Harry Potter and the One Ring of Power

The five rested quietly for the rest of the day, waiting for night to fall so that they could move with greater safety. Toward evening, they ate sparingly, and drank from their water bottles. Gollum wouldn’t touch the lembas, but accepted a drink of water. "Yess," he crooned, "good water where we’re going, yess, good water, running in streams down to the great river. Smeagol will get food there too---he’s very hungry." Ron watched him closely out of the corner of his eyes; there was something about that statement that made him nervous. I doubt he’s any too good to find out what we would taste like, he thought. Several times, he had caught Gollum eyeing them speculatively, in a way that reminded Ron of a butcher sizing up an animal he intended to prepare.

When it was dark, they set out. Ron could see a red light burning in the tower high above the Gate, but otherwise there was no sign that anybody was there. He knew better, though, and did not feel comfortable as long as they were in sight of that ruddy glow. To him, it was all too much like the descriptions of Sauron he had heard, with his red-glowing Lidless Eye.

For a long time, they stumbled through the barren countryside, not daring to use the road, but keeping it always to their left as a guide. The stony, gravelly soil underneath their feet was sometimes quite treacherous, and more than once, Ron or one of his friends would have fallen but for their Earth-made boots with their gripping soles. Although Ron was very weary, as long as the red light was visible he did not want to stop and rest, and none of the others seemed to want to, either. On and on they pressed, until, as a grim, gray dawn was breaking, they rounded a mountain-shoulder and got out of sight of the red light.

As one, the four Hogwarts students threw themselves down on the ground for a breather. Ron lay on his back, looking up at the dark, starless sky; the cloud cover hid the stars and moon, and he missed them. Hermione took off her boot, muttering; she had somehow or other got a stone in her boot, and she had to turn the boot over and shake it several times before it came out and rattled on the ground. Harry kneaded the muscles of his calves and wiped sweat from his forehead, and Draco somehow looked offensively unruffled.

Gollum wasn’t pleased. "Musst make hasste, make hasste! This place issn’t safe!" he hissed, peering around with his lambent eyes. He came over to Hermione, and pawed at her arm as she pulled her boot back on. "Pretty girl---pretty girl musst make hasste! We’ve got mileses to go, yess, mileses to go!"

At last, urged on by Gollum, the four got to their feet and wearily followed along the path that he pointed out. Ron never remembered much about that march; he was unspeakably tired and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other one. His body screamed for rest, for sleep, for ease, but he knew that his life depended on keeping up with the others.

Finally, when they were paused for a second, Ron managed to croak: "Harry---I hate to ask it---but could you put the Ennervate charm on me?" Harry looked at him in surprise. "I---I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can go on much longer."

"The Ennervate charm? I’m an idiot!" Harry’s green eyes went wide behind his battered spectacles. "Why didn’t I think of that?" He whirled to confront Draco. "And the first person to answer that question with ‘Because you are an idiot’ is sucking around for a life on a lily pad---got me, Draco?"

Draco smiled a big cheery smile; Ron didn’t trust it for a second. "Why, Harry, I’d never even think such a thing! Saying that you’re an idiot? The gods forbid! Nooo, I’d never, ever say that you’re an idiot! Nobody would ever call you an idiot!" His smile twisted into a snarky grin. "Moron, fool, chowderhead, and thickie---all those would apply, but not idiot." Hermione dissolved in a fit of giggles.

Despite himself, Harry grinned, and Ron found himself following suit. "In any case, Draco---if I’m an idiot for not thinking of that myself, what are you for not thinking of it?"

Draco’s smile broadened. "Where d’you think I got all those neat words? The second the Weasel here mentioned the Ennervate charm, I began wishing I had three legs, to run for a few miles on two while kicking myself with the third for not thinking of that myself." Hermione giggled even harder. Draco preened, straightening. "After all, one of the obligations of a person of my genius is to think of things for the---shall we say---less intellectually overdeveloped among us, isn’t it?" Ron spoiled his moment by making a very rude noise. Gollum watched this byplay in utter incomprehension.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Would you do the honors, Hermione? I’m not sure I quite trust myself with spellcasting; this Ring’s beginning to get to me. I remember how much more powerful my spell was, when I cast it on poor Boromir back there while wearing the thing."

