Catalyst

Summary: In which Harry, Hermione, and Ron get sucked into Middle Earth by way of a defunct portkey on their way to the Quidditch World Cup. Set in the beginning of GoF/The Hobbit.

Author's Note: I most assuredly don't own Harry Potter or the LoTR franchise.

So I have to admit one of the reasons this chapter took so long to write is because my mind leapt forward to submerge itself in drabbles of happenings that will occur once this story's plotline has ended. And being the impulsive creature I am, I wrote those little musings down. And now have a sizable collection of drabbles to compile into a sequel of sorts. Although, I wouldn't really call it a sequel so much as a drawn out epilogue…. But like I said, I jumped well past the end of this story. Also Life and stuff happened.

Chapter Five

It had been close to a week since they had parted ways with the company. The road looked as though it had once been well worn. Trees loomed above it, shadowing their path but not blocking out the sun entirely. Roots crept along the sides and, in some of the more worn areas, protruded from the middle of the road.

Their days were spent in wary anticipation as they trekked through the wood, every sound putting them on edge. The nights spent along the edges of the road proved no better, tense and full of apprehension as if someone or something lurked along the edges of the firelight watching. Waiting.

It was on such a night that Brentan pulled his pipe from his pocket, lighting it with one of the few matches he had left and the last of his tobacco. "We should be nearing the edge of the forest within the next few days." He said from his place in between Hermione and Ron, who had decided to stop speaking to one another earlier that afternoon. Both teens sullenly chewed on small hunks of stale bread and some dried meats, the tail end of their provisions. Brentan poked at the fire, regarding his three young charges as he drew in a long slow breath from his pipe.

Hermione sat primly to his left, determinedly studying the knot in an old gnarled oak at times, at others glancing across him in a subtle manner to observe her red headed friend. Ron sat on his other side, popping the last of his bread into his mouth before fumbling for his sword and whetstone, his mouth a thin agitated line. Harry sat across the fire, heavy bags beneath his eyes as he stared into the flames listlessly. His dreams becoming far more troubled the further they travelled into the woods. Brentan allowed a small frown to turn down the corners of his lips, making a mental note to coax more answers from the boy, if only to ease the young man's mind. The young man in question popped the last of his meat into his mouth after a fair bit of prompting from Hermione before turning to set up his bedroll. The brunette's weary eyes drifted shut before he'd properly settled into his furs and his breathing slowed into a steady rhythm moments after.

Gone were the canopy and the tangled roots of Mirkwood; instead, Harry floated in darkness, weightless and unarmed. He felt his heart leap and his stomach lurch as the world righted itself, he nearly staggered as his feet hit solid ground. Bottle green eyes peered dubiously about his surroundings. He stood in a pavilion built amongst massive, grey tree boughs. The leaves had begun to change, their green fading to a vibrant golden color. He cast a glance to a basin of water in the middle of the circular structure.

It was unnaturally still, and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. "I have been waiting for you to enter my realm, Harry Potter." A smooth voice echoed through the stillness, power buried in the tone. He whirled about eyes widening and hand grasping for a weapon that was not there. He relaxed marginally at the sight of a familiar golden haired elven woman, clad in flowing white gowns. Her lips quirked, her face a mask of aloof amusement. "Sîdh, Ithryn wenya."

His mind floundered for a moment, a dim memory swimming from just beyond his grasp. "Lady Galadriel." He greeted finally, uncertainty clouding his tone. She smiled wanly at him, gliding further into the pavilion, circling around him to the other side of the basin. He felt the well of panic that had begun building in his chest slowly trickle away. "Where are we?" He inquired turning his attention to their surroundings curiously, taking in the spiraling wooden ramps and stairs leading up into the trees. High stretching arches seemed to be popular architectural decision amongst elves, Harry decided.

"We are in the heart of Lothlórien." Galadriel replied, no small hint of pride coloring her tone as she gestured about them in a sweeping motion. "One of the few safe havens in Arda, for here evil may not enter without difficulty." She swept her fingers across the rim of the basin, and Harry stepped forward hesitantly to peer at it, frowning when the reflection did not mirror Lady Galadriel or even the golden canopy high above them. She quirked a brow and her lip gave a coy lift at the edge as she silently beckoned him forward. "The Valar have brought you to our world for a reason, young wizard. And already they hint at their purpose."

