The Unexpected Party

As we walked I told Gandalf what little I could about my mysterious arrival in the woods, being careful to gloss over details such as being a witch (without my wand, I had no way to prove it) and without giving a too accurate description of London. Instead, I told him that I was very far from home and that I had left to travel for a while, wanting to escape the aftermath of a war that had destroyed a large part of our society. Truth be told, I wasn't very far off the mark.

During my monologue I began to question my assumption that the old man might be a wizard. He didn't seem to have any knowledge whatsoever concerning the war against You-know-who, and appeared unfamiliar with the few magic-related words that I purposefully let slip into the conversation. Frustration twisted my gut. The man was too bizarre to be a muggle and far too ignorant to be a wizard. He fit into neither category and it was putting me on edge.

What was more, Gandalf was asking questions of his own. Questions that I was having a hard time answering. Where exactly did I say I was from? London? Was it north of the Shire? East? Over the Misty Mountains? How I traveled so far by myself? Which war was I referring to? I tried to answer each question as indirectly as I could, but it was obvious he wasn't buying my story.

After a while of this he said, "Do not think you can fool me, young lady. I am aware that there are certain parts of your tale you are purposefully withholding, allthough I cannot guess why. That is perfectly understandable. We are all entitled to our secrets, so long as they do not threaten the lives of others, and you do not seem particularly threatening to me. Although," he gave me a scrutinizing look, once again trapping me in his gaze, "you do seem to be more lost than you first let on." He turned away.

There was an awkward silence. I was a little surprised that he was letting me of the hook so easily. If our places had been reversed, I would defiantly have found my behavior suspicious and would have pried for more information. But Gandalf, apparently, was willing to humor me.

My thoughts were interrupted by another question. "What exactly was your role in this war that you mentioned?"

"I was part of the resistance."

"Really?" This seemed to intrigue the old man. "So I take it you know how to defend yourself?"

"I know how to fight, yes." I was suddenly suspicious. "Why do you want to know?"

But Gandalf chose that moment to point something out farther ahead. "Look." He gestured up the path with his staff. "We are approaching Hobbiton. It won't be long now before we reach our destination."

I squinted but there nothing particularly striking in the pleasant landscape to catch my eye. "What am I looking for?"

"There, at the base of the hill. Do you not see the hole?"

I peered through the darkness, focusing on the slope ahead of us. Now that he mentioned it I could see something…a door. A little door and windows producing from the side of the hill. As we approached, the signs of civilization became more numerous. Tidy front gardens, stone walkways, mailboxes... the village of Hobbiton slowly emerged, looking for all the world as though it had been designed for a group of small children. There was a picturesque air about it, and I felt the village would not have looked out of place on one of those lifeless muggle postcards I saw in tourist shops on my way to work. Once or twice I caught a flash of movement behind closed curtains, as if someone was peeking through from the inside. The locals don't seem to like us passing through, I thought as I recalled the little man's reaction to me earlier.

"Do these holes all belong to…hobbits?" I asked Gandalf.

"Yes, these are all hobbit-holes and -" a sudden shout cut across the old man's reply.

"Gandalf!"

I spun round in the direction of the voice, my hand automatically twitching towards my right pocket. Idiot, I cursed myself, grudgingly relaxing my poise. Gandalf had also turned to face the newcomers, smiling wildly beneath his bushy mustache. "Bofur!" he called in greeting. "I thought that I had given you quite enough time to arrive at Mister Baggins' by now!"

Eight stocky figures were walking up the path behind us, making such a racket it was a wonder I hadn't heard them approaching sooner. Then again, I thought, glancing up at the old man, you didn't hear this one coming either. You're out of practice, Cass. I focused my attention back onto the newcomers just as one of them exclaimed, "Well, his hobbit-hole has not been easy to locate. We've been walking in circles for about an hour!" The party halted in front of us.

The first thing I noticed was that they were all very short - at least two feet shorter than me - and very hairy. Each appeared to be sporting some sort of extravagant beard and braid. They definitely weren't human. I was just wondering whether the newcomers were hobbits when Gandalf spoke.

"Master Dwarf," he said in an amused voice. "I could not have made the task simpler for you. I marked the front door myself!"

I felt my jaw drop. Dwarves? What? I racked my brains, flitting through the different races that were familiar to me. Centaurs, mermen, gnomes, elves... I had both studied and encountered all of these. But dwarves?

"Yes, well," one of the short men grumbled, "You told us it would be easy to find." The others muttered in agreement, shooting annoyed glances in the old man's direction.

