Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Harry Potter or the Hobbit. All properties therein are those of their creators. I am just a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love.

Note: Bit of a time skip here, probably to the surprise of no one. That being said, to my knowledge there isn't really an answer as to how long the break between the battle for Moria and the beginning of the Hobbit was. To that end I'm going to imply it's been ten years of searching for King Thrain as that seems like an easily justifiable amount.

Note: Due to the time skip I am adding a bit to Harry's look. To get the best example of what I'm trying to portray here, picture Dracula from the Netflix Castlevania show. That's right, I'm hitting all the vampire tropes. Mwahahahahahaha!

Note: Yes, I am toning down the number of dwarves in this journey hence forth. Why? Well there are a few reasons. One, keeping track of all of them for adequate page time would drive me up a flipping wall. Two, the whole point of having so many in the original story was to ensure the best odds and have it so at least some of them survived. With the addition of Harry into their element that need is grossly mitigated. Third, it makes more sense that Thorin would entrust his mission to two experienced warriors and his nephews. Fourth and most important, my story my rules.

-The movies only ever focused on a few dwarves really, and even Tolkien, once he got the book really going, tended to drop off on mentioning those less than important dwarves in the company.

Note: Harry's general attitude here is what I imagine would come from having Luna Lovegood in his head for ten years. Enjoy.

Note: This chapter officially starts the adventure of The Hobbit. Buckle in.

Chapter Four: Finding A Burglar

Bree was the same old sodpit, at least in the opinion of Thorin son of Thrain. The mood was dull, the light grey, and a foul downpour fell upon everything and everyone, drenching all in equal measure.

The dwarf himself was stalking down the main street, his hood pulled low over his head and making his way to the inn of the Prancing Pony. He and his companion had been in the wilds for the last ten years, searching for and following every possible clue to the hidden location of his people's missing king, Thrain, and finally they'd caught wind of a sighting in the forests of Dunwood. It was his hopes that someone at the inn would have a better idea of the specific place.

As he made his way along, his sensitive ears, well trained to the sounds of ambush, picked up the sudden clomp of three new pairs of boots in the mud behind him. Now normally this could be attributed to normal pedestrian movement, but three at once, in tandem, in this rain? No. They were following him.

His companion must have thought the same, as a moment later the three pairs became two, then one, then none. Thorin smiled beneath the shadow of his hood and wished his brother in arms and deed a good meal. There were plenty of alleys around so taking the time to enjoy the fresh blood would be of no issue to him. Chances were those three were more like the bandits that had waylaid them on the road not two weeks before. He wondered if they'd have an order for his head too?

Such thoughts were for later unfortunately, as he had just reached the awning of the Prancing Pony, and after stomping the mud off his boots and shaking the tail of his cloak to rid it of loose water, he made his way inside. From there it was a simple matter to arrange a table in front of the lit fireplace and warm supper from the barkeep. Once he was fed and warmed he'd begin his interrogations.

Fate however was not to be on his, or his stomach's, side. Just as the lovely barmaid brought him his plate and he was about to dig in, a rather rude human with a large walking stick sat down across from him and ordered the same. Then he leaned said stick against his chair, smoothed out his beard and hair, and said, "Excuse me, perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."

Thorin eyed the aged looking man up and down, and recalled a similar face from his youth. "I know who you are. You visited Erebor long ago to see my father and the king."

"Indeed? That is fantastic. What a fine memory and what a fine chance this is. If you don't mind me asking, what brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?"

For a moment Thorin thought about lying, or simply not answering. But if even half the things he'd heard about the grey wizard were true, then he probably knew everything already. "I heard tell of sightings of my father in the woods of Dunland. I came to find out for sure."

Gandalf sighed, a look of pure weariness crossing his face. "Poor Thrain."

Taking stock of that look Thorin noted, "You're like the rest then. You think him dead."

The wizard frowned, "I was not at the battle of Moria. I cannot say for sure."

"I was." A faraway look entered the prince's eyes then. "My father led a charge on the Emerald Gates at the start of the battle, and he never returned. His body was not amongst the fallen. I checked the face of every body we recovered."

