Into the West

After nearly five and a half years of utterly mind-numbing lectures about goblin uprisings and medieval witch-hunts, History of Magic took an unexpected turn.

"Today," said the ghost of Professor Binns on the first day of spring term, "we will begin covering the ancient history of European wizarding culture. You there, Flannigan," he said, gesturing vaguely towards Seamus. "Pass out the books in that far crate, won't you?" Binns' voice trailed off as he began shuffling his notes distractedly.

Seamus, rolling his eyes a bit at the professor's frequent inability to remember anyone's name, retrieved the crate and began passing out very thick books to his classmates.

Harry's heart sank as he saw the size of the book. It sank further still when he opened his copy and discovered the tiny print. Ugh. He hoped Hermione didn't mind sharing the major points with him and Ron, because there was no way he would get through this book anytime soon. Stupid ruddy history.

"This history," wheezed Professor Binns, "was written by a wizard who devoted his life to the education of Muggles. He based his work on several key sources from ancient times, when Muggles and wizards lived openly with one another. The Muggle community embraced his book, as well, but they of course assumed it was a great flight of fancy. I, however, can assure you that it is indeed based on fact." Binns flicked his wand, and the assignment appeared on the dusty chalkboard. "You will note that the text is divided into three books, with accompanying appendices. Please have Book One finished by the end of next week."

There was a general feeling of depression as the Gryffindors trudged towards the Great Hall for lunch. "How many pages?" groaned Ron.

Harry checked his copy. "Bloody hell. It's nearly four hundred."

Suddenly Hermione was beside them, eyes ablaze with excitement. "Can you believe it?" she said breathlessly. "I'm so pleased we're reading this for class. It's one of my favorite books of all time!"

The two boys looked blankly at her. "Hermione," said Ron flatly. "Your idea of a good book is a volume of extra-difficult Arithmancy problems. This is History of Magic we're talking about, here. It's going to be like pulling teeth."

She shook her head. "No, it won't, I promise." When Harry and Ron continued to look dubious, she sighed. "Fine, tell you what - why don't we start out reading it together? It's really best read aloud, anyway." She held open the massive door and followed them inside.

Harry looked at Ron as they skirted the Hufflepuff table. "Sounds okay to me. What time is practice finished tonight?"

"Eight o'clock," replied Ron, plunking himself down at an empty seat at the Gryffindor table.

"Excellent. Half nine, then?" proposed Hermione as she poured herself a cup of pumpkin juice.

Harry and Ron shrugged half-heartedly. "Might as well," said Harry, ladling stew into each of their bowls. "That way it'll get done sooner."

Hermione beamed at them. "You'll both love it," she declared happily.

Ron gave her a dark look. "We'd better."

As he ate his stew, Harry looked down at his copy of the book, which poked from the top of his school bag. The Lord of the Rings. Hmmm. Well, that didn't sound too bad, he supposed. Maybe it would even be a little adventurous. He found himself actually looking forward to that evening's reading.

**********

"Right, here we go," said Hermione authoritatively from her chair next to the fire. "I'll start, shall I? Then we can take turns reading."

A general murmur of assent rippled through the small group. Their number had swelled since lunchtime; Seamus and Dean had caught wind of the reading and asked if they could sit in, and soon Parvati, Lavender, and Neville had asked to join as well. Harry supposed they all thought it would be more interesting than simply reading it by themselves.

Hermione turned to the first page and cleared her throat. "Prologue: Concerning Hobbits. This book is largely concerned with hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history. Further information may also be found..."

Half an hour later, Hermione finally stopped reading and took a deep breath.

"Nothing's happened yet!" complained Ron. "It was just some rot about hobbits and pipe weed and records."

"Doesn't it get any more interesting than this?" asked Parvati in a bored voice. Harry was actually wondering the same thing, although kept it to himself to avoid the wrath of Hermione.

"Of course it does," said Hermione briskly. "We just have to keep reading. Dean, do you want to take a turn?"

