Scars of the Future
Disclaimer: The characters, both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings, were created by J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien.
A/N: This fic was not created by myself alone. It was done in script format over Instant Messenger by myself and Animagus-Spirit. This fic and most of the events in it are her brilliant ideas, I have just taken the task to write it. Therefore, this fic is dedicated to her. I would also like to thank my beta, Inwe Telemnar. You guys are the greatest!
To my reviewers...
Infallallthingsaremadesplended- The dreams, Frodo's at least, will have meaning in the plot. Harry and Frodo are not having the same dream, but they are having very SIMILAR dreams. Although, Harry is dreaming of the past and Frodo of the future. I'll leave it at that for now. evil grin
LATMC- Very connected are Frodo and Harry. (whoa that sounds like Yoda…) Anyway, Harry does need people to understand what he is going through (even though he won't admit it) and Frodo is perfect for that. (even though he doesn't know it)
UK All The Way- Glad the length was suitable, the chapter seemed too long to me at while writing it, but it's better than short. As I told infallallthingsaremadesplended, Harry is dreaming of past events in his life. Also happy you liked the "fine" thing. That was fun, even though it wasn't much.
coolmarauders- "Interesting" is definitely a good word. Also, LOL!
Dracula555- Ah, I figured most would know that the 'wolf' was really Lupin, whom I am also a HUGE fan of!
Callisto Star- Welcome aboard. Delighted you're enjoying. Yes, Harry and Frodo share much, although they don't know it…yet…evil laugh
Chapter 6: Memories of the Past
The next morning dawned brighter than the day before. Whether it was the light shining in through the parted curtains that awoke him or the smells and sounds of breakfast being made did not matter. Frodo awoke, stretched and stood. Harry was missing from the couch, and Frodo assumed he was in the kitchen, so he made his way in that direction. He had been correct, and sat down next to him at the scrubbed wooden table.
Mrs. Figg waved a hand at the plates of food on the table. "Help yourself," she said.
They all ate in silence, none of them saying a word. After eating, Mrs. Figg shooed them from the kitchen and they retreated to the sitting room. Frodo folded the quilt that lay crumpled on the armchair and set it back on the table. Harry, meanwhile, picked up a rectangular object and pointed it at a box against the wall. Instantly, a picture appeared on the box and sound emitted from it. Frodo jumped with a small yelp; he had been standing right in front of it.
Harry laughed. "Meet the TV, Frodo."
Frodo stared. A woman dressed smartly was gesturing to a map behind her. "We have some light rainfall moving through London at about mid afternoon," she was saying.
Harry had to laugh again at the look of amazement on Frodo's face. He changed the channel to a game of football, then flipped through several times just to astound the hobbit. Frodo shook his head. "Incredible," he said. "When did this come about?"
"Years ago," said Harry, amused. It was the first time he'd smiled in, well, awhile.
It was a full two weeks before they heard anything from the Order. Harry, Frodo, and Mrs. Figg had been eating a very late dinner in the dining room when a loud crack was heard, causing the three to jump. Arthur Weasley had apparated in the middle of the room. Frodo was only a little shaken, he was beginning to expect anything.
"Hello, Arabella, Harry, Frodo," he said. He looked drained, as if he hadn't had any sleep in days, but he smiled good naturedly all the same. "Hope you've all been well."
"Well, it's about time! It's not that I mind, Arthur, but really, two weeks?"
"Terribly sorry, Arabella, I would've come early last week, but there's been some trouble…"
"What?" said Harry. "What happened?"
Arthur sighed and sat down. Mrs. Figg stood up and poured him a cup of tea.
"Thank you Arabella," he said as she sat down, also looking interested. He shot a quick glance at Harry, as if unsure whether or not to continue, but then looked back at Mrs. Figg. "About two and a half weeks ago, we sent three members, Nymphadora Tonks, Mundungus Fletcher, and…and Kingsley Shaklebolt to find out what they could about You-Know-Who's whereabouts."
There was something about the way Arthur had spoken the last Order member's name that caught Frodo's attention. They way he'd hesitated and stuttered made him think that this news was ill; that dark fates had fallen…
"And…?" said Harry.
Arthur drank deeply from his teacup and emptied it. "Something stronger, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Figg. He shook his head.
