan and Elrohir slunk out of the tent, hidden mischief in their grins. Deciding she didn't want to know, Bronach turned to the owl, which offered her a leg with a scroll tied to it.
"Thank you," she said gravely, untying the letter and expecting it to return to the castle. To her surprise, it stayed perched on her couch, obviously waiting for a response. Raising an eyebrow, she cracked the seal on the scroll and skimmed the half-familiar handwriting.
Bronach nos Arnor,
Your name has been chosen by the impartial Goblet of Fire as the fifth competitor in the Triwizard Tournament held in the 1994-1995 school year on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As this constitutes a binding magical contract, you are required to present yourself at the school no later than the 19th of November, 1994, which is the date of the first task.
If you are still a student, your headmaster or headmistress is required to send along a small delegation and the means with which to house them, as lodging in the castle is not provided to visiting students.
Please respond at the earliest possible convenience, or have your headmaster do so, with your anticipated date of arrival and the number in your party.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Supreme Mugwump
Order of Merlin
"Well, he wants you to write back," Bronach said, offering the letter to Glorfindel, watching how the twins stood on their tiptoes to read over the warrior's shoulder. "The rest of us ought to get packing since we should tell them we're arriving tomorrow."
"Not going to keep them in suspense?" Fili asked, eyes darting between her and Glorfindel curiously.
"The letter names me as the fifth competitor," Bronach said, scowling as she collected her completed sewing. "I'm willing to bet that the Goblet took both my younger self and me, and the whole point of this was to spare her this."
"Where did you hide the quills, parchment, and ink that I need to reply to this?" Glorfindel asked, and Bronach jerked her thumb at the tent.
"In there," she said, following him through the tent flap a moment later with the tunics in hand. Inside, it was nearly as light as it was outside, thanks to the sunlight streaming in through the magical skylights above. She'd crafted the tent not long after returning to the North after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, but with renewed access to the full strength of her magic she'd managed to strengthen the enchantments already woven into the fabric and add new features once they'd returned to the world of her birth.
For one, it was now large enough to host the entirety of her company, which had expanded from being just one out-of-place witch and her house elf companion to include four elves, four dwarves, and the hobbit who was sitting at the sturdy kitchen table and helping Kreacher cut vegetables while the house elf tended to the pot on the iron stove she'd added.
"Letter's here then?" Bilbo Baggins said, looking up from the carrots he was dicing.
"Much the same as we expected." Bronach set the stack of tunics, embroidered with the hammer and needle insignia she'd chosen for their fake school, on the stool between the hallways leading to the set of rooms chosen by the dwarrow and the set of rooms that the elves had chosen. As Glorfindel sat down at her writing desk, she began sorting.
Thankfully, everyone had black trousers of some sort, making her sewing task less monumental, and she had plenty of fabric waiting to be dyed and sewn into garments. Kreacher had helped her get cloaks ready for everyone, having them hanging in everyone's rooms that morning, and magic had helped craft the shirts and fix the dye much faster than working by hand.
"Don't forget to write in Westron," she reminded Glorfindel as he hummed softly to himself. "They won't understand Tengwar."
"You've mentioned that several times," he said with a laugh, inking the quill as he reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. "I will remember."
"We'll be there tomorrow, in time for supper." Bronach said, finishing her sorting as the others trickled in. "Break camp mid-afternoon, take the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade, present ourselves at the gates by dusk, and be presented at supper. After that we'll hopefully be allowed to set up camp on the grounds, and delay meeting the headmaster formally until the day after…"
"We've gone over this a hundred times," Elladan said, picking up his own tunic from her stack. "You made us practice last night."
"We're dancing with dragons," she snapped. "This is both throwing the One Ring into Mount Doom so Isildur didn't have to make his terrible choice and stopping Celebrimbor and Annatar from collaborating on the rest of the rings at the same time."
"Peace," Elrohir said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We understand, Bronach."
She took a deep breath, consciously untensing her shoulders. "I apologize."
Thorin shot the sons of Elrond a mistrustful glance, but nodded shortly. "We know the stakes," he rumbled, and Bronach dipped her head in acknowledgement.
As she looked around the group, which had draped themselves on the various rugs and cushions she'd crafted or traded for over the years, Bronach couldn't help but wonder how they'd gotten this far. How she'd gotten this lucky.
Of course, she'd been there at the time, but it was still beyond understanding.
Several years after the ship bearing the twins and Glorfindel had departed from Arda, Bronach had found herself summoned in a dream.
"Rise, Bronach of Arnor, and hear the words of Manwë."
