You'll have to forgive Cassie if she doesn't immediately hop onboard the 'I heart Bilbo Baggins' wagon. I mean come on, let's face it, at the beginning of the book/movie he's pretty pathetic (not that he doesn't change over time). Cassie is a Slytherin so she's entitled to a little prejudice. And also, as you might have noticed, she has quite the temper. I like to think that she considers the hobbit to be a nice person, but a bit of a nuisance – which is a little hypocritical of her, since that's exactly how the dwarves see her. Gandalf appears to be the only one who thinks that Cassie and Bilbo are worth the trouble (bless him).

Also, don't worry, Cassie will not remain powerless forever. I just didn't want to make things too easy for her (I'm a bit of a sadist and I love to watch my OCs suffer ^^).

So without farther ado, here is the next chapter! I hope you like it, I certainly had fun writing it. Cassie's loyalties are about to be tested!

The Subtleties of Dwarven Cuisine

Over the course of the next few days, the company settled into a routine. We would start early each morning and ride until sunset, stopping only when Thorin had chosen a location for the night. Then dinner (which was not prepared by me) would be served and the dwarves argued over who was to keep first watch while the others slept. I was usually spared from that particular chore, and I got the distinct impression that none of the men deemed me competent enough to guard the camp while they lay unconscious. I didn't particularly care what they thought if it meant that I could enjoy a full night's sleep.

Eventually, I stopped feeling so sore from riding and the bruises on my thighs gradually faded until they became almost invisible. I still stank, though, and hadn't been able to do more than scrub my face hastily in a passing stream since departing from the safety of Bilbo's hobbit-hole.

Mister Baggins was not coping well with life outdoors and it was clear that his thoughts were often turned homewards. I was able to deduce that much from the way his eyes light up whenever we were alone and he felt the need to fill the silence with idle chitchat about the Shire, his front garden, and basically anything home-related.

These moments occurred more often than I would have liked. The dwarves were quick to dismiss the hobbit and me from their little community, and often when the company set up camp they would send us off to do odd jobs as they made the necessary preparations for the night.

During these moments I had discovered that Bilbo liked conversation. Or maybe it was just that since I stubbornly refused to engage in any form of pointless small-talk, he felt compelled to make up for my silence.

After our first night, I had hinted at the possibility of riding by myself the following morning, but Thorin had been quick to shoot that idea down, telling me that since the hobbit and I were two last minute additions to his company, we might as well ride on the same pony for the time being.

Bloody unfair.

Even Bilbo had noticed our exclusion. It wasn't that the dwarves were being rude (I don't even think they were fully aware of it), just that it was clear we didn't belong.

"Why do you think the dwarves are always forcing us together?" Bilbo asked one evening when we were sent to fetch a pail of water from a river not far of our camp.

"Isn't it obvious?" When the hobbit showed no signs of understanding, I sighed and elaborated: "We're the only useless members of the company. The dwarves are all fighters. They've been in more battles than you could possibly imagine. Hell, even Gandalf has his magic!" I felt a small twinge of envy as I said that, but pressed on before the hobbit took notice. "We're the weak links."

"Really?" I expected Bilbo to be offended, but he just sounded curious.

"'Course. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the dwarves think about us. I'm just a frail, defenseless girl, and you're…" I trailed off as I tried to find words that would accurately describe the hobbit without bruising his ego.

He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I see what you mean."

I felt a little bemused at the hobbit's reaction. He had the lowest self-esteem imaginable.

Thorin seemed content in pretending that I didn't exist and I happily returned the favor, keeping out of his way as much as possible. I knew the only reason Bilbo and I had been allowed on this quest was that the king valued Gandalf's assistance too much to risk losing it over a fall out. He has willing to humor the wizard so long as we didn't turn out to be nuisances.

So far, Gandalf hadn't broached the whole 'let's tell Thorin the truth' issue again, which was fine by me. As far as I was concerned, what the dwarf king didn't know couldn't hurt him, or in this case me.

And so I went out of my way to prove myself useful. I had learnt early on that the best way to integrate a group was to make yourself indispensable, and so I was doing just that.

Slytherin of me, I know.

The feverfew flowers had dried pretty well close to the flames, and although they were a little more brittle than I would have liked, Oin announced that they were perfectly usable.

Every evening, I used herb foraging as an excuse to wander away from the camp and practice wandless magic. So far I had made no progress in that field, but I refused to let it discourage me and persisted in my nightly excursions with a kind a desperate stubbornness.

