Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Ring

Chapter Two - The Gathering of the Clouds

Author's Notes: Yepyep, another Tolkien chapter title. This one is chapter 15 of The Hobbit. Apologies for the delay, but work had to take priority for a little while, unfortunately. Thanks to all those lovely people who reviewed and just for those of you who asked about how Voldemort got the ring, since it was destroyed, I would suggest going back and reading the quotes at the beginning of chapter one. Every quote used is selected for a reason :)

Oh, and for the geeks out there, there's a quote from a popular film hidden in this chapter. I know at least two people will be able to identify it, at the very least :D

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It was made plain that the power of the Three Rings also was ended, and to the Firstborn the world grew old and grey.
And latest of all the Keepers of the Three Rings rode to the Sea, and Master Elrond took there the ship that Círdan had made ready. In the twilight of autumn it sailed out of Mithlond, until the seas of the Bent World fell away beneath it, and the winds of the round sky troubled it no more, and borne upon the high airs above the mists of the world, it passed into the Ancient West, and an end was come for the Eldar of story and of song.

From whence it came, they knew not.

All that was known to those of the world of the blessed ones was that the vessel had simply appeared out of nowhere, unseen by those without their gifts, unnoticed by the most advanced of sciences, invisible to all but them.

Whether it was friend or foe, they did not know.

Beautiful beyond reckoning, gleaming with a light unnatural and wondrous, it had coalesced from ethereal mists over the turbulent seas, gliding with a smooth grace that seemed nigh impossible for such a great ship. Around it, threads of mist and light seemed to weave, giving the impression of a dazzling haze of silver light blossoming about the gleaming, white prow.

At first, reports had been laughed at, many believing that those who had 'witnessed' the wondrous ship had been a little too welcoming of helpings of Firewhiskey, but as repeated accounts continued to pour in by the hour, it became clear that it was no laughing matter.

First had it been seen by a young witch upon the coast of the Islands of the Azores, a gleaming form glimmering on the distant horizon. As she had watched through omnioculars, it had passed, silent and mysterious, brighter and more radiant than the sinking sun. No wake had followed it, almost as if the hull had not even touched the surface of water.

She had sent word at once, but none had believed her.

After all, no such vessel had been observed on Muggle devices and it was known to all that no vessel of such size and appearance existed. Quite clearly, most agreed, the young witch was in the hold of hallucinations.

At least, that was believed to be the safest and most appreciated explanation, in a world already near mad with fear.

However, only a short time later, the astounding vessel was seen by a small group of wizards on a fishing expedition, out in the open seas several leagues off the West coast of Portugal.

In the stillness of the moonless night, it had been impossible to miss, passing so close to them that they had been able to see every elaborate and beautiful carving on the exquisite hull.

Nigh close enough for them to stretch out their hands and touch the shimmering mist that surrounded it, it had moved silently past them, grace and beauty combined with a fluid rapidity that no mortal vessel could match, fading into the distance.

Immediately, word had been sent to those in authority, when it had come to their knowledge that the vessel had remained unseen by those who were not gifted as she and those of their ilk were. The very Captain of their boat had seen naught, even as they had stared in awe.

Muggles, as they were called, were apparently oblivious to its presence.

The fear caused by the appearance of the ship was tremendous, curiosity and terror vying for places in the hearts of those who heard of the movement of a ship that was clearly not of their world.

Rumours began, as rumours always do, questions and fears voiced over the origins of such a clearly magnificent vessel. The accounts of those who had witnessed it were quoted on street corners in lowered voices, the tale growing more elaborate and more detailed with every less and less accurate telling.

It was the enemy, some said. He was gathering a powerful and supernatural army to him, to begin a battle against their world. Others were more conservative in their views, yet it rapidly became clear that most believed the ship to carry allies of He Who Must Not Be Named.

The fears were only magnified when members of the Wizarding world sent an envoy to attempt to communicate with those upon the vessel.