"They were captured and tortured," he said with solemnity yet with a tremor in his voice. Mrs. Figg's hands flew to her mouth and Frodo gasped. Harry stood up so fast he knocked his chair over.
"And what-" he began, but was cut short.
"Harry, Harry, they did not give information, all three were strong. Tonks and Mundungus were able to escape. They are in St. Mungo's now."
"And…and Kingsley?" asked Harry with mounting dread and anger.
Arthur shook his head. "He was killed, Harry."
There was silence except for the clatter of breaking china as Mrs. Figg dropped her teacup. Harry, shaking in rage, turned and stormed out of the room. After a few moments they heard the door slam.
No one moved or spoke. Then, silently Frodo stood, excused himself and followed Harry out the door. He found him sitting on the curb, elbows on his knees and arms dangling between his legs, staring off into the darkness.
"Harry…"
"Don't," he said. "Just don't. You have no idea. You have no idea what it's like to lose everyone you've ever loved or cared about. To lose so much because of one person…"
Frodo stood motionless and said nothing for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Then, he said, "You are not as alone as you think, Harry. Sometimes, when we feel a sense of loss or sadness, or loneliness, we feel as though no one else can understand us, no one else has ever felt the same way."
Harry snorted. "Yeah? Well what would you know?"
Frodo walked forward and sat next to him on the curb. There was so much he could say, yet so little he was willing to. Some things were yet too terrible to bring to the surface. Even though the events were of years ago, he still could not force himself to speak of them. So instead, he choose an event he had long ago overpowered the darkness of and that fit the cause well enough.
"I lost my parents when I was very young, only a few years younger than yourself, I believe. They drowned, and afterward I went to live with my aunts and uncles and cousins, who saw to it that I learned to swim."
Harry kicked at a few small rocks on the road. "At least you knew your parents. At least you have some memory of them."
"Perhaps…," said Frodo. "But perhaps it isn't a blessing. You never knew your parents, Harry, you don't remember them. I remember my parents very well; their images, their scents, times of joy we shared…but while I have what you say is a blessing, is it truly better? I can miss what I once had, wish I still had it, but you, with no memory of your life with them, can only long for what you wish had never been taken from you and loathe the person that took them."
Harry was said nothing, and continued to kick at the stones as if they were incredibly interesting. He wasn't planning on saying anything else, when the next sentences suddenly rushed from him.
"My godfather was killed at the beginning of June. He was the closest thing to a father I've ever had."
All Frodo could say was, "I'm sorry." He thought of Bilbo, and how he had lovingly adopted him and accepted him as not only a nephew, but as a son. Frodo remembered how he had felt when Bilbo had left for Rivendell so many years ago, and again how he had felt as he watched the gray ship carry his uncle away across the sea. He thought to speak of this, but didn't think it could match the pain Harry must be feeling. So, having nothing more to say, the two merely sat there, each lost in his own thoughts of the past.
The temperature had dropped quickly for a warm summer night, and Frodo shivered against the chill. It had also grown darker and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was not right here…
Harry had noticed it too, he stood up and pulled out his wand. "Frodo, go inside," he ordered.
"What's going-" but that's when it happened. A frigid, icy cold swept over him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, a white fog swam before his eyes and they rolled back into his head. As if from far away, he thought he heard Harry yelling at him to move, but he couldn't. He felt his legs give way and he collapsed, and that's when he heard it.
A whip cracked. "Take that ya little rat! Ought ta teach ya a lesson about spyin' on the Master!" Crack! Yellow teeth and claws swam before his eyes, pain stung his neck and side. "Where is it? Where is it!"
"Please, please, I don't know!"
Crack! "Speak up, ya scum!" Crack! "Yer goin' ta pay fer lyin'! Who else was there! Where's the elf warrior!"
"There is no one…please, I came alone…I know nothing, I was lost…"
Crack! "Yer gonna wish you was never born, yeh Shire-rat! Yer goin' straight to the Great Eye now!"
When Frodo came to his senses he first realized that he was being held. He kept his eyes closed, for he felt sick and weak, but heard a door open and a shrieking gasp. "Arthur! What happened?"
"Dementors, Molly, about two dozen outside of Arabella Figg's house. Harry and Frodo were attacked. Harry managed to hold them off, I heard him shouting and ran outside and did the first thing I could think to do and turned a stick into a portkey back here. I grabbed Frodo and told Harry to grab on. We barely made it."
