The tree stayed where it was—there was no need to expend the energy to shift it at the moment, not when the Fellowship meant to exit Moria from its East-gate anyway. They did close the doors though, because there was no need to make it easy for anyone following them.

As the dull echo of the closing doors faded, Harry brightened the lumos charm to throw some light around the area. Gandalf was visible further up the stairs, illumined by his own staff. Frodo sat beside the Istar, tended to by a concerned Sam, his clothes already dried and a warming charm on him.

Harry strode up the stairs, taking multiple steps at a time.

"You alright?" He asked Frodo, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Frodo nodded, a little colour returning to his face. "What was that thing?"

"I do not know," Gandalf replied, lifting his staff to see further into the dark. "There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world. Be on your guard now, and hope we do not meet them."

Harry glanced behind him and helped Frodo to his feet. "It used to be a squid, once," he told the hobbit, "a giant creature of the sea. It is a great tragedy that so many creatures have been perverted by the—"

He stopped abruptly as something snapped beneath his foot. He looked down—an arrow lay on the ground, its shaft broken.

Gimli gave a sudden choked cry. "No!"

The wail drew everyone's attention, and Harry ran up the steps, wand at the ready. There was the sound of swords unsheathing around him, and hasty footsteps followed closely behind his. Harry halted at the top, raising his wand. Gimli was kneeling on the ground, his back to them. Sam recoiled sharply against his arm as the mine was fully illuminated by the combined light of staff and wand.

Scattered all over the ground were the forms of fallen Dwarves, identifiable only by their armour. Weapons covered in cobwebs lay on the floor beside their slain masters. Legolas gently pulled an arrow from a body slumped against the wall and held it up against Harry's wand-light.

He hurled it away a second later as if it burnt his hand. "Goblins," he spat.

Gandalf sighed, his face grim and shadowed. "No other routes are avail to us. We must brave Moria, for better or for worst."

Boromir grumbled low under his breath, and Harry caught 'Gap of Rohan' and 'Gondor' in his mutters, but he ignored it in favour of crouching beside Gimli.

"Gimli?" he said gently, and received no response.

He turned his head to meet Gandalf's eyes and indicated for the Wizard to lead the others ahead. Grief required time and space. There was enough of both in this lonely mine for one lone dwarf this night.

Little was said between Gimli and Harry as they caught up with the main group. Little needed to be said. Of them all, Harry was probably the only one who could relate most to the dwarf—a few of the fallen warriors were, in life, his friends.

Everywhere they went, they could see remnants of battles, and Harry gently shifted scattered bones to a side to avoid stepping on them. He'll inform Dain of the tragedy once he got the Fellowship to Rohan. News such as these had best be delivered personally.

The Fellowship had halted in the opening of a tunnel, and a quick dinner was ready for them as they reached. Gimli accepted a small piece of bread from Boromir and a sip of miruvor, and went to sit in silence by the wall. A new bead was in his beard, an obsidian one that glinted with a subfusc light.

Harry traced runes around their camp, taking more time to add a new ward that vanishes anything that walked into it—now that the mines were confirmed to be occupied by malevolent creatures, additional precaution was a necessity. He warned the others of the new addition, but from the look of their faces, no one had felt the inclination to go for a stroll anyway.

As the others gradually fell into an uneasy sleep, two Patroni slipped quietly into the walls, bearing messages for Galadriel and Landroval.

The next day—in other words, also known as 'a few hours later'—the Fellowship got up and broke camp quickly, no one really feeling like lingering any longer than they had to.

Moria when the dwarves abandoned it, was dark, dank, and disagreeable. Moria as it was now, was dismal, sombre and absolutely miserable.

The air was stagnant, smelling of dust and foul things. In certain places, any little noise they made would echo far too loudly for Harry's liking, carrying deep into shadow-filled caverns. Legolas was noticeably more uneasy and alert, casting wide-eyed glances into the darkness around them every few minutes. It wasn't too hard to know why—Thranduil's grand halls were technically underground, modelled as it was after Menegroth, but never had it ever bore such a bleak atmosphere as it did in here.

Gandalf lead them on and Harry brought up the rear. He had no functional memory of Moria—anything he could recall with absolute certainty was long before the dwarves' abandonment, and it took a near fall into a precipice to know that Moria then and Moria now had very different blueprints.

Gimli seemed a little more recovered with every step they took, and Gandalf introduced the Fellowship to the main source of wealth for Moria—mithril. It was a good way to keep the gloom from overwhelming the Fellowship, Harry admitted, pulling Pippin back from a vast drop by his shirt.