Hermione stepped forward, her eyes alight with humor and curiosity. "I’ve never cast this one for real, you know," she said, just before pointing her wand at Ron and crying "Ennervate!" As the charm hit Ron, he felt a flood of well-being and energy roaring through him; his aches, pains and weariness disappeared, and he felt fit and full of mischief, ready to march another thirty miles before stopping.

"Wow! This is great!" Ron looked at his friends, noticing how weary and worn-down they looked. "Why don’t you do this to yourselves? We’ve got a long way to go, as our Dear Little Fiend---er, Friend---keeps telling us, and every little bit of edge helps!"

"Because we hadn’t thought of it, Weasel. Still, it’s a good idea. ‘Even a stopped clock’s right---twice a day,’" commented Draco. He spread his arms. "Cast away, Hermione. I trust you to do this, you notice."

Hermione’s expression went sober and serious. "I do notice, Draco---and thank you for your trust. I know it doesn’t come easy to you." She leveled her wand. As she did so, Draco closed his eyes, as though she were about to perform the Killing Curse. Ron felt a stab of unwilling pity---what must it be like to be Draco Malfoy, nearly unable to trust even his closest friends? Not pleasant, came the answer from his mind.

Once they were all Ennervated, the miles went by much faster, and even Gollum couldn’t complain about their slowness. If anything, their guide sometimes had trouble keeping up, but he never complained of that; he was delighted with their pace. "Yess, yess, masster and his friends and pretty girl makes good speed, yess, they do, don’t they? Marches faster than Men on horses, yess, they does! Good, good, good!"

When the Ennervate charms finally wore off, the dawn was upon them. The cloud cover was thick and they couldn’t see the sun actually rise, but the light level grew gradually as night gave way to a grey day. Ron could see that they had come a good distance; there were trees and bushes growing, in stark contrast to the barren, bleak country right by the Gate.. The road stretched out to the south, with the ominous mountains off to their left. Even so, it was a welcome contrast to the blasted land they had left.

When the charms wore off, the four from Hogwarts fell almost like puppets whose strings had been cut. They had just enough strength to crawl in under the heather to stay out of sight. Just before weariness claimed him and he dropped off, Ron heard Hermione murmur: "We can’t do that too often---it takes a toll on the body, like amphetamines. We’d burn ourselves out." Gollum curled up nearby, snoring a whistling snore.

When Ron awoke, as day wore down to a bleak evening, he felt rested and ready for the road, but mostly he felt hungry. He gave Gollum, who was still curled up asleep nearby, a resentful look; without him, Ron thought that the wanderers would have been well enough supplied to allow him something to break his fast. As it was…

"Wakey, wakey, all," he carolled. "Night’s falling, and we’d best get a move on!" Draco snapped instantly awake, his hand flicking toward his wand instinctively before he saw who it was. Hermione yawned, rolled over, and sat up, running her fingers through her hair and smiling rather ruefully. Ron knew enough about women, what with having a sister, to know that she wished she didn’t look so bedraggled.

Harry came awake, crying out. "The wheel! The wheel of fire!" Hermione went over to see what was wrong.

"Harry---what’s wrong?" Harry looked at her unseeingly for a second, before realizing where he was. When he came back to himself, he shook his head like a dog trying to get dry, fished his glasses out of his pack, and put them on.

"Nothing, Hermione. Just a bad dream." Hermione gave him a look of mingled affection and exasperation. Standing over him, she folded her arms and managed to look very like what Ron thought Professor McGonagall might have, at her age.

"Don’t give me that, Harry James Potter," she snapped. "Something’s bothering you. Out with it---what’s wrong?"

Harry looked at her, his eyes haunted. "More and more, lately, I’ve been dreaming the same dream. I’m standing---somewhere---naked, in front of a huge wheel of fire. It speaks to me---tells me that the world could be mine, I could have anything---or anyone---I want." He looked away, his face twisting in shame. "All I have to do is to accept the bargain the wheel offers, and I can be the most powerful person in Middle-Earth." He buried his face in his hands. "I won’t do it! I won’t do it! I won’t!" Hermione patted his shoulder awkwardly.

"No need to explain further, Harry," said Draco quietly. "We can figure out what that means. We’d better get a move on. We’ve got miles to cover yet."

After a few more miles, the five travellers felt that it was safe to use the road. Not having to go across country, they made better time than they had, although Hermione said that using the Ennervate Charm again would be dangerous and could damage them. Ron thought the road was like Roman roads he had seen in Britain and Egypt; it was made of carved stones set in the ground over a prepared surface. As they travelled, it became more and more ruinous and neglected. They listened intently as they went along, ready to dive for cover at the first sound of a hoof or a footstep other than their own, but nobody else seemed to be stirring in all that country.

