Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Ring

Chapter Four - Many Meetings

On a normal occasion, most of the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have resented any interruption to their evening meal.

However, such occasions did not seem to include the arrival of four complete strangers, three of whom were quite possibly the most beautiful creatures that the staff and student body had ever laid eyes upon.

Throughout a meal that had seemed to take a great deal longer than it ought to, all eyes had stayed upon the three beautiful faces of the visitors, until the Head Master had wisely observed that perhaps he and his guests should depart, as the rumble of bellies remaining unfilled was becoming quite deafening.

The communal sigh when those three celestial faces had departed was one of melancholy and longing, though - as the Headmaster had so shrewdly observed - as soon as they were gone, food suddenly became a good deal more appetising.

Noise had built up once more around the many tables of the hall, gradually, like the rattle then roar of a landslide, voices rising in conversation and mirth, until the guests seemed all but forgotten in the social moment that was dinner.

Alas, all most cheerful moments have the unfortunate side-effect of being a source of great disappointment when brought to a close and such was the case when the merry congregation was ended by the Deputy Head Mistress, the house common rooms awaiting the attention of their residents.

Amid the throng of youngsters scattering outwards from the Great Hall, a triad had lingered, curious and intrigued.

While initially, the presence of the four mysterious guests had caused a ripple of confusion amid the scores of children, only a few were still giving the matter serious consideration and none more so than young Harry Potter and his friends.

"Did you see Dumbledore?" his red-haired companion's voice was lowered to little more than a whisper. "He bowed... that old bloke.... he bowed to him..."

"Yes, Ron," the only girl of the trio observed, her hands pressed together as if she were suddenly assailed by an attack of unexpected nervousness. "We were all in the hall as well, you know."

"But if Dumbledore bows, then it has to be someone important, doesn't it?" Ron's voice trembled with fear and excitement. "I mean, this is Dumbledore! He doesn't bow to anyone! That's right, isn't it, mate?"

His words were directed at his friend, but received no response. Harry Potter's hands were boring deep into the pockets of his robes, his expression distant, almost as though he were on another plane of existence entirely, a small smile playing about his lips for the first time in months.

The very moment that the quartet had arrived in the hall, he had been silent, shifting uncomfortably, yet when he had risked a glance and found the beautiful woman looking at him, all his fears and concerns seemed to have been cast asunder by the warmth in her starlight-filled eyes.

As had all ability to even think about speaking.

Or thinking for that matter.

A peace unlike any he had ever experienced before had settled upon his troubled soul, delicate and beautiful and entirely captivating.

"Maybe it was his favourite singer," a dreamy voice spoke from nearby. All three turned to face the owner of the voice, whose wide, ever-innocent pale eyes gazed back at them placidly. "After all, he was awfully excited about it, so it must have been someone famous."

A strange squeak slipped from Hermione Granger's throat, a rather strained smile on her lips. "Perhaps, Luna," she agreed.

The younger witch, Luna Lovegood, continued to gaze at them as she walked alongside them. Her hair was twisted into untidy knots on either side of her head, her wand emerging jauntily from one of them and a string of bottle caps, hung about her neck, jingled softly against the dark material of the front of her robes.

"Who do you think they were, Harry?" she asked, her wide, bright eyes upon the dark-haired young man, who seemed deep in contemplation, as he had been since the visitors had arrived.

Green eyes blinked, surprised. "I-I... er... I dunno."

"People of great significance." Hermione's voice was laced with authority, though her expression revealed she knew no more of the situation than any other. "After all, I hardly think Dumbledore would let dangerous people into the school."

"Especially not dangerous people with pointed ears," Luna's eyes wandered the walls of the hall as she started humming softly to herself.

The three others stopped in their tracks, staring at the younger witch as if she had sprouted a second head. "Pointed ears?" Ron sounded faint. "What d'you mean 'pointed ears'?"

"Their ears were pointed. At least the ones without beards," Luna replied, looking at Ron, her expression earnest. "Surely you noticed something that obvious, Ronald."

Colour suffused the red-haired prefect's face and he shook his head once.

However, Luna's words seemed to be making some semblance of sense to the bushy-haired girl on his other side. Hermione's face seemed to have lost what colour it had, one hand rising to press to her mouth. "Oh goodness..."

"What is it?"

"The ship! That odd ship which was seen!" The two boys stared at her, bewildered. Hermione waved a hand, the gesture fraught with impatience. "It's been all over the wizarding papers for weeks!" A sound of muffled excitement escaped her. "Oh my! This is absolutely amazing!"

"Eh?"

"But it can't be... I mean, that would be simply impossible... I always thought it was just a story, but if... oh! If you look at it that way... it all makes sense!"

"What d'you mean, Hermione?"

The girl turned to Harry, a shaking hand touching his arm, as if she needed to seek an anchor in reality, her mouth opening and closing several times before a sound came forth. "They've come back," she whispered.

"What are you on about, Hermione?" Ron demanded with confusion, looking ever more perplexed. "Harry, mate, you know what she's on about?" Harry's shoulders lifted helplessly. "Hermione, you're confusing us. More than usual. Want to tell us who or what you're going on about?"

