Scars of the Future

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Theywere created by the amazing minds of J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien.

A/N: This fic was not created by myself alone. It was done inscript 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!

I just want to apologize again in the update delay. There're only a few more chapters, so updates should come sooner. I've had some computer problems, but it's all good now. Also, thanks for all the reviews, this time around I promise I'll reply. Cross my heart, swear to die, no eye poking with needles though, because that's just gross.


Chapter 17: A Plan Is Devised

Merely a week's peace was granted to those dwelling inside Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, a short week that ended during the night five days after Serverus Snape's departure from the premises. He returned in a torrent of rain and resentment, slamming the front doors open and causing the Mrs. Black's portrait to wail. His cloak billowed around him and his face appeared gaunt in the fading light. He was a fearsome sight to behold, though he stormed in limping and silent as the grave.

Immediately he sent a letter by owl to Dumbledore, and the wizard must not have been far, for he arrived within a matter of hours and without any ado called an Order meeting to be held in the kitchen. In a scurrying of feet and half-hearted attempts to prevent eavesdropping, all arrived, some bewildered at having only recently awakened, some somnolent yet still alert as they awaited for things to come to order.

Dumbledore stood near the fireplace, facing the tousle-haired group all either sitting or standing in various positions around the table. He wore an expression of triumph and weariness, and his age evident to all present. He had the look of a man who bore a great weight on his shoulders, but nonetheless continued to manage it, for he had no other choice. His blue eyes traveled from person to person.

"It appears that Voldemort's headquarters have been discovered. Ironically enough, it seems he has returned to the Riddle House, the home of his childhood," Dumbledore explained.

"The Riddle House?" said Sirius in disbelief. "But why would he choose a place so obvious?"

"There are two solutions to that," said Remus, "Although one seems unlikely. Voldemort could have assumed that we would overlook the Riddle House as too simple a solution, or—"

"Or he wants us to find him. He may have a trap set for us that he will spring once we have fallen victim to his bait," said Aragorn.

Remus nodded. "Precisely."

"Could it be neither of these?" said Legolas. "It could be that Voldemort means to lead us on a useless goose chase, until his moment is right and he may leap out and destroy us."

"Legolas is right. This wizard isn't a fool, he'll expect us to expect things of him," said the dwarf.

A murmur swept through the room. A tick was pulsing in Snape's temple. He stepped forward. "I saw him!" he hissed. "He's in there with his Death Eaters. The windows are boarded up and the door locked, but I assure you all, he is there!"

The murmur that had sounded before was replaced by a hush. Dumbledore alone seemed calm and unafraid. "My friends," he said. "This may be our chance to end Voldemort's reign, but we must act quickly and efficiently in order to do so, and we will need strength in numbers and in stealth."

Dumbledore made eye contact with every person in the room.

"Well…what's the idea, then?" prompted Arthur Weasly, placing an arm around his wife's shoulders.

Dumbledore's eyes found the one they sought. "Sirius, do you still have that two-way mirror?"

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, well, I have one of them. Harry had the other, but he told me he'd broken it…"

"Material possessions can be repaired, if we still have the pieces. Go find Harry now and see if you two can't find them."

"Potter's right outside the door," Moody growled, eye staring through the polished oak. "No, not listening, I put enchantments on that door, but he's waiting, at least."

Sirius opened the door and spoke to Harry a moment, who they could then hear running up the stairs and then above their heads. He returned a moment later, shards of glass in his hands. He dropped them onto the table, and Dumbledore fixed the mirror easily.

"Excellent," he said. "Now, Harry, if you would…"

"Can't I—" Harry started, but Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry, looking as if he had missed a great treat, left the kitchen and closed the door.

"Now, a two-way mirror, for those of us who do not know, works like this: you simply say the name of the person you wish to speak with, and if that person has the mirror it can be done. This mirror, if I am correct, only works for you, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded.

"Indeed. Frodo, I think you know what I am about to ask of you."

The hobbit nodded solemnly. "And I will do it."

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Now, listen to what I'm presenting to you…"

!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!I!

Frodo sat on his bed. Well, he didn't own it, his own bed rested empty back in Bag End, awaiting his return. He wanted nothing more now than to return home, and then thought with a pang that he may never have the change to do so.

He had lost track of time as fear had settled into his heart. He had marched through Morder, to the heart of evil bearing a trinket of such malevolence as to drive one mad, but he had never truly faced Sauron. And now he was to march to the birthplace of another evil bearing a scar proving his enslavement to face its maker. Before, under the cemetery, his anger had left no room for fear, and there had been no time to be afraid anyway. But here, now, he had nothing to be angry about and he had all the time in the world to think about what may or may not happen, and his mind raced with possibilities and his body shook in terror.

