Not Quite a Maia

Not Quite A Maia

Chapter 11

Several days earlier (14th-27th February 3019)

Wizard's Vale, Isengard

Augusta marched smartly down the road behind her unhappy captive, safely under the concealment of a Disillusionment charm. To any enemy eyes in the Wizard's Vale glancing in their direction, their gaze would meet nothing more intimidating than the figure of a (furiously itchy) orc, making its way from Isengard to the Gap of Rohan on a scouting mission.

Not long after their journey commenced, Grodek had chanced a glance backward and, spotting no one behind him, made the mistake of thinking that the elderly witch had abandoned her intention of journeying to Rohan. Excited at his sudden, inexplicable liberation, he turned around and broken into a run in the direction of Orthanc to warn his master of this strange new threat, only to find himself sailing backwards through the air and crashing into the paved road.

"And just where do you think you're going, my good fellow?" came the disembodied voice of his worst nightmare from...somewhere.

The orc scanned the surrounding area, but could spot no sign of the old woman or her very intimidating hat. She wasn't on the road, nor was she concealed behind the reeds swaying by the river's edge.

"Where are yer?" he cried, alarmed that she could see him, but he could not see head nor tail of her.

"Right here," came a low voice in his left ear. Grodek jumped in fright and scrambled to his feet, waving his hands in front of him to try and locate her.

The Longbottom matriarch rolled her eyes. Idiot!

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she snapped impatiently.

"Trying ter find yer."

"What the devil for? It's enough for you to know I'm here without having to see me. Now, turn around and set about getting me to Rohan before I lose my patience and have to start using those lovely Stinging hexes again."

She allowed a slight smile to grace her lips as the anxious creature reluctantly turned his back on the unseen threat she presented and started to stumble down the valley.

There, that was much better!

Grunting in satisfaction, she followed a few steps behind him as they journeyed ever closer to her destination. At first, she had been wondering exactly how they were going to get to the main city of Edoras. According to her miserable guide, it would be necessary to travel for many days south down the Westfold, past a large fortress guarding the southern end of the Gap of Rohan which the Rohirrim called Helm's Deep. But she had changed her mind when Grodek told her about that. If this Helm's Deep was one of the main defences of their land, then there was sure to be some sort of military presence installed in it. It would be a better idea to stop there, rid herself of her repulsive captive (the stench rolling off his unwashed hide was unbelievable) and see about getting more suitable guidance to their main city.

Hopefully a dashing Australian with good teeth.

Well, even a plain Australian with dentures would do. Anything was better than the cretin in front of her...

Pleased with her plan, Augusta put a bit more spring in her step and decided what she was going to do to her errant grandson when she found him. She was not thrilled about having to traipse her way through the wilds of some uncivilised backwater with little more to rely on than her wits and her wand, and no one for company but a malodorous, foul-mouthed orc. Neville would answer for this!

A sudden gust of cold wind brought the hideous stench of Grodek's unwashed form to her nostrils and, fed up with it, she hit him with a Scourgify.

"Oi! What's yer fink yore doing?" yelled the foaming creature, suds sliding over his bald head and dripping down his back.

"Giving you a much needed wash, you disgusting animal," she replied haughtily.

"I don't need no wash," he said angrily, spitting soap from his mouth and batting furiously at the lavender scented bubbles covering his filthy clothes.

"I beg to differ. You smell like a tannery and I'm afraid I'm not in the mood to tolerate it much longer. If you object to your treatment, I could always dip you in the river instead."

She knew that would shut him up: the temperature was well below zero in the open air. It would only be worse in the water.

"It's not right, I tell ya! A flowery Orc? I'll be the laughin' stock of Orthanc!"

What on earth was he complaining about? Surely that was normal for the stupid creature anyway?

Augusta ignored his grumbles and continued to hit him with Cleaning charms. It took ten whole minutes of washing, scrubbing and some very violent retching on Grodek's part before she was finally satisfied with her work. The next time the wind hit her flaring nostrils, all she could smell was the very pleasing scent of a spring bouquet.

Grodek, however, was extremely unhappy. "I stink!" he wailed, looking as close to tears as she'd ever seen him.

Poppycock! He did not stink, quite the contrary - he smelled like those pretty little flowers that exploded from Puffapod beans when they were dropped on the ground. Neville made quite the ceremony of that each May, dragging her out to the back garden and handing her fistfuls of the little things. It was the only time he let her touch his plants and she quite enjoyed it, actually.

"Stop complaining, you old misery guts. Anyone would think you were allergic to soap and water, the way you go on."

"When my master finds out 'ow you've been treatin' me, 'e'll have yore head!" cried Grodek.

"I think it more likely he'd thank me for introducing you to the benefits of adequate personal hygiene," she muttered. "Anyway, you needn't worry about your master discovering your penchant for baby soft skin; it's not as if we'll be visiting him any time soon."

Which was (of course) the wrong thing to say...

For no sooner had the words left her mouth than they heard a faint thump, thump, thump coming from somewhere behind them. The sound grew with every passing second and Augusta huffed in annoyance.

Botheration!

"I thought this road was supposed to be quiet?" she demanded of the flowery orc.

"We's on'y a few leagues from Isengard. What's yer expect? Ol' Saruman always 'as battalions of Orcs and Uruk-hai coming and going. Don't yer know we're at war?"

Of course. War. In Australia...

She briefly debated the possibility of ambushing the approaching orcs, but quickly dismissed it. The heavy thumping of boots suggested that their numbers were greater than the scouting party she'd disposed of a few hours ago (their corpses had been safely deposited in the same cave as her impressive commode - wouldn't do to leave signs of a struggle so close to an enemy's door). There was no doubt in her mind that she could deal with the inept creatures, but if this was one of Saruman's battalions, he'd be quicker to notice their disappearance than the mere half dozen or so scouts further back in the Wizard's Vale.

Making her decision, she grabbed Grodek by the ear and dragged him off the road towards the slope of the Last Mountain. "Well, then. We'd better conceal you, don't you think? I can't have your friends getting their hands on my ticket to Rohan."

But how to conceal him? If she put him under a Disillusionment charm, he was as likely to give her the slip as not and there was no time find adequate refuge in a cave - it had taken her half an hour to find the last one. Perhaps a Notice-Me-Not charm?

The problem was taken out of her hands, however, as the first of the orcs rounded the bend and caught sight of their miserable comrade loitering casually by the mountainside.

"Oi, you! What's yer doing standin' there like a useless lump? Get over 'ere!"

Fiddlesticks! She hadn't realised they were so close. Now there was no choice but to trust her captive to lie convincingly.

"Well, you'd better get over there. Tell them you're part of a scouting party or something, then make your way back. We'll wait here for them to leave and then we can be on our way."

Augusta gave him a slight shove towards the road, but Grodek seemed strangely reluctant to go.

"What on earth are you waiting for? Christmas? Move it!"

"I can't!" he whispered desperately.

Oh for pity's sake...

"Whyever not?" snapped the elderly witch as the long line of troops drew ever nearer.

"I smell funny."

"Don't be so ridiculous! What on earth does that have to do with anything?"

"Orcs don't like flowers. They gets a whiff o' me smellin' like a bloomin' garden an' I'm done for!"

"If you stand around here like a spineless idiot for much longer, you're done for," she barked.