"I'm sorry, but its been a long time since any sign of Thrain was seen in these parts. If I had to guess, these rumors you heard were a trap to draw you here."

"A trap?" Thorin maimed shock as his mind returned to the bandits on the road and the three men Harry was currently snacking on.

"Yes." Gandalf reached into his pocket and pulled out a rough scrap of leather. He unrolled it on the table and revealed a series of scratches and scrawls.

Pretending to not have already seen its like, the prince asked, "What is it?"

"It is the Black Speech. A promise of payment, for your head." The old man leaned forward to stare the dwarf in the eyes, "Someone wants you dead Thorin, and they are trying ever new methods if your presence here is anything to go on."

His intended speech was interrupted when the barmaid came back with his plate. "Here you are."

"Thank you, milady." Gandalf heartily tipped the woman and ate a couple bites before coming back to the conversation. When he did, his topic seemed to have changed. "Your grandfather wore a particular ring when he ruled Erebor. One of the seven gifted to the great dwarf lords many years ago. Whatever happened to it?"

The prince thought back on that particular jewel and said, "He gave it to my father before the battle. Why?"

"So Thrain was wearing it when he disappeared…" He trailed off for a moment. "Never mind. Thoughts for another time."

Unwilling to allow the old conjurer to keep a stranglehold on the head of their conversation, Thorin took control of the questioning. "I know my father went to see you before the battle of Moria. What did you tell him?"

"I urged him to march his army in the other direction and reclaim Erebor. To rally his and the armies of the other dwarven lords, destroy the dragon, and retake the Lonely Mountain. And I would say the same to you now. You must take back your homeland."

Thorin smirked and took a drink of his freshly poured ale. "This is no chance meeting is it, Gandalf?"

"No. When I found the request for your head I decided to seek you out myself. It, along with many other factors have me worried. That dragon has sat silent on its hoard for too long. Sooner or later darker minds are going to go looking for it and their intentions could spell disaster for everyone in this world." Pure seriousness on his face Gandalf finished, "You can delay no longer. You are the rightful heir to the throne of Durin. Unite the seven families, demand they stand by their oaths, marshall your forces, and retake your homeland."

At this, Thorin grew still, and then he grew angry. "In case you have forgotten, those families swore their oaths to the one who holds the arkenstone and it is currently being held by Smaug!" He finished in a harsh whisper.

At that, the old wizard actually managed to provide a sly smile. the firelight from the hearth shining off his white teeth. "Well then, I imagine you'd require the services of a burglar."

Thorin leaned back in his chair and smirked as he thought of his friend. "I think I already have that position filled, master wizard."

Gandalf frowned and shook his head. "Putting aside whatever cutthroat you are indeed thinking of, I can guarantee the hire of my choice will be better for your quest."

"I rather doubt that, but I will hear you out."

So doing, the two men spoke at length for the next two hours, making plans and settling accounts before deciding on a place to meet. Then the old man paid the bill for his food and took his leave. Thorin watched him go, and when he turned back to the chair he'd previously occupied he was unsurprised to see Harry there, having moved in without a sound, wiping a spot of red from the side of his mouth with a napkin. The last ten years had changed his features and frame if not his general attitude.

"Who was the geezer?" He asked.

"A wizard like yourself. His name is Gandalf."

"Hm." Harry thought that over. "Older wizard with grey hair. I hate him already."

"I wouldn't be so quick to that, my brother. From what I hear, this particular wizard is in no way similar to that Dumbledore fellow you told me of. And he had quite the plan to discuss with me."

"Well then," Harry waved the barmaid over, requested a couple glasses, and poured the two of them a healthy dose of mead from his flask. "why don't you tell me all about it?"