Boromir continued to look remarkably disgruntled about their choice of path, so Harry tried to thoroughly disabuse his notion of crossing the mountains via Gap of Rohan. Saruman's arm had grown very long without anyone being of the wiser. It would not be wise to challenge the White Wizard—not with such high stakes, at least.

It was likely mid-afternoon when Harry picked up on the faint footsteps of an eleventh person. Soft little patters that continued on for the briefest moment when the group halted. It was subtle and barely audible over the noise of everyone else's steady tread. He stilled, and Legolas, who'd drifted towards the closest source of light, looked curiously at him.

Raising a finger to hold off any query, he sent a revelio charm at the tunnels behind them. With a frown, he picked up his pace and resumed his position at the rear of the group.

"It appears," he said casually in Sindarin, "that we have picked up a shadow."

Legolas gave him a sharp look and slowed down barely perceptibly, tilting his head.

A short moment later, he sighed. "Aye, we have. I can recognise those footsteps," he said, smiling mirthlessly as Aragorn glanced back at them.

"We are followed by the creature Gollum. Be wary of him, Reviauron, for he is slyer and craftier than you would think."

Gollum, the second bearer of the One Ring after Sauron himself. He had probably only recently found another way into the mines, or he would have been discovered earlier. It was bad news. Gollum could lead other, more malicious creatures to them, trailing the Fellowship as he did.

Harry paused again to put up a quick disorientation ward, adding a mild obliviate effect to it for good measure—there was no need to make it easy for anyone after them. If Gollum proved himself actively harmful, the lethal wards would come up. Until that moment, he'll do his best to discourage such stalking.

"It'll slow him down," he explained, when Legolas shot him an inquisitive look.

By nightfall, they had come to a great arch, wide enough to accommodate a Great Eagle. It opened to a cavern splitting off into three separate tunnels: the leftmost one had steep, worn stairs plunging down into shadows, while the rightmost held equally steep stairs climbing up, and the middle was a narrow, straight path that only allowed a single file to pass.

Harry's wand-light was not bright enough to illuminate the ends of either three trails, and he was rather disinclined to draw goblins for the purpose of being a powerful torchlight.

Gandalf circled before all three paths, turning his head to glance from one to another. "I have no memory of this place," he said slowly.

He spared a glance at Harry, who shrugged back. His own information was greatly out-dated and of little use. With a low exhale, Gandalf settled himself down an a large, bench-shaped stone, staring at the walls. A pipe found its way to his lips, and the smell of quality pipe-weed filled the cavern.

Gimli went up to inspect each archway, tapping the rocks and looking at individual steps. The rest of the Fellowship picked a comfortable looking spot close to the bench and sat down, preparing to camp there for the night.

"Are we lost?" Pippin asked no one in particular, straightening his clothes.

"…No..?" There was no way Merry could have sounded any less convincing.

There was a loud shush from Sam. "Quiet down, Gandalf's thinking."

The hobbits quietened down with a rustle of blankets, and no more noise came from the trio.

Harry smothered his grin and surveyed the area instead, brows furrowing—this required a trickier ward set-up, since everyone was so scattered.

He cut a faint line into the ground, tracing the edge of their camp and drawing the line a little into all three pathways to accommodate Gimli's inspection—who had finished, as it turned out.

The dwarf took a step back and spat into the middle one. "This was made by goblins," he snarled, tapping the rock with the head of his axe.

"How can you tell?" Boromir asked, his head swivelling from one tunnel to the other.

Gimli tapped the wall of the middle archway and looked very much as if he wished to bring it down and collapse the tunnel. "This," he growled, "is not of Dwarvish make. It is too recent, and there are no markings of Dwarven hand on the stone."

The Fellowship eyed the middle path warily. Gandalf twitched and resumed his staring into the walls. Merry glanced nervously around and dragged his blankets further away from the ominous darkness. Harry completed his general ward scheme around the camp and considered the goblin tunnel, rolling the Elder Wand between his fingers. Well, there was no need to play nice with goblins…

The first ward vanishes. Touch it, and become non-being, which was also to say, everything. The second ward switches. Attackers may suddenly find themselves holding vital organs. The third ward petrifies. Whichever part of the body came into contact with it turns instantly to granite.

Gimli looked exceedingly satisfied as Harry explained the use of all three wards to him.

