Sorry for taking so long to update! And a huge thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter, they were a blast to read ;)

A Hobbit's Advice

I sometimes wonder what the great Salazar Slytherin would think of his disciples if he could see how far we have fallen in the other houses' esteem. Would he be appalled, dismayed by our exclusion? Would he bow his head in shame, reminiscing the days when Griffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin united together to lay the foundations for what would become one of the greatest Wizarding Schools the world has seen?

No, I don't think so. History dictates that he had his own issues with the other three founders of Hogwarts. Maybe he had once respected their wisdom, perhaps even considered them friends, but over time his beliefs drove a wedge in their relationship. The matter of accepting muggle-borns into the school was a particularly touchy subject. Slytherin strongly believed that only witches and wizards of pure blood should be allowed into Hogwarts. His reasoning caused a great dispute with the other founders, and it eventually resulted in a permanent rift with Gryffindor, leading to Slytherin's departure from the school. He left us a fine souvenir however, one that would plague the school for centuries to come: A secret chamber of his design containing a basilisk. Needless to say that brilliant decision came back to bite us in the ass later. I mean come on, a monster that can only be controlled by the heir of Slytherin? He might as well have painted a great big target on all of our foreheads.

The other houses despise us, but I think that deep down, they secretly fear us. Slytherin has produced the greatest number of dark wizards after all, and our reputation leaves something to be desired. My house has a history of twisting its students, molding them into something dark and terrible. I find that ironic. Yes, we are driven. We go to lengths no one would ever consider in order to achieve our goals and, unlike the honorable Griffindors, we're not afraid to get our hands dirty. But evil, seriously? We never start out that way. That's not to say that some of us aren't predisposed towards the dark arts – hell, You-know-who was proof of that – but mostly, we're just your average Hogwarts students, the only difference being that we are shunned the second we join Slytherin's ranks. It doesn't matter where we come from or what we've been through – to the other houses, we're all the same; just another snake in the grass, another muggle-hater to be.

For seven years we are treated like boiling cauldrons of pus likely to explode at any second. Seven long years of enduring wary glances, snide comments and disapproving looks. It changes us, makes us more resilient, less caring of what others think. It doesn't matter how hard we try, nothing is good enough, so eventually, we distance ourselves from the other houses and avoid associating with anyone who isn't Slytherin. Nothing personal – it's just easier that way.

But I'm getting off track. My point is that I've been rejected before, and I've never had any trouble moving on. If I'd stopped to listen to every arrogant prick to ever give me a sideways look, I'd never hear the end of it. I have little to gain from wasting my breath trying to pry them away from their idiotic beliefs, not while my time can be better spent elsewhere, pursuing more gratifying goals.

So when Thorin ripped my contract in two, thus ending my collaboration with the company, it should have washed over me like waves on sand, barely rippling my composure. I had never really expected our arrangement to last once I'd outlived my (somewhat limited) usefulness. In retrospective, this sudden turn of event was not all that , I'd even been prepared to ditch the dwarves before the troll attack when I'd thought Gandalf might have gone AWOL, so why did I suddenly feel like a bunch of balloons cut loose, left to drift it the wind? Why couldn't I slip into the calm, collected state of mind with which I usually analyzed my every situation?

My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I stumbled from the balcony. Dwalin was waiting for me in the shade of a huge pillar, examining the delicate artwork carved into the stone with barely concealed disdain. He glanced up as I swept past and called out to me, but I ignored him, speeding up my pace and taking a sharp turn down a narrow path. I barged through a group of elves and pelted down a flight of stairs. I didn't know where my feet were taking me, and didn't care so long as every hurried step carried me farther away from the sunlight balcony and the memory of the Thorin's unforgiving stare.

I threw a handful of pebbles and watched as they sored over the edge of the gully into the darkness. A brief second later, a splashing sound reached my ears. I imagined the small stones sinking in the river, snatched up by the powerful current and swept away into deep, unknown waters. The thought caused a shiver to creep up my spine.