She rose, trying not to betray her nervousness. Over her long years, she had dream-walked with Irmo and shadow-walked with Námo, but she had seen very few of the other Vala.
Yet, here she stood, in what could only be the mansions of Manwë and Varda, on Taniquetil's heights, in an assembly of the Valar.
Ilmarin was as beautiful as the songs claimed it to be, but the beauty was lost on her, consumed as she was by her curiosity and fear, and the burning ember of hope kindling in her gut.
"Bronach of Arnor, you have many friends on these shores," a being which could only be Eönwë proclaimed, standing at the feet of the great thrones of Manwë and Varda. Other great chairs were filled with the remaining Valar, all of them looking down at where Bronach stood.
"They have petitioned for your arrival on our shores, and Irmo and Námo have added their voices. Hear now Manwë's decision."
The great Vala stirred, leaning down in his chair to look her in the eye. Much like Dumbledore's eyes, the eyes of Manwë were blue, but there was an ageless wisdom to them, an endless galaxy lurking behind them that made her feel like a child.
"Bronach of Arnor, your deeds have done much for Arda and its people," Manwë's voice roared like the sound of a rushing wind, yet was not too loud for her ears. She locked her knees and kept her chin up, refusing to show weakness. "Though it was not your land, nor was it your people, you took them to heart and defended them beyond what anyone could have asked of you."
There seemed to be a hint of amusement, like a playful breeze, in his voice as he continued. "Vairë has been quite put out at the ripples you have introduced to her weaving, but none can argue that they have only been for the good of the Children of Illuvatar. However, there are rules that cannot be ignored."
Of course there were. There always were.
"You did not come to these shores through any means of Melkor or his servants, nor have you bound your fëa to one of the Firstborn. While you have dedicated your life's work to stomping out the discordance in the Song, I cannot grant you passage to these lands on that alone. Otherwise, why should so many have been denied the same? But an exception can be made, if you complete one final task."
She steeled herself, knowing that whatever it was, she would pay it. Whatever it was could not be so cruel as the life she was doomed to, alone on the Eastern shores until the world's ending.
"You have come to us from a world unlike our own, having suffered great wrongs. If you were to right the wrongs for your past self, so that you would never come to our shores, we would be able to welcome you gladly."
Wrinkling her brow as she tried to parse the task being set for her, Bronach risked impoliteness and turned to Irmo and Námo, who had always been clear in their communication, or as clear as they could be at the time.
"We will send you to your homeland," Irmo said, voice gentle as always. "You will have a year to prevent your arrival on Arda. Should you fail, you will be given the choice: return to Arda, or remain in your homeland, but our shores will ever be closed to you."
A year? A year to stop Riddle and prevent herself from uniting the Hallows? Bronach closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could do this. She would have to do this. "Do I get to choose where I return to?"
"How would we choose the ideal time?" Vairë asked, running her fingers over the embroidery in her lap. "You will have to warp the loom for us."
"When do Kreacher and I return?" Bronach turned back to Manwë, who was looking on with a faint smile.
"Your companion and your belongings will be waiting for you upon arrival, but there are others who would go with you, if you wish."
Manwë gestured behind her, and she turned on her heel, only to be amazed at the size of the small group gathered there. Elladan and Elrohir, nearly dizzy with excitement as they grinned at her, she had expected, but not the others. Glorfindel stood at the head of the group, practically glowing in a way she had only seen once or twice before. Legolas waved cheerfully next to the Valar's Champion, Gimli standing at his side with the vibrant red of his beard and hair restored to that of his youth, but there were three dwarrow and a hobbit that she didn't recognize.
"Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, are you resolved in your intent to go with Bronach of Arnor?" a voice boomed like the ringing of a hammer on an anvil. She glanced over, assuming it was Aulë who had spoken, given that she was reasonably certain that it was Yavanna sitting next to him, hand gently grasping his.
"My sister-sons and I will accompany our kinsman," the eldest of the three dwarrow said, shooting quelling glances at the younger two, who were practically bouncing with excitement. "It is only right."
"And you, Master Baggins? Will you set aside your rest and peace for another adventure?" Yavanna directed her question at the hobbit, who blushed and fiddled with his waistcoat pockets under her scrutiny.
"I have not resigned my position as a member of King Thorin's Company," the hobbit said, shooting a brief look at the dwarrow King. Bronach could place him now, see something of Frodo and the other hobbits who had made up the Fellowship in his face. Bilbo Baggins, third carrier of the One Ring, retired to Valinor for his part in the matter. "I will not leave them now."