Dean jerked his head up. He'd been leaning on his hand and dozing for the past twenty minutes. "Wha--oh, sure. Pass me the book, Hermione."

She did so, and Dean shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs from it. "Right. Book One, Chapter 1: A Long-Expected Party. When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special significance, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton."

"Eleventy-first?" broke in Neville, looking confused. "Who ever heard of being eleventy-one?"

"Get used to it, Neville," advised Hermione. "There's lots of that sort of talk in this book."

Dean shrugged and continued. "Bilbo was very rich and peculiar..."

Dean read until the end of the first chapter (which was certainly more interesting than the prologue had been), and then Lavender picked up the narrative and read Chapter Two.

"'Me, sir!' cried Sam, springing up like a dog invited for a walk. 'Me go and see the Elves and all! Hooray!' he shouted, and then burst into tears." Lavender closed the book and looked at the rest of them expectantly. "Well, that was better, wasn't it?"

"Wow," murmured Seamus. "An evil ring. And it really existed?"

Harry nodded. "Must have. That's what Binns said, anyhow." He looked at the clock above the mantle. "Blimey, it's nearly midnight! We'd better stop for now, or McGonagall will be out for our blood."

They all agreed to meet the next afternoon before dinner to read another chapter or two. Harry and Ron were stuffing their books into their bags when Hermione came over to them.

"So?" she said expectantly. "Do you believe me now that it won't be awful?"

"I really like it so far," said Harry honestly. "It's not at all like I thought it would be."

"You know, it is pretty good," agreed Ron reluctantly. "It's definitely better than the other rubbish Binns usually has us reading."

Hermione barely suppressed a smug expression. "Well," she said airily as she walked over to the girls' staircase, "wait till you see what comes next. Good night!"

"Night, Hermione," chorused the boys, and they began to climb their own staircase.

"Tell me," said Ron a moment later as he pulled on his pajamas. "Did it kill you as much as it did me to admit that to her?"

"Oh, yeah."

*********

It was unheard of to actually want to go to History of Magic, and yet that's exactly how Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors felt when it was time for the next class. They'd finished reading the first book the night before, everyone leaning forward in anticipation as Boromir and Frodo fought over the Ring. Their group had grown to include Ginny and some of her friends, including Colin and Dennis Creavey. Everyone had gasped when Frodo and Sam left the Fellowship and headed for Mordor.

"Oooh!" squealed Parvati as Ron finished reading. "What's going to happen?"

"Dunno," shrugged Ron with a grin. "But we've got class tomorrow, and I expect Binns'll assign us the next book for homework."

The next morning, they trooped expectantly into the classroom, all of them fidgeting through the roll call. Finally, Professor Binns asked them to pull out their books. He gave a flick of his ghostly wand, and a piece of chalk hovered next to the blackboard, ready to take notes.

"Now then," he wheezed, "who can name some of the various groups that inhabited Middle Earth?"

The professor looked rather taken aback at the number of hands in the air. "Uhhh...yes. Mr. Potter."

Harry was rather surprised at his own daring. He'd never really spoken in History of Magic, not even in second year when Hermione had asked about the Chamber of Secrets. "Hobbits, Professor. Halflings."

"Indeed." The chalk scratched busily on the blackboard. "And what, pray tell, are hobbits? Miss Granger?"

Hermione lowered her hand. "Well, they're not really humans, but they seem to have been some sort of distant cousins, perhaps."

"Actually, Miss Granger, you're quite right. The hobbits were really a hybrid..."

And thus began the most fascinating History of Magic lesson any of them had ever had. It was a bizarre experience, to say the least.

*********

The Gryffindors put off their Potions and Transfiguration homework that night in favor of beginning The Two Towers. They read for an hour and a half before Hermione shooed them off to finish their other lessons. She, Ron, and Harry settled at their usual table near the window with their Potions texts, ready to begin a nastily long essay on the lesser-known magical properties of the common marigold.

Ron, however, had left his book closed, and was staring contemplatively out of the window.

"Wonder what it felt like," he mused after a moment.