Time passed. Gradually, the hobbits drifted off to sleep, huddled together in a large nest of transfigured blankets. Boromir and Aragorn each took a side by the hobbit pile, one facing the unknown tunnels and the other facing the cavern they left, then quickly followed the hobbits into sleep. Gimli went into the land of dreams still with a vicious smile on his face, and Harry had little doubt he was thoroughly exacting vengeance on goblins and orcs. It was… well, at least there's no moping.

It took a little longer with some persuasion that Legolas slept, and then it was only Harry, sitting at the edge of the ward-line. Gandalf had, perhaps, fallen asleep, still as he was like a statue of stone. Smoke curled from his softly glowing pipe and he blinked. Harry mentally edited his previous statement—it was only himself and a deep in thought Gandalf who were still awake.

He stared into the dark, silently remembering those who had fallen in the mines. The piece of rock under his hands morphed, shaped by nothing more than a will and idle thought. A pineapple tap-danced across the floor, then returned as a little red train, then it became a minute owl, a book, a moon model, feathers, a scroll, a stone Dwarf figurine…

"Hello."

Harry jolted, turning left to see cobalt eyes.

"Sorry," Frodo said immediately, pulling his hand back. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright," Harry said, waving a hand at the ground in invitation and calming his suddenly racing heart. "You ought to be resting."

Frodo gave a weak smile. "I couldn't sleep very well."

"Oh?"

"I think there's something following us," the hobbit said a little worriedly, lowering himself onto the floor.

Behind, Gimli twitched. There was a chink as his axe shifted against the floor.

"Gollum." Harry sighed. "He should be off our trail for a few days. Don't worry about him, Frodo. Nothing much can get past this line."

He indicated the faint groove on the stone floor.

Frodo nodded, not entirely certain, it seemed, and his eyes drifted onto the transfigured rock. "That is a nice bird," he said, nodding at the wooden structure.

Harry glanced down, an eyebrow raised. The familiarity of the wood carving made him faintly ill, and the wooden eagle became a broom instead. Frodo made a small, surprised sound.

"A friend gave me a carving like that," he said.

"Who?"

"You'd have walked past him in the mines."

He could tell the exact moment Frodo joined the dots as his expression turned horrified. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and it sounded agonisingly sincere.

Harry smiled bitterly. "Not your fault," he said, and looked away.

They sat in complete silence for a little while, until Frodo broke it with the rustle of his clothes. A hand reached up to his neck, and the hobbit suddenly looked a lot wearier. "It's getting heavier."

There was no need to explain what 'it' was.

"Of course," Harry said flatly. "It seeks for its Master, and its Master seeks it. It'll only get worse the further you go."

Frodo winced.

"Does your shoulder still hurt?"

The sudden question caused Frodo to turn around. "Not really," he said, a hand reaching up to touch the spot on his shoulder. "It gets a little cold, sometimes, but it doesn't hurt."

Harry nodded in satisfaction. "That's good."

He was about to suggest for Frodo to head back to sleep, when the hobbit suddenly pulled off his dangerous necklace and held it out on a palm.

"Would you not take the Ring, Harald? You are wiser in the ways of the world than I am, and far more powerful."

Harry stared at him, taken aback.

"…Hm?"

Such was the eloquence of his shock.

"I don't want it," Frodo cried, his voice echoing in the cavern.

"I don't want it," he said again, softer this time, looking at the ring on his palm. "I'll give it to you, if you ask."

Harry looked from glinting gold to troubled eyes.

"You mean it," he said incredulously. "You would actually do it."

Frodo bit his lip, stubbornly persistent. "Take it."

Harry laughed. It rang hollow.

"You, Frodo Baggins," he said with a sigh, "are the first person to genuinely offer me more power. Others have feared me despite knowing less of my abilities than you, and instead you try to give me more."

He pushed Frodo's hand away, brushing away lingering tendrils of the Ring's intrusion. "I have made my choice once, and I will stand by it. Bear the Ring, Frodo, and do not ask me this again."

A pause.

"Actually, I'd advise you not to ask anyone else that question. Sauron seeks to control and his Ring is no different. Once it is in the grasp of someone with even a little less control than you, it might as well be in the hands of the Dark Lord himself."

He turned his gaze away, looking out into the darkness of the tunnel they came from. Frodo fumbled beside him, putting the Ring back where he kept it. "Besides, you don't even have to offer it to get into trouble. There's enough of that following you around already."

"Sorry," Frodo said again, hugging his knees. "I just wish it had never been found."

