Harry Potter and the One Ring of Power

Chapter Four---'Tis Evil In The Wild To Fare

As a gray dawn was breaking, early the next morning, the company set out from Rivendell. Each of them was carrying a pack. Elrond and Bilbo were at the door to see them off.

"Goodbye!" said Bilbo. "I doubt that you'll be able to keep diaries, out there in the Wild, but do try to remember everything so that when you get back I can put it all down in my book!" Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione all shook his hand; Harry had developed a great liking for the old hobbit in the days of their acquaintance. In an odd way, Bilbo reminded Harry of Professor Dumbledore---you always knew where you were with him, and that counted for a great deal. Bilbo gave them a worried look. "I wish the season were different---as the old rhyme goes:

"When winter first begins to bite,

and stones crack in the frosty night,

When pools are black and trees are bare,

'tis evil in the Wild to fare."

"Farewell, my friends," said Elrond. "I have one last thing to say. This is the Ringbearer's quest; the others of you can turn back at any time. To the Ringbearer, I must say this: Don't throw the Ring away, or give it to the servants of the Enemy, or even let anybody else see or handle it---unless it's one of the Company, and even then, only do it if absolutely necessary."

After a few more farewells, the party set forth, heading up the ridges east of Rivendell. At the top of the ridge, Harry, Ron and Hermione turned for a last look at the Last Homely House. Below them, they could see its lights twinkling through the trees in the dim uncertain light of an early-winter dawn. Hermione shivered. "Well, that's probably the last of civilization we're going to see for quite a while. If we ever get back to Britain, I'm going to strangle that idiot Frodo for waiting so long to set out, instead of leaving as soon as Gandalf was overdue."

Harry shook his head in foreboding, as they turned to follow the rest of the Company. They had all looked at maps while they were at Rivendell, and what lay ahead did not look like it would be easy to cross, even without servants of the Enemy scouring the countryside for any trace of them. Speed and secrecy and sheer audacity were their best defenses.

They followed the Road to the fords of Bruinen, wading across in the shallows.

Harry was glad of his Earthly boots, with their gripping soles, as he picked his way through the swift-moving water; one or two of the locals weren't as lucky, and fell or sat down with a splash. After crossing the river, they turned south to follow the little-known paths through the moors. This country was little-travelled by anybody, and few servants of Sauron had ever been seen there.

For days they tramped along through the moors and gorse in single-file. Gandalf and Aragon went first, picking the trail they were to follow, with Gimli behind them, and then the four from Hogwarts. Behind them came Boromir, with Legolas taking the rear to search the landscape with his keen eyes. The weather was bleak and cloudy, with a sad wind sighing among the heather; it sometimes made Harry quite homesick for Britain in a way that sunny, cheerful weather wouldn't have.

At first, the Hogwarts contingent slowed the party slightly, as they got used to tramping all day and broke in their new boots. Every evening, Gandalf would rub liniment on aching muscles and check their feet for signs of blisters or other injuries. After a few days, though, Harry found that he was getting used to marching all day, and he noticed that the others seemed to be complaining less and needing fewer breathers.

Harry was surprised at how well Draco Malfoy took to the whole situation. Limber and lean, he easily kept up with the company, and only direct commands from Gandalf or Aragorn would get him to admit that he was tired or that he hurt. Rubbing his aching calves one evening, Harry gave his old rival a very appraising look. He had never seen Draco so cheery in all his life, even though his feet were soaking in a pannikin of water while they waited for Gimli to finish cooking the evening's meal over one of Hermione's magical fires.

"Draco," began Harry. Draco looked over at him, cocking an eyebrow in surprise. The Hogwarts students hadn't spoken much to anybody, the first few days of the trip. The bare countryside rather spooked Hermione; she was a daughter of the same sort of London outer suburbs as Harry was, and the wilderness made her vaguely uneasy. Ron was just homesick. "Malfoy, you seem to be really taking to this whole place. Why?"

Draco smiled, a more relaxed, easier smile than Harry had ever seen on his face. It was like the sun shining through a dark cloud, and all of a sudden, Harry understood why so many girls at Hogwarts seemed to like him. "Oh, I like it here! Malfoy Manor's in the Northumbrian moors, miles from any town, and when I was little, my mother and I would go up onto the moors and hike for miles. We'd have a picnic, fly a wizard kite or two, she'd sing to me and play her lute, and we'd go back to the Manor in the evening. This place is like a bit of home."

Harry considered this bit of news. He had never really thought to wonder what life had been like for Draco Malfoy prior to Hogwarts, but Draco had been as much a product of his family and environment as Harry, or Ron, or Hermione. "Did your father ever go along? I'll tell you the truth---that sounds like heaven, compared with what I had to put up with."