At least the countryside itself was less unpleasant, thought Ron. Instead of the sulfur-reek of the areas near the Gate, the air became sweet, smelling of flowers and trees, and Ron breathed it deeply, relishing it. He was amused to see that Gollum didn’t seem to like it, but that in itself recommended it to him; anything Gollum liked had to have something very, very wrong with it, as far as Ron was concerned.

The countryside seemed to also be doing his friends good, Ron noted. They seemed cheerier than they had in front of the Great Gates of Mordor, and smiled more frequently. As dawn broke, they got to the top of a ridge and looked around. The mountains on the borders of Mordor were some distance away, curving down to hide behind the horizon.

The country they were now in put Ron rather in mind of the West Country; rolling hills covered with green growth, and patches of woods scattered about. Many of the herbs and shrubs he saw were unfamiliar, and with a stab of homesickness, he thought of how interested Professor Sprout would have been, if she could have been there. For the first time, he realized just how far south they had come in their weary death-march; even though he knew it was still deep winter up around Rivendell, it felt like spring here. He breathed the sweet-smelling air, enjoying the smell of plants and flowers.

The four from Hogwarts left the road behind, heading downhill to a stream through a meadow thick with flowers. Gollum was obviously disgusted by the smell, which amused Ron hugely. Hermione stopped, picked a flower, and put it in her hair. Not to be outdone, Harry picked a bouquet of flowers and presented them to her with a flourish, to be rewarded with a giggle---Ron wondered how long it had been since she had giggled like that, unafraid and amused by her friends’ antics. After a bit, they came to the stream, and following it, they found a small pond.

At the pond, they washed themselves off and refilled their wizard canteens; and then by mutual unspoken consent looked for a place to rest up. Draco and Ron went off together in one direction, while Hermione and Harry went in another; Gollum stayed behind beside the pond, looking for fish.

"This place sure is pleasant, isn’t it, Weasel?" asked Draco. He looked around, running a hand through his long silver-blonde hair; Ron could see easily why the elves in Lorien and Rivendell had claimed him as kin. In the growing daylight, Draco Malfoy looked graceful and elegant---slim and deadly, with his elven-cloak billowing around him in the breeze. His hand was unconsciously set on the hilt of his short sword, and Ron thought that his Malfoy ancestors, back in the days of the Norman Conquest, would have been proud to claim him as one of their own.

"Sure is, Draco." Ron peered around. "It’s hard to believe that we’re so close to Mordor, isn’t it?" Draco began to nod, and then his expression changed. He held up a hand, his eyes narrowing, and began to stalk off to one side, drawing his wand. He poked through some bushes, and beckoned Ron over.

When Ron found what Draco had sensed, he rather wished he hadn’t. Near where they had been standing, there was a place where the Orcs had been camping. A large spot, hidden from view by bushes, had been burnt, and in the middle there was a pile of burnt bones and skulls. Draco knelt by the pile, gently picking up a skull and examining it, like a Druid doing divination, as described in Professor Binns’ dreary lectures. "No, Weasel, in answer to your question---it isn’t hard to believe that we’re so close to Mordor," said Draco quietly, putting the skull back where he had found it. "Let’s not tell the others about this---it would upset Harry and Hermione, and Gollum would be up here looking for something to eat." Ron nodded agreement, not trusting himself to speak. He had noticed, and knew Draco had noticed, that the bones were human---and that many of them had been split lengthwise, to get the marrow out, and had been gnawed.

When the four were back together, they stretched out for a long nap; they knew that Gollum would not travel by day.. Harry was already asleep. Hermione went through her pack to see what food they had, and gave Ron and Draco a worried look as she gently took Harry’s glasses off.

"We’re low on food. Smeagol---or Gollum---has been a lifesaver sometimes, but he does eat. We have enough lembas for a while, but I want to save that for emergencies. The meat and dried fruit we were given in Lorien is almost gone. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get into Mordor, or how easy it will be to stay out of sight when we’re there." She looked deeply worried, and Ron felt a stirring of unease---Hermione Granger was not one to hit the panic button before it was time to.

"Come to it---we do have a real wilderness survival expert with us. Why not call on him?" Draco turned toward Gollum, who was beginning to creep off. "Hey, Smeagol! Come here!"