Harry gave him a small smile. "So do a lot of others, but what has happened, has happened. You can only change what will happen with the time that is given to you now. C'mon, there's still some time yet till we have to start moving. Let's get some sleep until then."

It felt like it was only an hour later that Gandalf roused them all from sleep. "Come, it is time we start to journey again," the Istar said, patting Frodo lightly on the shoulder and moving off to wake Gimli.

"Soooooo," Merry yawned. "You remembered the way?"

"No," said Gandalf calmly, looking remarkably unstiff for sitting in the same position for hours. "I merely followed my nose. When in doubt, Meriadoc, always trust your nose. Eyes may be mislead, but the smells hardly lie. The air does not feel as foul in the right-hand passage. I do believe it is time we start to climb up again."

They had a quick meal and marched on. The chosen path wound steadily upwards, gradually widening with every step they took. Gandalf's decision was proved right when they entered a gigantic hall, a vast difference from the enclosed tunnel.

"Now let me risk a little more light…" Gandalf muttered, and from his staff came a flash like lightning. "Behold, the great realm and Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf!"

For the briefest instant, they could see magnificent stone pillars with ornamental carvings looming over the Company and stretching up into shadowed heights, supporting elaborate arches that lined the hall.

"Dwarrowdelf," Harry whispered, and he recalled fonder days of drinking with Durin the Second in a quiet room by the southern end of this very hall. The Twenty-first hall was very different then. "How far has it fallen."

There was an awestruck sigh from Gimli, and his face was radiant as he feasted his eyes upon the hall of his forefathers. Different or otherwise, it was still an impressive sight for a dwarf who had never seen the city before. Harry resolved to clean up the goblins that now resided in Moria and get the city restored to its former glory to show Gimli how utterly grand these halls had been. It wasn't right that he should only see the diminished form.

The group walked on. Their footsteps echoed loudly through the hall with the periodic thump of Gandalf's staff, until Harry had enough of the sound and silenced everyone's shoes (and the staff).

Pippin dragged a finger along a column as he walked, and it came away black. The stone pillar, instead, gained a stripe of gold sheen. "Eugh," the hobbit muttered, inspecting his finger and ignoring his cousin's exasperated look.

Before he could wipe it on his already dusty cloak, Harry scourgify-ed it, earning an appreciative smile. "Than–huh?"

Gimli had broken away from the group. Heedless of Gandalf's surprised call, he ran towards a side room—the Chamber of Mazarbul, if Harry recalled correctly. Quickly, the rest followed, jogging to keep up.

Harry looked down at the twisted visage of a corpse, and carefully avoided stepping onto its sword, coming to stop beside the marble and stone coffin.

"'Here lies Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.'" Gandalf removed his hat, his face devoid of any expression. "He is dead, then. It is as I feared."

Gimli stared at the lid, unmoving. His hood had been cast up, drawing shadows over his features. Harry laid a hand on his shoulder, and the dwarf looked up at him. There was grief in his eyes, tempered with resignation and the knowledge that the worst had come to pass. No dwarf would leave their dead abandoned, if not for awful circumstances.

There was a rustle, and leaves of paper fell to the ground. Gandalf straightened, and in his hands was a book. It had been slashed and stabbed and partly burned, and the black of dried orc blood stained its pages. He gave the cover a brush, and dirt fell off it in a grey rain.

For a short while, he read the front pages in silence, Frodo looking over his elbow in curiosity.

"This seems to be a record of the fortune of Balin's folk," he said at last, looking up at them. "It began with their coming to Dimrill Dale, thirty years ago. The pages have numbers that appear to refer to the years after their arrival."

With a sigh, he turned to the last page and paused. "It is grim reading. I fear their end was cruel. Listen to this. 'We cannot get out. They have taken the bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The end comes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. They are coming.'"

"Accio!"

The sudden shout caused startled jumps, but Harry ignored them. The helmeted head halted in its downwards fall, slowly floating upwards and towards him. Harry laid it down gently on the ground by the well.

Pippin quailed a little under the collective stare of the Fellowship. "Sorry…?"

"What were you thinking?" Merry hissed, whacking Pippin on the head.

Harry frowned. "Don't do that, Pippin. What were you–"

There was an ominous creak, and then the rattle of chains and loud crashing, as the rest of the body fell down the wall, disturbed from its previously stable position.