"The Valar?" Harry whispered distantly brows furrowing at the new foreign word, eyes flickering from Galadriel's face down to her basin with a frown. "Why us? Why now? How-" he choked then on the rising tide of questions that wanted to pour from his mouth. How long had she known their purpose? Who were the Valar? How could she possibly know what the Valar (whoever they were) had sent them to do? How would they get home?

"I have seen as much and much more." She again brushed her fingers along the edge of the bowl. Harry took one hesitant step towards the Lady. "Do you wish to look into the waters for yourself?"

Harry startled, only a foot from the waters, so unnatural and still even beneath the golden leaves and grey tree boughs. He thought back to his first year, being drawn to the Mirror Erised night after sleepless night. He paused, uncertainty weighing heavy in his gut. "What does it show?"

She smiled at him, the trueness of the expression crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Images from distant times and places. Things that may be, things that are and things that shall never come to pass."

Harry almost snorted at the riddles that flowed from the mouth of the immortal woman before him. His feet carried him to the basin, his body felt heavy as he stooped over the edge. He blinked at the image the water displayed.

A field, not unlike the ones he saw in his dream lay before him. A single, familiar mountain stretched up towards the sky in the distance. Instead of bodies, he saw fields with row upon row of crops bursting from the earth, and a bustling city sprawled about the base of the mountain. It faded, bringing forth a startling image of Diagon Alley, he felt himself lean in, taking in the desolation. Shop signs hung crooked, windows boarded up; people darted from the few open shops in small tightly clustered groups, casting wary eyes upon each other. Cloaked figures in skull masks stood on the corners surveying the scant crowds with stoic disinterest. The image shifted again a small cluster of stone buildings stood alone and unafraid, half consumed by tropical foliage. In the distance a small swarm of riders bore down on the village. It shifted again, showing fire and blood, the image so real Harry could feel the heat dry his eyes.

He blinked rapidly and found himself staring at a starry sky, Mars shining bright, his lungs burned for air and his nose was scant millimeters from the water's glassy surface. His neck strained against an invisible force as it tipped him towards the water. His head broke the surface, the icy temperature causing him to inhale involuntarily. Water filled his lungs even as air whistled past his ears as he fell into the inky blackness.

His mouth drew in more water as he gagged and thrashed, the wind whispering past in a voice that sounded very much like Galadriel, "Na lû e-govaned vî."

Harry woke gasping for air, his feet kicking his bedroll from his body in a panic, hands clapping over his mouth to prevent himself from crying out and waking anyone else. He heaved in one shuddering breath after another until he calmed and steadied. Sitting up, he glanced at the dying embers of the fire, taking in the slumbering forms of his friends huddled about it. He froze when he met Brentan's dark eyes; the embers throwing his weathered features into stark relief.

Harry wearily stood and padded over to the Ranger, sitting down heavily beside him. Harry slouched, propping his upper body up on his knees and staring tiredly into the remains of their fire. He blinked down at the ranger's hands, a knife in one hand and a piece of dry wood in the other. The beginnings of a carving, too new and crooked for Harry to make out what it was to become.

"Rough night?" The Ranger rumbled kindly, continuing his carving in slow methodical movements.

Harry grunted, head dropping to stare at the dirt between his feet. "Rough week." He replied tersely, lifting his head and running his hands down his face. Grimacing at the oily feel to it and wishing silently for a warm bath and a soft bed. Brentan hummed in acknowledgement, casting a glance at his charge as wood shavings fluttered to the ground.

"Night Terrors are not uncommon, especially after the trials you have faced thus far." Brentan stated after a few long moments of silence.

Harry stared at the side of his guardian's head, taking in the thickening facial hair and bruise like marks under the man's dark eyes.

"They're not-" Harry started, choking on his own tongue as he drooped, head hanging between his knees. "They're visions." He stated. "I think." He paused, frowning at the dirt as he dug the tip of his boot into it fiercely. Wishing, not for the first time, that they were only half remembered horrors that faded upon waking.