The truth was that I couldn't bring myself into admitting that maybe I had lost my magic for good when I switched worlds. Maybe I would never be able to cast a spell again. Maybe I would be condemned to living as a muggle for the rest of my life, which would undoubtedly be cut short if I remanded on this suicidal quest for much longer.

No. For now I was telling myself that it was only a matter of time and willpower before my magic manifested itself again. The alternative was too upsetting to contemplate.

I was a survivor by nature, and I would survive this, just as I'd always had.

We were fifteen days into our journey when it began to rain. It wasn't a drizzle, but a horrible wet rain that soaked through every layer of clothing I had on my back, which admittedly, wasn't a lot. The air was so thick with the heavy, icy droplets that it was getting hard to see. We tugged through the forest, the soil beneath us rapidly turning to sludge, our ponies wading miserably through the muddy track.

In the front of the saddle, Bilbo was shivering, his teeth chartering over the sound of the rain. Every now and then he would sneeze loudly, startling the pony.

"To think it will soon be June," he mumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. His hair was dripping into his eyes and his clothes were full of water.

I ran my fingers through my short hair, grateful that I'd had the good sense to cut it before our departure. "I'm pretty sure the rain has soaked into the bags of food and dry clothing."

Bilbo muttered something in response, and though I couldn't be certain, I think it was something along the lines of, "Bother burgling and everything to do with it!"

"Say Gandalf!" Dori cried somewhere from behind. "Can't you do something about this deluge?"

From the front of the line came the wizard's response: "It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done!" He peered over his shoulder to address Dori, his large hat shielding his face from the worst of the droplets. "If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

Bilbo leant forwards. "Are there any? Other wizards, I mean."

I tilted my head a little, curious despite myself.

"There are five of us," Gandalf said. "The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. Then there are the two Blues." He hesitated. "Do you know, I've quite forgotten their names."

I snorted loudly. "Seriously?" Gandalf twisted in his saddle to glance questioningly in my direction. "Only five wizards in the world and you've forgotten two of their names?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You belong at Saint-Mungo's, dude."

I doubted the old man had understood the last part of my sentence, but he seemed to get the general meaning of it as he frowned sternly. Fortunately, by now he had gotten used to my erratic mood swings and knew better than to take it personally.

He cleared his throat and continued as if I hadn't interrupted. "And lastly there is Radagast the Brown."

Bilbo, in all his subtle glory, asked, "And is he a great wizard? Or is he more like you?"

I tuned out Gandalf's indignant answer and started rubbing my hands together, trying to recapture some warmth in them. They felt half frozen and were turning slightly blue at the tips. What I wouldn't give for a cup of tea right now…

"What's a dude?"

"Hmm?"

Bilbo looked over his shoulder. "You called Gandalf a 'dude' before. What does that mean?"

The unexpected question brought a small smirk to my lips. Something about the way the hobbit was carefully pronouncing the modern-day word was incredibly funny.

"It means, um… friend, or buddy."

"Is it a term from your land?" he asked curiously. Fili and Kili had been quick to spread the story that I'd told them about the remote island in the north that went by the name of England.

"Yeah."

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully, sending droplets of rain flying to and fro. "Do you miss them? Your people?"

I hadn't really thought about it. Do I miss them? Mr. Mulpepper was a decent boss, but our relationship had never extended beyond the realm of employer and employee. I didn't possess the social skills required for getting people to like me, and anyhow, those skills would have been wasted in Slytherin. As for my family, there was no love lost there.

I shrugged. "Not particularly."

Two hours later, the rain stopped and Thorin lead us away from the muggy, stuffy confines of the forest, into the open air. We decided to halt early that evening so as to be able to evaluate the damage the rain had done to the supplies.

We soon came across a small property in ruins. The structure looked unstable and it seemed to have been ripped apart by something much larger than any of our band.

I immediately decided that I didn't like the look of it.

Thorin however, steered his pony around, looking back at us with a firm nod. "We will camp here for the night," he announced. "Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them."

As the company started to prepare the camp, I hopped of the pony's back and stretched, glorifying in the last few rays of sunlight. The ground was damp and soggy under my feet.

I noticed that Gandalf had made his way into the ruin and was speaking intently to Thorin. He appeared to be trying to persuade the king, and judging by Thorin's tight-lipped expression, he didn't like what the wizard was saying.

"What's up with them?" I asked Bilbo, who was helping Balin with the ponies.

The hobbit shrugged.

A moment later, raised voices were herd, and I looked up to see Gandalf storming away from the ruin angrily.