Pippin cringed at every loud clang the body made on its descent down the well, and seemed to shrink in on himself as the noise finally stopped echoing from hall to hall. Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Deep breaths. Deeeep breaths.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf thundered, slamming the book shut. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

"We must move on," Legolas said, urgency in his tone. "We cannot linger."

"No, we can't. Move move move," Harry ordered, drawing his sword and looking out into the darkness outside the chamber.

Doom.

The sound was so faint, he almost missed it, but the horrified look on Legolas and Gandalf's faces were clear enough.

Well. Damn.

Doom.

This time, it was louder, a rolling sort of noise that came from depths far below.

Glamdring glowed blue. "Orcs!" Legolas cried.

Doom doom doom doom.

The drumbeat came again, accompanied by screeches and shrieks of orcs who knew they had their prey.

The Fellowship stood rooted in horror. Every breath they took seemed to fill the room with its noise. An arrow whizzed by Harry's ear. He glared into the darkness. The archer fell to the ground, sans head.

"We'll go by the east door," he said, turning back and pointing to the smaller door to the left of the coffin. "There's a horde of orcs coming this way"—there was the distinct bellow of a troll—"and a cave-troll."

The Fellowship seemed to snap out of their daze.

Aragorn ran to the other door, looking out. "There's no sound from here yet," he reported, "and the passage here appears to lead to a different hall."

Gandalf nodded, and surveyed the room. "It does us no good to run blindly with pursuit just behind. We must do something to delay them first."

"Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath. We will make them fear the Chamber of Mazarbul." Gimli growled, readying his axe.

With some help from Boromir and Legolas, Harry barricaded the main door, and put up the fastest ward he could. It was just as well that he completed it under a minute, since a sword broke through the rotting wood as he was standing and narrowly missed his neck.

"They'll be disoriented when they come in," he said quickly, taking up position in front of the hobbits.

He could tell Sam looked at him oddly. From behind his back. Because he had a sense for that. "I need time for anything more potent," he said defensively, turning to look back.

There was no response. Not when the door burst open under the barrage of black Mordor orcs.

The wave of them staggered into the room and stumbled around. Arrows took care of a couple. The rest was disposed of via the good old sword swing. More and more spilled in, quickly dispatched in sprays of blood. The hobbits quivered behind him, their own swords at the ready. So far, the action had yet to touch them, but then the ward broke—Harry could tell the exact moment it did: the doorway exploded in a shower of wood and stone.

A cave-troll stumbled in, followed closely by more screeching orcs.

And then the actual fighting started.

An arrow sunk deep into the shoulder of the troll, which the troll broke at its shaft. It shook its head and saw Merry standing, petrified, right before it. With a groan, it heaved its mace up. The hobbit rolled forward, just as the mace slammed down, cracking the stone ground. Before it could realise what had happened, Harry slammed its head to a side with a thick slab of stone.

It was proved that trolls did indeed possess thick skulls when the slab broke at the impact.

The troll roared at him, spittle flying, and lifted its mace again, but the chain at its neck betrayed it. Boromir and Aragorn pulled hard on the other end, and the troll stumbled, lurching backwards. Harry transfigured the orc about to skewer the Ranger into a fish, then quickly ducked an axe and de-livered the nasty bugger that tried to decapitate him.

Something flew over his head and slammed hard into the wall.

"Boromir!"

The troll was raising its mace again, aiming for the fallen man.

A memory resurfaced in split second panic.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

And history repeated itself. Albeit with more blood.

There was a nasty squelch as Legolas pulled his blade from a goblin's gut, loud in the silence preceding the cave-troll's death. Harry straightened himself. The orcs paused and seemed to realise how outmatched they were. There was a sudden rush for the doors, and the orcs fled, defeated momentarily by their combined force. The chamber was empty, filled only by the soft sound of panting and heavy breaths.

"Let us leave before the orcs return," Aragorn said, offering a hand to pull Boromir back to his feet.

Harry hummed, and checked the hobbits' conditions. All were uninjured, but they seemed rather spent. It was probably their first proper battle. He knew how exhausting it could be.

"Here." He pressed a hand on Frodo's shoulder and pushed some energy into the hobbit, repeating the process for all four of them. He turned to Boromir and gave him a questioning look.

"I am fine," Boromir said, waving a hand. "Save your strength for yourself, Harald."

Gandalf adjusted his hat and pointed at the eastern door. "To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!"

They ran, followed by the high-pitched squeals of excited goblins and the distant echo of rolling drumbeats.

Doom, doom.