"You wonder what what felt like?" replied Hermione absently, her nose already deep into Finding Magic in Your Garden.

"For Frodo, leaving the rest of the Fellowship behind to go off to Mordor. Why do you think he left?" He shifted his gaze to his friends.

Harry propped his chin up on his hand, looking thoughtful. "Well," he said slowly, "it would be bit difficult, wouldn't it, trying to get a job like that done without having to worry about all of your friends." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

Ron's face suddenly closed off, and Hermione slammed her book shut. "But that's what friends are for," she said vehemently, poking Harry hard in the shoulder with her index finger. "It wasn't for Frodo to decide if they needed worrying about."

"Yes, it was," insisted Harry, despite all his efforts to keep his mouth shut. "What if they'd all gotten killed? Then he would have had to live with knowing it was his fault."

"Sam wouldn't be left behind, though." Ron's voice was slightly rough. "He knew Frodo would need him."

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he opened his textbook and started his homework. The three of them studied in uncustomary silence for the remainder of the evening.

It was only later, when he had lain awake long after Ron's snores had begun, that Harry really began to think about what had been said.

******

Neither Ron nor Hermione mentioned their discussion the next morning, and soon the slight buildup of tension had fallen away with the normal course of the day's events. The week passed uneventfully, except for the record-breaking time in which they finished The Two Towers. Another interesting History of Magic lesson had followed, this one focusing on the histories of Rohan and Gondor, with some sidebars on their alliances with the Elves.

The following Saturday, Harry took advantage of an unseasonably warm afternoon and took his copy of the book out to the Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor team had practice in a little while, and he wanted to take another look at some of the more interesting passages from the second book.

After twenty minutes, he was so engrossed in the reading that he didn't hear footsteps coming up behind him. It wasn't until a shadow fell across the page that Harry even thought to look up.

Albus Dumbledore towered above him, a pleased smile brightening his aged features. "Enjoying your homework, Harry? Just out for a bit of fresh air, myself." He sat down on the bench next to the teenager and put out a hand. "May I?"

Harry nodded and handed the headmaster the book. Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and began reading aloud from the open page. "'But where else will you direct me?' said Frodo. 'You cannot yourself, you say, guide me to the mountains, nor over them. But over the mountains I am bound, by solemn undertaking to the Council, to find a way or perish in the seeking. And if I turn back, refusing the road in its bitter end, where then shall I go among Elves or Men?' " He paused, his gaze skating silently over the words once more. Then his brilliantly blue eyes clouded slightly, and his mouth drooped at the corners. "Harry," he said, "what do you think Frodo was feeling, when he said those words?"

Harry dug the toe of his shoe into the grass. "Scared, I expect," he said finally, speaking for the first time since the headmaster's arrival.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "And you do not think any the less of him for it, do you?" He closed the book and offered it to Harry.

Shrugging, Harry took back the book. "Dunno," he mumbled. Then he shook his head. "No," he said, more clearly. "I can understand how he felt." He ran his fingers over the spine of the book and took a deep breath. "Professor," he continued tentatively. "Do you think it's...wrong of me to do that? To compare myself to Frodo? I mean, he was...and I'm just..." His voice trailed off uncertainly.

Professor Dumbledore appeared to be thinking this over. "Harry," he replied after a moment, "I would be very worried if you had not made any such comparisons." He smiled slightly and got to his feet. "I believe I see your teammates coming for your practice session," he said amiably, indicating the scarlet-robed figures cresting the hill at the other end of the pitch. "Have a nice evening, Harry." Dumbledore started walking back towards the castle.

"Thanks. You too, Professor."

Dumbledore paused. "Harry?"

"Yes, sir?"

The headmaster looked back at him, a wrinkle of tension appearing between his frosty eyebrows. "Do not think that your fate must necessarily be the same as Frodo's. Learn from him, but remember that this journey is yours, and yours alone."

Harry gave him a curious glance. "Er...all right. I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do, Harry." Dumbledore's face relaxed almost imperceptibly, and he started walking again. "See that you do."