Gandalf cleared his throat, putting an end to the grumbling. "The important thing is that you are all here now." He gave the dwarves a stern look, as if daring them to contradict him. They remained silent. "Now then," he continued when he was satisfied that there would be no more complaints, "If you would all follow me."

"Half a second," someone said. I glanced over my shoulder to see that one of the dwarves had stepped forwards, eyeing me curiously. "Who's this? You never said anything about bringing company."

Gandalf almost looked as if he had hoped I might pass unnoticed. "Where are my manners?" he cried, grasping me by the shoulder and pushing me into sight. "Miss Morgan, may I introduce to you the dwarves Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur." He turned to the dwarfs. "Master Dwarves, this young lady who will be gracing us with her presence tonight is Cassie Morgan.

"Pleasure," I muttered, having already forgotten all of their names. The dwarves looked as though they would have liked to ask more questions, but Gandalf was having none of that.

"Come now," he called, marching up the road and dragging me along beside him, "We are late enough as is it. It would be impolite to keep out host waiting." Once we were out of earshot of the dwarves, he bent down and muttered: "Best to let me do the talking for now. Dwarves are a stubborn bunch and I doubt they would take to your story with as little questioning as I have." I nodded in agreement, my mind still reeling from the impossible encounter. Dwarves.

As we ventured deeper into Hobbiton the small path began to twist and turn amongst the hills, revealing more and more hobbit-holes, until finally, we reached a round door that was located far higher up the hill than that of its neighbors. It was painted in a lovely green color (the paint looked new) and the front garden was teeming with flowers in bloom. All in all, the hobbit-hole looked a lot nicer, and considerably richer, than the others that we had passed so far. But that was not the most remarkable thing about that particular door. As we neared it, I was able to make out a strange, glowing mark that had been scratched out onto the wood, very visible in the darkness.

"There," Gandalf announced as he swung open the little gate and proceeded to march up the steps leading to the front door. "We have arrived at our burglar's home. Now then," He said as the dwarves pressed past me excitedly, shoving each other out of the way to be the first in front of the little green door (I was happy to hang back and watch), "I do believe that some of the others will have started to arrive by now, and it would not do to overwhelm our poor master Baggins." Gandalf lent forwards and rapped on the door smartly with his staff. "Therefore, I urge you to -"

But exactly what he would urge us to do, we never found out, for at that precise moment the door swung open and the dwarves - who had been pressed up against it - all toppled forwards into a grumbling heap on the floor. I snorted with laughter as cries of "Get off, you great oaf!" reached my ears, but quieted down under Gandalf's stern gaze.

It was at that moment that I got my first proper look at a hobbit. My initial thought was: he looks nothing like a goblin. The man at the door was slightly shorter than the dwarves and of slimmer build. The tips of his pointed ears were just visible under his mop of short brown curls. He staggered away from the pile of tangled dwarves, revealing a pair of comically large bare feet covered from ankles down with coarse fur. The hobbit's startled look quickly turned to one of forced resignation as his gaze found the man standing by my side.

"Gandalf," he breathed grimly. The old man had the grace to look sheepish.

Inside the hobbit-hole was pandemonium. Dwarves were racing left and right, rearranging the furniture, dumping their belongings in the hall, leaving muddy boot prints all over the floor, and eating. My god, it was like they hadn't eaten in days. The sight of them stuffing their faces in was almost enough to make lose my appetite. They just never seemed to stop. As soon as one dish was licked clean, it was immediately removed and replaced with another. Dwarves marched to and fro from the larder carrying plates piled high with meat, cheese, bread, you name it - and in the midst of it all, the poor little hobbit was darting amongst them, squeaking to anyone who'd listen to put that back!

It had quickly become clear to me that Bilbo Baggins had had absolutely no idea that we were coming, and that this party was entirely unexpected. He was completely overwhelmed by the situation, which was getting rather out of hand. One of the dwarves (I couldn't remember his name) had disappeared for a short while only to reappear grinning victoriously with a large barrel in his arms, no doubt containing some sort of alcohol. Upon seeing this, the dwarves had crowed with delight and several others had run off to get barrels of their own. Now they were drinking heartily, banging the table with their fists in tune to a song they were singing.

I could defiantly feel for the hobbit. I wasn't really in a festive mood either, having retreated to a corner of the room with a roll of bread that I had managed to snatch from a passing platter earlier. The ceiling was too low for me to stand so I was sitting cross-legged, my back against the wall, surveying the scene as it unfolded before me.