Night had fallen over the valley of Imladris. After wandering aimlessly through the stunning architecture for some time I had chanced upon a lush garden overhanging the deep ravine in the lower parts of the elvish city. On any other occasion, the exotic plants and overall harmony of the scene might have left me breath taken, but I was in no mood to enjoy the pleasant landscape. In the deep foliage I found a delicate pergola supporting a climbing vine sheltering a low bench from which a visitor could survey the garden without being seen. That was where I was seated now, lost in my thoughts, occasionally scrambling at my feet for pebbles to throw into the flowing river below.

I had calmed down a little since my confrontation with the dwarf king, enough to slow my galloping heart to a steady beat. The cool night air helped free me from the numbing grip of shock, and I was slowly gathering up my scattered thoughts and rearranging them in an attempt to make sense of my situation. I quickly realized that it was as futile as clutching a handful of sand – the harder I tried, the more confused I became. Anger, humiliation, indignation and shame coursed through my body like a whirlwind, sweeping away all rational thought. My mind was stuck in a loop, replaying over and over the events of the past twenty four hours. When I closed my eyes, the image of Tom's leering face danced behind my pupils. The faint trickling of a nearby fountain sounded like the splotch splotch sploch of blood gushing from my mangled ear. A branch snapped overhead and I jumped, suddenly reminded of the warg crashing its way through the undergrowth.

I suppose you could say I was having a nervous breakdown. Not all that astonishing really – it was long overdue. When I look back on that night, I'm surprised at the fact that I managed to keep it together for so long. The truth is, ever since I'd appeared in the Old Forest two weeks earlier, I hadn't had a second to allow my brain to process exactly what had happened to me. I'd immediately been swept away by the company and faced with a multitude of smaller problems all jumbled together at the same time, clouding my mind from seeing the bigger, much more alarming picture.

I might be dead.

The company had become the center of my life for a solid two weeks, the only vestige of sanity left for me to cling to. Now, confronted with the necessity of leaving, I was utterly at sea, with nothing to occupy my thoughts against the waves of panic that threatened to drag me under.

I felt a sob build up inside me and forced it down, clamping a hand over my mouth to prevent its escape. I would not cry. I refused to humiliate myself farther by melting down into a weeping wreck. That, at least, was something I could control.

There was some comfort in that knowledge, and I was suddenly struck by the almost irrepressible urge to laugh. The sob morphed into a giggle and I clamped my hand down harder, willing myself to gain control of my erratic emotions. There was really nothing comical about the situation, but that somehow only made it funnier. My shoulders started to shake. Something hot was blocking my throat.

Somewhere deep inside, I felt myself break.

I was suddenly out of breath, clutching my sides as huge dry gasps shook my whole figure. I honestly couldn't tell if I was laughing of crying. Probably a bit of both. I convulsed, heaving wretchedly, trembling like a leaf in the wind. In that moment, I surrendered myself completely to the blind panic that had been lurking undetected in the back of my mind for so long.

The leaves swayed, billowing slightly in the breeze. Something stirred deep within me, starting in the pit of my stomach, then amplifying, winding its way along my veins, coiling through my limbs. I could feel my magic responding to my distress, rippling through my body in a way I'd never experienced before. It rolled inside me like a sea in storm, lapping at the boundaries of my flesh once, twice…and overflowing. The wind picked up in answer, twisting and twirling unnaturally, whirling around me, reflecting my inner turmoil. Branches creaked. Leaves rustled. My magic whistled, rushing and tumbling with a force that felt harsh and dry. Some small rational part of my brain whispered that I should hold back before it caused any damage, but it was as futile as trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net.

My magic had never manifested itself this way before. I had no control over this.

I slowly raised my eyes, alarmed at the gusting force thrumming in the air – only to find that I wasn't alone.

"Bilbo!" I yelped, jumping to my feet, heart hammering in my chest. The sight of him standing a hair's breadth away was enough to shock some sense into me and I felt the unnatural force slowly ebb away like the lowering tide. The wind died almost instantly. My magic receded, fading away once there was nothing left to fuel its power, leaving me hollow inside. My whole body ached of exhaustion and I was suddenly very painfully aware of the fact that I hadn't slept in almost two days.