As soon as they neared, the mists surrounding the beautiful ship had roiled in silken waves and - in a heartbeat - the ship had vanished amid the billows, disappearing from sight, leaving naught but the empty, night-clad sea before the envoy.

An emergency congress had been called at once, in a desperate attempt to quash the rising panic in the wizarding world. Within a handful of hours, wizards from all corners of the world were gathering for a council in London, the paranoia and fear of the origins of the strange vessel widespread.

The Great Chamber of the Ministry of Magic had once more been enlarged to allow all the many guests seating, faces of all races and ages lining the walls and tables about the room, all eyes focused upon one person.

"Has it given us any reason for concern, as of yet?" Albus Dumbledore asked, his voice calm and serious as he surveyed the panic-touched faces that lined the grand hall around him. He was seated, once more, at the head of the proceedings, respected more than any other wizard present.

Tall and noble in spite of his years, his features carried the wisdom of more than a century. A silver beard hung to his waist; like his hair, it was tucked casually into the belt about his waist. His colourful robes only served to provide him with an air of joviality, in spite of the severity in the air. Blue eyes gazed, ever patient, over the rims of half-moon spectacles, surveying all that was happening before him.

"It disappeared, instead of making a confrontation with the envoy," Emeraude Du Champs, the French Ambassador said. She was a small, plump, brown-haired woman, grave in features and demeanour. "That is not the action of an innocent."

"Ah yes," the aged wizard agreed. Age-marked hands were steepled before him, fingertips touching gracefully together. "But it did not attack either."

"What are you suggesting, Albus?" Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, asked in a tremulous tone.

Simple and fearful, it was the fault of the Minister and his utter inability to accept the truth that - for most of the prior year - the return of the Dark Wizard, Voldemort, had been pushed aside and ignored by many in the wizarding world.

At the same time, for much of the year, Fudge had accused Dumbledore of rumour mongering to decrease confidence in the bumbling Minister, driving Dumbledore and his allies into an underground alliance, fighting where no one else would nor could due to lack of knowledge about the situation.

By failing to heed the elder wizard's advice, Fudge had haplessly placed his head in the noose he believed he was avoiding, until eyewitnesses provided solid and irrefutable evidence that the Dark Lord had, indeed, returned.

In discovering the truth of the situation, Fudge had once more come to depend on Albus Dumbledore for counsel and wisdom, many of the Minister's allies and those granting him financial funding proven to be those aiding the Dark Lord himself. It had been a cause of great disgrace and shame for the Minister, who was to step down at the turn of the next election.

Until then, however, he would preside, cowering and quivering at every mention of troubles in their world.

"I am suggesting, Cornelius," Dumbledore's voice was quiet, yet reached every ear in the room. "That while many assume that this vessel carries enemies, they may be innocent bystanders or even allies. Not all those who conceal themselves from our sight are enemies, as was justly proved by Sirius Black only a few months ago. I say again, they may simply be innocents caught up in this furore by bad fortune."

"But then, they may not!" a harsh voice grated. A man rose at the far end of the table, shoulder-length dark hair loose about a face as coarse as stone. Cool, hard, steely eyes lingered upon the ancient wizard at the head table. "What gives you reason to believe they are anything but enemies? Why would they be so keen to remain concealed?"

Bright blue eyes, hard as diamond, gazed at the man. Contained fire glinted within the azure depths, an assurance that the one to argue had made a grave mistake. "If you were them, surely an armed envoy approaching without warning in the middle of the night would be intimidating, McGuire," he said with painstaking patience. "Had I been disturbed in the middle of the night by an armed ship, I do think I would conceal myself, rather than be seen rushing about on the ocean in my nightwear."

McGuire, Chief aide to the absent Ambassador from the North America Consul, remained standing. One hand spread upon the surface of the table, the other a fist by his side. "Well then, what exactly are you saying they are, Dumbledore?"

"Perhaps fishermen?" Dumbledore's expression was open and sincere, blue eyes twinkling with bright mirth. He looked about, spreading his hands. "Fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night..."

"Now you're just being dumb!" McGuire's voice rose to an angry shout. "This is a serious matter, Dumbledore! We don't have time for this! For all we know this ship could be on its way to attack us!"