"What does you want? What can poor Smeagol do for mighty lords?" Gollum came sidling over, looking to Ron like a dog that expected a kicking---not that Ron didn’t long to give him one. Hermione gave Gollum a smile that Ron thought would have had Professors Snape and Binns blushing and stammering and digging their toes in the dirt. How, he wondered, did a sweet, innocent girl learn how to give off such smoldering promise?

"Would you like to do me a big favor, Smeagol?" said Hermione, her velvet cheek displaying no sign of the tongue Ron knew was firmly in it. "We’re low on food, Smeagol, and you’re so very good at finding food. Can you find us some fish, or some rabbits, or something like that? We can’t eat everything you do, but some small animals like that would be such a nice treat." She leaned closer to him. "Ron and Draco aren’t sure that you can do this---but I am. I’ve told them that you can find enough rabbits for us all to have a really good meal. Can you do this for me, Smeagol?"

Gollum nodded so hard that Ron wondered if his neck would snap, then turned and ducked off into the bushes. Draco gave Hermione a very strange look. "You know, Hermione---you would have fit right into Slytherin. I don’t think any of my house mates could have done that any better."

"It’s not a Slytherin thing, Drakie-wakie," purred Hermione, patting Draco’s cheek mockingly. "It’s a girl thing. Growing up learning how to wrap our daddies around our little fingers, it gets to be second nature." She gave Ron a mocking look. "Or are you going to tell me that Ginny can’t do the same sort of thing to your dad when she wants her own way?"

Ron opened his mouth, thought about her question, and shut it again. He grinned reluctantly at Hermione, who smiled triumphantly. "You fight dirty, Hermione."

"I fight to win, Ron." With that, they settled down to wait for Gollum. After a bit, Draco and Hermione both drifted off to sleep, but Ron was more keyed-up and stayed awake for a while. Looking at his companions, he thought that Harry looked far more peaceful when he was asleep; it looked almost like a light was shining through him, and Ron thought he could see the man Harry was becoming. A stern, wise man, with lines of care and worry that he shouldn’t have had---and, of course, that accursed scar, the legacy of Voldemort.

Draco had also changed for the better, as Ron had noticed earlier. He showed his putative elven ancestry more clearly when he was asleep; all he needed was upswept eyebrows and graceful pointed ears, and Ron thought that he could have taken his place among the warriors of Lorien with no trouble. In sleep, his expression was less guarded than when awake; Ron wondered what he would’ve been like, if his father had not been evil. He was now a friend Ron was proud to claim, even though he’d rather have undergone torture than say it aloud.

Turning to Hermione, a swell of affection nearly overwhelmed him. She was curled on her side, her head pillowed on her arm, her windburned, tanned face slack with sleep, her thick eyelashes curved down over her smooth cheeks. Ron fought with temptation, lost, and leaned over to kiss Hermione. He did so as gently as he could, not wanting to wake her; he knew she needed rest, as they all did. His lips just barely brushed her cheek, and he was startled when she smiled in her sleep. Lying down and closing his eyes, Ron smiled to himself.

When Gollum came back, he had four rabbits, and Ron’s mouth began to water. Stewed rabbit was one of his mother’s specialities, and he knew they had some spices in the supplies they had brought from Lothlorien. He poked Draco. "Hey, Draco, wake up! Gollum’s brought us some dinner!"

Draco sat up, yawning. "Rabbits? Excellent! Get Hermione up, and I’ll clean them while she gets a fire going." When Hermione awoke, she sent Gollum off for some more water, while she started a magical fire. By the time Gollum came back, the fire was going merrily, while Draco finished skinning and cleaning the rabbits. Gollum squealed with horror when he saw the fire. He nearly spilled the water, and only a quick grab by Ron saved it.

"Ach! Sss! The nassty red tongues! Fire is dangerous, yes it is, gollum! And it will bring enemies, many enemies!" Hermione gave him a slightly exasperated look.

"This kind of fire doesn’t make smoke, Smeagol. Even if it does, we’re willing to take the risk. We’ve got to cook these rabbits---we can’t eat them raw."

Gollum capered with rage, hissing. "You’ll spoil them---spoil them, yess, nice rabbits I caught for you! Why scorch them with nassty red tongues? They are young, they are tender, they are nice! Eat them, eat them!" He grabbed at the rabbits, only to stop as Draco raised his wand, staring at him icily.

