Author's Note: Celebrate! The plot sort of begins.

... what do you mean, you can't tell the difference?

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, the Internet, Google, Middle Earth, London... I think that pretty much covers it. It'd be nice to own Google, though, don't you think?

Chapter Four: The Difficulties with the Old Lion

The man looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. He seemed unaware that everything from his dyed hair to his color contacts to his Harry Potter Imitation Glasses to his stubbed toe was unwelcome on this street.

He had certainly come a long way from Middle Earth, where he made his humble home. Now, as he walked up the path to Number Four, Privet Drive, he wondered where those bloody hobbits had gotten to.

Admittedly, he had never been inside Mordor before, but he had imagined it to be slightly different than what he was currently seeing. He had never quite associated Sauron with a peculiar love of begonia patches, nor had he anticipated the For Sale sign on the adjoining lot. But, as he constantly had to remind himself, you learned new things every day.

How strange. Was it customary for orcs, goblins, and trolls to ring the doorbell before entering? He supposed that it was only good manners. Shrugging, he complied. After a few moments, he was greeted by a horsey-looking woman named after one of her flowers.

Shuddering, Petunia opened the door with, "You're not...him are you??"

"Not who?"

"You-Know-Who!!"

"I don't know who. "

"Him."

"..."

"Are you going to kill us?"

"I just want directions to the Crack of Doom."

"You mean the San Andreas Fault? That's in America."

"No, no. I mean Mordor." Aragorn started wildly gesturing with his hands as he drew a verbal picture.

"Big! Dark! Gloomy! Dunno why I'm headed there, actually, come to think of it..."

Petunia regarded the stranger on her doorstep with something resembling pity. Pity for the flower that had been squashed by Aragorn's hand motions. After a few moments, she was able to come up with a civil reply.

"I've never heard of Mordor. But I suppose you could go on Google Maps and search for it."

And so it was that Aragorn was introduced to the Internet.

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Seven hours later, Aragorn was still staring avidly at the monitor, fascinated by the knowledge he was unearthing. Delighted, he clicked link after link, making exclamations of joy as he went.

Then, he discovered the most important site online. Falling off his chair in awe, he murmured, "I have a fanlisting."

Soon, Dudley became angry at the stranger who was hogging his computer.

"Give it back!"

"Never! I have found this incredible Lord of the Rings role-playing game!"

"I want my computer back!"

"Stupid, nasty hobbit, shut up!"

"What's a hobbit?"

"Usquener! Kela Dina!"

"What's that mean?"

"Smelly one! Go away and shut up! In Elvish because of my multilingual skills."

"What's Elvish?"

"Shut up."

"I don't want to shut up."

"YOU WILL LISTEN TO THE KING OF GONDOR!"

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Downstairs, another knock came on the door. Fearfully, Petunia opened it to reveal Albus Dumbledore.

"You will pay for your lack of vision," stated Dumbledore ominously.

"Noooooooooooooooooooooo. Er, why?"

"You almost forgot my last. This calls for...salt."

"Noooooooooooooooooooooo. Please, not - not - not - not salt!!"

"You should have realized that last anagramed was salt. Be overcome by my cleverness. But now . . . you will pay."

With a dramatic flourish, Dumbledore drew out a salt shaker from his cloak. Tension grew as he slowly opened the top of the shaker and drew out a spoonful of salt, preparing to punish Petunia.

Suddenly, Dumbledore's cellphone rang. He jumped as Hedwig's Theme blared through the house. Upstairs, something dawned on Aragorn.

"Hang on a moment...I know that ringtone!"

Abandoning the computer, he dashed downstairs, hope rising in his chest. Seeing the white-bearded man standing in the doorway, his heart leapt with joy. He fell to the floor, crying in delight.

"Gandalf! It is you! We thought...Balrog...Moria...perished terribly! Oh, you're alive! What a wonderful day this is turning out to be!"

Quickly analyzing the situation, Dumbledore realized that it was far too complex to explain. Opting for the simple plan, he chose what was easy, then fervently hoped that it also happened to be right.

"It's nice to see you too, Aragorn, but I'm afraid that your duty lies elsewhere. Remember Frodo and Sam?"

"Oh...them..." Aragorn deflated slightly. Instantly, however, he perked up again.

"It's okay, Gandalf, they'll be fine. I found fanlistings for them too. They have fans worldwide. Besides, Frodo's a bit of a jerk, you know?"

The King of Gondor paused, pondering his deep insights. Suddenly, he was hit by an intense longing to go back online. Quickly, he made his excuses.

"Oh! I'll bet you have a fanlisting too! Give me a second, I'll go check."

Aragorn started to dash upstairs to his much-missed computer, but was stopped by Dumbledore.

"No, Aragorn, you have to go back to Middle Earth. Now, close your eyes. On the count of three, I'm going to clap my hands and poof! You'll be back where you belong. Ready?"

"But...but...your fanlisting!"

"This is more important."

Aragorn shook his head fervantly, appalled that Gandalf could say such a thing. Stubbornly, he stated, "Nothing is more important than fanlistings!"

Dumbledore sighed and realized that this was going to be harder than he had originally thought.

"Alright, I'm going to have to wipe your mind also."

Aragorn was momentarily distracted from his sulking.

"... you know how to wipe minds?"

"Uh, yeah. Picked it up from old Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.Good ol' Jedi Masters."

Quickly reviving his passion for his obsession, Aragorn rallied.

"But then I won't remember how to use the Internet! I'll forget all my passwords!" As bleak realization hit him, Aragorn started sobbing, "Worst of all, I won't be able to join any more fanlistings!"

"It is your destiny to go back to Middle Earth, Aragorn."

"But I can't! I need to Shoot the Frog and win a free iPod! Maybe iPods have fanlistings!" Glimpsing a faint spark of hope, Aragorn paused for dramatic effect before continuing, "I'll bet they do! In fact, I'd better go check! Don't you think?"

Dumbledore sighed, then said, "No more count of three. I'm going to clap my hands and you're going to disappear right now."

"Noooooooooooo----"

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Sighing once more, Dumbledore looked down at his cell phone, muttering, "Not again...I missed another call..."

Shrugging exasperatedly, he too disappeared with a quiet pop to attend to his other duties.

After witnessing this odd display, Petunia went back to the kitchen, shaking with relief from having avoided punishment. She had found out, many years before, to ignore strange happenings on her doorstep.

Leaning against the counter for support, she recalled how she had learned the hard way how Dumbledore considered it more humane to torture somebody by putting salt on them. This made said person writhe in agony like a snail; much more effective than the simple Crucio. The man was getting more like Voldemort by the day.

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Author's Note:

We all know that in the Harry Potter Universe, anagrams are used to cleverly depart encrypted clues. So, if you take 'last' and anagram it, you easily get 'salt'.

So, in the book, Dumbledore was clearly talking/writing in riddles to confuse Harry when he wrote "Remember my last." In reality, this was a grave threat, which is why it affected Petunia so strongly. At least, that's how this flow of 'logic' goes.