********

Dinner that evening was as noisy as usual, but Harry was uncharacteristically quiet. He stared down at his plate, apparently very interested in his pot roast. Dean, Ron, and Hermione were having a lively argument about which was superior, Muggle or wizarding music ("Honestly, Ron, there's just too many bagpipes involved!"), and Harry was content to let his own thoughts drift off.

He was abruptly pulled back into the here and now when he was nearly knocked off his seat.

"Oops! Sorry, Harry, didn't mean to hit you...my bag's a bit full, I'm afraid." Ginny shot him an apologetic look and dropped the offending bag to the floor before slipping onto the bench beside him. "I'm starved. Dinner any good tonight?"

He pushed a tureen of carrots towards her as she helped herself to some roast. "Pretty good, yeah." His mouth quirked into a smile as he watched her pile a huge amount of mashed potatoes onto her plate. Then he glanced once more at her bag. "What's all this, then?" he asked, nudging it with his foot.

"Homework," she replied thickly, before swallowing a mouthful of carrots, which struck Harry as being very Ron-like. He suppressed a grin. "Going to the library after dinner."

Harry looked at her, surprised. "But it's a Saturday...surely you've got better things to do than homework?"

Ginny shrugged. "I've been so caught up in your homework that I haven't had time to do my own. So I'm trying to get back on schedule."

"Oh." He supposed that made sense. "I guess you could just wait until next year to finish the book...when Binns assigns it to your class, I mean."

She looked scandalized. "What?! Stop halfway through? Are you mad?"

Harry laughed. "No, I suppose that would be rather difficult, wouldn't it?" He paused. "So what's your favorite part so far, then? Who's your favorite character?"

Ginny speared a bit of roast with her fork. "Gollum," she said with relish. "He's so interesting. Especially when it comes to Frodo."

"How do you mean?" he asked, giving her a quizzical look.

"Well," she replied, "Frodo keeps Gollum around even though Sam doesn't trust him, which is odd, because Sam is Frodo's best friend, and you'd think Frodo would take his advice. But I don't think it's that simple," she added, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "I think Frodo has to believe that Gollum can be redeemed."

The furrows on Harry's forehead deepened as he thought about this. "Redeemed? But why would he care about Gollum?" Then comprehension dawned on his face. "Unless...the Ring. He knows the Ring made Gollum what he is, and he's afraid that it's going to do the same to him."

Ginny nodded her head sagely. "So Frodo holds out hope that Gollum is really good, because otherwise he doesn't see much hope for himself."

"Huh. I never thought of it that way," Harry replied. "Guess that didn't turn out so well, though...Gollum led them right into Shelob's lair."

She shrugged. "Story's not finished yet, though," she reminded him. "You never know what might happen."

"I suppose not." Harry thoughtfully took a bite of pudding.

*******

Nearly a week passed, and every day they grew closer and closer to the end of the book. The night before, Ginny had taken her turn reading and had very dramatically recounted the climax of the tale. Everyone was perched on the edge of their seats as Frodo and Gollum struggled for control over the Ring. When Gollum finally won the prize - along with Frodo's finger - and tumbled into the depths of Mount Doom, they gasped and wrung their hands nervously. Ginny had shot Harry an arch look as they packed up their school bags.

"See?" she'd said triumphantly. "I told you Gollum was important."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Important, yes. Redeemed, not so much."

"Are you going to split hairs?" she wheedled.

Harry grinned and punched her lightly on the shoulder. "All right, all right, I bow to your superior powers of deduction. And I also owe you a Butterbeer, as I recall."

"And I'll be holding you to that, Potter."

He smiled at the recollection and shifted his mind back to the present. Neville had been reading for the better part of an hour, and it sounded as though he was winding up.

"... 'Well here we are, just the four of us that started out together,' said Merry. 'We have left all the rest behind, one after another. It seems almost like a dream that has slowly faded.' 'Not to me,' said Frodo. 'To me it feels more like falling asleep again.'" Neville finished the chapter with a heavy sigh and looked up at the rest of them. "It's a bit sad, isn't it? Imagine going on a quest like that and then just...going back to normal life. Weird."