They emerged in the Twenty-third hall, Harry assumed, given the designs of the columns. The orcs had long fallen back. Their new pursuers were goblins, and these scuttled down the pillars like monstrous ants, swarming the structures until no sign of stone could be seen.

A broad reducto taught them to keep their distance, but it had little use otherwise. They were going to be surrounded by a veritable river of goblins. Harry looked around, over the swarm and towards their exit. There was still a distance yet to the bridge, and it was nearly impossible to cut their way through, surrounded on all sides.

Doom, doom, the drums said.

Not today. Harry shifted himself, rotating the protective circle the Fellowship had formed until he was in line with the exit. Half-baked plans almost always worked, so why not?

"There is going to be a very bright light," he murmured, just loud enough to be heard, staring into bulbous eyes with oversized pupils. "When it does happen, follow my voice. Do not lag behind."

Slowly, he raised his wand in the air. The goblins swept around them in a circle, cautiously staying just out of reach. He looked carefully at his path, and then closed his eyes.

There was no words, no signals. The entire world just lit up with pure white.

Doom doom.

The entire hall erupted in uproar.

"Here! Follow me!"

He ran. Heavy footsteps thundered behind his, following his shouts. Goblins were blasted unceremoniously out of the way, their screeches almost drowning out his amplified voice.

There was a dull, earth-shaking boom.

Something rattled, far above. The goblins faltered, their loud chittering died down. A low, resounding growl sounded from the hall behind. A hushed whisper of 'ghâsh' swept across the goblins, and Harry opened his eyes, slowing down. The goblins were retreating now, scampering and scuttling as fast as they could back up the pillars to the dark holes they emerged from.

Fleeing like a rat before a cat.

Harry whipped his head around to look back. Fire, the goblins had said, and the orange light of flames were flickering at the end of the hall.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir demanded, blinking rapidly as he looked towards the light.

Doom. Doom.

Legolas drew his bow, even though it was quite a long shot, and they held bated breaths as the new creature showed itself. A head of shadows wreathed in dark fire emerged from the stairs. A feeling of terror seemed to precede it, sweeping down the hall and wrapping itself around the Company.

Holy damnity. A Balrog.

Doom, Doom, the drums went, and Harry almost agreed. Legolas definitely did.

The arrow dropped to the ground with a clatter. Fear seemed to emanate from every part of the Elf. "Ai! A Balrog!"

Gandalf closed his eyes in grim resignation. "A demon of the ancient world."

Well nope. He ain't hanging around with that.

"RUN!" Harry grabbed the closest living thing—Sam—and bolted.

Legolas soon caught up with him, half-carrying Frodo along for the ride. The added weight did little to slow him down. It seemed that running had brought the elf back to his senses, and Legolas' face was now of a deadly calm, blank and void. Gandalf brought up the rear, herding Merry and Pippin before him.

They left the hall rather quickly, considering the distance, and raced down the connecting series of stairs. Behind them, hot air billowed, and shadows lengthened all around them. Harry took two steps at a go, careful to lean back and control his pace lest he fell off the zigzagging stairs.

Doom doom.

Behind, magic thrummed, and there was a flare of power. Harry stopped, turning to look back, only to see Gandalf fly past him, landing hard at the bottom of the first flight of stairs.

"Gandalf!"

The Istar climbed back to his feet, paler and leaning heavily on his staff. "I have wasted my strength," he said, shaking his head. "Come, let us continue."

They continued their run down. Boromir skidded right before a chasm as the stairs ended abruptly, only stopped from falling over like his torch by Legolas. An arrow aimed at Sam broke into two a foot away from his head, and the hobbit gave a shocked yelp.

"Thank you," he gasped at Harry as Legolas retaliated with a perfect head-shot.

There was no time to respond. The ground shook with each step the Balrog took, and the tremors had gotten larger. The heat was well into the uncomfortable zone.

Doom doom.

"Go go go." Harry gave the hobbit a gentle push and joined Gandalf at the rear.

The Bridge of Khazad-dûm was visible from their position—a frail, thin stone structure over a long drop into darkness. It was hearteningly close, yet depressingly far. Still, they ran, chased by shadows and flames.

Right ahead was a gap in the descending steps, crumbling from time and ill-maintenance. Legolas was the first over, jumping with barely a pause. He whirled around at the bottom, and gestured.

Doom doom.

An arrow pinged against the stone by Boromir's feet. In one smooth stroke, Legolas had turned and fired. Another head-shot.