Really! What the deuce did he imagine they'd do to him? She'd never heard of someone being torn limb from limb merely for taking pride in their appearance.

"Well, move it! I'll only be a few steps behind you if it makes you feel any better, you sad excuse for a soldier. And a word of warning: any tricks from you, any attempts to sneak off with your friends or even so much as one word of my presence and I'll send you screaming for the nearest warg-pit!" she hissed.

It was a very forlorn Grodek who approached the hundred-strong party of orcs barrelling down the road from Isengard. Augusta remained far enough behind him to keep out of harm's way, but near enough to hear what was being said.

The group came to a collective halt when their leader held up his right arm., She held her breath as Grodek stopped nervously before him.

Oh, dear.

The massive orc at the front was sniffing her cowering captive suspiciously. Others came forward and the leader started firing questions at Grodek. She couldn't understand a word of the harsh, ugly language they were using...

Why that duplicitous little wretch! He never mentioned a thing about speaking a foreign language - he could be telling them anything and she'd never know any different!

Fuming at Grodek's sly ways, she observed the party in mounting irritation as the much smaller orc began pointing behind him furiously. The miserable creature was trying to give away her position! Fortunately for her, the larger orcs, spotting nothing where his wildly waving arm was gesturing, began to push him around and clobber him with their shields.

Augusta watched, quite satisfied. It would serve the devious twit right if she let them pound him into mince. But Grodek was proving to have more of a spine than she'd credited him for. The orc began pushing the larger ones away and turned to the leader, yelling at him most insistently while waving his arm around as if he was brandishing a wand. It was enough for the larger creature to call off the attack and despatch a small party to take a more thorough look around the area.

Her brow furrowed in annoyance as she dodged several (stinking) orcs making their way towards the edge of the mountain. Despite an intensive search, they returned to the group empty-handed and she saw the leader frowning thoughtfully. What was he going to do now?

Having made his decision, the large orc barked orders at his minions and soon Grodek's hands were tied tightly behind his back. They marched him into the midst of the party - but instead of continuing down the road in the direction they'd been heading, turned smartly about and started marching quickly in the direction they'd just came from.

They were taking him back to Isengard!

What should she do? Leave the blasted idiot to his fate and strike out for the Gap of Rohan on her own? No, impossible. She was completely unfamiliar with the territory. She'd have to follow the troops back to Orthanc and see if an opportunity presented itself to liberate her captive. If he fell into the hands of Saruman and started raving on about a witch in the wizard's own back garden...

Rolling her eyes in frustration, she headed after the party of orcs, down the road which branched off the main thoroughfare and onwards to the Tower of Orthanc. If she wanted to save her grandson, then, like it or not (and she didn't) she needed Grodek's help. She would kill Neville for reducing her to this...

Augusta Longbottom was going on a rescue mission!

*~*~*~*

For many hours Augusta followed the large group, but the blasted creatures never stopped once. It was all go, go, go as far as the orcs were concerned and she was beginning to think their leader had started a rumour about Saruman handing out fresh man-flesh for tea, so eager were they to return home.

Still, at least they hadn't broken out into a run - her aching hips couldn't take it. What she wouldn't give for a nice, comfortable Cleansweep...

To make matters worse, the elderly witch hadn't caught sight of Grodek once. He'd been bundled into the centre of the formation and surrounded by the largest orcs possible. Not that the simpering creature was relishing the loving protection of his brothers-in-arms - she could hear his familiar yells of fury as he protested his treatment. Perhaps they objected to the eau de Puffapod?

Gracious, who knew that a fragrant orc was such a novelty?

It was dark by the time the small army arrived at the south entrance of the great black wall. Thankful the journey was almost over, she slipped in behind them and followed the leader as he and three others broke off from the main group, dragging a glowering Grodek with them. They passed through a tunnel and Augusta spotted two orcs leaving a store room filled with provisions. The sight of piles of fruit and vegetables lining surprisingly neat shelves, and several joints of cooked meats swinging from hooks on the ceiling, made her stomach rumble. Fortunately, her captive and his friends had stopped at the next staircase leading off from the very same room and were having a heated conversation with another inhabitant. This gave her the chance to slip inside the store room and snatch a few apples and a small loaf which she shoved in her coat pockets. She gazed longingly at the cooked ham dangling before her nose, but just as she'd decided to hack a piece off, the stomping of boots heralded the departure of her unwilling guide and she had to abandon it before she lost him.

Augusta followed once more in their (stinking) wake as they traipsed out of the tunnel and into a wide open space. Starlight lit the area and she saw the great thrust of spurting rock in the centre that had made an appearance on the horizon over an hour ago.

That must be the Tower of Orthanc.

And (naturally) the bothersome creatures were taking her captive straight to it.

Why, oh why, couldn't they have made this easy? If Grodek was their prisoner, it would have made sense to throw him in the dungeons (where she could easily rescue him). But, oh no, they had to take him all the way up to their master's chambers (probably at the top of the stupid building) and force an old woman to climb hundreds of stairs in an effort to limit the damage he may cause during his debriefing.

What a terrible nuisance!

Shaking her head in disapproval, she silently marched up the stone steps after them, checking to make sure her Disillusionment charm was going to hold out under the no doubt watchful gaze of an allegedly powerful wizard. Satisfied that it would, Augusta trailed after the malodorous group of orcs.

They entered the dark, gloomy tower and ascended (yet more) steps, which turned in a rather graceful spiral up the interior of the building. But instead of continuing up to the top of the structure, the five orcs stepped off it at the first landing and rapped on a large pair of carved ebony doors. A few seconds later, they swung open into a large, well-lit chamber. She slipped inside after the orcs and surveyed the room carefully.

It was surprisingly (thankfully) clean and bright. Tall pillars ran down each side of it (black, of course), but there was little in the way of furnishings. Indeed, the only sign of home comfort she spotted was the rather grand throne on the raised dais at the top of the room and a little table with a flask of red liquid off to its side. There were more doors to the right of the room which stood slightly ajar and the elderly witch caught a glimpse of a railed balcony; probably the one she'd spotted above the steps leading into the building.

But where was this Saruman she'd heard so much of?

The large orc leader dragged Grodek into the middle of the chamber and pulled him to a rough halt, his three friends standing respectfully behind them.

Only when all the orcs were safely positioned did the master of the house finally deign to appear. Augusta was just slipping behind one of the tall pillars in the middle of the chamber (it felt safer than hanging about in the open) when faint footfalls echoed through the room. She peeped out and saw a tall figure in grubby white robes with a very ornate walking stick approach the orcs. His white hair was disgracefully long, peppered with strands of black and his beard fell to his waist. He was a haughty looking individual, with cold, hard eyes and an enormous beak of a nose. Augusta disliked him immediately.

One should never trust a man who didn't employ the services of a good barber - or a decent tailor.

Saruman came to a sweeping halt in front of his servants and banged his walking stick on the ground, so that the sound rang through the chamber like a war hammer.

Good grief. Obviously the silly man had a fondness for dramatic entrances.

"Why have you returned so soon, Borgalak, when I despatched your troops to gather intelligence on our enemies?" demanded the wizard in a deep voice.

