Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Ring

Chapter Three - A Warm Welcome

Author's Notes: In case you haven't guessed, yes. Another chapter title borrowed from Tolkien. I like his titles and this one fits rather well, so I thought I might as well borrow it (Chapter Ten of The Hobbit, lest you wondered). And are you intrigued? I do hope so ;-D

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At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school term had begun on the first of September.

Of the mysterious ship, which had been sighted during the summer months, there had been no trace found. It seemed to have simply vanished, unseen, or perhaps, concealed by some greater power.

Whispers had spread of it, yet, with its disappearance, the terror it had inspired had somewhat dissipated. None contained within the hall could know yet that the ship had once more re-emerged, less than a hundred miles from where they sat, only hours earlier.

Even so, the shadow of the Dark Lord's hand stretched far indeed, and fear was still foremost in the hearts and minds of the children.

Yet Hogwarts was known to be safe once more.

The previous year, things had not been so certain. Another teacher had taken the post of the much-beloved Head Master, what was once a school becoming a prison for those unfortunates contained within, a place of torment and misery.

Now, though, Dumbledore was in his place once more. The Headmaster was the only person whom Voldemort had truly feared, and did truly fear, which led to the shaky belief that while Dumbledore was present within the school, no harm could come to any of them.

Or so they tried to believe.

When the doors of the Great Hall swung inwards during the evening meal, every head turned in their direction, fearful. In spite of all that was said of Dumbledore, the fear of the Dark Lord had grown to such an extent that it was believed he was capable of anything.

The golden tints of the early evening light washed across the broad hall through the tall windows that lined the hall, warm and embracing. Night was coming quickly, yet all thought of twilight was pushed far from the minds of those in attendance.

The bright face of the sun seemed to dim even into shadow in the face of the four figures, who stood upon the threshold, and it almost seemed that they gleamed with a veiled radiance. They stepped into the deathly silent hall, tall and graceful, and clad in cloaks of silver-grey that trailed upon the polished floor.

The foremost of the group raised his head, gazing up at the charmed ceiling, which was deepening in shade, brushed with cloud, then around at the multitude of young faces staring at him in wonder and confusion. A smile moved upon his lips, and he started to walk down the hall, his walking staff tapping quietly with every step.

It was uncanny, truly.

The leader of the group - or thus he appeared - bore a great resemblance to the Head Master of the school. Flowing, snowy white hair and a beard of the same colour fell to his waist, like twin waterfalls, a glimmer of merry mischief in his wise, clear, bright blue eyes that seemed to contain the wisdom of all the ages.

A dusk-grey, hooded cloak made of a thick fabric, which trailed behind him on the floor, countered Dumbledore's vividly coloured attire, the tall, white walking staff in his age-scored hand another addition.

Even so, while the white-haired intruder looked aged, there was an energy and life in his movement, a brightness in his expression, which made him appear fresh and far younger than he ought to have.

So intently were the pupils and teachers watching him that they did not observe his three companions, who followed him. They seemed to move soundless upon the floor, but for the rustle of their robes. Their heads were bowed, their faces shielded by their hoods, their slender hands folded before them, two decorated by elaborate rings, but they held a grace and pride that no mortal could ever hope to achieve.

The chief intruder reached the dais, whereupon the teachers sat at the long High Table.

Coming to a gradual halt, the odd old man leaned upon his white staff as one who had reached the satisfactory conclusion of a long journey, and gazed at the Head Master, a benevolent twinkle in his eyes, which shone as blue as a summer sky.

A silence clung to the air, deafening in its resonance.

Looks of bewilderment passed among those occupying the High Table, looks that went unnoticed by either of the aged men. Bright blue eyes held equally blue, power palpable between them.

When it came to pass, every eye in the grand chamber witnessed it: Professor Albus Dumbledore's rosy-hued face drained of all colour, his wand trembling, then slipping from shaking fingers. It bounced, clattering upon the floor briefly, and was still.

Whispers rushed around the hall, eyes widened, faces pale, question upon question falling from fearful lips. Who, they wished to know, would cause Dumbledore to react thus? Who was the grey-clad man and where had he come from?

"Head Master?" Minerva McGonagall, seated next to the old wizard, touched his arm, her face wrought with anxious fear. "Albus?"

The Head Master made no answer, although a hand came to his heart, his eyes wide, lips parted in astonishment. Pushing his chair from the table, he moved around the table, his eyes not once leaving the man before him.

"It cannot be..." he whispered, the words echoing in the vastness of the hall, earning queer glances from his students.

The old man laughed, a sound so warm and full of good humour that even the most sour-faced individual present found himself smiling in response.

"My dear Albus," he said jovially, his voice deep, resonant and merry. "Has this world changed so much that doubt stands in place of welcome for a wandering old man and his companions returned from distant shores?"

Approaching the man, Dumbledore looked as one who had seen the greatest wonders of the world, laid bare before him. His gaze roamed to the hooded faces of the old man's companions, and he seemed to falter in his step.

"You have returned? All of you?"