Boromir went next, holding a hobbit under each arm as he jumped. More of the stone crumbled away under the combined weight, and Aragorn raised an arm before Frodo protectively, pushing him back from the drop.

"Sam!"

The hobbit flew into Boromir's arms.

"Fro–"

Another section of the stair column broke off, tumbling down into fire. The group was forced to move back more. Aragorn hefted Frodo up again, and then Ring-bearer also flew over the gap and into the arms of Legolas.

"Go, Gimli," Harry said, and gave him a helping push.

Gimli almost cleared the gap. Almost. Legolas rectified it by instinctively grabbing onto the first thing he could of the dwarf.

"Not the beard!" Gimli moaned, but he accepted the help and stumbled onto solid ground.

Aragorn cleared the jump by virtue of longer legs, and he looked back at the two wizards still on the rock.

"Go! Neither sword nor bow are of any use here!" Gandalf shouted, as the head of the Balrog peered down from the exit of the hall far above.

Doom doom.

Aragorn looked about to protest.

"Go, Aragorn. There is nothing you can do against this foe."

A resigned look came onto his face, and Aragorn gently pushed the hobbits ahead. With nervous, anxious looks, the rest of the Fellowship turned and continued their escape. Harry watched them run down the rest of the stairs, and then jumped easily onto the lower steps. He turned around, offering a hand to Gandalf. The Istar stumbled a little on his landing, but cleared the gap just fine.

"We can't outrun the Balrog, Gandalf."

He was tired, swaying a little on his feet and silently cursing whatever ill-fortune that had awoken a Balrog. Gandalf leaned on his staff, looking older and far wearier.

Doom doom. Another arrow whizzed past them. Goblins yammered from crevices in the ceiling.

"I know," Gandalf said with a sigh, and there was a vast shadow upon them as the Balrog leapt straight down the zigzagging steps it took them so long to descend. Up ahead, the Fellowship still had another passage to go, twisting and winding through stone the Balrog could break straight through.

The creature halted at the start of narrow stairs they were standing on and bellowed a challenge.

Harry grimaced at the rush of heat and mentally compared his state to Gandalf. He won. The Istar must have expended a lot trying to halt the Balrog just now. This was a decision he'd definitely regret, but the alternative was worse.

"I'll delay the Balrog here," he said. "You take them and flee."

"No." Gandalf said instantly, shaking his head. "This is–"

"Gandalf—Olórin," Harry said, steel in his voice. Gandalf's gaze intensified, but he went on without pausing. "You are mortal. I'm not. The Fellowship needs your guidance more than it needs my skills."

Doom doom.

Time seemed to pause as Gandalf looked at him. Truly looked at him, past his physical appearance to his very presence in the world. This was not the gaze of Gandalf the grey pilgrim, the pipe-weed smoker, the fun, firework-making wizard that entertained hobbits, or lead dwarves on quests that influenced the fate of Middle-earth. This was the gaze of a Maia of the Ainur, despite the constraints of an old man's frail, mortal body. It was an unreadable weave of thoughts and unadulterated power within fathomless depth of greyish blue. Harry met it evenly.

"Very well," was all the Istar said.

For all that he was weaker in power than a Maia, he had the advantage of Death's refusal to keep its Master. Unpleasant, but he'll live. (It's not too bad if he didn't, anyway.)

Doom doom.

"Fantastic. You better hurry up and catch up with them, then," Harry said, affecting a light tone as he lifted his sword. "See you in Lórien!"

The Balrog leapt onto the stairs, and swept down at him with a large blade wreathed in flames. Harry met it with a flash of yellow, and then had to jump back with magic-augmented distance as the entire section of stairs broke with a resounding crack.

Durin's Bane snorted at him, flames spilling from skeletal nostrils, and lunged forward. Harry dodged, only to realise that the Balrog was aiming for the passage the Fellowship had entered. The stone gave away under the force, and the Balrog thundered in pursuit.

"Oh no you don't."

Great chains of burning magic shot from his wand, and Harry twisted them around the Balrog's legs. It stumbled, and the force brought the ceiling down with echoing cracks. Harry dearly hoped the others had gotten out already.

The Balrog turned, and the tip of its whip cracked alarmingly close to his head. Harry retracted the chains, digging his heels into the floor as he forcefully dragged the Balrog back. It growled at him, and he almost staggered under the power the Balrog was throwing at him. He leapt forward, Caladui at the ready, but the Balrog jumped upwards, the chains breaking in showers of white sparks. It clung onto the side of the steep walls, and leered down at him. Harry blasted the wall, but the Balrog leapt to the opposite cliff, and started crawling away from him—towards the Fellowship.