"Master, we was on our way ta do yore bidding when we saw this 'ere deserter tryin' ta slip up the North-South Road. We was gonna kill 'im, but 'e was 'arping on about some ol' woman slayin' a scoutin' party an' takin' 'im prisoner."

Augusta shook her head, thoroughly annoyed with her former captive. Hadn't she threatened him with certain death if he breathed one word of her existence? She would deal with him later!

"Old woman? Slaying a party of scouts?" The wizard studied Grodek's quivering form carefully. "What fiction is this?"

Grodek, relieved at the chance to finally speak with someone who might understand the magicks he had witnessed, opened his foul mouth and began to croak.

"She were really old..."

Nonsense! She wasn't that old.

"...an' really ugly..."

An orc - calling her ugly. How very amusing.

"...an' wore an 'ideous 'at wiv a dead bird on top..."

Augusta fingered her hat fondly. On her eleventh birthday, her rather eccentric parents bought their daughter her very first post-owl. Except it was a post-vulture. She used to make it dive-bomb the horrible boys next door who always picked on her, and she chose her beloved pet's name carefully for that very reason - Spot. The next time little Eric Postlethwaite clambered over the garden fence to pull her pigtails, she would raise an imperious hand in the air and cry 'Spot the vulture!' The ghastly boy hadn't bothered her since...

"...an' she 'ad a magic stick..."

Saruman's eyes widened slightly. "A magic stick? Are you implying she carried a staff of power? Explain yourself!"

Grodek jumped at the harsh tone. "It weren't no fine staff like yores, master. It were on'y a little stick o' wood..."

"And you claim that this 'little stick of wood' harboured magical powers?"

"Yes sir, yore Lordship, sir!"

The wizard looked doubtful. "What wonders did you witness from this 'old woman' and her 'little stick of wood'?"

Botheration! She didn't have time to try and stop her flowery friend from giving her away now. Still, this could be interesting. As egotistical as it was, it would be nice to hear how impressed he was with her powerful magic.

"Well, she washed me wiv it."

Washed him? What about the flying orcs? The stonings? The hot tar? She'd done a good deal more than simply wash the stupid creature! She glared at Grodek, willing him to describe the wonder of the massacre in the Wizard's Vale.

"Washed you?" said Saruman scathingly, echoing her initial reaction. "An old woman with a stick washed you? A traumatic experience, no doubt."

Borgalak and his stinking cronies laughed derisively at the unfortunate Grodek, who's shiny (hive-free) skin gleamed like a new penny.

"But she were 'orrible, master. An' really powerful! She killed an entire scoutin' party wivout battin' 'er eyes! She could be on 'er way 'ere as we speak, ready to murder us all in our beds!"

Ah, that was more like it! Go on, you miserable wretch, impress him!

The grubby wizard turned on his heel and walked slowly towards his throne. With his back to Grodek he spoke again.

"If you expect me to believe that an old woman with a stick presents any threat to the might of Saruman, you are sadly mistaken," he said in a dangerously silky voice. "I am more inclined to believe that your commander has the right of it and that you were attempting to flee your duties. Are you aware of how I dispose of cowards?"

Augusta took a wild guess: the warg-pits?

"No, master. Don't chuck me inta the pits! I 'aven't told you the worst of it - she made the other Orcs fly!"

Finally!

Saruman stopped in his tracks and turned to face Grodek's panicked form once more. He looked slightly concerned. "What did you say?"

The orc's face was a picture of desperation. "She pointed 'er magic stick at 'em and made 'em fly across the valley! 'An she bewitched the very stones on the ground to rise up an' hit 'em! She cast ropes from 'er stick and bound me up like a stinkin' prisoner an' made me float in the air like a bleedin' feather!"

"Impossible!" cried Saruman, outraged at what he was hearing. "No woman in Middle Earth possesses such power - the Valar would scarce allow it! Women are weak, useless and incapable of harnessing the might of a staff."

Why that egotistical, self-righteous, unchivalrous swine! Augusta gripped her wand tightly, overcome with a powerful urge to make the shabby man eat his words.

"Tha's what I said, master..."

Liar.

"...but the ol' bat laughed at me an' said she were a Witch."

If that disgusting cretin called her an 'old bat' one more time, she'd make him spit glass for a week!

The wizard laughed derisively. "A Witch? There is no such thing as a Witch. I know all Istari by sight and none of them bear the form of a mere woman."

To the surprise of everyone, the room began to vibrate slightly and the windows rattled in their frames. Grodek, in a mad panic, began to yell.

"She's 'ere! She's 'ere! Didn't I tell yer she could make 'erself invisible?" he cried, rounding on Borgalak in accusation.

Botheration...

Saruman was searching the room wildly with his hooded eyes, clearly shaken at the tremors underfoot and Augusta took a deep breath to control her emotions. What the deuce was she thinking, allowing herself to get so riled up by a chauvinist pig? Surely she was well past the age of accidental magic?

The room settled into stillness once more, but the same could not be said for its master. Saruman lifted his walking stick...staff...into the air and he seemed to grow before her very eyes as he cried "Reveal yourself!"

Not

likely.

Perhaps this was a good time to wait outside for her fragrant friend and grab him on the way to the warg-pits? She didn't know what this wizard was capable of, but his magic had an unfamiliar quality to it and she wasn't keen to find out.

Slipping quietly from the pillar, Augusta made her way to the outside stairwell. But just as she was about to pass through the large chamber doors, they swung shut with a resounding clang. She whirled on the spot to see Saruman slowly walking in her direction.

"I know you are there," he said softly. "I can feel your presence now. You revealed it most unwisely when you made my chambers quiver - much like the fool standing behind me quivers in fear."

Grodek looked slightly offended.

"Why do you hide yourself, my Lady? I am your friend. Come, reveal your form and let us discuss your purpose here. Perhaps I may be of assistance? I am most keen to meet the woman who has the power to shake the bowels of Orthanc itself."

Oh really? Not a minute ago the sly fox had declared her weak. Well, she would show him...

Once she knew how to get out.

"Do not be alarmed, my Lady. I mean you no harm," he whispered seductively.

Very seductively.

He had quite a pretty voice actually...

Augusta's head was becoming a little foggy. She was torn between the need to flee and find her bothersome grandson, and the desire to stay and listen to Saruman's suddenly alluring voice. She stood before the closed doors as he approached and found herself becoming more and more captivated by his animal magnetism.

"Allow me to prove my good intentions, shy one."

He turned and barked at his followers to leave by the western exit and then faced her direction with a charming smile on his face. Such beautiful teeth. Really, they more than made up for the disaster that was his nose...

"Do you see? I present no threat to you, my Lady. I wish only to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

Well, since he put it like that...

Before she knew quite what she was about, Augusta lifted the Disillusionment charm and proudly stood not three metres before the astonished wizard, primly patting her bun.

"Good day to you, my good fellow."

"My Lady." Saruman bowed politely. "What an honour it is to meet you."

She blushed as his gaze raked over her body and landed on her beloved Spot.

"May I know your name?"

Don't tell him. Don't tell him...

"Augusta Longbottom."

Why the blazes had she done that? She was here to find Neville, not be seduced by a (really very attractive, actually) complete stranger with a naughty twinkle in his eye.

A naughty twinkle...

Hormones she had forgotten existed suddenly roared to life after a thirty year drought.

Neville was a big boy. He could take care of himself...