Yavanna chuckled lightly, and Bilbo blushed, dropping his eyes to his toes.
"Then you are all in agreement," Manwë said. "Bronach of Arnor, to when and where do you wish to return?"
She thought desperately back through her years, trying to think of where she could do the most good. Her first, wild thought was 1981, but she shook her head. What she needed was a time where she would know where Riddle was, what his plans were, and how she could wrangle his horcruxes.
A shadow of an idea bloomed in her mind, and movement caught her eye. Irmo was nodding at her, ever so slightly, and that decided her. "October Thirty, in the year 1994, if I may choose such," she declared. Nearly eight months to deal with all the horcruxes but Nagini, Riddle was not in his body yet, and if she played her cards right, she could clear Sirius and allow her younger self to have the godfather that she had desperately needed.
Besides, it would be easier to integrate their pack of strangers into the school during the chaos of the Triwizard Tournament.
"Very well then," Manwë said, and Bronach felt the decision ripple in her very being. "Focus on your destination, and you will find yourself and your companions there, in the day and year that you named."
Bronach's mind raced as she sorted through locations before finally deciding on one. Hoping that there were no muggles there, she focused hard on the stretch of woods where she had once seen a silvery doe…
The whispering and muttering hadn't died down by the time Harry dragged herself to dinner on Hermione's orders, and from the sounds of it, there wasn't going to be an end any time soon. Ron hadn't spoken to her since their argument the night before, and she wasn't keen on talking to him either.
As the last few students trickled in, the Headmaster rose, holding his hand up for silence. "The delegation from the fifth school has arrived," he announced, and whispering filled the hall for a moment before another wave of his hand quieted it. "Please welcome the staff and students of Tham Angol, and their champion, Bronach nos Arnor."
When the headmaster finished speaking, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, and ten cloaked figures swept down the center aisle. One stood at the head, leading the group, the other nine in rows of three behind them, all perfectly in sync with each other despite the vast differences in height across the group.
Harry was honestly certain that there were first years taller than the shortest member of the group.
They stopped smoothly without any visible cue, directly in front of the head table, holding their ranks.
Dumbledore cleared his throat when none of the visitors moved. "One of you is Headmaster nos Mallos?"
The tall figure at the head of the column bowed slightly, then reached up to remove his hood. "I am Glorfindel nos Mallos, Headmaster of Tham Angol."
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said politely. "And may I inquire which of your party is Bronach nos Arnor?"
There was a ripple of movement through the group, and the cloaked figure that had been in the center of the group stepped forward, drawing their hood down as they did so.
"I am Bronach nos Arnor," the young woman said, her dark hair bound up in what Harry thought were braids pinned against her head. Her voice carried clearly throughout the hall.
"You are Tham Angol's champion then?" Karkoff demanded from his seat at the High Table. From the tone of his voice, he did not seem impressed.
"So it appears," nos Arnor said coolly, not backing down. "As the Goblet spoke."
"Please," Dumbledore said, cutting off whatever retort Karkoff might have made. "Join us at our feast. Headmaster nos Mallos, you and your staff are of course welcome to join us at the Staff Table…"
"We will sit with our students," nos Mallos said, and the group turned as one, absorbing Bronach nos Arnor back into its midst. They seemed to consider the tables, and then made for the empty space around Harry at the Gryffindor table without a word.
Whispers started up again as they settled neatly into the empty space, everyone else shifting to make room for them. Harry found herself sitting next to the shortest figure.
Dumbledore announced the start of the feast, and food appeared on the tables, and that seemed to be the signal for the rest of Tham Angol's delegation to remove their hoods.
"I'm Bilbo Baggins, professor at Tham Angol," the very short man said, offering his hand for Harry to shake. She did so bewilderedly, trying not to stare. "A pleasure to meet you my dear."
"Harry," she managed, taken aback by his lack of recognition. "Harry Potter."
"A pleasure to meet you Miss Potter," he said, sounding incredibly genuine. "My goodness, is this a typical meal?"
"Er, yes?" she said, confused as to why he showed no reaction, even when knowing her name. "They always have plenty of food here."
"Splendid," the odd little professor said with a decisive nod before filling his plate. "Fili, Kili, don't forget your vegetables."
"But Bilbo," whined the dark haired boy...man? Sitting across from Professor Baggins, only to be cut off by what Harry assumed was a sharp elbow from the person sitting next to him. "I mean, Professor Baggins, you know that stuff isn't good for…"
Harry watched Hermione, who was sitting next to the dark haired stranger, open her mouth in what was probably going to be another lecture on the importance of having the proper balance of nutrition at every meal. In an attempt to forestall the inevitable, she seized the serving bowl of carrots and thrust it towards the dark haired visitor.