"Everything alright?" Bilbo asked as the wizard swept by. "Gandalf, where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around here who has any sense!"

"And who's that?"

"Myself, mister Baggins!" We watched, nonplussed, as the wizard marched away in to the trees.

I glanced over my shoulder to see that Thorin was observing the old man's retreating figure coldly from inside the ruin.

What the hell was that about?

"Will you please stop pacing? You're wearing a hole in the ground."

Bilbo ignored me as he said, yet again, "He's been a long time."

Night had now fully set and I was sitting beside the fire, watching as Bofur spooned copious amounts of gruel into Bombur's waiting bowl. Bilbo was working himself into a frenzy and kept darting from one end of the ruined cottage to the other. It was making me dizzy.

"Who?" Bofur asked, as if he didn't already know perfectly well who the hobbit was referring to.

"Gandalf!"

"He's a wizard," the dwarf exclaimed, as if that explained everything. "He does as he chooses. Here," He thrust two overflowing bowls into Bilbo's hands, "Do us a favor. Take this to the lads."

I suspected that Bofur's request had less to do with feeding the Durin brothers and more to do with getting the hobbit to stop fretting over the old man's unexpected disappearance.

Despite my earlier comment, I wasn't doing too well myself.

Gandalf had been gone a long time. Too long in my opinion. Where the hell had he gotten to?

What if he's abandoned us?

I pushed the stray thought away. No way. The wizard wouldn't just run off without telling me. He was the one who had dragged me into this whole mess in the first place. It would make no sense for him to suddenly decide that he wasn't interested in seeing us to our journey's end and leave without giving me a heads up.

Wouldn't it?

And what makes you think he would tell you? A sly voice murmured in the back of my head. You've barely known him for two weeks. Why would he saddle himself with an obnoxious, disagreeable girl like you?

Because he knows that I'm not just some muggle, I argued. Gandalf wouldn't abandon me.

Are you sure? Did he ever say as much? What makes you think he suspects you're a witch? You've never been able to prove it to him.

The more I thought about it, the less certain I became that the wizard was coming back. The prospect sent a small surge of panic through my gut. Without Gandalf, my contract might as well be void. Thorin would ditch me at the first chance he got, and then what would I do?

I jumped to my feet, startling Bofur.

I needed to find the wizard.

"Where are you going?" the dwarf called as I grabbed my bag and raced towards the trees in the general direction the old man had been headed.

"Foraging for herbs!" I called over my shoulder. I didn't stop to see if he'd heard me.

As I started searching the forest at random, the question of what I would do if I found Gandalf and discovered that he had, in fact, decided to leave arose to my mind.

Go with him, my inner-voice immediately supplied. If anyone can help you find your way home, it's the wizard.

I owed Gandalf more than I did Thorin and his band – and if I was forced to pick between one of the two, there was no doubt in my mind that the wizard would be my final choice.

The forest was an endless tangle of trees and bushes. I breathed in the crisp night air, the scent of rotting leaves and damp earth. There was plenty to hear – creaking branches, whispering breezes, predators and pray hooting, squealing, bolting and diving – but no sign of the wizard.

I stumbled around blindly for a good half hour, my short sword tightly clasped in my hand, ready to use in case I ran into danger. I didn't dare raise my voice in fear that the noise might attract unwanted attention, a bear, or wild cat, or – heaven forbid – an orc. The thick foliage above my head let through very little moonlight, making it almost impossible to see more than dim shapes and shadows. If anyone were to attack me now, I would make a very easy target.

Suddenly, a loud crack sounded to my right, and I spun in direction of the noise, swiping the air with my sword, only to be greeted with a blinding white light. I shielded my eyes against the glow, slicing wildly at its unknown source.

"Cassie?"

I peered through my fingers. Gandalf was standing before me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. The tip of his staff was alight, not unlike the way of a lumos charm.

I lowered my short sword, relieved to have finally found my quarry.

Gandalf raised his staff and struck the ground once. The light dimmed slightly, allowing me to see his face more clearly.

"What are you doing so far from the camp?" he asked.

"Looking for you." I sheathed my weapon. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I was scouting the road ahead, as it will soon become dangerous and difficult. I worry that our small stock of provisions shall not last us much longer as we venture deeper into the Lone Lands."

"Oh." I suddenly felt that I may have over-reacted. "Well… Bilbo's kind of upset that you've been gone for so long. I think he's under the impression that you decided to ditch us."

"Is that so?" Gandalf gave me an amused look that told me he was not fooled by my nonchalance. "Then perhaps we should return to the company to reassure 'Mr. Baggins' of my continued presence amongst you."