"Well, Lady Augusta, allow me to offer you some light refreshments. You have had a long journey from Valinor and are no doubt thirsty."

No doubt. She was rather thirsty - and he looked very much like a long, cold glass of lemonade to her. She'd like to run her hands over his cool exterior and take a sip of his lemony goodness...

She wouldn't mind getting her hands on his magnificent staff either.

Just as that thought flashed through her mind, Saruman suddenly pointed his (very long) staff at her, and her tiny little wand went flying from her grasp.

What the deuce?

"So," the wizard said in a very unpleasant voice. "You are the one who made the very air vibrate not two days since."

His new, harsher tone penetrated the delicious sensation of unbridled lust clouding her thoughts, bringing her back to reality with a bang.

The sneaky devil had tricked her! And now she was visible and wandless! Augusta felt suddenly naked before him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she barked, furious that she had been so easily hoodwinked.

"Come now, madam. I felt your arrival before I ever laid eyes upon you! Have the Valar sent you to spy?"

"Spy? I am no spy, you ridiculous man!"

"Indeed? Then why were you skulking unseen in my chambers?"

Skulking unseen in his chambers? The nerve! He made it sound like she had been watching him undress (a thought which might have tickled her fancy a few seconds earlier).

"I was not spying! Your smelly friends deprived me of my guide and I merely sought to recover him."

She made a grab for her wand while he considered that, but he had bargained with such an attempt and thrust his staff at her. Soon, Augusta was flying high through the air without the aid of a broom and left to dangle ten feet up against one of the many pillars at his pleasure.

She was not amused! What if he looked up her skirt (thanks to her unexpected trip Down Under, she hadn't changed her knickers in two days)?

"Do you think me so witless as to allow you access to your staff?" spat the wizard.

A very angry witch glared down at him from her heightened position. "I think you witless for trifling with me, you unbelievable cad! And if you don't release me this instant, I'll hex you to within an inch of your existence!"

Saruman laughed. "And how do you propose to do that when I have your weapon...my Lady."

His voice was dripping with scorn and she flailed about furiously, longing to shove his own staff up his...

"Why have you come here?"

Good heavens! The stupid man didn't actually believe she'd tell him?

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she snapped.

He wasn't looking so terribly smug now, was he?

Indeed he wasn't. The grubby wizard was frowning in irritation.

"Tell me your purpose here, woman!"

"Certainly not!"

She went flying across the room and crashed into another of the pillars, banging her arm quite badly as she shielded her face from harm.

"You will tell me what you are doing here! Have the Valar sent you to replace Gandalf? Is it their intention to defrock Saruman the White of his office?"

Defrock him? How dare the vain creature flatter himself in such a manner! Contrary to his belief, she had most certainly not travelled all the way from Yorkshire just to undress him. She rubbed her aching arm and scowled at him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, you strutting peacock. I don't know any Gandalf or Valar or anyone else that would want to send me here just to whip your overflowing skirt off."

"And I am supposed to believe that a...Witch...of some power, small though it may be, is wandering near to the Gap of Rohan attacking my army and kidnapping my soldiers - but has not been sent by the Valar to work against me?"

He shook his head in mock sadness. "Come now, Augusta Longbottom, you sport with my intellect."

Augusta Longbottom would like to do a lot more than sport with his intellect. She'd very much like to rip his head off and use it as a Bludger. How dare he mock her!

When she refused to answer his question, Saruman speculated for himself.

"I believe that, though the hour is late, you have indeed been sent by the Valar." he paced the chamber below her, fingering her holly and dragon heartstring wand carefully. "That they, having been delivered a serious blow by Gandalf's death at my devising, seek to prevent my ascension as a ruler of Arda by sending a lesser Maia to aid the witless Men of these lands. They summoned you, clothed your spirit in the form of a female - the perfect disguise - and sent you forth to aid the Free Peoples of the West. Am I correct?"

He stopped twenty feet away and gazed up at her imperiously, very satisfied with himself.

"You are an idiot!" Augusta barked, tired of listening to his self-absorbed ranting.

Saruman growled in annoyance, then changed tactics at her continued aggression.

"Your staff is most intriguing," he said, trying to win her over once more with his seductive tone.

She couldn't blame him for trying - after all, it worked so beautifully the last time. Stupid woman! Hadn't her mother warned her against dewy-eyed strangers with foreign accents? But she was not to be fooled a second time. There was more danger of her falling from this blasted pillar than there ever would be of her falling for his cheap seduction again.

The wizard, unaware of her resolve to hate him forever, continued in his silky voice. "I have never seen the likes of it before. Tell me how your staff works?"

He stopped before her and smiled benevolently, hoping to coerce her into good behaviour once more.

Perhaps she should play a trick of her own?

Plastering a glazed look on her face (being a woman of superior intellect, this was a difficult task, but she achieved it by imagining what Nagini looked like post-Neville) she gave a vapid grin and was happy to see the idiot man's smug nod of approval.

"Well, you have to make it your own, first of all," she said in a breathy voice.

Actually, being well over sixty, it came out as more of a rasp, but Saruman was too pleased by the result to care.

"And how do I do that?" he asked eagerly.

She batted her eyelids flirtatiously. "You have to make it one with yourself before you can command its power."

He moved closer, captivated. "Tell me how!"

"Oh, I don't know if I should..."

"You will tell me now!" he demanded angrily, then amended his tone to a softer, more persuasive purr: "Tell me, my Lady, and you will rule by my side in glory and splendour. A Queen amongst women."

Rule at his side indeed! She'd much rather poke him in his side...with one of those handy orc spears. Still, it wouldn't do to drop the act.

"A Queen?"

"Indeed, my Lady."

The arrogance of the man was insufferable!

"In that case, you must put the tip of the wand in your mouth..."

Saruman eyed her suspiciously.

"It's the only way. Your voice will be the one that commands it. It will trust you - it asks for your trust in return."

The wizard looked at the wand sceptically, then appeared to give a mental shrug. Augusta had to stifle her laughter as the fool popped it, tip-first, into his mouth.

"Now, close your eyes and just say the words 'Avada Kedavra', and you're all set."

Of course, she knew it wouldn't work, because - despite the fact he was a wizard and had captured her wand - his magic was different. But what Saruman didn't know, was that she, like many elderly witches and wizards with decades of experience behind them, had mastered the very basics of wandless magic. She'd never be able to shoot a Killing curse from her forefinger (thank goodness) or battle a horde of Death Eaters with a mere pinky, but she hadn't lived this long without having a trick or two up her sleeve. The only thing was, trying to make it look like it came from her wand...

"Avaga Kegawvra," the gullible fool mumbled around the wooden stick.

Augusta concentrated very hard and, with a subtle jerk of her finger, sent a perfectly aimed, though miserably weak, Stinging hex down through the air, up through her wand and straight into the gaping void of Saruman's mouth.

It may not have been her strongest hex, but Augusta Longbottom beamed with delight as the not-so-white-wizard screamed in pain after the curse hit the delicate membranes at the back of his mouth. Her wand went flying across the room as he jumped back in shock, clutching at his aching throat.

His cry alerted the orcs in the next room and Borgalak rushed back in through the west doors brandishing his spear.

"Master! What 'appened? Is you alright, master?"