"Try these," she blurted as he reached out and took it, looking skeptical. "They're glazed carrots. Mostly sweet, you can't really taste the carrots…"
The visitor took a tiny spoonful after a moment and put a few carrots on his plate. Doubtfully, he stabbed a carrot with his fork and put it in his mouth with the manner of one resigned to drinking poison. He chewed for a moment, and the expression on his face was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Fi, you've got to try these," he exclaimed, serving himself a generous spoonful and shoving the bowl into the hands of the honey-blond next to him. "They don't taste like vegetables at all!"
Professor Baggins cleared his throat as it looked like the blonde was about to shove the bowl in the dark-haired one's face. "Boys," he said delicately, and Harry was amazed to see that his manners were more fastidious than Aunt Petunia's. His silverware was at the precise angles, not a drop was spilled, his napkin was spread neatly over his lap… and as he admonished the two, which Harry suspected were students, nothing in his manner faltered, despite his divided attention. "I know we spoke about proper etiquette when visiting."
"This is not Rivendell," a voice rumbled, and Harry chanced a glance down the table to see that the speaker was the man sitting next to Professor Baggins. His manners were not close to the fastidious precision of Professor Baggins, and Harry noticed a distinct lack of vegetables on his plate, but they were a sight better than most of the Gryffindor boys. "You will behave to the standards that I know your mother beat into you."
"Some carrots Uncle Thorin?" the blond said, a clear attempt to change the subject.
"You might enjoy the roast pork with apple," a voice said from further down the table, and Harry saw nos Arnor turning towards them with a serving platter in her hands. "It is quite good."
To Harry's surprise, the blond groaned and would have face planted in his plate if it weren't for Professor Baggins rescuing it at the last moment. The dark haired visitor guffawed with laughter, and she thought she heard 'Uncle Thorin' chuckle softly, the sound masked by Professor Baggins's sigh.
"Thank you Bronach," the professor said, accepting the platter, though he had to stand in order to reach that far. "We will try it."
"Make sure you put extra apple on Fili's plate," the dark haired stranger said, slapping the blond on the back. "It's his favorite after all."
"I most certainly will not," Professor Baggins sniffed, serving himself a small portion before offering the platter to his dining companion, who refused with a shake of his head. "I was there for the entirety of that unfortunate incident on the River Running, and will not aid you in tormenting your brother Kili. Miss Potter, would you like some of this pork?"
Startled, Harry tried not to let them see her flinch, but she doubted that she'd been successful. "Er, no, thank you," she managed, gesturing at her plate, which she realized she'd barely touched.
"Boys, have you introduced yourselves yet?" the professor chided as he passed the serving platter down towards nos Arnor.
"Kili son of Dis, at your service!" the dark haired one said obediently, flashing Harry a bright grin. His brother lifted his head from the table and smiled, less dazzling than the brunet.
"Fili, eldest son of Dis," he said, warmly. "Also at your service."
"Harry Potter. And that's Hermione Granger," she rushed to add, still surprised by the lack of recognition. "Are you students of Tham Angol?"
"Yup," Kili said, popping the 'p' as he stabbed a few more carrots. "Us, the twins, and Bronach o'course."
"Chew, swallow, then speak," his brother said, elbowing him roughly.
Hermione's brow wrinkled. "That means there's an equal number of students and staff," she said, entering the conversation for the first time. "None of the other schools sent anyone except their headmasters."
"I don't know how they do it at other schools, but at Tham Angol our curriculum is structured around the individual student," Professor Baggins said, sighing again as the brothers started fussing at each other. "Thorin, please corral your nephews?"
"Boys," barked their uncle obediently, and the pair immediately straightened up. "Is this how you lost the ponies?"
"Oi!" Kili cried, clearly affronted. "Clearly, they weren't lost, they were stolen."
"You were on watch," Thorin grunted. "It was supposed to be your responsibility to ensure they were neither."
"Perhaps if someone had listened to the wizard," Professor Baggins muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, given that Bronach was going to be attending, her teachers also needed to attend, and as such, so did their other students."
"What do you teach?" Hermione asked, looking highly intrigued. "I don't think I've ever heard of Tham Angol."
"We're very exclusive," Fili said with a polite smile. "There's only a few students at a time, and it's all invite only. Professor Baggins teaches literature, languages, etiquette…"
"Perhaps you ought to have a few refresher courses," Thorin said pointedly, as Kili's napkin was wadded up and thrown at his brother. "Mahal knows you need it."