The Shire

Bilbo Baggins had been having a wonderful day. To be honest, he'd been having a wonderful week. But this day had been downright glorious, regardless of the strange grouping of storm-clouds that seemed to be moving steadily towards the Shire. He'd slept in, enjoyed a delicious breakfast, finished his daily gardening with his neighbors the Gamgees, and delighted in a hearty second breakfast after that. As a hobbit, nothing could have been better. He'd even gotten the chance to sit on his doorstep and enjoy his pipe. The Brandybuck's had just come in to trade new rounds of tobacco at the start of the week (which was partial to why the week had been so grand) and this was his first chance to enjoy the new blend (which had been fantastic as advertised).

Then things had started going tits up. First, Gandalf, an old wizard from the past who was strangely familiar with Bilbo's mother had showed up, subtly insulted him in some way he was sure, argued about the merits of a 'good morning' and then left without ever a 'how do you do'. Later he'd thought he heard him come back and do something to his door, but when he went to look there was nothing there.

If that had been the only strange thing to happen then his day could have been somewhat salvaged, but then of all things dwarves began to arrive unannounced. In pairs they came through his door, the first starting at noon. They introduced themselves, said they were at his service, and promptly began demanding food and drink. For a moment the Took side of him thought about throwing the invaders out, but the Baggins need to be polite had won out and he saw to the needs of his new guests post haste. He'd nearly been run ragged by the time the last pair of them seemed to arrive at dinner time, and that led to a whole new bout of scrambling to feed them all over again.

And finally, as things were starting to slow down, a final knock came and Gandalf once more entered the boundaries of his home.

"Well then," Bilbo huffed as he viciously wiped his hands dry on a washrag to face the old man (he'd been forced to wash all the dishes alone as no dwarf had offered to help) "I trust you are to blame for all of this madness?"

Gandalf gazed merrily at the sight of the rambunctious dwarves at his table. They were laughing, throwing food around, and singing, and said, "Indeed, though I believe explanations should wait as we are still awaiting some more members."

"What! Who? Gandalf I have no more food left in my cupboards or larder!I swear they've eaten more than they weigh already."

Before the wizard could answer his question a crash of thunder erupted over head. The storm clouds from before must finally have arrived. Strangely enough however, just as the thunder ceased a strange pair of voices grew loud enough to be heard through the wood of the door, quieting all within the hobbit hole as each strained to listen.

"Maybe we should be asking one of these delicious looking creatures for directions?" a rather young, in Gandalf's opinion, voice suggested, earning an older huff of annoyance from the second.

"We don't need directions as I happen to know exactly where we are going. And for the last time stop looking at the little folk as a meal. You cannot eat them."

"Not even one?" Now the voice seemed to be whining.

With clear exasperation the second voice inquired, "What does Luna say?"

It was quiet for a moment before the first voice came back with a sullen, "She says hobbits are friends, not food."

"Exactly. Now hush, I see the symbol Gandalf mentioned on this door here."

A moment later the knob in the center of the round door turned and it swung open to reveal two figures, one short and the other very tall, and when they stepped into the light all gasped. The first was clearly a dwarf like all the others, but he was dressed in fine looking black traveling clothes, with a sword of clearly masterful make on his hip. Unlike the other dwarves present his beard was well trimmed at a reasonable length, and his eyes were a pair of the most intense ever seen by the only hobbit present.

The second, however, was a man. A human. And he was very tall, over six feet at the least, with a powerful frame contained within a fine robe-like dark blue coat. In contrast to his companion, this stranger wore a pointed black goatee and a mustache, while his midnight hued hair fell silkily down over his shoulders. He wore no weapons that any present could see, but the sharpened nails on his hands sure looked like they could do some damage.

While the shock of seeing the two seemed to hold the others, even Gandalf, back, one dwarf rushed forward to take the two men by their hands.

"Thorin, Harry, It is good to see you both." Balin beamed as he shook their hands rapidly with affection. "Why are you so late?"

The man, Harry apparently, shrugged. "Thorin got us lost. Twice."

"I did not." The dwarf groused.

"Did so."

"Did not!"

Across the room a pair of younger dwarves, Fili and Kili, simply stared at the spectacle before them. Thorin was their uncle, and never once had they seen or heard of him acting in this way with anyone.