Harry came in after a few minutes. He apologized for his actions the night before, and Frodo did likewise, and all conflict between them vanished. Harry knew what would transpire the next evening, Sirius had told him. Dumbledore had granted him that much, knowing that if Voldemort was, indeed, defeated, Sirius would be with them no longer, and Harry should know what would happen.

Frodo eventually drifted into a fitful sleep, and awoke with a start at the newest nightmare. He could almost remember it, but even as he strove to, it disappeared again into the dark. Unable to sleep again, he stood up and left the room in search of Gandalf. The wizard was not asleep in his room, but was, in fact, sitting at the kitchen table, smoking his pipe.

He glanced up as Frodo entered the room, and his eyes spoke of a thousand sorrows and the weight of an intolerable guilt.

"Ah, Frodo. I felt you would seek my council tonight," Gandalf said, his smile not reaching his eyes.

The hobbit nodded sadly and sat beside his friend. "Yes, but perhaps not for the reason you think."

Frodo's fingers tapped on the table anxiously. He let out a breath. "I've been dreaming lately, Gandalf. Dreams such as I've never dreamt before, but once I awaken I cannot remember anything of them but darkness and light."

"These are not dreams of the Quest, then."

Frodo shook his head. "No."

"Tell me of them, Frodo. When did they begin?" Gandalf said, eyebrows furrowing.

"I had one or two after leaving Bag End, but they've been strongest since we arrived here, I suppose," Frodo stated.

"Describe them to me, Frodo, as best as you can."

Frodo's voice rang with hollowness when he finally spoke. "When they begin I am walking in darkness, a corridor, I think, although I cannot be certain. Silence presses in around me, until I suddenly hear screaming. I move quickly, and the sound grows louder, and I realize there are many voices, all jumbled and unable to discern from one another. I become very afraid, and continue to move faster. I round a bend, and there is a blinding flash of light. Then I scream, and it is a scream of complete agony and loss." Frodo sighed. "There's more, because I know when I awaken that there is a further explanation for why I'm so shaken, but the moment I open my eyes the dream fades."

Gandalf looked thoughtful. "Frodo, have you had dreams of this sort before?"

The hobbit nodded. "Yes, I have. Before the deaths of my parents I had many nightmares, and I could never remember anything about them but darkness and screaming. They came back soon before Sam's mother passed, and strongest periodically on the Quest, though whether that was the Ring's doing or not, I do not know."

"At what points during the Quest?" Gandalf inquired.

Frodo thought a moment. "As we were nearing Moria. They stopped after you fell, then came back again when we left Lothlorien. After that they ceased altogether, and only in the past weeks have they returned."

Worry clouded Gandalf's features. He spoke next with a voice of harshness demanding a quick answer, and Frodo could sense fear behind the wizard's sure outlook. "In your dream, Frodo, what color was the light?"

Frodo seemed taken-aback by the question. He pressed his fingers into his eyelids. "Blue, I think…no, wait, it's green."

"Green, Frodo? Are you sure?"

The hobbit nodded. "Why? What does it mean?"

The wizard moved his eyes from the fire blazing under the mantle to Frodo's blue orbs. "There exists in this time a curse," he said, "that can end life within moments. When a wizard uses this curse on another, the light emitted from his wand shines green."

Realization dawned on Frodo as the sun does on the earth. "No…" he groaned.

"We are at war, Frodo," Gandalf said, voice dripping in sadness. "Undoubtedly, there will be casualties."

Frodo shook his head. "I have dreams of foresight, visions of death, and yet nothing can be done to stop it…"

"It is cruel, yes. But there exists a set path for each of us, and once that path has been taken our lives will end. Can you prevent that, Frodo?"

"If only I knew who, perhaps--"

Gandalf set down his pipe on the scrubbed wooden table. "No, Frodo. It is not for us to know who and when. If it were, then your dreams would have shown you. Imagine if we knew everything that would happen to us in our futures, every humiliation, every hurt, every loss…we would spend our entire lives avoiding those things and therefore our lives would be without purpose, spent running from the very cores of our destinies. We would revolve everything around avoiding those dark moments and waste a lifetime."

Frodo's demeanor darkened. "But is that not what we are doing now? Toying with our futures?"

"Perhaps, but do you feel that this is wrong?"

"No," the hobbit admitted with a sigh.

"You should sleep, Frodo, tomorrow will not be easy," Gandalf said, placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"Tomorrow…Gandalf, I fear tomorrow."

The wizard bent to Frodo's height. "I will do all that is within my power to prevent ill fates from falling, although, if it is the will of the Valar, they will push me aside to accomplish their tasks."

The hobbit nodded. "I will attempt to sleep, Gandalf, but you must as well."

"If it will put your mind further at ease," said Gandalf.


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