Truth be told, I was having a bit of a panic-attack. It was as if my brain was stuck in a loop, going over and over the events of the afternoon, trying and failing to make sense of the situation. Could it only have been this morning that I was at work in Diagon Alley? How had I suddenly been ripped form my comfortable routine and stuffed into this madness? Then the images would flash before my eyes. The curse, the forest, the stars. That was the one that came back to haunt me the most. The stars, the stars, the stars. I felt as if I was missing something huge, something obvious.

Where am I?

Then, suddenly, I was struck with an inspiration. All I needed to do was find a map. Then I would be able to pinpoint my location and figure out a way home. I leapt to my feet, hitting my head on the low ceiling in my haste, and hurried off to find the Hobbit. He was bound to have a few maps lying around.

I found him in the heart of the fray, fighting over a bowl of tomatoes with a particularly wild looking dwarf who had an axe producing from his head. After a brief struggle the dwarf managed to pry Bilbo's fingers individually from the bowl and ran off with his prize.

"Excuse me? Do you have a map I could borrow?" I asked politely. The little hobbit was so upset that I had to repeat myself three times before he finally heard me. And when he did he gaped at me incredulously as if I'd asked for a live cow.

"A map?" he echoed, eyebrows threatening to disappear into his scalp, "Why do you need a-"He stopped, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his noise. He took several deep shaky breaths, then abruptly turned to a desk by the wall, yanked open a draw, pulled out a handful of papers, and thrust them unceremoniously into my arms.

"There," he hissed. Then his eyes widened as something caught his attention on the other side of the room and he was of again, shouting, "Excuse me! That is a doily, not a dishcloth!"

I returned to my corner, settled myself down and proceeded to examine the maps.

The first one I unfolded appeared to be a map of the Shire, which was no help at all. As far as I could tell, this could be anywhere in Great Brittan, although I didn't recognize any of the odd sounding names written down in thin slanted handwriting. Maybe they're Welsh.

The second was even less helpful. It was obviously on a larger scale, but there were mountains stretching from north to south straight down the middle that didn't coincide with any place I knew. I traced them out with my finger, marveling in the thick texture of the parchment, thicker than anything we used at Hogwarts. If I didn't know better, I would say that this map was conjured from someone's imagination. There was no way it was accurate.

I was about to find Bilbo again, this time to ask for a real map, when something caught my eye. On the left hand side of the map, in the north-west, in tiny handwriting, was a name that caught my attention. Shire.

I grabbed the first map again, nearly tearing it in my haste, and laid it flat on the floor next to the second. Map number one had a forest, presumably the one I'd been zapped to, that stretched beyond the east boarder. The Old Forest, the map read. I squinted at the second map and sure enough, amidst the hills and rivers, there it was. The same forest. If I looked closer I could even make out the small village of Hobbiton.

Something clicked in my brain at that moment, pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place. The stars. They were too different for England. Hell, they were too different for Earth. A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to burst from my lips. Suddenly it seemed so obvious, so clear. It had been staring me in the face the whole time but I'd been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to see the truth, too distracted to read the signs. No wonder Gandalf hadn't recognized the capital of England when I'd mentioned it!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down! My brain pleaded. This simply isn't possible! Traveling by portkey or apparating is one thing, but to a different world entirely? It's never been done before!

"Excuse me, Miss?" I jumped at the sudden interruption. I'd been so absorbed by this new discovery that I hadn't noticed one of the dwarves approaching. Dammit Cass, you really are out of shape. I looked up to see the short man smiling apologetically. He was slightly smaller than the other dwarves and definitely younger, with a surprisingly smooth face and less facial hair. He clutched a hobbit-sized mug to his chest. When I'd recovered from my initial shock he handed me the cup.

"Um…thanks," I said. "And please just call me Cassie." I took a sniff at the steaming liquid. "What is this?"

"It's tea," the dwarf replied. He watched me as I took a sip.

The tea was good and had a hint of cinnamon to it. On an average day it would be exactly what I needed to calm my nerves. Unfortunately for me today had been far from average and I was in need of something stronger.

"On second thoughts," I said before the dwarf could turn away, "Is there any alcohol left?"

The dwarf looked surprised. "There's a barrel of bear that we haven't finished yet, Miss."

I pushed myself to my feet. "That will do perfectly. And don't call me Miss."

A few minutes later the dwarf, who introduced himself as Ori, had settled me down at the table with a pint of beer. He was now sitting opposite me and was watching with a worried expression on his face as I knocked back my drink. What the hell's his problem? I thought irritably. Hasn't he ever seen a girl drink before?

I finished the beer in a few quick gulps and slammed the pint back down on the table. "Again," I said, gesturing to the dwarf.

Ori hastily obliged, giving me a refill.