Brentan's eyebrows flickered upward; he carefully slid the knife back into the sheath in his boot and pocketed the carving. "Oh?" he inquired, patient curiosity lacing his voice. At the Ranger's tone, Harry smiled wryly at the dirt. The inflection of a father, a guardian.

"I met with Galadriel in Lothlorien." Harry stated quietly. Raising his head yet again, missing the startled look on the Ranger's face at the small admission. "She showed me visions in a basin-" he cut himself off unable to describe the things he had seen. She had said that the basin showed the past and things that may not come to pass. Time and, by proxy, the future seemed to be a fickle thing and so did seeing it.

Brentan hummed thoughtfully. "I take it these visions are a new development." He queried gently.

Harry let out a strangled noise, as he straightened and turned to look at Brentan fully, "Well-" He paused, uncertain, "I've had visions before, just not like these."

Brentan nodded understanding and let the conversation drop, content to sit companionably in the unnatural silence of the forest.

Travel the next day proved just as draining, the camp's morale was low as they sat around a small fire, a fallen log that the boys had rolled closer to the road serving as a seat for Brentan and Ron while Hermione and Harry sat side by side on the ground.

A slight whistling sound cut through the silence that had enveloped the quartet followed by the sharp snap of dry wood. "Bloody hell." Ron whimpered, eyes staring intently at the arrow that protruded from the log he sat on, having missed hitting him by scant inches. Harry's hand firmly gripped his sword hilt and Hermione had scrabbled backwards for her bow, eyes scanning the darkened tree line for the archer, knuckles white.

Brentan rose slowly, sword hilt in hand "Show yourselves." He called bravely as Ron finally leapt to his feet, skirting away from the arrow a few steps, his shaking hands clasped around the sheath of his own weapon.

"You are outnumbered, drop your weapons." A deep authoritative voice demanded, six elves melting from the forest around them, arrows pointed steadily at the quartet. A seventh glided out into the firelight, his long blonde hair cast in an orange hue, his bow was clasped confidently in his left hand. The elves were dressed in dark greens and browns, blades adorned their belts and full quivers poked out from behind narrow shoulders.

Brentan laid his sword on the ground, his movements slow and deliberate. The teens exchanged wary glances, inching closer to their guardian as they too slowly lowered their arms to the forest floor.

The seventh elf slung his bow over his shoulders. His party still peered at them from over fletching and under furrowed brows. "Who are you to trespass into our kingdom?" He inquired imperiously, flinty eyes taking them all in in the firelight.

Harry and Hermione slowly inched their way around the fire towards Ron and Brentan Harry found his eyes trained on the tip of the nearest arrow, caution and fear warring in his stomach.

"I am Brentan, son of Elmar." The ranger gestured towards the trio of teens beside him. "I am escorting my three charges to Rhun in search of the Blue Wizards."

The elf drew closer, regarding Brentan curiously, arms folded behind his back in a fashion that reminded Harry distinctly of the muggle military. "What business do children of men have with the Istari?" He wondered, his inflection softening.

Brentan grunted in annoyance at the question, his eyes narrowing at the elf before him. "Whatever business they have is their own." He answered vaguely the elf's brow rose minutely before he schooled his features. "I have offered my name, and have yet to receive one from you." Hermione sucked on her teeth at Brentan's prompt, eyes flickering between the elf and the older man worriedly.

The elf looked startled for a moment, before his lips twitched upwards. "I am Ebarid of Mirkwood." After a long moment he straightened and muttered something indistinguishable in Sindarin and the surrounding elves lowered their bows. Ron let loose a loud breath, his arm winding around Hermione's shoulders and his other hand reaching out to tug Harry closer to them. "Well met." Ebarid said, extending his arm to Brentan.

The men clasped each other's forearms in greeting, "I apologize for not requesting an audience with King Thranduil, but this is a time sensitive matter." Brentan said as they released each other.

Ebarid tilted his head, eyeing the three teens over the ranger's shoulder curiously. "Yes well truthfully we have little business dabbling in the affairs of men; however there was a company of dwarves spotted along the Forest Path north of here." Harry felt his spine straighten and Ron's grip on his arm tightened minutely as Ebarid turned a critical gaze to Brentan once again. "Do you know anything of them?"