Draco's expression darkened. "No. To him, it was 'timewasting Muggle-imitating rubbish,' just like a lot of other things were. Anything that wasn't about magic, or gaining power, was timewasting Muggle rubbish as far as Dad was concerned. Besides, out on the moors, Mum and I could get away from him for a while;. it was like heaven, out there with the wind and each other, and no 'Malfoy family expectations' to live up to." Draco gave Harry a considering look in his turn. "Still and all, even with my father leaning over you and breathing down your neck, I'd bet you'd have swapped with me any day and twice on Sunday."

Harry nodded. "No matter how badly your father thought of Muggles, I can tell you, the Dursleys were even worse." Draco's eyes widened as Harry went on. "They made me sleep in a closet under the stairs; they treated me like dirt while they spoilt[ my horrible cousin Dudley rotten---he'd throw literal tantrums if he didn't get more presents at his birthday than he had the previous birthday, and he kept count, believe you me!" Draco went white in sheer shock. "His mum fed him up like a Christmas goose, but no matter how fat he got his mother insisted that he was just a growing boy who 'needed his nourishment,' even when he was almost as heavy as---as Hagrid!"

Suddenly, Draco giggled. He shook his head at Harry's glare. "No, Potter, I'm not laughing at you. I'm just remembering something I heard down in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks. I was down there with Crabbe and Goyle, looking for something for my mum for Christmas, and I heard Hagrid telling Madam Rosmerta about all the trouble he had getting your Hogwarts letter to you. I didn't understand about 'gave that great whining lump a curly tail---tried to make him into a pig, but he was so much like one already that the tail was the best I could do.'" Draco looked at Harry, eyes dancing. "Did he really do that?"

Harry nodded, smiling broadly at the memory. "Sure did. The thing you've got to remember about the Dursleys, Draco, is that they're absolutely down on wizards and magic and anything to do with it---sort of like Voldemort, or your father, in reverse. That was why they treated me the way they did. When my Hogwarts letters started coming, Uncle Vernon---Dudley's father---took us from place to place to try to get away from them, and finally out to a hut on a rock in the sea. Hagrid had to come out there and personally hand me my letter, and when Uncle Vernon said something about 'not paying to let some old fool teach me magic tricks,' Hagrid blew up, grabbed his umbrella---he keeps the pieces of his old wand in there, you know---and tried to turn Dudley into a pig."

Draco collapsed, giggling helplessly at the thought. "Oh, if my father had only been there!" Sitting up, he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "My father was kind of like your Uncle Vernon, but in reverse. To him, 'Muggle' and 'white trash' were one and the same thing. If he'd been there, even though he doesn't think much of Hagrid---frankly, he's got a point, you must admit; Hagrid's a little short in the commonsense department---your uncle and cousin would have been turned into newts." Draco winked at Harry. "And, no, they would not have 'got better,' either. I saw that movie, too, you know."

By this time, Ron and Hermione had come up. They had been standing there silently, slightly shocked by the sight of Harry and Draco talking easily, like old friends. Ron turned to Hermione. "After this, nothing could shock me." He shook his head. "I'd have been no less surprised if you'd tried to seduce Professor Snape."

Hermione shook her head. "It'd never happen; no girl wants to have to dress up as a potion recipe, after all." Ron snickered, and Hermione went on: "I'd've once said, and not all that long ago, either, that seeing those two getting along so well was about as likely as you telling Professor Snape that you liked him so much, you wanted him to give you more homework, permanent detention in the Potions lab, and take a hundred points off Gryffindor."

By this time, Draco and Harry knew they were there. Harry looked up and smiled. "Sit down and make yourselves at home, you two. We were just discussing home, and Malfoy and I have something in common that you don't share." His smile twisted. "At least, I know you don't share it, Ron, and I sincerely hope you don't, Hermione."

"What's that?" asked Ron, settling down Indian-fashion. "Other than Quidditch, I can't think of two wizard-born students who have less in common."

"A thoroughly horrid home life, Ron." said Harry quietly. Ron opened his mouth, visibly reconsidered what he was about to say, and shut it tightly.

# # # # # # # #

Two weeks from Rivendell, the weather took a turn for the better, and the sun came out, pale and weak as the British sun in winter, but welcome nonetheless. Peering off into the distance, Harry could see mountains raising themselves above the horizon. "What mountains are those?" he asked.

Ready with facts as always, Hermione answered, peering at a map and at the mountains alternately. "Those have to be the Misty Mountains. I'm not sure how far south we've come, though, so I can't really say more." With the familiar lust for knowledge lighting her large brown eyes, she turned to Gandalf. "Can you show me where we are on this map, Prof---I mean, Gandalf?"