Eyes the colour of a summer-sky remained upon the Aide. McGuire's face was scarlet, eyes aflame with anger, an utter contrast to the calm façade presented by the aged wizard. "Ah yes," Dumbledore murmured. "They are sure to be sailing up the Thames as we speak, ready and able to launch an assault upon us, in our concealed Ministry."

"Dammit, man!" One of the British officials exclaimed. "McGuire is right! This is no joking matter!"

One age-lined hand rose, making a placating gesture. "Yes," Dumbledore said. "I do not, however, see how panicking or becoming angry with one another will be of any assistance at this precise moment. We do not know whether the owners of this vessel are friend or foe, yet everyone automatically assumes they are an enemy. I doubt any allies would appreciate being greeted as enemies."

There was a subdued silence.

"And if they are not friends?" a tall, slender Albanian witch asked, rising from her seat to draw his attention. She held his gaze determinedly. "What are we meant to be doing, if they are being enemies for us?"

An unreadable emotion passed upon Dumbledore's aged, lined features. "Then," he replied with the patience he was famed for. "I suppose that you may all tell me how wrong I was before we are forced into combat."

"And now, Albus? What are we to do now?" Fudge's voice resembled that of a plaintive, petulant child, whining, wheedling and demanding attention. "We don't even know where the blasted thing is! It could be on its way here!"

A smile playing about his lips, Dumbledore spread his hands. "I suppose that we examine the reports I have received regarding this ship. After all, it would be a little wiser to have some information about it, before we decide on whether they are friend or foe."

"Reports?" McGuire asked faintly.

"Oh yes, McGuire. I did mean to mention them beforehand, but I believe a few people present were a little too excitable to speak rationally." Dumbledore's smile was broad and warm. "I have all the available eye-witness accounts, including the most recent one that states that the vessel was seen off the West Coast of Ireland, heading North, and I was fortunate enough to have several photographs come into my hands."

McGuire sank, heavily, into his vacant seat, both hands clasped before him, one tight fist about another. His lean face tense with anger and consternation, he said nothing further.

Dumbledore smiled once more, reaching into the capacious depths of his robes. A file emerged in his hand, small and quite clearly charmed, and was laid upon the table. Serene, blue eyes gazed around.

"Also," The old wizard opened the folder as he added in a tone of voice that was casual and amused at once, "I believe it is worthy of note that Voldemort has no idea who these people are, if they are - indeed - people at all. He, too, is presently seeking the answers to the questions you have posed here."

The confusion and astonishment around the table was palpable.

"How do you know this?"

Dumbledore simply smiled. "Let it suffice that I do," he replied.

***

Flame licked across the gleaming black of the walls, the torches fastened upon the stone crackling and snapping loudly in the silence that hung upon the air, cloying and threatening as death itself.

"What news have you for me?"

Among the legions of masked individuals, one stepped forth. "We have been unable to learn anything further, my Lord," said he, bowing deeply in hopes that his humility would suffice to placate his Master. "No one knows anything about this ship."

Dashed with flickering gold and amber from the torches, eyes red as blood rose to the man. Spider-like hands were folded in the Dark Lord's lap, fingers moving in a distracting manner against one another, almost as if they were toying with an object small enough to be contained between them, capturing the eye of his unwitting ally.

"No one?" he said, a mere breath.

"No, my Lord, no one." The eyes beyond the mask glittered oddly, fixed upon the slow-moving hands, almost as if spellbound by them, drawn by something he could not see.

"Then they do not know if this is our friend or foe."

The one standing before the Dark Lord bowed, tearing his gaze from Voldemort's hands. "My Lord, I do not mean to question you, but... that is... we are wondering... do you know if this ship carries allies or enemies? After all, you are still..."

Ruby eyes were reduced to naught but slashes of colour beneath parchment-thin lids. "My dear Everett," Voldemort said. "I would not finish that sentence were I you. I may have seemed powerless, yes, but there is a difference between seeming and being weakened. Be sure you are aware which I am before you err. Lucius?" A second figure stepped forth. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to teach our young friend some manners and respect."