"Hm. Hm." Gandalf stamped his staff on the floor three times to get the attention of the room once more and stepped up to the duo. "Perhaps introductions are in order, Thorin. I am unaware of this friend of yours." The wizened wizard took in many things about the stranger with a single glance. He was indeed young, perhaps still under thirty, but the steady, strange, magic he could practically feel thrumming through his body meant that any guess at age could indeed be deceiving. He stood relaxed, yet poised as if his muscles could uncoil for combat in a second, so he was a warrior as well. Finally, and most worrisome, his eyes were blood red and there was an undercurrent of something dark running through him.

"Right then," The stranger stepped forward with a cocky grin and hand extended to shake. "I'm Harry son of James, though the dwarves call me Harry Darktide, and I eat people."

Thorin had just enough time to smack his face with annoyance before seeing his closest friend promptly blasted out the still open door.

"You brought a monster to this meeting!" Gandalf roared at him. "He was not lying, I could tell."

"Of course not, he never lies about his diet." The prince sighed before rubbing his neck with irritation. "Would it help if I told you he mainly drinks the blood of evil people and other dark creatures?"

Gandalf blinked and all color left his face. "Drinks the blood?" His voice fell to a whisper, "Thuringwethil."

"I don't know what the hell that 'thuring-' thing is." Harry cocked back as he reentered the hobbit hole, with not even a scratch to show for the older wizard's attack, "But I am a fuck-mothering vampire. I killed a lot of people to earn that title and I deserve to be addressed as such. I drink blood, kick ass, and help my brother Thorin out where I can. And if you're going to get in the way now then we can throw hands here and settle it." So saying he willed his hands to be engulfed in flame and got into a ready stance as Gandalf's own staff lit up with a white prominence of its own.

They were stopped before their epic duel could commence however by three events happening simultaneously. First, Harry was pulled by the collar of his coat to fall on his ass by Thorin. Second, Bilbo ran between them exclaiming something about not fighting where they could ruin his flooring. And third, Balin stepped right up to Gandalf and kicked him mightily in the shins.

As the old man hopped around in undignified pain, the old dwarf growled, "I personally witnessed Harry the Darktide saving thousands of dwarf lives at the battle of Moria. I will not have you sully the name of one who has saved so many of my people or cause him harm. If you insist on this path you have started here and now you will make an enemy of the entire dwarven nation."

It took a while, but once Gandalf finally got over being stomped by a steel toed dwarven boot he stared at the young man before him and said, "Harry Darktide, Moria, you are that Darktide? The beastmaster?"

Harry shrugged from his seated position on the ground. "I never called myself a beastmaster, but yeah, that was me."

"None of the stories imply your are… this. It was theorized that you were simply a human with a keen instinct for animals and bats." He looked back to Balin, eyes still betraying his disbelief and lack of trust. "You vouch for this man? You trust him? I can say with certainty that the last being such as he served the great enemy."

Balin huffed disdainfully, "I don't know about that other creature you mention, but this one is such that I would trust him with my life and the lives of my kin."

Slowly, Gandalf released his staff to let it lean against the wall, but he did not let his eyes wander far from the vampire. "Very well. This is not my enterprise in the end as I am naught but an advisor. You will all do as you will regardless I am sure."

"Aye." Balin smirked.

"Aye." Dwalin seconded.

"Aye." Thorin nodded his agreement.

"Ditto." Harry piped up earning a groan from his friend.

"You could not finish with an 'aye' Harry? We had a fine streak going."

"No I could not." he looked back at the wizard. "Now are you going to keep trying to kill me? Cause if you are I recommend something a lot stronger than whatever the hell that was earlier. It barely even tickled."

Gandalf frowned at the rebuke, knowing full well that that blast could have killed a full grown mountain troll. Yet he still answered civilly, "If they all vouch for you I will cease attempts to end the threat you represent."

"Oh well that's just swell." Harry groused before hopping back to his feet. "Are we going to get down to business now or what?"