Bilbo shuffled from one foot to another, looking a little sheepish. His hand was outstretched as if he'd been in the action of reaching out to pat my back when I'd noticed him. Despite my overall sense of surprise, I couldn't help feeling a little impressed at the hobbit's display of stealth. No wonder Gandalf had been so keen to have him in the company.

The silence stretched on awkwardly. Bilbo finally cleared his throat, brushing the front of his coat in an attempt to seem nonchalant. "Hullo," he said, gaze sweeping over our surroundings for something to break the tension. "Lovely weather for a stroll in the gardens isn't it?" he paused, waiting for me to say something. When it became clear that I wasn't he took a deep breath and started speaking very quickly. "I almost wish we could stay a while longer, don't you? I've heard tales of Rivendell and the elves ever since I was old enough to understand them, but I never imagined that I might actually see it one day." His voice raised in pitch. "Then again, if you'd told me a month ago that I'd be trekking across the country with thirteen dwarves to steal gold from a dragon, then –"

"Bilbo," I interrupted, cutting through the hobbit's nervous ramblings. "What the hell are you doing here?" I tried to feel annoyed by his intrusion, but couldn't quite muster up the energy. I rubbed my temples, trying to disperse the dull pounding that was slowly building up behind my forehead.

Bilbo gestured around at the gardens. "Taking a moonlit walk. Stretching my legs." He met my gaze steadily, his face the picture of innocence.

I raised an eyebrow, giving him my most withering look. Bilbo held it for a few seconds before looking away sheepishly. "And Bofur may have told me that he saw you heading this way. He said you looked a little…upset," he hesitated, then said, "Balin told us about your disagreement with Thorin."

"Ah." I felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over me at these words. How fast had the news spread within the company? Were they aware of the finer points of our argument, the motivation behind Thorin's decision?

The hobbit bent low and plucked a fallen leaf out of the grass, twirling it between his fingers. "That was quite a draft back there. Did you cause it?"

I glanced down at my feet, noticing for the first time the thick layer of shredded leaves and petals coating the ground. The nearest trees and bushes had a windswept appearance. Several of their branches were almost bare, shamefully skinned of their foliage. Oops. My spontaneous bout of magic had caused more damage than I'd thought. I hoped Lord Elrond wasn't too fond of his dogwood trees.

"Yeah, that was me," I said, sinking back onto the bench. Somewhere inside my head a small voiced cried out in protest, warning me against giving the hobbit too much information, but I stifled it. I was too damn tired to work up a convincing lie, and besides, I couldn't really see the point of it. What did it matter what I told Bilbo now? He already had more than enough incriminating information if he wanted to rat me out to Thorin, and it wasn't as if the king's opinion of me could sink any lower than it already had.

Bilbo sat beside me a little hesitantly. "You know, I never quite got the chance to thank you." He paused and shot me a wary glance, as if he were half expecting me to snap back with an angry retort.

I felt a small twinge of guilt at the memory of our last exchange, where I'd openly threatened him. "For what?"

"Pulling me out of the troll's way. I'm still not entirely sure how you did it, but I want you to know I'm grateful, despite the fact that it was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life." He shivered. "I thought I was going to suffocate."

I waved his words away. "Don't mention it. I was saving my own skin as much as yours. The troll would have crushed me too if I hadn't apparated us away in time." I yawned. "And it wasn't supposed to be that uncomfortable, but I was acting on the spur of the moment."

"So something went wrong? Is that why you were injured?" Bilbo asked. His voice was casual, but I could feel the curiosity rolling off him in waves. "I overheard your exchange with Oin when he was examining your ear," he explained. "He thought the wound was too clean to be a laceration."

I was a little surprised at how quickly the hobbit had caught on. He was far more observant than I gave him credit for. I nodded. "It's called splinching – leaving bits of yourself behind. It happens when you're not sufficiently concentrated, or when you don't have the proper training to pull off a successful apparition."

"Splinching?" Bilbo echoed incredulously. "Does that happen often?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "More often than you'd think. It's usually pretty easy to fix if you can get to a hospital in time. But every now and again some moron gets himself drunk, decides he can't be bothered to walk the distance home and…voila!" I made flourishing gesture with my hand, "He splinches a vital organ. Very messy." I glanced down to see that the hobbit had gone a little pale. "But don't worry," I added hastily, "I knew what I was doing. Sort of."

