Hello! How are you?
An unexpected snow day appeared this morning and it was a very nice surprise. Don't you just love it when these things happen? So, after a gallon of hot chocolate and a lil' snowman building, I wrote this chapter. Again, this is a discovery plot, so let's see where it goes!
Enjoy!
-E-
The sticky dew on the lawn amplified the rising sun. Yellow drenched the surrounding forest, upon the castle, and over the courtyard. Warm light and cool breezes mixed together. And, as the songbirds bounced in the bushes, Bilbo breathed in everything, sitting on a stone bench with swaying feet, books accompanying either side of him.
Mornings like these were one of the many reasons why he was content sheltering in Hogwarts. The hot meals, the feathered beds, the charming professors, the architecture, and the fascinating magic made it difficult to plan his return home. Hogwarts became like Bag End in a way.
But, the more and more he stayed, after a few days became a week, after his body recovered from Mirkwood, Bilbo's itch to get home grew painful. He had no idea what was happening to the dwarves or where Gandalf was. They all could be in trouble - lost, starving, suffering - and he was lounging in a castle, eating all he wanted and napping whenever he pleased. The unfairness plagued him, guilt settling behind his brain and making his brief vacation troublesome.
But, instead of letting that eat away at his spirit, he took his anxiety out on books; the library became his secondary abode. For the past several days, he had poured over books, wrote down important lines, and made a few drafts of how he came here and how to send him back. All theories. All predictions. This research was sure to help him somehow, if only to keep his thoughts busy. It could be all for nothing. Although, a part of him hoped it would help in the next meeting with the headmaster, who he had not seen since his first night here.
While the sun rose pass the trees, Bilbo cracked a book across his lap and skimmed the paragraphs, fluttering the book corner. It was slow work, but he kept his patience sturdy.
With some time, he read this passage: In 1856, there was an unexplained case of random apparating (see page 68 for details.) The epidemic only seemed to affect the strongest wizards in the Hungarian region, but also affected normal wizards that happened to carry cursed objects. These objects have not been found or identified since then, all except for a bracelet. He looked up a few keywords - "What does apparating mean?" - and continued. Many specialists claimed it was because of cursed portkeys or untamable magic cast by dark wizards, but that did not seem to be the case after Una P. Horsetail made a discovery of black magic thirty years later at the Hungarian site (see page 75 for details.) It would have confirmed the cursed portkeys prediction, but this black magic was unknown and unlabeled. Its residue passed before it could be further investigated. But, many believed it was a side effect of an entirely different, unknown event. Predictions included unorderly magic or a rare instance in apparating problems.
After finding a description of portkeys, Bilbo wrote down his findings and pondered. The bottom of his toes froze while the top of his foot felt like the sun roasted them. Ice below and fire on top. There had been socks in his room, lined up across his dresser, and now he almost wished he took them.
With some time, he gave up, planning to move onto one of his other books, but felt a pulse in his pocket instead. He stopped and looked down; the ring was in his hand.
"Huh… that's odd." He gazed at it. "I thought it was…." Enchanted by its smooth band and luscious color, he forgot his thoughts and fingered it.
Although, glancing at his notes, he could not deny that the ring was involved in his predicament. It became alive, throbbing with beauty and power, buzzing at random times like a pocket pet squeaking for attention. But, no matter what, Bilbo desired not to speak to the headmaster about it. A paranoia stopped his tongue. What if these wizards wanted it for themselves? What if this was his way back home and they took it without a thought? Are they not attracted to magic anyway?
He stored it back in his pocket and left the courtyard.
-E-
Making it to the kitchens did not take as long as he thought, especially with a few groups of students crowding the hallways, eyeing him as he strolled pass.
The moment he stepped through the kitchen door, a wave of bacon and gravy hug him. He sighed and suddenly heard a small cheer from the house elves. Some of the staff stopped washing dishes, sweeping the floor, or preparing lunch- all done by supervised magic - and attended to him. They gathered about him like butterflies to nectar. Many squeaks and murmurs offered to hang up his coat or to sit him at the kitchen table.
"Please don't mind me! I wouldn't want to distract you all!"
They insisted.
"Oh, it's not a problem!"
"We don't 'ave too much goin' on anyway."
"Would ya like tea or coffee? Perhaps juice? Orange or apple - oh, do hobbits like juice? Everyone like juice! - or even grape?"
It was not until a scarf-wearing, gloved house elf came that there was order. He plowed through the small crowd and bowed low before saying, "Good morning, Mr. Baggins! What would you like for your second breakfast today?"
"G'morning, Dobby," he relaxed, sitting down at the kitchen table, which was perfectly proportioned for house elves and himself, much to his delight. "A lovely hat you have, by the way. It's a very nice shade of purple."
The house elf beamed and twirled the ends of his scarf. "Thanks! Now, what do you fancy?"
"Oh, anything convenient for you all. You don't need to go out of your way for me."
"Ah, but we insist!" Dobby exclaimed, fixing his knitted hat from slumping over his eyes. "We were just preparing soup for lunch later - does sausage and kale work for you? - and also some cinnamon cake."
"Cinnamon cake! Well, I cannot deny that!"
Dobby bowed again before dashing off, receiving easy help from the other house elves, who all chatted eagerly like the Thrain came to visit them. After a few moments, the kitchen finished up cleaning breakfast and now focused on lunch. Magic spells chopped onions and potatoes, cooking meats, and scouring large pots. Fingers snapped and elves squeaked. It was entertaining, Bilbo thought, hearing the humming and seeing the floating ingredients. He wondered if Gandalf was able to do magic like this.
"'Ello, sir!" a house elf with watery brown eyes appeared at his side, wiping the non-existent crumbs off the table. "I 'ave a question, if ya don't mind me askin'."