"Yes, that is well." Gandalf motioned them all back to the table where there was still a bit of food left to be had. "Though I am sorry to say, there is not yet a chair for you, Mr. Darktide."

Harry waved him off. "Harry is fine, or Mr. Potter if you like." He gestured with his left hand and a pair of chairs grand enough to seat high kings came into being, causing the older wizard to gasp with shock. That was not any kind of magic he had seen before.

"Really Harry? Thrones?" Thorin playfully mocked before hopping up into his own and enjoying the way he practically sank down into it.

Climbing into his own, his friend added, "Complain not now, brother. Instead do so in half an hour if you are still sitting in it and it disappears."

Hoping to regain some momentum in this meeting, and stashing away what he had seen of this magic for when the White Council would meet again, Gandalf said, "Perhaps introductions are the best place to start. Obviously we know you are Thorin and Harry, but here also are Balin, Dwalin, Fili and Kili. Though I am a bit confused as I was under the impression that you'd be bringing several more companions on this journey as we discussed?"

Thorin chuckled lightly and gestured to himself and his partner. "I thought it over after you left the tavern and between the two of us we don't need as many folk. They would only slow us down, and I trust a pair of mighty warriors I have fought beside, and my nephews whom I trained myself, more than a hundred unknown dwarves. The odds of success are better this way."

The old wizard didn't exactly like it when plans changed so suddenly, but it wasn't anything he couldn't adjust to when the time came. So he smoothed his beard out and pulled the small Mr. Baggins front and center. "Here is your burglar, Thorin, just as advertised."

"What!?" the hobbit gasped, "Burglar!"

Thorin looked the small being over with a discerning eye and clearly did not like what he saw. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?"

"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"

"Or claw." Harry helpfully added while showing off his impressive nails.

For a moment Bilbo seemed lost, but then something inside him seemed to come alive and he squared his shoulders, tucked his thumbs in his belt, grew a mischievous look in his eyes and said, "Well I'm a fine hand at lawn cricket and conkers but I don't think you care about recreational combat. I'll have you know however that I am a fine archer. Why, my mother and I used to go out into the woods every weekend to shoot at targets and rabbits that got into our gardens. I never missed my target."

The prince actually blinked at that. "Well that is surprising. I'd honestly thought you looked more a grocer than a burglar, but a good archer is always useful on the road. Perhaps we can use you."

Brought back to the topic of the meeting so suddenly, Bilbo moved to argue that he was in fact no burglar, but Gandalf shuffled him behind his larger bulk, and attention turned back to the prince.

Balin spoke first. "What news of the meeting at Ered Luin? Did the heads of the seven families come?"

"Aye." Thorin dipped into the leftover stew from the earlier dinner and ate as the conversation progressed. "They and envoys from all seven kingdoms attended. As did my cousin Dain from the Iron Hills. After the lives Harry saved at Moria he could not refuse the invitation. So when we have need of his army, he shall be there." The others at the table banged their fists on the wood with joy and the dwarf continued his tale. "They're all in agreement. The oaths sworn still stand, so once the arkenstone is in my hand, they'll support my ascension to the high throne. Smaug has not been seen in an age, ravens have been noted roosting amongst the stones, it is finally time."

"Aye." Dwalin spoke now. "But first we need to get that stone out from under the eyes of the dragon."

"And that is where Mr. Baggins comes in." Gandalf gestured to the clearly very confused hobbit and said, "Hobbits are incredibly sneaky creatures. Always traveling by underfoot without being seen in the wider world. I tell you now you will never find a better burglar than this. If anyone can get you that stone, it is him."

Thus it was that the company and Gandalf sat well into the night discussing the plans for their departure, and needless to say the reveal that he'd been in possession of a map detailing a secret entrance to the mountain had not sat well with Thorin.

After, the company had meant to head to the living room for a while, but Harry had noted the pile of dishes on the table and in the sink and had immediately asked Bilbo if any of his uninvited guests had helped clean up after themselves. When the answer was 'no' the vampire turned his glowing eyes on them all and without a word they'd begun deep cleaning the entire space. Only when the dishes were all clean, the table was spotless, and the floor shiny enough to eat off of, did the dwarves converge in the living room and sing the song of the misty mountain's cold. The hobbit, entranced by the song, could no longer keep his eyes open and promptly passed out for the night.