I wondered idly why the hobbit's questions weren't bothering me. I'd spent the better part of two weeks subtly twisting our (one sided) conversations in a different direction whenever Bilbo tried to broach a personal topic. Why was I suddenly so keen to discuss the basics of magic with him?

I guess there was something comforting in the thought that I didn't have to watch my every move around the hobbit anymore. I suspected that his sheltered life in the Shire had preserved him from all the superstitious nonsense about witches I'd come to hear from the dwarves.

And his questions were a welcome distraction from the chaos of my own head.

"Are you Gandalf's apprentice?" Bilbo asked abruptly, pulling me from my musings.

I spluttered a laugh. "What? Where the hell did you get that idea from? I barely know the guy!"

Bilbo looked a little embarrassed. "You both arrived at my hobbit-hole together in the dead of night," he pointed out. "I don't know much about wizards and magic and the likes, but I assumed he must have a good reason for wanting you in the company. If he's teaching you magic it would explain why he's taken you under his wing."

I huffed indignantly. What the hell was he going on about? I wasn't under anyone's wing. Yes, I went to the old man whenever I had a question about Middle-earth, but only because the dwarves wouldn't understand why I lacked the most basic knowledge of the world that was supposed to be mine. "Well, he's not. I met the old geezer literally five minutes before arriving at your house."

Bilbo shot me a puzzled look. "Then how did you know about the quest?"

"I didn't. Gandalf just appeared out of the blue and invited me for dinner. I figured I'd tag along since I didn't have anything better to do, but I'd never heard about Erebor or Smaug before that night. I was just as surprised as you were when he sprang the news."

"You mean to say you'd never met before?" The hobbit asked incredulously, cocking his head to one side, curiosity etched across his face. "What were you doing in Hobbiton?"

"I was…sort of lost." I shrugged helplessly. "Gandalf said he felt responsible for my fate." I winced as the words left my mouth, realizing just how ridiculous they sounded.

"Gandalf invited you on a quest to slay a dragon because you were lost?" Bilbo shook his head doubtfully. "Why? It makes no sense!"

Well of course it doesn't, when you put it like that. "I didn't have anywhere to go," I said shortly, hoping he'd leave it at that.

Bilbo opened his mouth, looking as though he wanted to press the matter farther, then caught my irritated expression and hastily chose to move on to a safer topic. "Thorin believes that the elves will try to stop us from reaching Erebor." He glanced around at the deserted garden and leant in close, speaking in a hushed tone, "Gandalf agrees. He assured us that he would distract Lord Elrond long enough for the company to leave Rivendell unnoticed. Thorin will lead us to the foot of the Misty Mountains and we'll wait for the wizard to join us there."

I felt the corners of my lips pull up in a humorless smile. "Thanks for the info, but I'm no longer a part of the company, remember?"

"I know. That's why I think you should wait for Gandalf before trying to follow us to the mountain."

"What?" I stared at Bilbo's earnest expression in astonishment. It was the last thing I'd expected him to say.

Bilbo seemed surprised at my reaction. "You were planning to follow, weren't you?"

"Well…I hadn't really thought about it."

Bilbo stood and brushed the dust from his trousers. Without looking up he said, "Your best chance at getting Thorin to reconsider is through the wizard. Gandalf has taken great pains to secure a place for you in the company. You might believe he acted out of concern for your wellbeing, but I'll bet my buttons the wizard has some other motive for keeping an eye on you. He'll find a way to reason with the dwarves once you've both caught up with us." He met my gaze questioningly. "Unless you'd rather stay in Rivendell?"

I shook my head vigorously. "Hell, no."

He smiled. "That's what I thought."

It was with a much lighter heart that I left the gardens an hour later. Bilbo bade me goodbye and urged me to take advantage of my delayed departure to get some sleep. "You look dead on your feet," he had added before scuttling off to wherever the dwarves were holed up. I watched his retreating figure with a mixture of bemusement and respect – something I never thought I'd feel for the hobbit. I'd been dreading the moment when Bilbo would eventually corner me in the attempt of finishing the conversation we'd left unresolved at the troll camp. I suspected the hobbit had no idea how much his advice had reassured me, and how he'd raised considerably in my esteem just by giving it to me.