"Hermione said it already, Smeagol. We can’t eat raw rabbit---it’ll make us sick. You gave us these rabbits, and we’re going to eat them our way. Nobody’s going to stop you from going and getting some more, and eating them raw, or however you want. Now leave us be!"

Gollum slunk away into the bush, hissing, and Hermione and Draco worked together, Draco doing most of the work, on putting together a rabbit stew. Hermione gave Draco an appraising look. "I wish I could cook as effortlessly as you do." She shook her head. "My mum and I used to cook, but I have to think out everything in advance. You just do it."

Draco smiled. "Stick with me, and you’ll pick it up. You’re already improving---I notice you’re handling those spices just right. Too much is as bad as too little."

When the stew was ready, they roused Harry. By unspoken agreement, they had let him sleep as long as he could, since he was showing more and more strain. Hermione crept close to him, and roused him by murmuring in his ear: "Oh, Harry---you’re late for Potions, and Professor Snape is taking ten points off Gryffindor for every minute you’re late!"

Harry snapped awake, grabbing for his glasses. "Where are my books? Where is my bag---oh. Hermione, I’ll get you for that!" Then he smelled the stew. "Yum! Fresh food for a change? How did you do that?"

"Hermione sweet-talked Gollum into catching us some rabbits, and we still had some spices and salt and stuff," said Draco. "I’ve got to say, she got around Gollum handily---she says it’s easy after years of twisting her pater around her finger."

Hermione began ladling out portions of stew, and filled everybody’s cups with water. "Personally, he gives me the shuddering creeps---I’d rather drink one of Professor Snape’s potions without knowing what it was than let him near me. Still, he likes me, and that’s got to count for something."

Ron heard a slight rustle in the bushes, and motioned Hermione to silence. Turning, he drew his wand and looked around. He couldn’t see anything, but the back of his neck was prickling, and he sensed that they were being watched. "I’d suggest a change of subject, people. Something tells me that we’re being listened to."

When they were done, Ron volunteered to go get some more water to clean out their pots and eating gear. Slipping down to the water, he heard some bird calls he didn’t like---they didn’t sound quite like real birdcalls. He filled his canteens fast and got back to his friends, only to feel his blood freeze as a quiet voice came from nearby.

"All right, whoever you are. Don’t think about drawing that sword. My friends have you covered with their bows." Ron froze instinctively, his eyes flickering around at the undergrowth to see who had discovered him. Unobtrusively, he shook his arm, to get his wand loose from its arm-sheath, if it came to a fight. He didn’t really fancy his chances with a sword---he had used one in Moria, but only as a last-ditch self-defensive measure. Spells were far more his weapon of choice.

Several green-clad men, with their faces hidden behind green veils, rose out of the bushes. Two of them had bows trained on him and bent to the ear. "Whatever you are, you’re not an orc," one of the men in green said. "And you’re no elf---elves are beautiful to see, or so it is said."

"Meaning I’m not," said Ron, carefully working his wand down into his hand and trusting to its non-threatening appearance to fool these men, if he had to. He didn’t think they were evil, but he knew perfectly well that this area had been taken by the Enemy some time before, and that many of Sauron’s servants were men, not orcs. "Now, can you tell me what you think you’re about, threatening me with those bows? Are you trying to rob me?"

"No, we are not robbers." The foremost of the men stepped forward. "We smelled food cooking, and knew that somebody had to be cooking it, so we set out to see who it was---and I think we now know. How is it that a mere boy is wandering in Ithilien, where none but the servants of the Dark Tower, or of the White, may be found?"

Ron tightened his lips at being dismissed as a mere child. Underestimate me, please, he thought, keep on underestimating me. "I’m a peaceful traveller. I’m no servant of the Dark Tower, or of anybody else. Why don’t you go on about your business and leave me in peace?"

"Because this is our business." The foremost green man seemed to be the spokesman. "I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor. Where are the rest of your company?"

"The rest of my company?" asked Ron, striving to look innocent. His wand was loose, and he let it gently fall into his hand, keeping it down by his side and hoping that they wouldn’t notice it or think it was the threat it was. Faramir lowered his veil, revealing a grim, noble face very like Boromir’s.

"Yes. The rest of your company. We’ve been tracking you for a while; we saw your footprints. From those, we can tell there are five of you---four wearing those odd boots with the patterned soles, and one barefoot."