"Well, what else could they do?" put in Seamus matter-of-factly. "Can't just go around saving people and bearing Rings when there's nothing to be done. Life goes on."

Harry absorbed this sentiment and found it troubling. Accurate, but still troubling.

"So...that's not the end, is it?" asked Dean, looking up from the sketch of Aragorn he was working on.

Neville flipped through the remaining pages and shook his head. "No. Two more chapters to go."

"Ohhhh!" Lavender kicked at the table impatiently. "I want to finish it! What's left to wrap up? Aragorn and Arwen are married, the hobbits are safe, and everybody can go home!"

"Well," said Hermione thoughtfully, glancing at the clock over the mantle, which still read 'time to study,' "we've got a while before bed. Let's just finish it off tonight, shall we?"

This suggestion was met with enthusiastic agreement. "Good. So whose turn is it to read?" she asked.

"Harry's," answered Neville, tossing the book to him. "You were after me last time, at any rate."

Harry caught the book reflexively and looked down at the cover. He was suddenly nervous about being the one to finish the book. It seemed like rather a big job. Nevertheless, he found the proper page, took a deep breath, and started reading.

It was more action-packed and harrowing than they had expected. Harry found himself tensing with anticipation as the hobbits fought the minions of the mysterious Sharkey for control of the Shire. They all cheered when the hobbits prevailed, but fell into a discomfited silence when Wormtongue killed Saruman.

And then, Harry turned to the final chapter with some amount of trepidation. Sam married Rosie Cotton, and had little Elanor, and still something wasn't right. He could feel the silence of the common room deepen the further he read. And when Frodo and Sam went to meet Bilbo and the Elves, he somehow knew what was coming.

"'Where are you going, Master?' cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening." Harry's voice wavered a bit as he spoke. "'To the Havens, Sam,' said Frodo. 'The Ring-bearers should go together.' 'And I can't come.'"

Harry became dimly aware of an odd snuffling sound, as though someone were crying, but did not look up from the book.

"'No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot always be torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.'"

They listened as Harry read, heard how Frodo had gone away on the ship with Bilbo and Gandalf and Elrond and Galadriel, and how Merry and Pippin had seen Sam safely home after their bittersweet errand.

Then, finally, Harry turned the page and found that it was only half-filled with words. He took a deep breath. "But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and put him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap. He drew a deep breath. 'Well, I'm back,' he said." Harry paused, and read the last two words on the page. "The End."

********

The words echoed in Harry's ears long after he had finished reading. None of the others spoke, and he finally tore his eyes away from the page and gazed at all of them for a moment. Some - not just the girls - brushed tears away from their eyes. He looked at Ron, who sat next to him, deep in thought.

Harry thought back to something Frodo had said to Sam, something that had embedded itself deep in his brain. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me.

"It was always about Sam," he said suddenly. His voice cracked a little as he spoke.

Startled, everyone looked at Harry. "What do you mean?" asked Colin. "It was Frodo's story. About destroying the Ring."

"Sure, the story was about Frodo," replied Harry in a quiet voice. "But it was always about Sam. He was Frodo's reason. The thing that kept him going. If it hadn't been for Sam, Frodo wouldn't have made it to Mordor." He paused. "Sam was the future of the Shire. Frodo had to make sure that the Shire was still around for Sam. It was never for himself." His voice, already quiet, trailed off into the silence of the common room.

"So," said Ron hesitantly after a moment, "what happened to Frodo? Did he die?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "That's something Muggle scholars have debated for a long time. It's really something everybody has to decide for themselves."

Ron gave her an exasperated look, but sighed resignedly. "Yeah, I guess we'll never really know for sure, will we?"

"Well," she replied, a small smile creeping over her face, "what does your heart tell you?"

They all fell quiet again, each contemplating the fate of Frodo. After a little while, everyone started to drift upstairs and into their dormitories for bed.