I yawned hugely. Now that I had some semblance of a plan to quell my fears and uncertainties, I felt ready to drop down and take a nap right there and then. But as I retraced my footsteps down the winding passageways to the balcony where the company had eaten, a nagging suspicion slowly seeped into the back of my mind.

What if Bilbo was right about the wizard?

I'd always assumed that Gandalf's interest in my story was merely the curiosity of a slightly batty old man faced with a puzzle he couldn't figure the solution to. My very presence in this world was something I couldn't even begin to explain, so naturally, he would be intrigued – but was it enough to justify everything Gandalf had done – all the measures he'd taken to make sure I wasn't left behind?

I thought about the carefully blank look Elrond had given Gandalf when we'd been introduced. 'What is the meaning of this?' he'd asked. What had the elf Lord meant by that?

So far I'd been nothing but a burden to the dwarves. I didn't possess any skills that could assist us on our journey, aside from my ability to recognize certain healing herbs – but even that proved useless compared to Oin's experience in the field of medicine. So why had the wizard gone out of his way guarantee my continued presence amongst them? Could it be that he had an interior motive?

As I neared the balcony, the sound of boisterous laughter reached my ears. From the safety of the pillars I could see a flickering light dancing in the gloom. One of the dwarves had taken the initiative of lighting a fire and it was crackling merrily, casting tall shadows across the balcony. I could see silhouettes huddled around the flames. I sniffed the air and detected the scent of tobacco.

Leaning against the pillar, I closed my eyes and listened as Bofur launched into a detailed story about a clever tinker and a milkmaid from Harlond. His story was greeted with laughs and cheers from his audience, who had obviously heard it before and knew it to be good. The whole scene gave off an atmosphere of relaxed contentment.

I was surprised at how badly I wanted to join the dwarves by the fire, listen to Bofur's ridiculous story and laugh along with the others at the way he described the tinker's misfortunes with the milkmaid's father. I wanted to sit with the company and drink to our health, celebrating the fact that we were still alive despite the numerous perils we had faced on the road.

And it scared me right to my core.

I backed away from the balcony into the shadows, suddenly unsure of myself. I barely knew these people – they were nothing more to me than a means to an end. How could I possibly feel any connection to them whatsoever? This is bad, Cass. You're getting too attached.

"All right lads!" Balin called, stepping into the light of the flames and cutting Bofur off midstream. "We'd best get a move on. Fili, Kili," he gestured to the Durin brothers, "Start gathering the supplies. We must be swift if we wish to leave this place undetected. Gandalf won't hold them off forever." The company suddenly leaped into a flurry of action, stamping out the flames and pulling together the meager possessions that had survived the flight to Rivendell.

I tore my eyes from the dwarves and backed away. Now was not the time for wistfulness. I needed to find the wizard and let him know what had happened.

I let my gaze sweep over the beautiful architecture of the elvish city. The first rays of sunrise hinted over the valley, reflecting of the gushing water like a million diamonds. The city practically glowed in the morning light. Rivendell was without a doubt the most peaceful place I had ever set foot in. It was a safe harbor, and some small part of me wondered why I didn't want to stay.

But as I mulled over the possibility, I realized it was more than restlessness that made me want to leave the valley. For two weeks I had journeyed with the dwarves, listened to their songs and shared their meals. Now, as they made to go on without me, I felt a sharp pang of longing.

I didn't know when it had happened – maybe at the site of the troll attack or during the orc raid – but somewhere along the line of our journey, my priorities had shifted.

In that moment, I was sorely tempted to leave the wizard behind and follow the dwarves to the Misty Mountains, regardless of what Thorin had said. Strange to think that it was only when I'd been cast out of the company that I realized just how much I wanted to be a part of it.

But that's irony for you.

I'm sorry if updates will take a little longer than usual from now on, but I'm passing my Bac (French exams) in a month, and I've started my revisions. I won't stop writing, but I might only post once every two weeks or so.

Next up, Cassie will stumble upon a very interesting conversation between two wizards, an elf Lord and a certain mind-reading elf Lady.

Please review!