Frodo groaned just as several pairs of footsteps could be heard entering the room.
"Dementors? But, Arthur, what are they doing back there?"
"I don't know, Molly, maybe he expected Harry to come back and sent them there for when he did…"
"But, Arthur, why would he send dementors? I mean…wouldn't he want to, to do the job himself?"
"I don't know, dear."
Frodo felt himself being moved again, and tried desperately not to vomit. He was set down on a soft bed, and a good thing too, for as soon as he was he bent over the side and retched. His mind clouded and he tipped forward, but was pushed back my firm hands.
"Easy, Mr. Frodo, you'll be all right."
"Sam…"
Frodo felt a cool cloth on his forehead and a hand took his. "I'm here, sir, your Sam's right here."
"Will he be all right?" said Pippin in a worried voice. Merry stood concerned at his side.
Aragorn nodded. "Frodo has had a terrible experience, but he will be all right by tomorrow morning."
Before Merry could ask what terrible experience Frodo had endured, more footsteps were heard and Gandalf entered the crowded room.
"Thank goodness, Frodo. How is he?" the wizard questioned.
Molly Weasley's voice was heard, "He'll be all right, he's just had a dementor encounter, Ginny, get some chocolate, and make sure it hasn't been tampered with by Fred or George!"
"Sam…Sam…they've taken it…" Frodo said shakily. "Taken everything…"
Sam's eyes widened and he turned to Gandalf. "What's he talking about? What's happened to him?" he asked worriedly.
Gandalf sighed. "Frodo will be fine, Samwise. He has only had to relive his worst memory," he explained.
Sam's worried demeanor changed quickly to anger and defense. "Only? Only! Think of what he's been through! Think of what that could've been!"
"I am sorry, Samwise, I only meant that he was not in any physical danger," Gandalf justified.
But Sam, angry that his master had been put through such mental torment, whirled on the wizard, clearing forgetting his place, but not caring.
"This is all YOUR fault! If you hadn't come along and put him up to this, this wouldn't have happened!" he ranted, shaking in anger.
Legolas, who had been standing in the corner of the room, strode gracefully over to the flustered gardener and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Be at peace, my friend. Frodo's fate will not be dark. This task he has chosen will not be his downfall."
Yet Gandalf shook his head and there was sorrow in his eyes. "No, you are right, Samwise. I will send both you and Frodo, as well as Merry and Pippin should they choose to, home tomorrow morning. I was wrong to have involved Frodo in this."
Sam nodded, satisfied, as Gimli grunted from his spot next to the window. Despite his indifferent outlook, he cared deeply for the former Ringbearer and was also concerned for his well-being.
"No."
All eyes turned to Frodo. His eyes were open, revealing the sparkling blue orbs, and he was sitting up slightly on the pillows.
"What?" said Sam, eyes wide.
"I'm staying here," Frodo said firmly.
"But, Mr. Frodo-"
"No, Sam, I told Gandalf I would do this, despite whatever danger, and I won't turn back now."
"If you're sure, Mr. Frodo, then I'm stayin' too," said Sam.
"And me," said Merry, while Pippin nodded.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny appeared in the doorway, the last carrying a large piece of chocolate, which she gave to her mother.
Ron grinned at Harry, who hadn't left the room. "Welcome back, mate."
Harry walked toward them and the four of them left the room.
"Eat this, dear," said Molly.
Frodo, too drained to argue, took a small bite and felt warmth come back to his body. His eyelids drooped and he laid back down. Molly could be heard shepherding everyone out of the room, and he knew that the only one remaining was Sam, who tenderly placed the quilt over him.
"It was the Orcs, Sam, in Cirith Ungol. That's what I saw," he said as he began to drift off.
Sam stopped, and took his master's hand again. "They're gone now, sir. There's naught left of them but memories."
"Yes, Sam, just a memory…" he said, and was taken by the secure grip of sleep, and that night, for the first time since he had arrived, Frodo did not dream.
TBC
A/N: I thought I'd let you know that it may be awhile until I have Chapter 7 written and posted. I have several things to clarify with Animagus-Spirit, and then I have to figure out how I'm going to write those things, and then I have to write it, and then I have to post it...So, just some forewarning...I think it will be worth the wait though...