"Yeah, sure," I grumbled. "Let's do that."

Turns out that I hadn't ventured very far as I'd mostly been wandering in circles. As if I wasn't embarrassed enough.

"You should be more cautious when strolling through the woods at night," Gandalf reprimanded we walked. "Just earlier, I chanced across some old friends of mine from Rivendell who informed me of a rumor that has been circling for some time now of trolls coming down from the mountain to ambushed travelers."

"Rivendell?" I asked, ignoring the last part about trolls. "Where's that?"

"Not very far from here. You may see it, if Thorin decides to set his grudges aside."

"Is that what you two were arguing about earlier?"

"Amongst other things," the wizard replied vaguely.

I was about to ask him to elaborate, when the old man suddenly hushed me into silence. I glanced up to see that he had frozen, his eyes fixed intently on something ahead. Following his gaze, I noticed that a faint reddish light was shining through the dark mass of trees. It looked as though it might be a fire or a torch.

I frowned. "We can't have arrived already. Gandalf?"

With surprising stealth, the old man had begun creeping towards the light. I followed, one hand on the hilt of my short sword.

We halted in the shadows some way off at the edge of the clearing where the light was emanating from, only to be greeted by a strange sight.

In the center of the clearing, a great fire of beach-logs was crackling merrily. Large barrels were dispatched here and there around the hearth, and as I craned my neck I was able to make out a pile of sacks squirming in a messy heap besides the flames. I squinted, trying to see what was inside and – No…

What the hell?

The dwarves' heads were producing from the sacks and they appeared to be trying to wriggle free. I could see Fili furiously gnawing at the rope that prevented them from escaping. More dwarves were stringed together around a spitfire which was slowly revolving above the flames.

But more alarming than that were the three enormous figures moving about the fire.

Gandalf sighed heavily besides me. "It appears that the rumors were well founded, after all."

Just at that moment, a foul stench reached my nostrils. I reeled backwards, gagging.

Trolls.

"What do we do?" I whispered.

Duh, my inner-voice scolded. Get the hell away from here as fast as you can. Trolls are slow. They'll never catch you if you run now.

"We must help them escape," the wizard said.

Oh great. We were going for the heroic approach.

Before I could protest, Gandalf clapped me on the back and said, "Keep them distracted. I have a plan to get us out of this mess." And then he darted amongst the trees and was gone.

"Gandalf!" I hissed. No answer.

Bloody stubborn adrenalin-loving git!

I focused my attention back onto the clearing. Okay Cass, I thought, No biggie. Just keep them distracted until the old crackpot does his thing.

Trolls were, after all, not renowned for their quick wits. I was pretty confident I could do this.

That is, until one of them started talking.

"Don't bother cooking 'em," the troll said as it made its way around the fire. "Let's just sit on 'em and squash 'em into jelly!"

What. The. Fuck.

"They should be sautéed," the second one retorted, "and grilled with a sprinkle of sage."

I backed away into the shadows to process this new information. The trolls were talking. About how to cook the dwarves.

Merlin's beard, when did things get so complicated?

"Never mind the seasoning. We ain't got all night. Dawn ain't far away so let's get a move on. I don't fancy getting turned to stone."

Huh? I pondered this information. So, the ugly brutes turned into statues at sunrise? I could work with that. I peeked up at the sky. It was defiantly getting brighter.

"Wait!" cried a shrill voice. The hobbit had somehow managed to wriggle to his feet and was hopping towards the trolls, an urgent look on his face. "You are making a terrible mistake with the seasoning!"

I frowned. What is he doing? Surly, he knew that they couldn't be reasoned with?

The troll closest to him hunched down and spoke in a suspicious tone. "What about the seasoning?"

"Well, have you smelled them?" the hobbit piped, "You're going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up!" I noticed Bilbo glancing fugitively up at the sky as he said this, and suddenly realized what he was doing.

Ooooh. Clever. And sneaky. It seemed that I'd underestimated the hobbit.

"What do you know about cooking dwarf?"

Bilbo hesitated. "Um, the secret to cooking dwarf…" he seemed to consider his words, then willfully ploughed on. "Is to…" (I tilted my head, curious to hear what he would come up with) "…skin them first!" the hobbit concluded with a small grin, looking pleased with his own creativeness.

His words were greeted with a roar of outrage from the dwarves as they cursed the small hobbit and their gigantic captors.

Idiots.

"Tom," the troll said. "Get me filleting knife."