Harry stayed where he was, watching everyone go, smiling and giving Hermione, Ron, and Ginny a wave when they bid him goodnight.

He watched them go as they walked up their respective staircases, and his heart suddenly caught in his throat. It came upon him like a flash of lightning.

Hermione and Ron, Ginny, all of them - they were his Sam.

It wasn't for himself that he fought - it was for his friends. Because even if he didn't survive the final battle with Voldemort, he had to make sure that the world was safe for them. So that they could grow up, and live wonderful lives, and tell their children how lucky they were to live in a peaceful world.

He got up and walked slowly over to the fireplace, warming his hands by the dying embers. Raising his arm to the mantle, he leaned his head on his hand and stared down at the worn mahogany. And there it was.

Scratched into the ancient wood were two words. They looked as though they had been carved many years before, but were still very clear.

Frodo lives.

He laughed aloud before he could stop himself, an inexplicable release of some remote tension of which he'd not been consciously aware. Frodo lives. Well, maybe it was true. He heeded Hermione's words and thought with his heart for a moment, instead of his head.

Frodo was alive. He was there, in the common room. He was on the minds of everyone who had been reading his story for weeks. He was alive as long as people remembered him, and everything he had done.

Harry absently ran his fingers over the worn carving. Maybe...maybe people would remember him, too. He smiled and thought of Ron pulling a small red-headed child into his lap and saying, "Now I'm going to tell you all about your Uncle Harry, and the adventures we had at school."

He stooped to pick up his bag and headed towards the dormitory stairs, remembering what Dumbledore had said to him on the Quidditch pitch. Do not think that your fate must necessarily be the same as Frodo's. Suddenly Harry found that he might not really mind if he did end up like Frodo. It wasn't a bad way to be remembered. Not at all.

*******

As he pulled on his pajamas in the darkened dormitory a few moments later, he realized a bit of light was shining through the slim opening of Ron's bed curtains. Harry reached out and tugged the hangings aside.

Ron looked up, a startled and somewhat guilty expression on his face. "Oh...uh, hi." A large, dusty-looking volume sat on his knees, and Ron scrambled to hide the cover.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

"This?" Ron asked, his voice apparently incapable of choosing an octave. "Oh, nothing. It's just...um...a dirty book I found under Seamus' bed." He looked so pleased with this explanation that Harry knew it couldn't be true. Ron's hand slipped a bit, allowing Harry to see some of the title.

"Really? Are there naughty bits in Hogwarts, a History?" asked Harry, now amused. "I didn't know."

Ron's shoulders sagged. He looked utterly ashamed of himself. "Oh, sod it all. I liked Lord of the Rings so much, even though Hermione said it was good, that I thought...well, I thought I might give this a try, too."

Harry climbed into bed. "And?" he asked, trying not to laugh. "Is it good, then?"

Ron mumbled something unintelligible.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that - what did you say?" He was smiling broadly now.

"I said yes!" Ron said, sounding anguished. "Bugger. Are you going to tell her?"

Harry gave him a speculative look before putting his glasses on the bedside table. "I might do."

"Harry..."

"Oh, shut it. Your secret's safe with me." Harry leaned over and blew out the candle as Ron set the heavy book on the table.

"Thanks, mate." Ron sounded relieved. Then, a minute later, he spoke again, sounding a bit uncertain. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

Ron didn't say anything for a moment. When he did, his voice carried a new edge, a determination that Harry had never heard before. "Hermione and I aren't going anywhere. You may not like it, but we're in this for keeps. So you'll just have to deal with it."

Harry sighed. "I know. And that's..." He paused, trying to find the right words. "I do need the both of you. So...thanks," he finished lamely, thinking that this in no way articulated the depth of his feelings.

"Well, good," Ron said gruffly. "Glad you're through being an idiot, then."

Harry grinned into the darkness and threw his pillow at his best friend, who promptly threw it back at him.

He heard Ron yawn widely. "Good night, Harry."

Pulling the pillow back under his head, Harry suddenly felt warm and content. "Good night, Ron," he replied sleepily. "I'm glad you're here."