Biting back a quick curse, he transformed and flew straight to the other end of the tunnel, where Aragorn was standing at the bridge, ushering the hobbits ahead. "Over the bridge! Go!"

Harry dropped down, grimacing. Gandalf faltered, raising his sword but Harry pushed him away.

"Protect the others. I can handle this," he said, thinking hopefully, and then a shadow came from overhead.

Doom doom.

Metal crashed and slid against one another. The Balrog jumped back and landed before the tunnel opening. A whip swung out at him from the shadows, only for the tip to slam into a protego.

There was a shout behind him.

The shield held up for the briefest second before the surface rippled and it shattered into a shower of sparks.

"Go!" He yelled back, twisting his body and raising Caladui to counter. The whip shortened by a finger's length.

The Balrog roared, taking one step forward, and Harry shot a spell. It passed harmlessly through the shadows that formed the body of the Balrog, only to gouge out chunks of rock where it met the wall.

Doom doom.

He swore.

The whip slammed down, far behind him, and Harry saw that it narrowly missed Gandalf, who stood at the other side of Durin's Bridge. Harry scowled. He couldn't let it focus on the Fellowship.

"Oi! I'm here!"

…

…Damn, that hurt.

A backhand had thrown him over the edge. Harry transformed in mid air and shrieked at the Balrog. The echoes of his shrill cry rang sharply in the cavern, and Durin's Bane shook its large, horned head at him. Great shadows in the shape of skeletal wings spread out from its back and it gave an answering roar. The ground shook at the sound.

Harry landed on the bridge and straightened, wincing at what were definitely cracked ribs and held up Caladui once more. A pale radiance shone from the sword, visible even in the flicking light of the Balrog's flame. He took some strength from it and stared into the Balrog's eyes, which glowed malevolently with some dark fire.

"Still here," he taunted, and lunged forward, ducking a swing to slash at its heels.

The Balrog stumbled, falling back a step. The whip swung out at him again, but Harry was prepared for that. Another segment of it dropped into the chasm. A dodge, side-step, and then a thrust into the shadows. He was getting the hang of this… sort of. The Balrog was definitely limping a bit. Progress.

Doom doom.

There was a ringing clash as Caladui met the red blade of Durin's Bane overhead, and Harry was face to face with the Balrog, who bore down on him with all the force of a fallen Maia.

His knees buckled. Durin's Bane grinned. Harry gritted his teeth. No. He couldn't.

"You," he started, sinking himself into the Unseen realm.

"Will not"—the Hallows shone, erupting with light—"be passing me."

And then Death was all around him.

The Balrog made an odd noise, and fell back. The flames around it diminished.

A stroke of inspiration.

"Reducto!"

The rock broke with a thundering crack. The bridge rumbled, sections crumbling away as the Balrog flailed, suddenly unsupported. Great wings of shadows flapped about wildly, but Balrogs were never meant to fly, and Durin's Bane was no exception.

And it fell.

Doom. The drums faltered.

Harry heaved, the tip of Caladui digging into the ground as he leaned on it for support. That's that, then. Good riddance. He turned around and shot Gandalf a triumphant smile, too tired to speak.

Durin's Bridge rumbled again, and the stone before broke with an ear-splitting, echoing crack. Someone shouted. Something curled around his ankle. The ground he stood on dropped. Harry instinctively changed his form, beating at the air to stay up, but the whip around his foot tightened and the weight of the falling Balrog pulled him down with ease.

There was a moment where time froze and he could see, with absolute clarity, the horror on Frodo's face and Gandalf's features twisting in dread.

Then there was a rush of wind, a thundering in his ears, and he plummeted.

Longer chapter because 7 didn't want to be written. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter ^^

I don't actually know what I'm doing anymore. My planned plot did not go this way. Then again, it is in character... Force fitting them into following plot isn't good, right? o_o"

Always saw quite a lot of immortal/near-invincible Harry Potters that always failed to do something to help in Moria because 'somehow, he knew he shouldn't intervene' or 'he had a feeling that this was important' and I'm really unconvinced by those reasoning in-story. Out of the story, I know it's because it'll be like rewriting TTT and ROTK. Not easy. Eh. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Next chapter: some possibly creepy-Lovecraftian things that will hopefully turn out okayish, Balrog, Elven city, stuff happens, and lastly, more stuff happens.