Hermione looked as if she wanted to ask more questions, but Kili turned to her with a dazzling smile and began peppering her with questions about Hogwarts. Did it really have a hundred staircases? Did all the portraits speak, or just the special ones? What was the purpose of the Houses? Did a ghost really teach classes?
The questions kept Hermione busy until the plates were cleared of dessert and people began leaving the hall, keeping an eye on the Tham Angol delegation. Somehow Harry missed the signal, but the entire group rose at once.
"We're terribly sorry to leave in such a rush," Professor Baggins said, smiling disarmingly. "But we only just arrived before dinner and we need to make camp before night falls further. Perhaps we will see you in the morning. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Potter, Miss Granger."
Before she could say anything in return, the group swept off, narrowly missing the arrival of the headmaster at the Gryffindor table. Harry was surprised to see that Dumbledore seemed irritated that he'd missed them, but the expression smoothed over in a moment as he stroked his beard. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, she grabbed her bag and headed for the dorms, hoping she could be up with her curtains drawn before Lavender and Pavarti arrived.
"Well, that went well," Bronach said, stifling a yawn. They'd made camp in the shelter of the castle's walls, pitching the tent and building a fire circle in front of it for nights when they missed the familiarity of the road. All of them, except Bilbo, had spent too much of their lives as wanderers, and the fire was simply a different expression of home for them. The horses that the Valar had granted them, to her surprise, were picketed nearby, and she'd warded the entire circle. Nobody could cross that line until she took it up in the morning, and she planned to lay a more complex ward in the morning, before most were awake.
After they'd made camp, everyone had settled in the main room of the tent, lounging against the cushions and bolsters, seemingly unwilling to separate quite yet. Thorin, Fili, Kili, Gimli, and Bilbo had all pulled out their pipes, freshly supplied with pipeweed thanks to Lady Yavanna according to the hobbit. They were well on their way to turning their corner of the tent into a smokey haze, but a few air-freshening charms were all that it took to prevent it from spilling over to the rest of them. Bronach had never developed a taste for it, despite the best efforts of the dunedain, and she'd never seen an elf smoke.
"You were quite charming," Bilbo said, blowing a smoke ring neatly through the larger one Thorin had just blown. "Very polite and well mannered."
"With decent taste in vegetables!" Kili volunteered.
"Your friend seemed very nice too," the hobbit continued. "Very knowledgeable about the school, and curious."
"I'm the suspicious one, she's the curious thoughtful one, and Ron was the voice of reason," Bronach said, catching the wistful tone of her voice and not minding. Not here.
"Compared to these two, who are the dumb adorable one and the dumb pretty one," Gimli gestured with his pipe at Fili and Kili, chuckling as he did. "And don't get me started on the pretty dumb ones over there."
Elladan pulled a wry face from where he sat near Bronach. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment," he said, lips quirking up in a smile. "Given you've said quite a number of things during our acquaintance."
"There's fresh bait," the dwarf said as Fili and Kili sputtered in outrage. "And I have plenty of stories about these two to share."
"Tomorrow we have an early start," Glorfindel said, stretching his arms over his head. "Bronach, you said you had to adjust the wardlines?"
"Dawn," she agreed, picking up the cup of tea that she'd accepted from Kreacher when they returned to the tent.
The elf glanced around the tent. "Someone should stand watch when she's adjusting the wards, just in case."
"I'll do it," Legolas said, rising fluidly from the cushions he'd been reclining against. "Goodnight all."
AN: Names, names, names. Eventually I'll tidy it up and post it here, but for now, anyone wanting a prose-y bit on the many names of Harry Potter can find it on my Tumblr here: www. tumblr blog/view/rhosinthorn/642398849803108352?source=share (remove the spaces)
The most important bit you need to know for things to make sense is this: after crash landing in Angmar, the tribe that took Harry in renamed her Bronach. Despite her many, many aliases used throughout her time, Bronach is what she comes back to, though Holly and Thuri came very close due to the length of time she used them for. By the time this story begins, she has been using Bronach for quite a while.
This is entirely the result of my brain going "what would happen if you threw a bunch of Tolkien characters into Hogwarts during the Tournament" and me not having the self-control not to run with it. As such, there is handwaving in their arrival and the logic of why it's even necessary. Beyond that, I tried to be faithful to both canons, as much as possible.
At the time this begins, Bronach is somewhere over 200 years old but under 300 years old. She is the last of the Fellowship to leave Middle Earth, mainly because she cannot, not without the permission of the Valar.