Saruman could only gag in reply. He rushed to the only table in the room and tipped a flask of dark red liquid down his throat. It must have done something to ease the burning, because soon after, he twirled around and came thundering back across the chamber, face scarlet with anger.

"You will pay for that, Witch!"

"Is that so? You know, you're not really angry at me, you silly man: you're angry at yourself for being such an idiot. What you're experiencing at this moment is called 'complete and utter humiliation at being bested by a mere woman'. Enjoy it."

The wizard was livid with rage. He released her from her floating bonds and Augusta fell the few short feet to the floor, spraining her ankle as she landed. "Take her to the dungeons at the base of the Tower! Immediately! GET HER OUT OF MY SIGHT!!"

Borgalak, terrified at his master's anger, couldn't move fast enough. With one massive hand, he grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and threw her over his shoulder, then rushed towards the door.

If the smell of Grodek had been nauseating, the stink rolling off the larger creature's backside was infinitely worse. But despite her smarting arm, throbbing ankle, and inelegant departure, the formidable woman still had enough fire left in her for a parting shot.

"You are the worst excuse for a host I've ever come across! This is no way to treat tourists! And just so you know: I'll be back for my wand later!!"

His scream of rage followed her out the chamber, before he slammed the doors shut in her face.

How rude!

*~*~*~*

If Augusta didn't think much of her welcome into Orthanc, then she thought even less of the dungeons. Far down in the bowels of the tower, the long row of cells stood side by side, lit only by torchlight flickering on the opposite wall. They were small, cramped and dirty. Her own cell was little larger than a cupboard and was situated at the far end of the corridor. Borgalak threw her into it and slammed the iron gate behind her, sneering all the while.

"Yore in trouble now, Witchy," he growled harshly. "No one gets the better o' my master an' lives long enough ter tell about it!"

She picked herself off the filthy floor and straightened herself up as best as she could. "Well, we'll see about that, won't we? Your master is an incompetent fool and when I get out of here, I intend to make an example of him."

Borgalak laughed. "How's you goin' ter get out of 'ere then? Yer ain't got yore staff and yer ain't got no strength. Ain't no chance o' yer rippin' these 'ere iron bars off the gates, is there?"

"I'll rip your disrespectful tongue out of your mouth and wrap it round your neck if you don't leave this instant, you witless buffoon."

The orc gave a shout of laughter and bowed impertinently. "As yer wish - me Lady!"

Was the horrible creature poking fun at her one moment of weakness? Why, when she got her wand back, she'd fry his toes off with it!

She watched him trudge down to the far end of the corridor until his massive frame was swallowed by the darkness. Once he had fully disappeared, she investigated her surroundings more thoroughly. The cell was only large enough for a wooden slab that was secured against the back wall. Mouldy hay littered the floor (along with heaven knew what else) and there was a bucket in the corner.

Well, they had better not imagine she was going to do her business in that mucky thing.

A strange odour permeated the air of the dungeon and it took several minutes for the elderly witch to identify what it was.

Fear.

No doubt several poor souls had breathed their last in this place; tortured, mutilated and killed for information to feed Saruman's burning need for power.

Well, she wouldn't be joining them, or her name wasn't Augusta Longbottom!

Harrumphing at the disgraceful accommodation, she hobbled over to what passed for the bed and wiped it down with a hankie before sitting. She'd need to indulge in some more of that wandless magic if she had any hope of getting out of here, by the look of it. But, heavens! It always took so much out of her and she was already exhausted from the very strenuous day...

Deciding to take some rest before making another attempt, Augusta took off her coat and laid it over the wooden slab. It was not quite the magnificent creation of a bed she'd been able to conjure up the day before, but it would do for the present.

With the bedding taken care of, she hooked her good foot around her aching ankle and lifted it smartly off the ground, swinging both legs onto her 'bed'. She used the hankie to bind her injured foot then lay down, using her hat in place of a pillow. After a few minutes, the exhausted witch's eyes began to flutter closed.

No use in worrying about her situation just now. Saruman would be unlikely to bother her for the rest of the night. It should be perfectly safe to take forty winks and plan her next move.

After all, tomorrow was another day...

*~*~*~*

Augusta woke up several hours later feeling much more refreshed and alert. Her gaze swept the cell-filled corridor, but there was no sign of any lumbering orcs coming to drag her before the idiot upstairs so she could show him up again.

Probably terrified of her.

And so he jolly well should be! Imagine treating a harmless little old lady like a criminal and throwing her in the dungeons with little light and no water? Not to mention the lack of proper facilities.

Absolutely disgraceful!

At least she had her bread and apples. Fishing a plump red and yellow one out of her pocket, she sank her teeth into it, savouring the sweet trickle of juice that filled her mouth. It wasn't a bracing bowl of slightly salted porridge by any means, but it was fresh, crisp and delicious, and it filled her with the energy she required to plan her escape.

Throwing the core in the bucket-cum-not-on-your-life-will-I pee-in-that-sorry-excuse-for-a-loo, she inspected the damage to her ankle. Not so bad, actually. She'd managed to stave off the worst of the swelling by keeping it elevated throughout the night. Her arm was badly bruised from hitting the pillar the evening before, and she touched it gingerly. Thankfully, nothing worse than bruising. Her coat had offered enough padding to prevent the bones snapping.

So, now that that was settled, how to get out?

Augusta sincerely doubted that Borgalak would kindly open the door if she asked him to whenever he next put in an appearance. Standing up, she cautiously hobbled to the iron grate that kept her from freedom and put her finger to the lock. Concentrating, she attempted to open it with a wandless Alohomora, without success.

Dash it all! Why in the name of Merlin had she thought she'd never need the skill again? It never hurt to practice it every once in a while. But she hadn't utilised the art in ages and had been very surprised at her stroke of luck the night before when she'd managed to singe her disgraceful host's vocal cords.

Botheration! She didn't have time for this; there was an errant grandson to find!

Perhaps she should try a spell that was a little less demanding?

Hobbling back to the slab, she sat down and put her thinking cap on.

It seemed the only way to get out of this horrible place was to wait for someone to drag her back out to Saruman. But who knew how long that would be? Maybe there was some way to bring her gaoler to her?

She smiled.

Oh, yes. That ought to do the trick!

Flexing her digits, she put her bony index finger to her throat and concentrated with all the iron will of a desperate grandmother.

"Sonorus."

Now to see if it had worked...

"TESTING, TESTING, ONE, TWO, THREE!"

Her voice boomed down the corridor, out into the stairwell and up into the heady heights of the Tower of Orthanc.

Oh, splendid!

"HELLO? HELLO? I SAY, IS ANYONE THERE?"

No reply.

Never mind. It was an awfully big place and it might take someone a while to get here.

Very satisfied that her rusty skills weren't letting her down, she sat further back on the slab and proceeded to chat to anyone within hearing distance (which was, well, everyone, actually).

" I MUST SAY, I DON'T THINK VERY MUCH OF THE ACCOMODATIONS DOWN HERE! DO YOU REALISE THERE ARE SEVERAL HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS BIOLOGICAL STAINS ON THE WALLS? AND NOT A LOO IN SIGHT! I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER - AT ONCE!"

She could hear a frantic yelling in the distance. Feet were pounding their way towards the dungeons, which made the elderly witch very happy indeed.