Brentan snorted, his shoulder's relaxing, "Only in passing." He answered easily. "Ran across them in the Misty Mountains, nothing but trouble that lot." Ebarid granted them a shrewd glance before nodding to them and motioning to his comrades. They silently drew back into the trees, eyes trained on the quartet as they went.

"Be on your guard, Ranger." Ebarid warned as he too slipped past the reach of firelight.

The quartet stood in silence, peering into the dark tree line after the elves for a long moment, "That wanker almost shot me!" Ron finally exclaimed, gesturing to the arrow that was still buried in the log behind him.

Harry regarded the arrow critically as Brentan leveled a patronizing glance at the red head, "Take care what you say, young Master Weasley." He sank back down on the log, staring mournfully at the empty pipe bowl and stuffing it back into his coat pocket. "These trees have ears."

Ron shot a mistrustful glance around himself and Hermione plucked her bow and quiver from the ground and sat down next to the ranger. "Honestly Ron, I think he missed on purpose." She chided gently, voice still quavering from the rather jarring introduction to the elves of Mirkwood.

Ron frowned at her. Brentan gripped the arrow and tugged it from the dead wood, sticking it into Hermione's quiver where it stood out starkly amongst the brown fletching of her other arrows. He took in her shivering shoulders for a moment before the girl let out a choked sob and cradled her face in her hands.

"We could use some more firewood." The Ranger looked at the boys meaningfully. Harry fastened his long sword to his belt hurriedly. Ron followed suit a relieved look gracing his features. "Try not to stray too far." Brentan threw after them as they all but ran from the circle of firelight. "There now." Brentan stated, once the sounds of the boy's footsteps had faded, turning to face the young girl as she tried to stifle her sobs "Everything is fine, no one was harmed."

She shook her head at him mutely, shoulder's shaking and tears leaving tracks down her cheeks. "It's not-" she cut herself off with a hiccupping sob, "It's not that."

Brentan's brow smoothed, "What's wrong?" he inquired gently.

She blearily blinked up at him, choking back another sob, "Oh this is so mortifying." She swiped tears from her eyes, trying to calm her own breathing. Brentan rubbed a circle between her shoulder blades, his face a mask of patient understanding. "I just- what if we don't make it home?" She inquired finally voicing her own fears, "What if we die before we even reach the Blue Wizards? What if they can't help us?" He pulled the distraught girl into a one armed hug, a frown creasing his brow as he turned to stare at the flames of their dwindling camp fire. "What will we do? Where will we stay?"

Brentan turned back to Hermione, meeting her puffy, too bright brown gaze with a determined look. "You will not die before we reach the Blue Wizards, I will see to that." He stated firmly, pulling a relatively clean cloth from his pockets and handing it to her with a gentle noise he often used with his own daughters. "If they can't help you," he paused with a frown, "then you may stay with me and my kin until we find a way for you to return to your home."

"Really?" She inquired, graciously accepting the cloth from his hand and dabbed at her eyes. "We wouldn't be imposing?" she asked waveringly.

Brentan gave her a bemused look, "Miss Granger, the presence of you and yours would be a joy and a blessing. Never an imposition."

The boys trekked along the side of the trail in silence, backtracking until they were sure they wouldn't be overheard. Ron cast a searching glance over his shoulder, "Think she'll be alright?"

Harry frowned at the distant glow of the campfire, "I think the journey is wearing us all thin." Harry replied lowly, feeling as worn through as Hermione had looked.

"Bloody hell, Harry, I can't wait to get out of this bloody forest." Ron exclaimed, hands raking through his hair in frustration. "I feel like I have water in my ears or something, it's bloody maddening." Harry hummed in agreement, bending down to retrieve a sizable stick from the path. "And what was with the Ebrid bloke?" He inquired hotly, butchering the name of the elf who had presumably shot at him.

"He was a bit titchy wasn't he?" Harry agreed thoughtfully, staring pensively up at the canopy of gnarled branches. They fell into silence as they picked twigs and fallen branches from the sides of the trail. Harry let out a forlorn sigh, "I can't wait to go home."