"Well, if you want to meet my friends, far be it from me to stop you," purred Ron, smiling in a way that would have made anybody from Hogwarts think uneasily of his brothers Fred and George and their taste for pranks. "Let me lead you to them. We aren’t hostile." As they relaxed slightly, he whipped up his wand. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted, and the archers’ bows and arrows flew from their hands. Faramir gasped, and grabbed for his sword, as did his friends.

"Petrificus Totalus!" The Gondorians toppled, as stiff as so many boards. Ron leaned over them, making sure that they were all right. "You’ll be fine---I’ll go get my friends. That was partly for calling me a ‘mere boy’---Muggles."

Draco and Hermione were startled to see Ron burst in among them. "Men---from Gondor. They jumped me down below, but I got the drop on them with my wand and Petrified them. They wanted to see you."

"Underestimated you, did they, Weasel?" drawled Draco, getting to his feet with his usual easy grace. "Stupid, stupid thing to do. Still and all, noblesse oblige and all that---I suppose we’d better go and haul their hot-chestnuts out of the fire they’ve thrown them into."

When Ron brought Harry, Hermione and Draco back to where he had left the Gondorians, a quick Finite Incantatem restored them. Angry and resentful-looking, the men of Gondor sat on the ground and looked up at their captors.

"How do you do? My name is Harry Potter, and these are my friends Hermione Granger," Hermione nodded, "Draco Malfoy, and Ronald Weasley. You’ve met Ron already, I think. He says you ambushed him."

"We stopped him and asked what he was about, wandering around in Ithilien when none but the servants of Mordor or Gondor go here." Faramir rubbed his shoulder where he had landed on it awkwardly when Ron’s Petrification spell had struck him. "We mistook your friend for a lost child. Apparently we were wrong. What are you?"

"We are mages from another world," said Hermione. "We are students of magic at a great school of wizardry, and were called to this world to complete a dangerous task. We are going to Mordor, but we are not friends of the Dark Lord. Gandalf the Grey, if he were here, would vouch for us. Unfortunately, he’s dead."

"Gandalf? Who is Gandalf?" Faramir looked puzzled. "You cannot mean the Grey Pilgrim, Mithrandir---or can you? ‘Many are my names in many lands,’ he used to say, ‘Mithrandir among the elves, Tharkun to the dwarves, Olorin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten, in the South, Incanus, in the North Gandalf, to the East I go not.’" Faramir gave them a searching look. "Is that the one to whom you refer?"

"Yes. He was our guide and our friend. Unfortunately, he was lost in Moria." At this, the Gondorians paled and gasped. Faramir looked slightly dazed at the news.

"Mithrandir was killed?" He shook his head. "An evil fate must have pursued your quest. Truly, it is difficult to believe that one such as he could have died, and so much lore could have gone out of the world. Who else went with you on this journey?"

"Other than ourselves, we had Gimli, a Dwarf of the Lonely Mountain, and Legolas Greenleaf, an Elf of Mirkwood. Then there were Aragorn son of Arathorn, and Boromir, from Minas Tirith. That’s in Gondor, I think," said Hermione. At her statement, the Gondorians cried out.

"Boromir! The son of the Lord Denethor?" asked Faramir eagerly. "This is great news indeed---if it is true! Know that Boromir was my brother, our captain, and High Warden of the White Tower---we miss him sorely! Tell your tale quickly, for the sun is rising!"

Hermione cocked her head on one side. "Do you know the rhyme that goes:

‘Seek for the Sword that was Broken/In Imladris it dwells?’ I learned that in Rivendell," she added over her shoulder to Ron, Harry and Draco. "Boromir taught it to me."

"Yes, I do! It’s proof of your truth that you know them. Are you the ‘halflings’ the rhyme spoke of?" Hermione quirked a smile, one that Ron seldom saw any more. It flashed across her face in a second, gone almost before you knew it was there.

"No, we aren’t. They were dragged into our world by an evil wizard who wanted something they had. We were sent to complete their task by a great wizard of our own world---he was in contact with Gandalf, or Mithrandir. It was predicted that we would do this."

"Indeed." Faramir stretched, watching the Hogwarts students carefully. "We seem to be on the same side. If you are truly enemies of the Dark Lord of Mordor, then let us go. There’s trouble afoot, and you wouldn’t have gotten far, whether you had met us or not. There’s going to be fighting today. The Men of Umbar and the South are sending reinforcements to Mordor, and we’re going to give them a little surprise."