"YES, THAT'S IT...HURRY UP YOU CUMBERSOME OAF! I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY TO SIT AROUND HERE AND WAIT, YOU KNOW."

The pounding feet grew closer and she heard the sound of growling as a massive figure passed through the archway at the edge of the corridor.

Borgalak.

And he wasn't happy...

"What's yer fink yer doin'!" he yelled in fury. "Are yer tryin' ter wake the bleedin' dead?"

Augusta cocked a thin eyebrow and waved her hand airily down the corridor, indicating the row of empty cells. "GIVEN THE STATE OF THIS PLACE, I IMAGINE THERE'S QUITE A LOT OF THE DEAD TO WAKE!"

Borgalak's enormous hands flew to his ears as she spoke. "Aagh! Stop it! Yer too bleedin' loud!" he wailed.

"HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO BE HEARD ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE? YOU CAN'T JUST SHUT A PERSON IN YOUR DUNGEON THEN WONDER WHEN THEY CALL FOR HELP. ARE YOU COMPLETELY STUPID?"

The orc was staggering at the volume of her words, tears of pain leaking from his eyes. "Stop it! 'Ow's yer doin' that? Yer don't 'ave yore staff!"

"I AM A GREAT WITCH, YOU SILLY FOOL. NOW, YOU RUN ALONG AND TELL THAT USELESS IDIOT YOU BEND AND SCRAPE TO THAT I DEMAND IMPROVED ACCOMODATIONS! WHAT'S MORE, IF HE DOESN'T SUPPLY THEM IN THE NEXT HALF HOUR..."

She took a deep breath and prepared to shout...

"...I'LL MAKE EVERY LAST PERSON IN THIS SAD EXCUSE FOR A BUILDING AS DEAF AS A POST BY THE END OF THE DAY!!"

Borgalak screeched in agony and ran pell-mell down the gloomy corridor, up the stairwell and out of sight.

There. That was a job well done.

Very pleased with herself, Augusta relaxed casually on her makeshift bed and waited for Saruman to send someone down with the order to free her.

And waited.

And waited.

One hour later, she was still waiting. What the devil was the man up to? Had she not threatened to destroy the eardrums of every available creature within a two hundred yard radius?

Entirely fed up with her shabby treatment, the furious witch decided it was time to open her mouth again.

"I KNOW YOU'RE UP THERE, YOU WRETCH OF A WIZARD! AND I KNOW VERY WELL THAT YOU CAN HEAR ME! IF YOU DON'T HAVE ME REMOVED FROM THIS AWFUL PLACE TOUTE SUITE, I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET IT!"

Five minutes later, another orc came barrelling down the corridor. But it wasn't Borgalak...

It was her old friend Grodek.

"WHAT, HAVEN'T THEY KILLED YOU YET, YOU MISERABLE COWARD? I CAN HEAR THOSE WARGS YOU'RE SO FOND OF ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE. THEY SEEM TO BE RATHER DESPERATE TO TAKE A CHUNK OUT OF YOU, IF THOSE HOWLS ARE ANYTHING TO GO BY."

And it was true. The vicious creatures had been howling non-stop since she'd cast her handy Sonorus. Must be the sensitive hearing most animals boasted...

"Ye've ta stop that racket, yer old bat! Master won't stand fer it much longer! Borgalak refuses ta come down 'ere anymore; yore driving all the Uruk-hai mad; not ta mention the bleedin' wargs."

Excellent news!

He clamped his hands over his ears as she opened her mouth again.

"IF YOUR SORRY EXCUSE FOR A MASTER WANTS ME TO BE QUIET, HE NEED ONLY RELEASE ME AND HAND ME BACK MY WAND. I'LL BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO LEAVE THIS BLIGHT ON THE LANDSCAPE BEHIND ME AND BE ON MY MERRY WAY."

"Stop it! Bleedin' eck, 'as yer lost yer stupid 'ead? Ol' Saruman's never gonna let a Witch go prancin' around Middle Earth! 'Specially not one as ravin' mad as yoreself! He'll throw yer ta the wargs first!"

Did he just call her stupid? And raving mad?

Well, that just wasn't cricket, as the Muggles would say (forty years ago)...

"I WILL NOT BE QUIET, MY GOOD FELLOW!" she snapped, furious at the slight on her sanity. "AND WHAT'S MORE, I WILL CONTINUE TO NOT BE QUIET FOR AS LONG AS THAT WASTE OF OXYGEN YOU CALL A WIZARD KEEPS ME COOPED UP DOWN HERE! NOW TURN ABOUT AND FIND THE KEYS FOR THIS HORRIBLE PLACE BEFORE I LET EVERYONE KNOW JUST HOW MUCH YOU BEGGED FOR A DECENT WASH!"

It was a complete lie, of course, and they both knew it. But Grodek was nonetheless very reluctant to let his peers think he'd been walking about the Wizard's Vale, begging every old woman he met for a bar of soap and a sponge.

He fled.

And she only had to wait fifteen minutes to see him returning with a very reluctant Borgalak and a nice set of keys.

Smiling, she stood up, brushed down her coat, positioned her hat and hobbled to the cell door. The big orc had a rag in his hand, probably meant to be stuffed in her mouth.

"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT TRYING TO PUT THAT DISGUSTING ARTICLE IN MY MOUTH, MY GOOD FELLOW, OR I'LL SCREAM LIKE A NEWBORN CHILD!"

Borgalak was doing some screaming of his own as she spoke and he abandoned his attempts to silence her with the rag.

He ripped it in two and stuffed it in his own ears instead.

Ah, a wise move. Now, where was that idiot wizard?

She was pulled out the cell and frog-marched down the corridor. The stairs gave her ankle some bother, but she bit her lip and took it like a Longbottom. It wouldn't do to let these ghastly creatures think she was weak, after all!

Up, up, up the stairs they went until finally, they reached the landing with the ebony doors leading to Saruman's chamber. She made a move towards it, but was pulled roughly back and forced to climb the next flight.

"Oh no, Witchy. Yore goin' all the way ta the top," said Borgalak smugly, pointing at the roof.

Her eyes followed his finger and the disbelieving matriarch saw flight after flight of spiralling stairs stretching several hundred feet ahead.

There was no question about it: she'd never make it that far.

"I MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT DRAG MYSELF UP THAT RIDICULOUS STAIRCASE, YOU IDIOT! NOT UNLESS YOU HAVE ACCESS TO AN ELEVATOR OF SOME DESCRIPTION."

But Borgalak only smirked, looking utterly ridiculous with his beady eyes, sharp yellow teeth and bits of cloth sticking out of his ears. He grabbed her arm and shoved her up the next flight of stairs.

And the next.

And the next.

In the end, she just couldn't climb any more. Her breath came in short gasps, sweat poured down her face and her knees finally gave out, forcing a grinning Borgalak to throw her over his shoulders again and carry her the rest of the way.

At least she was too tired to worry about the stench from his backside this time...

It was a full half an hour later before they reached the end of the staircase. Her guard pulled them through a narrow opening onto a round, flat precipice before dumping her on the ground.

"Yore new accommodation, me Lady," he smirked before disappearing back through the gap and sealing it.

And Augusta, far too exhausted to explore, fainted.

