Nine Rings for Mortal Men

Chapter 2 - And Then There Were Nine

Dawn approached. A young Hufflepuff girl stood with arms crossed and shivering on the bounds of the Forbidden forest, waiting for her dorm-mates to appear. They had planned to make a name for themselves and one-up the infamous exploits of the Gryffindors by thoroughly exploring the Forest and bragging shamelessly about it for all the school to hear. They theorized that, the school being run by the omnipotent Albus Dumbledore, there would be nothing for them to fear anywhere on the school grounds. They thought that the warnings against the forest were only to keep students within sight of the staff, that all of the tales about the forest were mere fabrications. They thought wrong.

The eastern sky was steadily taking on a pink tinge. Her friends were still nowhere to be seen, and her Heating Charm, ineptly applied, had long ago worn off. She was becoming increasingly aware of how dark it was in the forest behind her, and longed for the warmth and dryness of her bed back at the castle. Truth be told, she had deep misgiving's about this whole operation; she thought it to be silly and childish, though she had difficulty convincing her friend's that her opinion had nothing to do with cowardice on her behalf.

Not forty yards away, a rooster crowed from behind Hagrid's hut. She glanced at her watch. Her friends were notoriously lax on the matter of punctuality, and had lost Hufflepuff quite a few points in the past two years because of it. She shivered and now regretted her haste to reach the appointed place; otherwise, she wouldn't be having a nagging urge to knock on Hagrid's door and ask to use his loo. All was dark.... and silent...

The calm of the passing night was broken suddenly, replaced by a terrible din. The young Hufflepuff felt as though her heart had started pumping ice through her veins; though she turned toward the disturbance, terror bound her to the spot. A shrieking as of banshee's, or something more horrible, was rending the former tranquility of the pre-dawn forest. Were her mind not consumed by terror and sudden, nameless despair, she would have felt the highest mortification at realizing that she no longer felt any urge to run for a lavatory.

Just as suddenly as the din started, it stopped, or perhaps the source of it was too far away for the shrieking to reach her ears; whatever the reason, she had regained control of her legs, and ran straight for the castle. Her cries replaced the earlier maelstrom, ushering in a new, if somewhat premature, day for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

********************

Darkness reigned in the Forbidden Forest, except for one small clearing at its center. Though many strange and terrible creatures often congregated there, none so strange as the nine robed and cloaked figures had ever stood there before.

"What must I do?" Harry asked. His eyes were drawn still to the ring. Though it appeared to be made of polished gold, it did not reflect the light of the moon or stars; rather, it seemed to be incandescent of its own accord, radiating some inner light. The surface was encrusted with tiny gems that appeared to change colors periodically; red to green, green to white, white to black, black to blue and back to red, nestled among the ridges and grooves of the ring's surface. Already he thought of the ring as his own.

"Though you have declared your intention, we feel that we must first tell you what being a Nazgul will entail. We begin in regards to our gift to you, a Ring of Power. I say it is a gift, though it is also a restriction, for you must never remove it from your hand. It was forged by our Master, and it bestows upon the one who wears it not just membership in our ranks, but it also gives to the wearer certain gifts. Of these we are not certain, for each ring, while all sharing some common characteristics, also give unique powers to their wearers, and our former Captain never revealed these to us. Just as well, for we who remain keep our secrets..." He smiled, in a sad sort of way. "You must not remove the ring, for when you wear it, we may be summoned to your call, and so you may be summoned to our council."

Harry, still exhausted, took to his feet so that he could be level with the Nazgul. Still they towered over him; the shortest of the eight was at least six feet tall, a good five inches more than Harry. He nodded in assent.

"Our only other condition is the most important, for we Nazgul are but servants to our Lord and Master, Sauron."

Harry's knees buckled from a combination of fatigue and faint alarm. He stood up as fast as his tired body would allow. "Who is this Sauron?"

The One Harry had at first perceived to be the Nazgul Captain smiled. "He is one like us, and like you. He is betrayed by his Kingdom, and when last we had sight of him, he was greatly distressed. That is why we seek you: we needed one of your noble bloodline and your prowess in the arcane arts to return us to our homeland. ...We do not know where we are, or how we got here. Our Captain would be able to return us - he was the wisest of our number, and he shared in your gifts - but for the fact that he fell in battle with the enemy." He glowered, and Harry felt a new chill pass through the forest.