Gandalf leaned down and peered at the map, then stabbed a long, bony finger at one point. "We're on the edge of Eregion, or Hollin as men call it. Right here. We've come forty-five leagues as the crow flies, but the actual distance we've walked has been much greater."

"I need no map to know those mountains," said Gimli. He stared off at the three tallest peaks, miles away, with an unfathomable expression on his face. "I've only seen them once before in the flesh, but every dwarf knows them. They're called Baraz, Zirak, and Shathur in our language, and below them is Khazad-Dum, which was once the great city of the dwarves. The elves call it Moria, which means "black pit," with a sour look at Legolas, "and the Misty Mountains divide near there." Legolas returned his glare, but under Gandalf's eye, did nothing more.

"We can get through past Caradhras, near the three peaks, to the valley of Azanulbizar, the one no dwarf can forget, the one the men call Dimrill Dale. The Silverlode River rises there, in Mirrormere Lake, and we can follow it down out of the mountains, and through the secret woods---to the end of the journey," Gandalf supplied. Satisfied for the moment, Hermione put away her map. Gandalf went on: "We can rest here for a day or so. This land still bears the traces of the Elves that lived here, and that's a good thing."

"I can feel it, too," said Legolas, "but these Elves are a folk that we Wood-elves know little about. I can hear the stones lamenting them---deep they delved us, well they wrought us, high they built us, but they are gone. These Elves left Middle-Earth long ago."

That morning, they built a larger fire than usual, not needing Hermione's services, and had a better time than they had had for some time. Harry noticed that although everybody else was more relaxed than they had been, Aragorn looked as though something was bothering him. Leaving the others, he went to stand beside the Ranger, as he stood silently looking out over the moors.

"Something the matter?" asked Harry. Aragorn gave him a shrewd look.

"You don't miss much, do you, Mr. Potter? Yes. It's not that I miss the east wind, but when I've been through here before, I could hear the birds and beasts, especially the birds---they're thick here. Today, though, I don't hear anything at all but our own group. I don't know what it means, but I don't like it at all."

"Maybe we should be quieter," muttered Harry. "I mean, we've been pushing hard ever since Rivendell; I hate to be a wet blanket, but I'd rather be a wet blanket than a dead Ringbearer."

That morning, Ron took the first watch, but Aragorn chose to join him. After the others fell asleep, the silence grew and grew around them. The deep, regular breathing of the others, the slight noises as Ron changed position, and even the rustle of his clothes as he moved seemed uncannily loud in the stillness. In the southern sky, Ron spotted what looked like a black cloud, growing larger and larger. Soon he could see that it was no cloud, but a huge flock of birds.

"What is it, Aragorn?" he whispered, pointing. Aragorn's eyes grew wide. He shoved Ron down into the shadow of a nearby holly bush.

"Lie still and be quiet!" commanded the ranger, as a detachment of birds broke off from the main body and sped over the very ridge they were sitting on. They looked very like crows to Ron, and he sensed something wrong about them. They flew overhead, thick enough to darken the very sunlight, and Ron heard a harsh croak as they went past. Aragorn held Ron down until the last of the birds were well out of sight over the ridge, and then he let Ron up and roused Gandalf.

"We've been overflown by huge flocks of crows, including one group that went right over us here," reported Aragorn, "and they aren't local birds. Those were crebain from Fangorn and Dunland, and although they may have been trying to get away from something, I think they were spying. I've also seen too many hawks flying high overhead. This area's dangerous; it's being watched. As soon as it's dark, we'd better be moving on."

"Well, if this area's being watched, then so is the Redhorn Gate, which I had hoped to use," said Gandalf. "Getting past there without being spotted will be difficult, but we'll face that when the time comes. You're right; we'll have to move on as soon as it gets dark."

"If the fire had been smokier, it might have drawn the birds' attention. From now on, we'll have to have a cold camp." Said Aragorn. "We'll have to put this one out and not light another."

"Well, that's rich," snarled Hermione. Like the others, she had heard the news when they awoke in the late afternoon. "And all because of a bunch of bloody birds, Ahriman take them! Can't we use magical fires, the kind we've been using?" Harry knew that she was quite proud of her ability at lighting and sustaining magical fire, and it had come in handy repeatedly on their journey. Gandalf shook his head.

"No, Miss Granger. This is not an insult to your skills or your efforts; your fires have been a great comfort to us, and I don't want to cold-camp any more than the rest of you do. At least we're heading south, and the weather will be warmer."