*~*~*~*

Several days passed while the Longbottom matriarch wallowed on the flat ledge at the pinnacle of the tower. The infuriated grandmother had spent hours looking for an exit off her very effective prison, with no success. She couldn't recall how she'd made it passed the tenth flight (having been too occupied with the important business of simply breathing) so had no idea where to find a door. To make matters worse, when she'd woken up from her faint that first day, it had been raining - and had continued to do so for many hours. The chilly water had made her shiver violently, for there was no roof on the blasted platform and she was completely at the mercy of the elements.

Worse still, she had lost her voice...

Saruman would pay for this outrage!

At least the last two days had been dry. Her coat had (finally) dried up and afforded some protection against the biting wind which now tugged at her hair violently. Strands of it were sticking out everywhere and she knew she must look an absolute fright.

Thank goodness Lottie couldn't see her now. The beautician would die of heart failure!

Come to think of it, if she had a mirror, she might die of heart failure herself.

She thought of her grandson often as the hours passed slowly by (there was little else to do). She wondered if he was having as much fun as she was, stranded several hundred feet above a landscape scarred with deep furrows that belched smoke and ash every minute of the day. The wind kept blowing the clouds of smoke in her direction (of course) and she had never felt so filthy in all her life.

When she got her hands on that boy...

He, of course, was probably out having a whale of a time with his nice Australian friends; hunting down Death Eaters by day and drinking himself senseless at night. Teenagers! In her day, spending every last hour in a drunk-infested pub was frowned upon.

And getting blitzed had a completely different meaning, what with that Muggle maniac chucking bombs on the Brits every five minutes.

When she found her wayward ward, she would be marching him back to the nearest Ministry offices and having him transported straight into Azkaban for his foolish behaviour.

Much to Augusta's annoyance, Saruman began to pay daily visits to the roof ledge (without her wand), usually demanding that she give him the secrets of her 'staff'.

"I don't think so, you insufferable bully," was her standard reply. Sometimes she varied it with "Certainly not," or "Kindly expire!".

Yesterday, she had been so fed up with his persistent haranguing and arrogant smirk that she'd actually told him to "Sod off and die."

Normally, she wouldn't dream of abusing the Queen's English in such a manner (even to a twit like Saruman), but the confines of her environment and the lack of activity had forced her to speak rashly. Anyway, it was one of her grandson's favourites and he would smile to think of her using it.

Augusta frowned. Why on earth was she thinking so charitably of the boy when his careless actions had gotten her into this mess in the first place?

No matter. She was awaiting the lizard wizard's daily visit to crow at her misfortune any minute now and didn't have time to dwell on the (dwindling) affection she felt for her charge. In fact, the man was late, which was a nuisance, because she desperately had to answer nature's call and couldn't hold it in much longer (she'd been reduced to transfiguring her beloved Spot into a receptacle of sorts and flinging her waste over the side of the tower - the effort of such a powerful burst of wandless magic had almost singed her finger off).

What the deuce was he doing?

She took a cautious peek over the eastern edge of the ledge to the balcony below. Hundreds of orcs and uruk-hai had been marching around the Ring of Isengard all day. But now that she looked closer, she could see a small company of men, perhaps a hundred-strong standing before the balcony and gazing up at it. What was that all about?

A tall figure in white stepped out onto the balcony and moved to the railing.

Saruman.

Huffing in annoyance, the elderly witch glared at the top of his head.

What did he mean by not showing up to interrogate her when he was supposed to? If he wanted to be a great leader, he would need to work on his timekeeping!

Enough was enough! Extremely irritated that he'd deprived her of the only entertainment of her day (annoying him) she did the only thing that came to mind...

Five minutes later, just as the not-so-white wizard was getting into the full swing of his egomaniacal oration for the adoring crowds, a very angry 'guest' hung over the eastern ledge of the Tower of Orthanc with a very full bowl of steaming liquid. Tipping it over, Augusta watched with enormous satisfaction as the former contents of her bladder fell several hundred feet to the balcony below, drenching the wizard from head to toe.

His yell of outrage was almost as loud as her Sonorus-enhanced voice had been a few days before and she gave him a cheery wave as he brandished his staff in her direction.

That would teach the beggar to ignore her!

Feeling rather pleased with herself (and refusing to dwell on her uncharacteristically immaturity), Augusta retreated back to the safety of the pinnacles, where she leaned against one and marvelled at the beauty of revenge...

*~*~*~*

Saruman did not come to visit her that day. Or the next. Augusta was beginning to get a little concerned. She had finished the last of her apples that morning, which contained the only fluid available (the bothersome wizard had stopped sending up water after his impromptu shower two days ago), and now she only had a small crust of her loaf left.

What was she going to do? Her wand was out of reach, her grandson was even further away (tearing a swathe of terror through enemy ranks, no doubt), and she had been stranded at the top of this stupid tower by a petulant wizard with a Voldemort-complex.

It was all too irritating for words!

The cold night air bit into her fingers and she shoved them in her coat pocket. Oh, for pity's sake! She'd only just fully recovered her voice, and now she was going to lose it again - if she didn't die of thirst before that. She may be able to cast a few handy wandless spells, but even Augusta Longbottom couldn't make water flow from her finger! She was becoming increasingly vexed...

A stronger blast of wind blew another cloud of filthy smoke from the furnaces below into her face and she coughed violently.

That was it! Enough!

Furious at the callous treatment by the hook-nosed horror from hell, she raised herself up and cast another Sonorus.

"CAN YOU HEAR ME, YOU IGNORANT SWINE?"

No answer.

Beyond caring if she got a response, the furious grandmother gave it hell for leather and spent the next ten minutes announcing to all and sundry exactly what she thought of her deplorable host.

"...NO WATER, NO LOO, NO WARM BED! I WILL REPORT YOU TO THE AUSTRALIAN MINISTRY OF MAGIC AND THE TOURIST INFORMATION BOARD WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, YOU MISERABLE SCOUNDREL!"

The wargs were howling again. Good! She hoped they foamed at the mouth and ate their stupid handlers!

"AS FOR YOUR DUBIOUS POWERS AS A WIZARD, YOU'RE A FRAUD AND A CHARLATAN! ANY MUGGLE MAGICIAN CAN MAKE A BODY LEVITATE WITHOUT TOO MUCH EFFORT - AND THEY USUALLY DO A BETTER JOB!"

What was that?

Augusta closed her mouth to strain her ears. She heard a faint screech in the distance. She walked around the ledge, head tilted downwards to determine whether or not it was the blasted orcs chugging their way up the staircase again to drag her somewhere else (or throw her off the tower), but the directionality was all wrong. The screech came again, from higher up...

Higher up? Than her? Impossible! Unless it was a bird of some sort...

She searched the skies as the balcony doors below banged open. Sure enough, from the north, came the figure of a huge bird, speeding towards the tower.

Speeding towards her...

Rather alarmed at the sight of the creature (growing ever more enormous the closer it came), she tried to find a place to hide.

Which was pointless, of course.

"GO AWAY!" she yelled in her Sonorus-enhanced voice.

She had neither the time nor the inclination to bird-watch.

But the creature grew closer and closer (and bigger and bigger), despite her yells. A bright flash of light from down below sped towards it and it swerved to avoid being hit.

Which, she suddenly realised, was very encouraging...

Only Saruman could have made that flash, and if he was aiming for the bird, it must be his enemy.