"Yes?" Bilbo smiled.
"Is it true that your world's house elves are tall?"
"Oh, exceptionally! When I traveled with my company to Rivendell, the elves there were like skinny mountains! Probably about twice our heights, although Lord Elrond was even taller than that. He was a very nice chap, very well mannered and patient."
The elf's eyes sparkled. "That's amazin'! I also 'eard from my sister that you said they were a very wise, beau'ful people."
"I've never met an elf who wasn't!"
"Absolutely amazin'! I also wonder if there's any type of-"
"Brother!" a different house elf squealed, charging up to them, ears flopping wildly. "Don't you be muckin' 'bout and ignorin' your respons'ilities!" She quickly bowed to Bilbo and fixed a glare at her brother. "Now get! You have a floor to mop!"
"Oh, it's all fine, really!" Bilbo assured. "Questions are best asked, never neglected. But, I suppose you all do have order and a system that I shouldn't interfere with."
"Oh-oh!" She ducked her head. "It's all okay, Mr. Baggins! I just thought my brother was botherin' you, is all."
"Not at all," he smiled. "Just answering some questions, all of which I've had myself before I went to Rivendell."
The brother smiled. "Is it pretty there, by the way?"
"Oh, my goodness," Bilbo sighed. "It's a masterpiece, honestly. It's like someone painted all the waterfalls and gardens and buildings and the people and the trees and the moon and the valley with the technique of an immortal god… very beautiful. Although, an immortal god would make sense since the elves are immortal themselves."
"Immortal!" The brother and sister gawked. "Amazin'!"
Bilbo spent the rest of his mealtime describing his brief stay, happy to see how intrigued and invested the siblings - as well as other listening elves in the background - of his account. He had to ask for some tea to finish the last third of the story, although.
-E-
With a full belly of rich soup and cake, warming his insides and tickling down his ribs, he arrived at the library just before the students left their classes. He had perfected his avoidance of the hallway rush. The last time he was caught, he ran into five students and a teacher - Professor Snape, he believed - before he could shelter in a small nook. Thankfully, he had not suffered it again.
After returning a couple of his books - ones he had cleaned of every fact and studies - he returned to the shelves to see if he missed any volumes from his last visit. To his satisfaction, there were so many books upwards and sideways that he could not view them all in one sitting. It was a problem he had never experienced before, and he wished that was his only problem.
Setting up shop in a quiet corner, he readied his notes and began for another information dive, scanning over Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions and letting his quill race across his notes whenever valid details appeared.
But, all through it, his sensitive hobbit ears perked up whenever groups of students - all with black and yellow uniforms - would whisper his name. While they studied their subjects at a distance, they glanced at him and murmured what they knew about him. Some truth and some false. But, this was no surprise. Bilbo remembered the looks he got when he had traveled to Bree; all of the natives gave him strange looks, man or hobbit. This, he reasoned, could not be any different.
He smiled at them, his cheeks a little red, then returned to his books.
With time, he went into another candidate, Unexplained Cases Through the Ages. It did not tell him much, only some background on broken magical items and jinxed wands, but he did find this: In 1921, a report of a woman unable to perform any magic. The cause was unknown, but it was suspected it was because of black magic or a faulty wand. But, to this day, it was never explained. This was small, but it made him think; what if the ring lost some magic and somehow made him appear here? What if the lost magic came here and now the ring was magnetized to it? He was not sure how, but it seemed like an idea.
After writing a sentence down - coded and scrambled in case prying eyes swept over his notes - he heard something: "I remember Bryan saying its feet were as hard as steel."
He looked up; eyes darted away. The students went back to their books, staring forcefully at their homework. Even if they were curious or worried, Bilbo thought, this attention and staring made his shoulders stiff and posture awkward, feeling modest about his feet when he noticed some students gawking at them from the corner of their eyes.
He cleared his throat and ignored them. And, to keep them off his mind entirely, he moved onto one of his pleasure books - volumes he checked out for his downtime. One of them, Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland, had him hooked.
Romaine has become a capital for dragon studies. The Romaine Longhorn has fascinated many through the ages, especially once a dragon enthusiast, Flint Tadpol, was able to recreate the exact substance of these precious dragons' horns and ended the butchering and black trading of the Longhorn in 1958. Although a different world, he wanted to find information about familiar creatures. Some of it could be correct, he hoped.
Another passage made him reread it several times: Fooling many to believe they are fire-breathing, aggressive dragons, Firedrakes are small (about the size of a typical great-horned owl) and do not breathe fire. They belong to the dragon family, but are a black sheep among their dragon cousins. They are relatively docile and are even tamable as pets. An ocean of relief flooded him, although he knew this was false in his world. Smaug, the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities, could not be smaller than himself or a dwarf, let alone an owl. But, it was a nice thought. But, the more he thought about returning home and arriving at Erebor to rob a dragon hoard - if he and the others ever get there - made him tense. He would have to face the dragon eventually. The illustrations of the Herbiran Black and the Peruvian Vipertooth did not help his stress either.
"Apparently, he visits the kitchen twice more than Ernie. Can you believe tha'?"
Ears perking, he looked up again; eyes shot away. He scanned them, then suddenly noticed a student still watching him - a girl with bushy hair, red and black robes, and big teeth - peering through the bookshelves like it was a shield. This one student inflicted more discomfort on him than the whispers. So much so that he got up.
Within a few moments, he scooped up books, struggling to keep them in his arms, and left. For the sake of his comfort and for the students' focus, he exited the library, every eye gluing themselves to him. He still felt them sting his back even after a few hallways away.
-E-
Have a golly good day!