Another rather mad giggle escaped the girl. "Elves!" she exclaimed, then she seemed to come to realise precisely what she had said. Her eyes went round, a soft gasp escaping her. "Elves!"

And with that, she fainted. Ron and Harry both grasped at her before she could hit the cold stone of the floor.

Ron raised his eyes to Harry as they drew their friend up between then. "You know, mate," he said, his tone weary. "I always knew her obsession with that SPEW stuff would drive her batty."

With Hermione's arm slung about his shoulder, her body utterly dependant upon him and his companion, Harry certainly couldn't disagree with his friend's sentiments as they changed direction and started towards the Medical wing. Behind them wandered Luna, singing softly under her breath.

***

The twilight-stretched shadows caressed the deepening gloom of the Manor, as a single, solitary figure ascended a long staircase, shadow and flame playing about his face as he moved past torches hung in high brackets upon the polished wall.

In one hand, a scroll of parchment was held, as if it were the greatest treasure he could possess.

Approaching a night-darkened door, one gloved hand was lifted and knocked firmly upon the wood. Opening it with caution, the wizard entered and sank upon one knee before his Master.

"Word has reached me, my Lord."

Standing close to the broad windows, gazing out on the grounds of the Manor, the Dark Wizard seemed oblivious. His hands were moving feverishly, twisting, turning together. Occasionally, the light of the fire sparked upon the object in his hands, but seldom long enough to identify it.

"My Lord?"

A face that looked as if it had been crafted from bone turned, pale light from the moon and the warming glow of the flame meeting in horrible unity upon the wizard's distorted features. "Ah, Lucius."

Rising from his position, Lucius Malfoy closed the distance between them, holding forth the scroll. "My Lord, my son sent me word," he said, though his words were filled with trepidation, as if he knew that he was the bearer of foul tidings. "Strangers have arrived at the school."

The eyes of Voldemort glittered eerily by the light of the flame and then, he laughed, cold and high. "Yes... yes," he said, his skeletal hands yet moving, never halting. His voice was distant, almost as one under a powerful charm, his eyes focused upon nothing. "I suspected they might approach him, if they are who I believe them to be..."

"You knew of this already, my Lord?"

A dismissive gesture from his Master was all the answer he received. Wraith-like, the dark wizard returned his gaze to the window once more, closing his eyes as his fingers continued to move.

Between them, a single golden ring was turned, over and over, ever in contact with his flesh, as his lips moved, shaping silent chants and charms, words spoken in a dark, powerful language none had uttered in millennia.

***

"Are all the students safely ensconced in their dormitories?"

Minerva McGonagall nodded. "All but Potter, Weasley, Granger and Lovegood," she replied. "Miss Granger had a rather funny turn after dinner. Weasley and Potter took her to the Medical wing."

Seated in the spacious staff room, the other aged wizard beside him, Dumbledore's smile was serene once more. "I suspected that she might have come to a conclusion about our visitors," he remarked, turning to the elder man beside him. "Miss Granger really is remarkably clever."

"You believe one of your students would realise?"

"With Miss Granger, I have come to believe that anything is possible" the Head Master chuckled, then rose to his feet, surveying all the members of the staff body standing around the room. Near every eye was upon the three fairer guests.

The dark-haired male was standing by the window, one hand spread upon the pane, gazing out upon the night-darkened grounds, the woman standing - fair and tall - by his side, one hand upon his shoulder.

The third of their number was half-seated upon the broad arm of a chair, one foot resting upon the seat, his hand resting on his knee. His dark eyes were closed and a soft song spilled from his lips, the language unfamiliar and hauntingly beautiful.

"I am sure you are all wondering who our distinguished guests are," Dumbledore's voice, though strong, did not carry the power to draw all attention to him. "They have travelled a great distance to join us."

"Albus..." the words fell from the lips of Minerva McGonagall. "If I may be so bold as to ask... who are these people?" Even so, as she spoke, she did not turn to her friend of so many years, her eyes lingering on the features of the dark-haired man.

"People, Minerva?" the aged wizard said with a knowing smile. "Whatever makes you think they would answer to such a title?"

That, if naught else, drew the attention of the astounded teachers, eyes looking to Dumbledore with fresh inquisitiveness, then to their nigh celestial guests, whose ageless faces bore no such emotion.

With every word spoken by the woman, the smile playing upon Dumbledore's lips broadened. "I trust you understand what this means," he intoned softly.

Sinistra's already pallid face lost what colour it had and she sank down upon one of the seats. "But it... Professor, I-I was sure it was nothing but fiction... and even if it was true, it... it's impossible..." Her words, so tremulous, lacked the conviction they required. "It has to be impossible..."

"Impossible it may seem," the fair woman turned from her companion, the silken spill of her golden tresses gleaming by the light of the fire, which crackled merrily in the hearth. "But it is the truth." She glanced to Dumbledore. "Might I speak openly?"

"Of course, dear lady," Dumbledore replied, bowing his head.