Therefore, her friend...

"OVER HERE!" she cried, waving her hands wildly in the air to attract it's attention. "I SAY, OVER HERE!!"

The bird swooped over the tower and circled it, gazing down at her with unmistakable intelligence.

"WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? IF YOU WANT TO RESCUE ME FROM THAT IDIOT SARUMAN, NOW'S THE TIME TO DO IT!"

The bird seemed to agree. Bright, white flashes were careening all over the sky now and it flew down to the temporary haven of the ledge, where, to Augusta's absolute astonishment, it began to talk.

"You are no Man."

Recovering herself from her little shock, she whispered "Quietus" (which still came out as a roar) and her voice resumed its natural volume.

"Of course I'm not a man! What an odd thing to say! Are you here to rescue me or to chat?"

The bird scrutinised her carefully and she felt almost uncomfortable under its keen gaze.

"I am Gwaihir, Windlord of the Eagles. I was sent by the Valar to seek a Wizard, not a woman."

"Well, I don't mean to be rude, but it seems to me that the only wizard around here is none too pleased to see you! I hope you're not a friend of that idiot Saruman's, because if you are, you can jolly well take off again!"

"Friend of Saruman? Nay, Lady. The White Wizard is fallen from the Order. He will never be friend to the likes of I again. I received information that a Wizard from another world may be lost in Middle Earth and I seek him urgently."

Well, he could only mean her, surely? She may not be a wizard, but she was certainly lost in this strange world of magical Australia.

"I think you must be mistaken, my good fellow. It's not a wizard you're looking for. It's a witch - and here I am! Now, if you don't mind awfully, it is rather cold up here and those stupid orcs will no doubt be rushing up the stairwell as we speak. May we please leave?"

"A Witch?"

Oh really! Why did everyone keep saying it like they'd never heard of a witch before? It really was too irritating for words!

"Very well, Witch. You are no Man, but I accept your claim to such powers, for if you were not as you say, I would not have heard your magical cries from distant mountains. That you were able to moderate your voice without the use of a staff supports this. Climb upon my back and I shall bear you safely to the Elven haven of Imladris, as the Valar commanded."

"Oh wonderful! But before we leave, I wonder if I couldn't ask you a small favour?"

*~*~*~*

Not one minute later, Augusta found herself deposited on the balcony of Saruman's chamber as Gwaihir circled the tower impatiently.

"Make haste, my Lady! We cannot tarry here long."

"Don't fuss, young ma..."

Oh. She couldn't call him 'young man', could she?

"Just a moment. I'm not leaving without my wand!" she hissed.

The balcony doors were open, no doubt abandoned by Saruman in his mad dash for the pinnacle. Augusta slipped into the chamber, eyes searching for any sign of her hated host, but he was not there. She flitted from column to column, making for the table near the dais. It was the only place she knew of that he could have kept it. Upon reaching her goal, she rifled through the objects on the top but found no sign of her beloved holly wand.

Botheration! Where the deuce was it?

"Looking for this?" said a dangerously silky voice behind her.

She whirled around and spotted Saruman smirking at her from the doorway while he waved her wand carelessly around.

"You do not think I would be foolish enough to leave such a valuable object in the open for any fool to find?"

Augusta glowered at him.

"Such a precious thing does not belong in the hands of a mere woman. Your mind is not is not strong enough to harness its arts. It is mine now."

He walked slowly towards her - and she waited.

"Mine to use as I please. To achieve that which I have long desired."

What? A decent haircut? The elderly witch waited patiently as the arrogant fool walked ever nearer. Just a little closer...

"With my staff and your stick, I will have the power to find the Ring and overthrow the Dark Lord Sauron. Middle Earth will be mine!"

Find the ring? Was the posturing dandy shopping for jewellery? Idiot!

He came closer still, a mere twelve feet away now...

"For I am no longer Saruman the White! Nay! I am greater than them all! You see Saruman of Many Colours before you now, simple woman - and you will reveal to me the secrets of your staff or I will destroy you!"

Now!

"Accio wand!" cried Augusta, holding out her hand and snatching it deftly from the air after it was torn from Saruman's grasp.

The man was stunned. "Impossible! It is not possible to use magic without your staff."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I've been yelling at the top of my lungs on several occasions for the past few days without the aid of my wand, or hadn't you noticed? The question is, do you have the same talent? Accio staff!"

Unfortunately, the mad wizard had been expecting such a trick and grasped onto it with both hands, stilling its flight towards the equally mad granny at the dais.

No matter, he couldn't do two things at once...

Augusta, filled with the rush of being united with her wand - and still fuming at Saruman's outrageously chauvinistic comments - pointed it at his chest.

"Engorgio!"

The deluded fool was still too busy grasping his cumbersome wand to ward the spell off and it hit him square in the chest. Ten seconds later, he was the proud owner of a nice pair of double D's.

"Oh, would you look at that - you've grown a pair of bosoms that any respectable girl would be proud of! Tell me, is it interfering with your ability to harness the power of your staff, yet?" she asked acidly.

Saruman was puce with anger. His filthy robe was stretched across his bulging chest, fit to burst at the seems.

"Remove this curse immediately!" he roared.

"I don't think so. You look rather fetching, you know. Quite an improvement."

He aimed his staff at her and a burst of energy leapt from it, but she conjured a quick Shield and it rebounded backwards, sending him flying through the chamber.

Now the tables were turned and Augusta Longbottom was enjoying it immensely. She walked towards him and fired another spell while he lay stunned and bleeding on the floor. Perhaps it wasn't fair to kick a dog when it was down, but she could live with it just this once.

Her spell hit him and his skin turned a very unflattering shade of green.

Now for the hair...

Five seconds later, it was sunshine yellow (like her kitchen - a very fetching shade). Another spell, and his beard was as orange as a Weasley's head.

Splendid work! Now he really was Saruman of Many Colours!

Or rather, Sarumanna of Many Colours.

Just as he was beginning to rouse, she heard the stomping of feet on the stairwell. No doubt the imbecilic idiots that passed themselves off as guards. Her theory was confirmed when yells of anger floated into the chamber. She closed the doors with a swift Colloportus - but that wouldn't hold forever against a horde of very determined orcs and uruk-hai.

Botheration! It looked like the fun was over. Time to go...

But before she did, she walked over to the groggy wizard and pushed him back down with her foot.

"The next time we meet, my friend, I expect you to have a deal more respect for the fairer sex. If you don't, I won't hesitate to use the counter spell to this..."

She tapped his springy chest with the toe of her shoe.

"...on this."

She stomped on his family jewels with her sensibly heeled shoes and he gave a groan of absolute, exquisite pain, before passing out completely.

Thoroughly satisfied with her work, she left the unconscious wizard to his horde of screaming orcs and walked casually to the window. She fired a bolt of blue light into the air and smiled in approval as the very nice eagle came soaring down. Gwaihir landed on the balcony and she clambered aboard.

"Well, then. Job done. Time to go, my fine-feathered friend - and do try to mind the treetops. I've had a bad enough hair day as it is!"

"As you wish, my Lady."

With that, he rose gracefully into the air and through the clouds of filthy smoke until they reached the dizzy heights of clean, fresh, Saruman-free air.

Augusta Longbottom was off to see the (house) elves!

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