Tom, however, wasn't convinced. "What a load of rubbish!" he cried. "They taste better with their skins on."

"He's right!" exclaimed the smallest of the three. "Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf!" And with that he marched over to the pile of bagged-dwarves, reached down and pulled Bombur from their midst. The fat dwarf yelled as the troll dangled him in the air, over his open mouth.

Shit! Things were going south. Without taking the time to think, I opened my mouth and sucked in breath. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Bilbo had started to shout something – no doubt some clever and cunning phrase that would save Bombur from his untimely demise – and I tried to hold back, but too late; the words were already leaving my mouth.

"No! You have to roast 'em!" My voice echoed across the clearing and the troll paused, Bombur's face inches from his gaping maw.

I clapped my hands over my mouth, shrinking back into the shadows. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I'd just revealed my position to a group of unnaturally smart mountain trolls.

The troll in question frowned and lowered the fat dwarf. "You what?" He asked Tom.

Ok, scratch that. If the ugly brute could mistake my squeaky protest for the voice of his fellow troll who was standing – might I add – several feet to his right, then these guys were seriously thick. Maybe I wasn't done for after all.

"I didn't say nothin'," the other retorted indignantly.

Bilbo, meanwhile, was squinting into the depth of the forest, in the general direction my voice had sounded from. His eyes widened slightly as he saw me crouched in the shadows. He quickly recovered however and nodded sharply, a determined look in his eyes, before turning to face the troll named Tom.

"Why, yes!" the hobbit exclaimed brightly. "Roasting them certainly would bring out the flavor. Very clever of you to point that out, sir!"

Tom blinked. "I didn't say nothin'!" he repeated again, pointing a meaty finger to the smaller troll. "It was William!"

William roared his displeasure. "You're a liar!"

They began arguing loudly. I took advantage of the distraction to creep around the outskirts of the clearing and position myself behind the third troll who was still turning the spitfire.

I cleared my throat and worked to make my voice gruffer. "We could try boiling 'em!"

The troll whipped around at the sound, but I had already darted away.

"I suppose you could," Bilbo admitted, "if you had any water to boil them with."

"Yes, Bert," William grumbled. "The little ferret's right. We ain't got no water to boil and it's a long way to the well and all!"

"Shut up!" Bert retorted. "It wasn't me that just spoke!"

"Well who was it then?" the other two demanded. "You was talking to yourself again, you booby!"

And so we kept the trolls busy. I would circle the clearing, shouting suggestions about which seasoning would go better with which dwarf, while the hobbit encouraged the dispute, occasionally making a suggestion of his own that would only fuel the argument. After a few seconds of this the dwarves finally caught on to our plan and began adding to the mayhem, blurting out random phrases such as: "I taste better with rosemary!" or even "Fry me! Fry me!"

Yay, teamwork.

It was all going rather well. Until I became overly-confident and let my guard slip.

My only warning was a panicked shout from Bilbo as a large meaty fist came crashing through the branches. "Cassie!" Alerted by the hobbit's cry, I dived out of the way just as Bert (unseen by me as he roamed around the edge of the clearing – shrewd little eyes gazing suspiciously into the depth of the trees) snatched at the air in an attempt to grab me.

I tumbled from my hiding place into the clearing and landed painfully on my knees.

There was a startled silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

"There's another one!" William roared and he lunged.

I rolled to the side, drawing my short sword and almost slicing my hand open in my haste, only to find that Tom was blocking my way.

The troll leered. "Leaving so soon?" He sniffed the air deliberately. "I love the taste of a female!"

"Stay back!" I shrieked, slashing at the space between us as Tom advanced. With a swiping gesture of his hand, the troll knocked my sword clean out of my grasp.

"Behind you!" Bilbo shouted.

I spun and ducked under Bert's legs as he came charging, scrambling to my feet and racing to the other end of the fireplace –

– Only to crash into the hobbit, who'd hopped away from the pile of dwarves in his attempt to help. I tumbled to the ground, Bilbo sprawled underneath me. Raising my eyes, I saw to my horror that William's gigantic fist was shooting towards us with deadly speed.

Everything seemed to slow. I could hear the dwarves shouting for me to get out of the way. But there was no time.

No time to question myself.

No time to think.

I reacted on impulse, as if my wand were tightly clenched in my right fist. Grabbing the hobbit's coat with my mutilated hand, I closed my eyes and focused all my willpower on three simple words: Destination. Determination. Deliberation.

And then I twisted away into nothingness.

Cliffhanger, woot!

Please review! Constructive criticism is always welcome.