The old man laughed again. "Alas!" he exclaimed merrily. "I had hoped that you would not notice that! And yes, we have returned. Word came to us from the East, a threat and a shadow and, in our past, we have dealt with a threat of similar kind. We may only be here for a short time, but here we are and that is that!"

"We are honoured by your presence, Sir," the Head Master said, his reverent voice one of awe and wonder. To the astonishment of all those present, he sank on one knee before the aged man.

"Now, now!" the old man chastised. He bent, and drew Dumbledore back to his feet, shaking his head with gravity, which was belied by the twinkle in his eyes. "We shall have none of that, you young scamp!"

More than a dozen gasped at the words of the grey man, surprised perhaps that he could call Dumbledore young. Yet still, there was something of the nature of the old man which suggested he might be one of the few present who could say such a thing in all sincerity, the wisdom of the ages drawn to measure in his fathomless blue eyes.

"But Sir..."

All eyes of a thousand faces lingered upon the two, one of whom was still awed, the other amused.

"I said none of that," the grey-clad elder said sternly, tutting. "Unless you wish that I perform the same duty to you. You are the leader of this cheerful assembly; therefore to you respect must be given."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Will you join us for dinner?" he asked cautiously, as if afraid of causing some offence to his guests. He motioned around the Great Hall, lest the intruders were unaware of its existence. "As you can see, we are partaking of our evening meal."

One of the three figures, who had remained five paces from the man in grey, stepped forward. "I am afraid that we have no time to rest," said he. His voice was smooth and mellifluous, with the intonation of one speaking in a tongue that was not his own by nature. "Your pardon, but this is a dangerous time for both you and your people. If we are to provide aid..."

"Nonsense! No time to rest, indeed!" the grey-clad man said, laughing jovially as he looked to his companions. "We can spare but a little time to learn what changes have come to pass since we went across the sea."

"Indeed a wise decision," another spoke, a beautifully lilting musical female voice, deeper than most, which drew many a sigh from their captive audience. "Foolish would it be to believe that our past wisdom will suffice in a world we no longer know as our own." She approached Dumbledore with a smooth tread, extending a slender hand to him, upon which a ring shone bright. "You do us honour in your invitation."

Dumbledore raised her hand to his lips gallantly and his eyes lifted to her, then he blushed quickly and bowed. "It is an honour to have guests such as you here, my Lady." She laughed, a soft, rich sound. His face rosy once more, Dumbledore turned to Minerva. "Minerva would you be kind enough to provide a table for our guests. I seem to have... misplaced my wand."

A look of doubt passed over the Witch's face, but she acquiesced. With a murmured spell, the High Table appeared to grow before their eyes, the rest of the teachers moved to accommodate it. It spread along between the Head Master's elaborate seat and Professor McGonagall's own chair, four fine chairs appearing behind it, plates of gold atop the smooth, polished surface.

The old man observed with clear amusement and interest as the spell was performed, a smile upon his lips. "Such a small staff," he noted, glancing to his own, which stood nigh as tall as he did. "You still utilise such a thing?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "They have become a necessity," he replied, making a motion towards the new table. "Will you sit?"

"After you, dear fellow," the old man replied jovially, the group making there way to the table. With much insistence from Dumbledore, the elder took Dumbledore's own beautiful seat, the Head Master placing himself between the old man and the woman.

Leaning forth to meet Dumbledore's gaze, Minerva McGonagall spoke in a lowered voice. "Albus," whispered she, an apologetic look granted to the old man between them. "I don't mean to be rude, but who are these people?"

"They are our very special guests, Minerva," Albus replied merrily. "I will be sure to introduce them, once this meal is finished, perhaps in the privacy of my office, eh? I would hate to make a scene." Minerva stared at him, perhaps wondering if he had been blind to the reaction to his own display of awe and wonder. "They may yet prove the weight to tip the balance in our favour in this coming battle."

Minerva appeared to desire to ask more of him. However, the even looks of the two bearded old men, both gently chastising her with twinkling blue eyes, sufficed to keep her silent, turning her attention back to her meal.

Once seated, the three hooded individuals lowered their hoods. Once more, it seemed that a radiance filled the hall, spreading out from the three fair figures. Each of them looked young and beautiful, yet their eyes carried the wisdom of the ages.

The woman at Dumbledore's side was beauty embodied, long golden hair framing her face, a peaceful look upon features that were untouched by age. To her left, a tall, noble man sat. His hair was dark and lustrous and near as long as his neighbour's, his eyes keen and bright. The last of the group was as fair as his two companions, pale hair drawn back from a proud face, deep grey eyes serious.

Only the most observant of the students and teachers present in the Great Hall, who were few and far between, noticed that the bared ears of the fair-haired man tapered to points at the tips.

Somewhere in the silent hall, a fork clattered noisily on a plate.

Even along the staff table, eyes stared wonderingly at the four guests.

"I do believe that you have made quite an impression," Dumbledore observed to the elder seated on his right, a suggestion of a smile playing about his lips.

The old man smiled broadly, and his eyes shone with mirth. "It has been many a year since any of your kind has seen those of my Lady and Lord's race," he said. "All but a few journeyed into the West many moons ago."