Ron hummed picking up a few more pieces of kindling, "I never thought I'd say it, but I miss my brothers." He confided, latching onto the change of subject willingly, scrunching up his face in mild disbelief at the words that tumbled from his mouth.

Harry grinned, "You know what I miss?" he inquired rhetorically, "flying."

Ron sighed, tucking another stick under his arm, "Quidditch. Wonder who won the World Cup?"

Harry thought for a moment, "Bulgaria has a wicked seeker but Ireland has a more solid team."

Ron scoffed, "Yeah but Bulgaria has Krum!"

Harry snorted right back, "And a lousy defense." He muttered, stomach growling loudly into the silence. "Treacle Tart." He groaned dramatically. "My kingdom for some treacle tart!"

Ron sighed, "I miss mum's cooking." They both gazed down forlornly at the thought of a home cooked meal. "She made the best chicken pot pie…" Ron stated wistfully.

Harry frowned down at his thin tunic, "I loved her jumpers."

Ron picked up another stick with a disgruntled noise, "You would miss those things." He stated with a playful roll of his eyes before a mischievous grin stretched across his face. "Bloody hell, you know who I miss the most?" Ron inquired, "Malfoy, the little git." His voice sounded almost fond.

Harry snorted with laughter, bending down to snatch up a promisingly dry twig on the very edge of the path. "You miss Malfoy about as much as I miss Snape."

Ron stared dreamily up into the gloomy canopy. "Or one of Ginny's bat bogey hexes."

Harry let out a small chuckle at his friend's tone. Turning back to level a look at his best friend, he paused. Ron was ghostly white, focused on something over Harry's shoulder. A rapid clicking noise from behind him made Harry straighten, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. His hand gravitated towards the hilt of his sword "Merlin's shorts." Ron choked out. "Not again."

He drew his weapon, the wood he had gathered clattering to the road, and whirled about in a move he often practiced with Brentan during their training sessions, the blade cutting into the face of a spider as tall as Harry. It shrieked and Ron yelped, stumbling into action. The red head drew his own weapon and whirled to press his back against Harry's. They were surrounded. Massive black spiders with menacing pincers clacked and scuttled about them.

"This is the second time!" Ron whimpered, "And most definitely the last time I am ever fighting giant spiders in the woods with you, Harry!" He thrust his sword into the head of a smaller spider that had lunged at him. It died with a squeal and he pulled his sword from its carcass with a squelch and swung it wildly to his left catching another spider's leg joint with the elven blade, cleaving the limb in two and causing the arachnid to stumble forward towards Harry.

The smaller wizard floundered for a moment before smacking it reflexively with the flat of the blade as he might if dueling an ally. It hissed, struggling up onto its remaining limbs. He cursed and twisted his grip before swinging his sword in a downward sweep, burying the blade in its thick carapace.

"I'll be sure to remember that next time I have the urge to do this again!" Harry grunted, trying to pry his sword from the carcass, tugging becoming frantic as another spider raced towards him, pincers wide and dripping with venom. "Shit!" He abandoned the hilt of his sword, reaching belatedly for his wand.

He was jabbed at the arachnid, spell on tip of his tongue. Brentan's sword cleaved through its head as he lunged from the surrounding darkness. The ranger whirled about to hack away at another spider with the finesse of a seasoned warrior. Harry twisted to face an oncoming spider as Hermione appeared behind him,

"Repulso!"

"Bombarda!"

The two spells sent the final spider flying back into the trees.

Surrounded by the massive bodies of arachnids, the familiar eerie silence of Mirkwood descended upon them. Harry cast an exhausted glance around them, trying to catch sight of their guardian through the gloom; panic welled up inside of him, his lips parted to call out the Ranger's name when a gruff familiar voice called out an "all clear." He melted from the surrounding shadows, covered in dust and dirt and more than a little spider's blood. Harry's panic garbled from him in a strangled noise at the sight.

He was quickly spun around by a wild haired, puffy eyed witch who quickly crushed him into a hug. Harry wheezed a bit as she abruptly released him holding him at an arm's length to regard him fondly, "Thank Merlin you're both okay." She stated with shaky disbelief, hand reaching up to brush Harry's fringe away from his eyes fondly. She whirled about before he could answer to hug Ron.

