Delusional

Jessylane318

"Harry," called a familiar voice he vaguely recognized. "Come on Harry, it's time to awake. It's well past Morn."

He opened his eyes slowly to a blur of blue and yellowed gray. Looking around, he noticed they'd moved, but he didn't remember ever walking.

"Wh-" he stopped talking, feeling the painful hoarsness in his voice. How long had he been asleep?

"Here Harry, Strider said you'd need it when you woke up." A burning liquid rushed past his lips and Harry couldn't help but sputter at the awful taste.

"That's disgusting!"

He heard laughter and glared as the faces came into focus, only to stop at the slight smile on Frodo's face. The young hobbit looked pale and far from healthy.

"Frodo...?" the little hobbit gave a small smile before closing his eyes.

"We'll be upon Rivendell in a day or so," spoke a deep voice. Harry looked up to see Strider standing broad-shouldered and grim before them all. "It'd be best to go on now that we are all awakened."

Harry frowned before turning to Sam.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Five days and five nights on the morrow," responded Sam sullenly. "Me thinks, it'd have been more, but Strider was tiring from your burden."

Strider was... His eyes flew towards the ranger already moving the hobbits about. Had he carried him for five days? Surely not! But then... Harry frowned and glared at his feet, feeling his face flush in embarrassment. No one had ever carried him, well perhaps his mother, but he could hardly recall her, except green flashes in the middle of the night.

"Harry?"

Harry smiled and picked up his bag and his sword, noticing at once that some of the blood had been wiped away. He held it close and begun walking, it would be a very long day.

The party was sitting under the shadow of a group of Trolls, Pippin had mistaken for live ones earlier. Apparently, Gandalf the wizard had turned them all to stone while he was traveling abroad with Frodo's Uncle Bilbo. They were ominous and ugly, and reminded him every bit of that ugly thing he had fought in the girl's bathroom. And so he found it incredibly difficult to eat the rabbit Strider had caught in the wild. However, his attention jumped suddenly when a sound of horse hooves resounded through the air. Harry glanced sideways, feeling the fear well in his belly. Riders... The Black Riders had found them.

He stood quickly, grabbing his sword and bag and pulling Pippin to his feet. They need to hide. They wouldn't outrun the monsters, but maybe they could hide themselves in the forest to wait and let the riders pass.

Harry kicked the remains of the fire, burying the ashes under dirt.

"Hurry!" Strider cried as he pushed Merry onward into the woods near himself. "Hide!"

The hooves were getting louder and louder as they dashed as deep into the woods as they dared; Sam leading Frodo, still sick from the poisoned blade, while Pippin rocked with fright beside him. Harry could see him sweating despite the October sky and listened without thought to his incessant mumbling, almost singing, almost as though in prayer. Strider had ducking down, half hidden near the road, his body taunt and rigid and eyes darting about.

Harry's gaze attached itself once more to the road. Searching... Searching for any sign of the dark riders.

The hooves were growing nearer like a broad storm chasing through the skies...

They were almost upon them, the roaring clatter of stomping hooves deafening.

Suddenly something large, voluminous burst from the bushes. Harry only a had a moment to glance at the figure as he crouched down, dragging Pippin with him to the ground.

Heart pounding in his chest and throat, Harry could hear the rider stop, the horse's distinct neighs as it pawed the ground. Pippin covered his ears at the noise, and Harry tried to swallow a whimper of his own.

"Hail! Hail and well meet! It is I, Glorfindel!" The voice sounded like nothing he'd ever heard. Light and melodically, the green eyed youth ignored his curiosity, well aware of what it might mean should he be wrong. He kept his head ducked low and Pippin with him.

"Glorfindel!" cried Strider, having betrayed his own hiding place. "Come out friends, we shall find no enemy from this rider!"

"Indeed not," replied Glorfindel as Harry let Pippin help him cautiously to his feet. He stared uncertainly between them, his own heavy blade carefully outstretched and ready to wield. The blonde man seemed to radiate power and light, his face ethereal and youthful despite his obvious wisdom and age. He conversed with Strider for several minutes, taking stock and glancing carefully at him even. Harry glared back, annoyed.

The angelic creature looked towards Frodo, finally.

"Alas, he is beyond my healing. Come, young hobbit. My horse shall bare you to Rivendell safely."

Harry frowned as the stranger pulled the hobbit up, off the pony and onto his own steed. Strider seemed to find it acceptable though, his face still alight with a sturdy grin.

"Come, we must make haste," announced Glorfindel as he motioned for them to move, "I have ridden for nine days in search of you and your burden. There are five enemies behind us. They wish to trap us here."

Harry hauled up his sword and bag and begun to follow after the two. They marched for what seemed an eternity, only stopping to rest when Merry tripped and Sam begged he could go no further. They were allowed to rest and eat for a few moments before the demonic man roused them once more, giving them some burning liquid that somehow seemed to revive.

At a breakneck pace that seemed to tire even Strider, they passed through the hills and mountainous region, stopping only when absolutely necessary and rising once more to journey even through night.

"The ford of Rivendell..."

Harry looked up, his green eyes falling upon the auburn curls of Merry's still head.

"Merry?" murmured Harry, unsure and curious. "Is something wrong?"

"No..." the hobbit shook his head a mustered a tired grin. "It is only that we have come a very long way from home. Is it not beautiful?"

Harry looked down at the ravine, watching the water trickle, he prepared to answer when the demon-man cut him off.

"Fly! Fly! The enemy is upon us!" cried Glorfindel as he twisted around, gold hair flying in the wind while he drew his sword. Harry felt his gut clench and looked towards Frodo, still pale and sickly as the majestic white horse took flight.

Harry stopped running almost as soon as he had, drawing a thin red-wood wand from his pocket. He'd been carving it as best he could since he'd awoken after their race from Weathertop, having to start again six times, Harry had finally managed to get it the proper size and weight as his old one.

Looking down at the carved stick, Harry hoped it worked.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

He continued the mantra even as he heard the horses neigh and the black riders break past the gate and Glorfindel's defenses.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

The sound of approaching hooves was coming closer, the pain in his scar growing more uncomfortable by the second. Images were reawakening, the sound of a dying scream and a high pitched laugh. Flashes of green and the roar of a motor. Dudley chasing him up a tree. Aunt Petunia refusing him a lolly. Uncle Vernon pushing him in the cupboard beneath the stairs.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

The letters that announced him a wizard. Hagrid. Hedwig. Hermione and Ron. A talking hat.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

He opened his eyes, watching the black hooded demons neared him. Without glancing down, he raised the wand to his eyes, remembering the heat and the light and the power. He wouldn't let them have Frodo. He wouldn't loose another...

Hermione. Ginny. Bob.

Not Frodo, not Frodo.

"INCENDIO!"

He felt the magic rush from him, as though plunged in an icy sea. Two of the creatures shrieked in horror, their black cloaks alight again, while the other two chased around him, bound for Frodo.

Falling to his knees, he watched in satisfaction as the creatures fled in terror and pain, taking with them his pain and consciousness.

As though into a black abyss, Harry descended numbly.