"I am beginning to find it a wonder that anything was achieved by the Men in your time, if this is the response triggered by our friends here," Dumbledore said, to which the fair woman laughed softly.

"You must recall," she said, laying a hand upon his. "That our people were plenteous in times past. Your children react thus, as they have never before seen faces such as those we present to them."

Turning to the upturned faces of his students and teachers all, Dumbledore rose from his seat. "As you can see," he said, spreading his hands to indicate to his guests. "We have some honourable guests for dinner this evening.

It was a subtle suggestion, yet many students took the words to heart. Turning their heads from the intense gazes of the visitors, they went back to their meals, as food appeared on the most recently added table.

Leaning down to one side, the elder retrieved Dumbledore's wand from the floor.

"It is not truly our own power," Dumbledore replied. "As mortals, we do not have sufficient power to channel our somewhat feeble abilities. Inside each wand, there is a substance from a magical creature that combines with our natural abilities, allowing us to perform spells. Were the wand any larger, I doubt we would be able to use it, which means that a staff would become somewhat redundant."

"I suppose it is only sensible to change the size to fit your abilities," the old man observed pensively. "And, after all, I doubt you need to walk great distances, so a staff would be most unnecessary."

Dumbledore laughed. "That is certainly true," he agreed, gratefully taking his wand from the elder's hand. "There are many modes by which we may travel now, and few of them require walking."

"Yes... yes, and I see it would be rather difficult to channel your magic through a larger staff than this," The old man continued to turn the wand between his fingers, studying the smooth wood with fascination. "I always forget that the abilities of men were less powerful than the wizards of old."

"Which is both fortunate and unfortunate, in many cases," Dumbledore said, his tone one of gravity, although he could not seem to wrench his eyes from the face of the old man. "On occasion, there will be one who is granted with more power than most, according to their lineage and sheer chance. Sometimes that power proves too much of a temptation for the weak hearts of men."

A piercing blue eye turned upon him. "And one of these men is the cause of your discontent at present." Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement. "We must discuss this further, privately, but for now, let us enjoy this feast!" Examining the grand spread upon the table, a curious look came to his eye. "Your meals are brought to you by magic?"

Once more, the Head Master nodded. A cautious look came upon his face and he looked to the other three guests. "We have a breed of unusual little creatures called house elves, who all but run the inner workings of the castle."

"House Elves?" the fair male asked. His attention had been on the food spread before him, unfamiliar to him, curiosity marked upon his proud features. However, at the Head Master's words, eyes as grey as a thundercloud turned, piercing, upon the old wizard. "What manner of creatures are they?"

Dumbledore spread his hands in uncertainty. "We are uncertain of their origins but they are loyal to their Masters and love to work. It is to their pleasure to keep grand households running," he replied with care. "They do not resemble any Elves I have heard of before, smaller and certainly not as fair."

"I would much like to meet one of these creatures," the fair man said, and it seemed that a melancholy mood came upon his gentle features. "It has been many a year since I have looked upon the face of one not of my race, nor of the face of men."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I'm sure that might be arranged."

"May I ask an imposition of you, Sir?" the fair man continued.

The Head master spread his hands. "You may. I may not answer as you might like, but yes, ask away."

"The grounds of your castle will contain caves will they not?"

A smile touched upon Dumbledore's lips. "Ah, yes," he replied, leaning back in his seat and steepling his fingers before his chest. "We have a harbour of sorts beneath the school, where the first year students arrive.

The fair man bowed his head slightly. "I have a vow to fulfil," he replied in a quiet tone. His voice and face were suffused with proud grief. "A promise sworn to my dearest friend upon his death bed many long ages past. He wished that I might seek out the most beauteous of caverns I could if it were not possible to return to the Glittering caves that were so beloved to him. There, he asked me to utter a lament to him in my tongue."

"Was he of your kind?"

Grey eyes closed briefly, a sigh whispering from sorrow-kissed lips. "No, and that is why he is lost to me," The reply was tainted with deep sadness. "I, in part, wish he had been of my kith and kin, that the river of his life had not frozen in the winter of his years."

"You do your friend a great honour," Dumbledore said softly. "I will trust Hagrid to lead you to the caves, if you wish it." He nodded towards the figure at the far end of the table, large, dark and terrifying to those who did not know him. "He is well acquainted with every part of the school, as am I, yet my age would hinder us, were I to guide you."

"My appreciation would be boundless, Sir."

"Master Dumbledore," the woman murmured lowly. Her eyes turned upon him, clear and bright, as if dashed by darts of starlight. "I would know of one of your students, if I may." She directed her gaze towards one of the tables, where a black-haired youth sat, flanked by an equally young woman and man. "The shadows have marked him and he knows that he is close to being devoured by darkness."

"Ah," the Head Master said quietly. "That is Harry Potter. The death of his parents saved him from the Dark Lord, when he was a child. That Dark Lord has returned once more and his rage is directed at young Mr. Potter. Even now, he is haunted by it." Dumbledore sighed. "He is a brave young man, remarkably brave for one so young. Perhaps you would meet him once the meal is over?"

The woman nodded once. "Such pain in him, and such strength," she said in a soft, grave voice. "So very young."