After he was put to bed and the dwarves soon followed, only Harry and Gandalf were left sitting before the fire. Neither seeming particularly in need of sleep.

"I worry about Bilbo." Gandalf admitted.

"Don't." Harry reached into his coat and pulled out an ornately hand carved pipe of cherry wood depicting the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw coats of arms (a gift from a woman whose abusive husband he'd drank dry in the northern forests), loaded some of his favorite dwarven tobacco, and promptly lit it with a force of will.

Gandalf watched the action, and slowly his natural fear began to ebb. The lad was smoking, and earlier he'd watched him consume food and drink. To his knowledge, the fell creature Thuringwethil had not been able to enjoy the human comforts as he did. Perhaps he was not as evil as originally thought.

Thinking that a good smoke sounded rather nice, the old man promptly retrieved his own pipe from the hollow in his staff head and lit it with his own magic before saying, "You have a thought?"

"Don't need one. You saw the way his eyes changed when he talked about the archery he did with his mother. That Bilbo is someone who craves adventure, he just doesn't know it yet. He'll be along in the morning once he realizes how right that is. In the meanwhile I'll keep Thorin occupied for a while on the road to give him time to catch up."

"My thanks." Gandalf took a few more puffs before letting out, "I'm… sorry, for blasting you back through the door earlier. I should have waited for more information first."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, old man. I've taken on my fair share of dark beasts and in your position I'd have probably done the same." Nevertheless, Harry was grateful for the apology. It was something he knew Dumbledore would never have provided for his actions. Once more Thorin had proved himself correct. This wizard did not act much like his former headmaster at all.

The other wizard huffed in annoyance, an unfortunate act considering he huffed the smoke of his pipe right down his own throat. Coughing on the fumes he wheezed out, "I'm not that old."

"Please, even I can feel that you're ancient. But that is neither here nor there and this is not the time for anymore arguments while the company rests and prepares for tomorrow. Now, let us smoke, let us talk, and tomorrow let us travel."

The next morning, Bilbo awoke to find everyone gone and a note on the fireplace noting they had let him sleep in and the route they would take on the road so he could catch up to them. They'd also included an envelope with the contract noting the conditions of his service as a burglar and the reward he could expect in the quantity of a full share of the treasure retrieved from the Lonely Mountain. (Even he could guess it a mighty sum).

But it was only after he placed the contract down on his desk and listened once more to the silence of his home, that he realized something was missing. The craziness of the night before. The loud noise, the overbearing yet well-meaning guests, and the music before the fire… could it be that he, a respectable hobbit, actually missed it?

The more he thought on it, the more the buried Took part of him that came from his mother came alive in his heart, and the more he realized that the adventure spoken of the night before was calling to him. He wanted to go. For the first time in his life he wanted to do something crazy, outlandish, and go out into the world to see what it had to offer him.

The next fifteen minutes were a flurry of packing, digging up his old bow from amongst his mother's things in the closet (may she rest in piece), and writing up a contract of service for the next three years for the Gamgees to take care of his garden. It was his hope that this would keep the Shire folk and worse, his relatives, from trying to declare him dead after the standard one year of absence.

Then, once everything was ready he took off running. Stopping first at the Gamgees to hand off the contract and watch it signed before taking off once more. Though he was small, his feet were big, and Hobbits were deceptively fast, so it really took only a little time to catch up to the group, each of which were riding on ponies except for Gandalf and Harry who were astride horses.

"Wait!" He called, waving his contract overhead, "I signed it!" The group halted at the tone and Bilbo quickly handed the document over for Balin to examine the signature.

The older dwarf nodded to Thorin, who smiled, tossed a pair of clinking pouches to Gandalf and Harry, and said "Welcome to my company, Mr. Baggins. Grab yourself a pony and let's be off."