"Too warm for comfort, or I miss my guess," drawled Draco. "Oh---did you mean weather?" He gave the others an overly innocent look. Harry glowered at him.

For the rest of that day, they lay low, keeping a sharp eye out as the flights of birds passed by overhead. When it got dark, they struck out again, heading for Caradhras while they could still see it by the light of the setting sun reflected from its sides. The stars came out as they trudged along, until Aragorn found them what seemed to be an old road. Under the light of the full moon, the stones they passed among seemed to be like old ruins, long abandoned by their builders.

Late at night, not long before daylight, Harry looked up at the night sky. He saw something moving overhead, occulting the stars as it passed by. "What was that that just flew past?" he asked Gandalf in a low tone.

"It may be only a bit of cloud," answered Gandalf in the same low tones. Harry thought he sounded doubtful.

Aragorn snorted softly. "For a cloud, it was moving very fast---and it was not going in the same direction as the wind is." Harry shivered, pulling his cloak closer about him.

# # # # # #

Three days later, with the weather turning for the worse again, they were headed up the slopes of Caradhras. Harry was very glad of his thick woolen cloak, since it was now very cold and bitter, with a lowering sky and an icy wind blowing. Draco looked very worried about the weather. He looked up at the sky, frowning in thought, as they trudged along.

"There's a blizzard coming, or I miss my guess," he explained when Harry asked him what was wrong. "I'm from Northumbria, remember? In the North Country, we do get more snow than you do down in the Home Counties,---or the West Country," as he gave Ron a glance. "Believe me, though, when I tell you I hope I'm wrong this time. Blizzards are nothing to take chances with. I wish we were under shelter." In the lead, Gandalf and Aragorn were having a low-voiced argument about which path they should take.

"The Redhorn Gate is almost certainly being watched," said Gandalf. "We'll have to take the high pass, unless we go by the dark road." Harry's ears pricked up; he had heard enough of their argument to know that Aragorn did not like the idea of this "dark road" one bit. For that matter, he, Harry Potter, didn't much care for it---it didn't sound at all like fun. He'd developed a solid respect for the saturnine Ranger, and valued his opinions.

Boromir spoke up. "I've got experience with snow, and high places, and before we leave the wooded areas, I'm going to suggest that we take along a supply of firewood. Each of us can carry a few sticks. I know that fire may be dangerous, but if it's a choice between fire and freezing to death, I'll take the fire and whatever danger comes with it."

Harry and Hermione went off together to pull down some dead branches. Harry noticed that Hermione was beginning to show the strain of their journey. She had lost some weight---why had he never noticed how beautiful the bone structure of her face was, anyway?---and her skin was chapped and raw from being in the open all the time. She noticed him looking at her, and grinned, the old flashing grin that flickered across her face so quickly that if you weren't looking at the exact time, you'd miss it.

"This is tougher than a N.E.W.T. exam on Potions, with Professor Snape himself grading it," grunted Hermione, as they joined forces to pull a large dead branch from a tree. "To think that we could have done this in the summer! When I get back to Britain, Frodo Baggins is going to get the kicking of his life from me for delaying his start for so long."

Harry shook his head. "Professor Dumbledore may have told me more than he told you about his condition. If he's in any shape to know you're kicking him, or why, it'll be a major medical miracle. And you wouldn't do it, anyway."

Hermione shook her head as she picked up her half of the branch. "I know, I know. Still, it makes this easier, thinking about it." She scowled at the sky. "I wonder if this blizzard's natural, or is the Dark Lord causing it somehow? Gandalf told me that Sauron's incredibly powerful, even without---" She stopped speaking suddenly. They took their wood back to the rest of the party.

# # # # # # #

As they climbed up into the mountains, snow started falling, and Harry noticed that Draco looked worried. He wasn't the only one, either. Hermione and Ron were not happy about the situation, and Aragorn was definitely uneasy.

"I knew snow was a possibility," said Aragorn, when Harry asked him about it, "but it isn't as dangerous as---other things. Also, we're far enough south that it shouldn't have come on this hard, not this far down in the mountains." He brushed snow off his broad-brimmed hat. "They say that the Dark Lord can control weather in the mountains that border his country, but I've never heard that his arm was long enough to do it here."

"There are other things in the world than Sauron, Aragorn." Said Gandalf. "Many of them don't love humans, or anything on two legs, and still are not in league with Sauron." Harry listened to the wind. Was it his imagination, or did it sound like malicious voices, crying out or laughing diabolically?