The woman nodded, drawing herself to her grand height. So great was the pride, beauty and dignity upon her fair face that many present lowered their eyes in awe and respect.

"Darkness is once more upon you," she spoke. Her voice was soft, yet not one of them had to strain to hear her every word. "Even the one who has resurrected this power does not comprehend the magnitude of his actions." A graceful hand was raised, one of the slim fingers adorned by a single silver ring decorated with a misty white stone which shone as bright as a star and upon which the flames in the hearth danced and glittered. "Once more did Nenya feel the presence of One that should ne'er have been formed."

"Nenya?" The tremulous gasp fell from the parted lips of Minerva McGonagall. "I-I don't understand..." Green eyes were flooded with consternation and trepidation as they met blue. "Albus, wasn't that the name of..."

"The Ring of Adamant," the Headmaster said, his aged voice and countenance grave. "And its keeper was the Lady of Lórien, the Lady Galadriel."

"Headmaster, surely what you are referring to is merely legend," Vector broke in, looking both concerned and hopeful. Murmurs spread through the assembled staff body, nods exchanged. "It is only a story, after all."

Dumbledore glanced to the aged man beside him, then rose to his feet, his robes rustling heavily about him. Pressing his fingertips together, he regarded the other teachers with patience.

"Consider ancient history," he replied with quiet gravity. "Much of that which we view as legend in history emerges from some root of truth. Is it so very difficult to believe that our world began in a world many regard as merely a tale?"

"Then you mean to inform us that the One Ring and the legend of Sauron..."

"Were all true, in the first days of your world," the aged man beside Dumbledore said, rising, his countenance as grave as Dumbledore's. Blue eyes, serious, gazed about. "And those origins are the reason we have returned." Bringing his staff before him, he exhaled a breath. "The very roots of the darkness that were believed to have been vanquished with destruction of the One Ring have merely been dormant."

"D-dormant?"

"'We'? What do you mean 'we'?"

"One Ring?"

"How did you know?"

"Where did you come from?"

"This is nonsense!"

The flurry of voices nigh drowned one another out, each rivalling the others in volume and demand. Albus Dumbledore raised a hand, gesturing for silence, his visage and words grave.

"You all know that Voldemort is powerful and intelligent," said he. "He studied all lore and dark magics he could find and now, it becomes clear that he found even those from beyond the beginnings of our world. He found that which had long been lost," He sighed deeply, wearily. "And used it."

"And in forming a Ring of Power of his own," the dark male said, turning from the window, upon which a misted hand-print lingered, soft against the sharp night beyond. "He has once more caused a connection to be re-established with the Rings that have survived so long, without power or use." The hand that had so recently pressed against the glass was brought up before his breast, revealing a gold ring bearing a blue stone upon his finger. "Once more, they felt the power of the One." His grey eyes dropped to the jewelled ring. "Once more, were we called and once more, this world stands upon the brink of shadow."

"This," the fair woman spoke, her words soft upon the fear-filled silence, "Is why we have returned. Though the Firstborn and Istari have long since passed from your world, this threat could not be ignored further."

"While this is no longer our place," the aged wizard said, pushing aside his heavy sleeve to reveal a ring upon his own hand, this one bearing a red jewel. "The power that has been unleashed could be the undoing of all. Even the one who put these wheels in motion does not comprehend what he has done, the power he has re-awoken and what it could lead to."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Minerva McGonagall asked faintly.

Shadowed looks past among the three bearers of the Rings.

"The Dark One of your times has used lore and arts crafted by Sauron himself," the aged man replied. "Arts that no mortal dare use without great peril to themselves. It will possess him and consume him entirely, the very magics draining the life from him, twisting him into something beyond what he is."

The wizard closed his eyes for a moment, his expression troubled, the fair woman speaking for him. "In times past, Sauron used the weakness of spirit so prevalent in mortals to bend them to his will, to draw them to him and use him for his benefit."

"But Sauron..." Minerva McGonagall's voice trembled, as if she was both afraid and perplexed by the use of the name, her face white as bone. "He was destroyed. If the ring was destroyed, surely he's gone."

The aged wizard looked at her. "Yes," he said, his words grave, soft, yet carrying to every ear. "Sauron was destroyed, struck from the face of the earth, leaving naught but traces of his history and legend." He sighed, weary. "We fear there may be the chance that the dark powers used to forge a new ring will be strong enough to overthrow the mortal creator, taking his life and the lives of those connected with him, using their very essence to draw Sauron's spirit once more from the ether." Blue eyes closed, as if in great pain, then opened slowly, gazing at each face. "With time, he would rise, as terrible and great, and cover the world in shadow once more."

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Author's Note: *sighs* I'm so glad to have this chapter out of the way. That's a huge chunk of the information-y stuff dropped down. A lot to take in, yes, but to write, even more so. And to think this whole fic resides in my head. Ouch. And no, I haven't identified all our visitors by name yet, but that will come with time.

Can't say when the next chapter will be out and about, but that's the situation for all my babies at the moment.