"Well I never!" the dwarf sitting beside me cried as he thumped me on the back, knocking me forwards into the table, "The lass knows how to drink lads!" He bowed his head in my direction. "Dwalin, at your service, my Lady." Bald and heavily tattooed, the dwarf was built like a warrior.

I groaned. "Please, just call me Cassie. I'm not a Lady."

I took another gulp of beer. The sooner I was properly drunk, the better. I didn't want to think about my current condition any more than necessary and I had it on good authority that getting wasted was one way to go about it. Of course, I'd never personally tested that theory before, but now was a good a time to start as any. I quickly finished my second pint and was about to get started on my third when it was suddenly snatched from my hands.

"Hey!" I looked up angrily only to be met with Gandalf's disapproving gaze. He seemed to have guessed my plan and was holding my drink firmly on the table in front of him, out of my reach.

I glared at him. "Not fair," I muttered under my breath, but seeing the wisdom in his action. While the prospect of getting drunk was incredibly tempting, it would not solve my problems. If anything it would probably only loosen my tongue and have me saying something we'd both regret. Better to stay sober.

Well, soberer, I thought as the effects of the first two drinks finally started to hit me. I clutched the small table, suddenly feeling a little woozy.

Gandalf shook his head and stopped a passing dwarf. "Would you please fetch a glass of water for Miss Morgan? She is feeling a little unwell." The dwarf nodded and disappeared.

"Just Cassie," I mumbled. A moment later a glass of water was thrust into my hands and I guzzled it down. It helped clear my head a little but the room was still spinning when I'd finished. I was having a hard time focusing on the dwarves around me as they started cleaning up the mess they'd made. Ori excused himself and went to find Bilbo to ask him about a plate.

I was just thinking that now would be a good time to find a quiet place to lie down for the night when the dwarves all broke into a song, clapping and stamping along to the beat:

"Blunt the knives and bend the forks!

Smash the bottles and burn the corks!

Chip the glasses and crack the plates!

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

I groaned, clutching my head as they started to clang the cutlery together, using whatever items they were holding in their hands to mark the tempo, getting louder and louder as the beat escalated. Some of them had even extracted instruments from god-knows-where and where improvising a tune. My head was pounding. Dirty dishes began to fly to and fro, miraculously staying intact as the dwarves threw them to one another, adding to the mayhem.

"Cut the cloth and tread the fat!

Leave the bones on the bathroom mat!

Pour the milk on the pantry floor!

Splash the wine on every door!"

The only person who seemed to be enjoying this performance even less than me was the hobbit who was getting paler and paler with every new verse. He looked just about ready to faint. "Excuse me!" he squeaked, somehow managing to make himself heard over the racket, "That's my mother's pottery! It's over a hundred years old!" But the dwarves only laughed and carried on with their song:

"Dump the corks in a boiling bowl!

Bound them up with a thumping pole!

And when you're finished, if any are whole,

Send them down the hall to role!"

I had to admit it was rather impressive. The dwarves had obviously never played the song before but were somehow able to stay in tune with one another. If I wasn't feeling so shitty I probably would have tried to join in. As it were I was extremely grateful when the last shout of "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" finally rang out, drawing an end to the song.

The dwarves all laughed loudly at the hobbit's expense when he finally calmed down enough to see that none of his precious silverware had been blunted and that the plates were all still intact. Not only that but the mess had been cleared away and there was a large pile of clean dishes at the head of the table. Bloody impressive.

Their laughter was cut short however when a loud, echoing knock sounded at the door. The dwarves immediately sobered up and, for the first time since we had arrived, silence fell.

Bilbo looked almost as surprised as I felt. I met his questioning gaze and shrugged helplessly. I hadn't been aware that we were still waiting for someone to arrive. I glanced at Gandalf who was exchanging a meaningful look with the oldest dwarf in the room. Anyone care to explain what's going on?

"He is here," the old man said quietly.

The dwarves all moved as one, sweeping us along as they marched to the front door. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see that Gandalf was holding me back. The old man waited until we were alone before leaning in and speaking urgently. "Be very careful when you speak to him. No, don't interrupt me," he said sternly when I opened my mouth to argue. "Do not be disrespectful and try to stay out of sight until I have made the proper introductions. Do you understand me?"

I nodded in bewilderment, unsure of what else to do. My head was still swimming slightly. Gandalf squeezed my shoulder reassuringly and swept off after the dwarves, who seemed to be waiting for him to open the door.

After a second I followed, feeling utterly defenseless and wishing, not for the first or the last time, that my wand was still in my right pocket.