Harry was moved by this tale, for he knew all too well the sting of betrayal. Of all the horrors that he had faced in the past four years, the most terrible of these were the times that his peers had turned their backs on him, not necessarily because they truly believed him capable of whatever evil had been committed (assault on student's and glory-hogging, respectively), but because it was comforting for them to think themselves better than he. Harry scowled. He would not sit idly by and let another be subjected to such unjust judgement, even though he knew little of this Sauron. He looked up, and met the gaze of the Nazgul.

"I accept."

Again, the Nazgul smiled. "It is done; you are now a Nazgul. Not only a Nazgul; for if we deem you fit to the role, we will make you our Captain to replace the fallen King of Angmar, and you may yet lead us in battle for the glory of Sauron! But first... we saw in your mind a vision of your foes... we shall help you defeat them all, ere our passing from this world." A great weight was lifted from Harry's heart at this; never before had he been offered him assistance in his fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters; a burden was lifted from his shoulders.

The eight raised their black swords in salute, and all began to chant: "Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!" Harry was torn between feeling awe at the sheer power behind the words and cringing with each harsh word uttered.

They sheathed their swords. "Dawn approaches," the One said. "We cannot linger; it is time for you to leave the forest."

Harry felt guilty, for he had not until then given a thought to the friends he had left behind.

The Nazgul perceived. "Why are you so troubled? Do you so easily forget why you are here? Your friends," the Nazgul practically spat the word, "blame you for what has come to pass. Do you expect them to welcome you back with open arms?" He laughed, a hollow, empty laugh. "We will cure you of your naivete ere our passing, if that be the only service we provide you. We will accompany you to the edge of the wood, but there we must part for a short time. Our business takes us elsewhere..."

Harry took a step, and all fatigue left him. His thoughts settled on the last words of the Nazgul as he followed them through the forest.

********************

Dawn approached. The light of the new day reflected on the weary face of Ron Weasley, who stood before the great window in the Gryffindor Common Room. His gaze fell on the grounds below, scanning over the greenhouses, the distant Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest. There his eyes lingered... too many memories were associated with that foul place.

"I think we should go look for him, Ron."

He turned his head slightly. His sister and one of his closest friends sat on the sofa, watching him watching nothing. He couldn't tell whose voice had spoken. His mind felt like it was on fire, and not in a good way. He had waited all through the night for Harry to return, to no avail. He could not remember the last time that he had gone so long without sleep... Only for Harry, he thought to himself. His smile was grim; he was only getting a taste of what Harry must have been feeling like for the past three months. If only he had opened up to them; maybe Profesor Dumbledore could have sent a potion or something to make falling asleep less painful for him. The visions...

He shook his head to stop his mind from going down that path; he did not want to feel terrified as well as tired.

"Ron..." Ginny... yes, definitely Ginny's voice. Hermione had been quiet since she had her emotional breakdown however many hours ago, it wasn't likely that she would be talking now...

"Ron!"

"What?" Her shrill voice could wake up even the heaviest sleeper; he knew that from personal experience. He made a complete about-face and threw his sister a glare.

"I said that we should go find Harry! It's almost morning, look, the sun is already rising! The sun had just barely set when he left..." Her face paled. "He might have... have gone into the forest... I've heard stories about what lives in there... horrible stories..."

"You don't know the half of it," Ron's face, so recently drawn with weariness, was now wide-awake with a fear-fueled rush of adrenaline. "We can't afford to wait, if he did go into the forest. Come on, we need to wake up Dumbledore." Hermione nodded mutely. Ron stared at her for a second, his head cocked to the side; he shook his head, and, taking Hermione by the hand, made for the Portrait Hole.

"Ron! You've left your -" The Portrait Hole slammed shut - "wand..."

Sighing, she picked up Ron's wand from the floor, located Hermione's wand on the sofa where she had been sitting dazed all night. She stumbled out of the Portrait Hole, and half-ran after the retreating forms of Ron and Hermione.