"It would be a pleasure, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy's voice positively throbbed with glee.

Everett was hauled roughly away by Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom had been safely liberated from Azkaban by Lucius' purse and influence. The Dark Lord exhaled a sigh, a soft gust of air whispering over dry lips. "I would that those fools had not been captured in the Ministry," he said, in part to himself, raising a hand to caress his chin in thought. "So many wasted."

Not one person, though, had courage nor folly enough to observe that it was in obeying their Master's orders that a number of their assembly had been captured by the Ministry of Magic's forces.

"Bella, my dear," The pale hand uncurled, almost drawing one of his aides towards him, as if holding her by an invisible chain. "I trust you have done what I asked."

"As always, my Lord, I live to serve you," a woman's voice responded, a tall, elegant figure sweeping into a graceful bow. "I have done all that you asked and have seen that all items were placed in the correct hands, or are - at the very least - on their way to their..." Her eyes glittered darkly behind the mask, which concealed her features. "Rightful owners."

The thin line of the Dark Lord's mouth curled upwards slightly. "Very good, Bella. I am pleased. Once they have reached their owners, it will be time to act." His gaze drifted about the circle of witches and wizards, his hands folding together once more. Slowly, slowly, they began to move against each other, once more granting the impression that he was toying with some small trinket. "But I must admit, this ship has triggered my interest."

"The ministry has convened in order to investigate the appearance of this ship and determine its origins," a voice spoke from the Dark Lord's left side, drawing his attention. A cloaked figured merged from darkness, soft and silent as shadow. "They have no idea what they are dealing with."

A long-fingered hand unfurled, bony and beckoning. "Come closer, Severus," the Master's voice was a low, sibilant hiss, barely audible over the crackle of the torches. The cloaked man moved forth, sinking to one knee before the Dark Lord. "Has the old fool learned anything?"

The hooded head bowed, the man replied, "No, my Lord. They only have access to the knowledge of the prior locations of the vessel, due to extensive eyewitness

"And these eyewitness accounts?"

A small man scurried forth. "They have been delivered to the Daily Prophet, my Lord," he gabbled, a sheaf of papers held in a hand of gleaming silver. "I managed to acquire them for you. None of them have become public knowledge yet, my Lord. Only the Ministry convention knows of them."

"Like a rat sniffing for scraps of approval." The man recoiled as Voldemort snatched the pages from him, cowering back. Carnelian eyes moved rapidly upon them, a line of concentration deepening between the aged wizard's hairless brows.

The silence deepened, only broken by the rhythmic breathing and the quiet crackle of flames, and still, the Dark Lord looked upon the pages, his lipless mouth forming soundless words.

"This cannot be true."

Even that breathless whisper was audible to every ear in the echoing quiet.

Slit-pupiled scarlet eyes lifted to the one who had borne the reports, revealing none of their owner's thoughts, his expression - once more - revealing nothing. "Have these sightings been verified, Wormtail?"

"Y-yes, my Lord," the man replied, twisting his hands together.

The long, skeletal hands once more gathered the pages together, the Dark Lord's face bowed over them in thought. "Very well," said he quietly. "This ship holds no relevance for us as yet, but I wish to be informed of any developments regarding it."

"Yes, my Lord," the murmurs rippled around the room, many heads bowing.

Only the man who yet knelt by his Master's throne dared to look upon his Master's face. He, too, was the only one who saw the sudden consternation and fear that had come upon his Lord's face and, behind his mask, he smiled.

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Author's Notes: Wahey! Chapter 2, done and dusted. I must admit I didn't foresee that I would have so many lead in chapters. What was chapter 2 has now been pushed back to be chapter 4, to fit a load of additional stuff in. Ah, the joys of extra research. I've been having far too much fun reading random ones of the Unfinished Tales - Queen Beruthiel made me giggle somewhat, because she made me think of Mrs Figg. Except she's evil.