The party slogged on upwards for a while, but the weather only grew worse and worse, until it was a full-scale blizzard. Huddling deep in his thick woolen cloak, Harry wished bitterly it had a fur lining. Beside him, he could hear Ron's teeth chattering as he stumbled through the snow. Hermione gave a squeak as she fell down, only to be helped back to her feet by Draco.

"There you go, Granger. Can't lose our firestarter, can we?" Harry peered through the gloom and swirling snow toward Draco. Standing there with his hood thrown back, Draco looked completely at home in the snowstorm. His fair hair whipped around his fine-featured face as the wind tore at him.

"You weren't lying, when you told me that you were used to this, were you, Draco?" asked Harry. Draco shook his head as Hermione let go of his arm with a nod of thanks.

"We'd better stop soon and find someplace sheltered to lie up, Harry. I've seen worse blizzards, but not many, and I wasn't far from Malfoy Manor." When Harry passed this idea along to the rest of the company, he received unanimous agreement. Even the tough Gimli had had enough of trying to travel through the storm. When they found a spot where the cliff face gave them shelter from the prevailing wind, they huddled there and piled their wood up. Hermione performed her charm, and soon they had a crackling fire. Gandalf nodded approvingly.

"We need this to stay alive," he told them, clapping a blushing Hermione on the shoulder, "but if I had used my magic to light it, it would have betrayed our position to anybody with the right sort of eyes to see for hundreds of miles around." They huddled around the fire, and each of them got a mouthful of the elves' miruvor---Harry thought of it as a much-improved Pepperup Potion. One mouthful, and he felt a whole lot better. He could see that it was a lifesaver for the others as well; Ron had been shivering uncontrollably for some time, and Draco had been coughing a nasty wracking cough. Hermione huddled close to him, and they threw their cloaks over each other, sharing their body heat to survive. They stared into the fire as the snow continued to fall.

Finally, toward morning, the snow stopped falling, but the weather still looked distinctly threatening. Looking down, Harry could see that the path they had taken up the mountain was shrouded in thick snow. The tops of the mountains were still hidden in ugly clouds.

The party decided quickly that going down was the best alternative, but this would not be easy. The snow on the downward path had drifted higher than a tall man, and breaking through would be a real problem. Legolas, who had not been much affected by the storm, volunteered to go over the snow, not sinking in, and scout around to see how far the high drifts went.

When Legolas had left, the others looked at each other. Boromir and Aragorn volunteered to break a path through the snow with their bodies, since they were the biggest and strongest people there. Ron shook his head.

"Not a bad idea, but we don't want to waste our strength---anybody's strength---unnecessarily," he explained, pulling out his wand. "Malfoy, you're from an area where it snows regularly. Shouldn't there be a charm, or something, that'll move this stuff out of our way?"

Draco gave Ron a strange look. "Surprising, the things you think of, Weasley. I was just remembering how we used to clear out snow at Malfoy Manor." At Ron's questioning look, Draco grinned. "Sent the house-elves to do it, of course, you prat!" He looked at the snow carefully. "Although, it occurs to me that a good Banishing Charm might be just the ticket here. You all know it, I know."

"That we do," said Hermione. She pointed her wand at the drifts, and snapped: "Expellanix!" The snow leaped up in front of her, then settled back, leaving about four feet of the pathway free. She walked forward, pointed her wand, and repeated her charm. Again, the snow cleared out of her path, and she turned to the others. Smiling, she said: "Well, come along, boys! My classmates and I can take turns, getting this stuff out of the way. Those storm clouds won't wait all day for us, you know!"

Progress was slow as they made their way down the mountain. When Hermione tired, Ron took over, blasting the snow off the path with the Snow-Banishing Charm. As they plodded forward, Legolas came back, his eyes widening as he saw how they were getting out of the snow.

"I'd never have believed it," he said to himself. Standing lightly on the snow, he looked offensively unaffected by the plight of the rest of the party, and Harry, who had just started taking his turn at Banishing the snow, felt an urge to kick him. "At least, I have good news to report. Not too far ahead, on the other side of a big drift, the snow tapers off quickly, until it's just barely covering the ground."

"So, it was Caradhras," muttered Gimli. He had been keeping a safe distance from the Hogwarts students' display of magic, and now, at the rear of the party, he turned and peered upward at the ominous-looking mountains. "That was no natural storm; it was the mountain. It hates elves---and dwarves."

When they had finally won through out of the snow, Harry looked downward, wiping frost from his glasses. In the tumbled hills below them, he could see birds flying around, below where they were standing. He pointed, and Gandalf came to see what he had spotted.

"I see them, Mr. Potter, but we can't do anything about them. We can't go up through the mountains, so we'll have to go down." Defeated and deflated, the party stumbled along toward the safer lowlands.