"I'm sorry." The red head murmured around her hair, squeezing her tight to him. "I am an idiot." He agreed to an insult she had hissed at him the morning prior for another of his tactless comments "I'm sorry."

Brentan strode up to them, looking his charges up and down for signs of injury, nodding once he was satisfied and clapped Harry on the shoulder, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. "You did well." He turned his gaze to the still embracing couple with a raised brow. He cleared his throat, amused when they leapt apart as if scalded. "All of you." He paused to take them in proudly before beckoning them to him, "Let's get back to camp. We will catch a few hours rest before moving on, no doubt there are more where they came from."

The structure loomed, broken and bleeding darkness over the surrounding forest. Azog stalked through the courtyard. Up the stairs and towards a broken bridge that once led to a shadowy shattered tower. He abruptly halted feet from the crumbling ledge, dropping to a knee head bowed low. "The Dwarves escaped, our information was faulty." He snarled, looking up as shadows crawled from the surrounding ruins, amassing into a vaguely man like shape. "They had more than one wizard in their company."

(Absurdly long) Author's Note: The first form of difficulty with this chapter was the dialogue between Harry and Galadriel. I can be okay with cryptic noble speech but she's something else entirely. No seriously, that was some hard stuff for me to write. And they only had a few lines in that piece too. Lord save me.

I debated heavily over what kind of creature they would face when going through Mirkwood. I felt like the whole giant spiders experience would be like repeating their second year with acromantulas. But it would be unrealistic of me to assume they could get through Mirkwood without running into an elvish patrol or spiders (as they are infesting the wood). Honestly I think of this chapter as a staging chapter for the next one. I have grand plans for it. And only a few paragraphs written which is disgraceful really. But I promise there will be more fighting, and at least some character development.

For all my reviewers, I thank you profusely for feeding the attention monger inside me and giving words of praise and of course criticism. Your feedback is always welcome and appreciated immensely.

I received one of the longest and best reviews I have ever read from Kefalion and honestly it made me glow a little inside. They pointed out a slight (Major) mistake towards the end of my last chapter, where I called Fili and Kili twins instead of brothers. I am kicking myself still. I was most likely thinking of Fred and George while writing it… still thank you for pointing that out to me! I really appreciated your feedback and critique!

Hwi-Noree: I wanted to thank you for your fantastic verbal sacrifice. The author is pleased.

So here's a list of reasons why they are relying on weapons other than Magic (beware none of them are even remotely satisfying):

Remaining under the radar. Wizards are rare commodities, and probably tempting for the rising forces of Sauron. (The Orcs are already aware that they exist so word is out, and bound to bring trouble later)

Swords are cool.

I am using them to practice my fight scenes. I suck at battles, though this fic is helping me develop those a little better.

I always get a little frustrated when the trio is in a situation and magic helps them cruise right through it. It always reminds me of that Tidy Cat's commercial (No matter how true it is it makes them almost invincible): Pack of blood thirsty Orcs? There's a spell for that. Hot in the desert? There's a spell for that. No matter what situation you may find yourself in, there's a spell for that.

They're fourteen years old and (though my memory may be faulty) they weren't fantastically spell savvy until their fifth year at least (Not incompetent but not exactly brimming with different defensive spells). Harry's duel with Voldemort in the graveyard was testimony to the limited amount of spells he remembered in a crisis situation.

I want them to struggle like real people, be more relatable with insecurities, character flaws, and all that uncomfortable real world crap.

But you are right; I haven't been relying on magic as much as I should. Excuses are like butts, everyone has one. So I can't shield myself with mine. I will aim to include more spell work in future chapters.

As always thank you for reading my drivel. If you feel the niggling urge, please review. I do so look forward to your feedback. No matter how short or long. I read all of them with inordinate amounts of joy. Even the ones that would have crushed the soul of a new writer. Those reviews I hug until they stop breathing. Something I like to label smuddling. Behold my monstrous mathematical vocabulary system!

(Smothering + Cuddling = Smuddling)

Perhaps I smuddle reviews before they can smuddle my soul?

Elvish Words/Phrases

Sîdh - Peace

Ithryn – Wizard

Wenya - Green

Na lû e-govaned vî -Until next we meet