A Timely Return

Reading Time: 94 Minutes

Title: A Timely Return
Series: Small Magic
Series Order: 1
Author: Keira Marcos
Fandom: The Hobbit, Harry Potter
Relationships: Harry Potter/Hermione Granger, Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins, Fíli/OFC, Kíli/OMC, Dís/OMC, OMC/OMC, OMC/OFC
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Mpreg, Cabbage Patch Babies, Alternate Universe, Dimensional Travel, Romance, Fusion
Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Bashing, Grammarly Beta, Character Death (no mains), Discussion-War, Discussion-Torture, Politics of the Middle Earth variety
Word Count: 23,446
Author’s Note: I’m incredibly jaded. I have no respect for canon, timelines, or even LOTR geography. Don’t get twisted. This was once offered on EAD as a long ass novel. As it turned out, the format really didn’t serve the story or my goals for the story. You can expect alterations to the content as well. This is part one of many.

Summary: Harry Potter returns to Arda after years on Earth fighting a war that never felt like his own, only to find that his hobbit father has agreed to take on a quest to steal from a bloody dragon. To say he’s displeased is an understatement.

* * * *

Harry leaned against the wall of Gringotts and watched Hermione Granger walk away from him. It was agonizing, but it couldn’t be any different as she was engaged to marry another man, and he was going home. Home to Arda where his only responsibility was taking care of Ada. He looked forward to returning to the Shire, but leaving Earth behind was going to break his heart.

Hermione entered the apparition area and turned to look at him. Even in the dim light of the early morning, her bright smile warmed him. She waved and disappeared in a swirl of magic. Harry let his head thud against the brick wall.

“Humans have fragile heads,” a voice said. “I don’t recommend you do that for an extended period of time.

Harry grimaced and glanced down briefly as Razel Fireborn slouched against the wall beside him. “Does your father know you’re outside of the bank?”

“I’m actually an adult, you know,” Razel said dryly, and Harry laughed a little. “You didn’t tell her.”

“She’s literally got another man’s ring on her finger,” Harry snapped and rubbed his mouth as Razel cast a privacy charm around them. “I can’t be that man, Razel. Coveting another person’s romantic partner in the Shire is considered a profound obscenity. I can’t help how I feel, but I won’t…I won’t dishonor myself.”

Razel nudged him. “I understand, of course, Harry. But I have to say she deserves better than him and his family. Almost all of them are a waste of magic.”

Harry hummed his agreement. “Still.” He checked the time and took a deep breath. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve fortified the portal as much as I can, but I don’t think it will last much longer, regardless of what we do. I think the prophecy was doing its part to fuel the connection between this world and Arda.”

Harry nodded as it made sense. Fate was a real bitch, but he kept the words behind his teeth as he didn’t want to invite a conversation regarding fate, the prophecy, and magical duty. Razel had never pressured him on any of those subjects, but others certainly had. Practically everyone on Earth thought he owed them something. A few believed he owed them everything.

Frustrated, he pulled an herbal case from his dimensional storage, and it lit in his hand even as he offered the case to Razel, who took one for himself. He stored the case, took a deep draw from the cigarillo, and exhaled slowly.

“How’s Talon?”

“Adjusting to the fact that his sire finds him disappointing because his magic is small,” Razel muttered. “I’m considering suing him for emotional abuse on behalf of my son. He’s still trying to get access to Giada. It’s going to end up in front of the International Judiciary, and that’s fine, as he has no case. I have the gold to keep him legally tied up until both of our children are adults.”

“Do you need any of mine?” Harry questioned.

“No, it can go to your witch as planned,” Razel said. “The trust will protect her assets, and I’ll guard it like a dragon on your behalf as long as I can. She’ll want for nothing, and no one will gain control of it or her. I’ll be having her tested for spells and potions regularly—with or without her permission.”

Harry nodded as he knew some spells and potions could make people resistant to being tested for influences. “Can it be put in the trust rules?”

“Yes, I’ll take care of it,” Razel said.

They smoked in silence after that, and once they were finished, they entered the bank. Harry let himself be led to the chieftain’s office. Ragnok Windrider was standing by a large fire, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid.

“Ready then?” He questioned and turned to focus on him. “I’m willing to kidnap your father and bring him here.”

Harry smiled. “I can’t take such a risk with him, Ragnok, and he certainly deserves more consideration from me than that. Earth is awful.”

“Bilbo Baggins strikes me as a strong and hardy individual,” Ragnok said. “You’re the king.”

“I could be the king,” Harry said. “But Neville Longbottom accepted the regency of the title with no issues, Ragnok. I need…I’ve given this world all that I can, and I cannot stay a moment longer.” He cleared his throat. “Neville will provide an heir for the title, and that’s all I could ask for. Please tell me that you understand.”

“I understand, of course,” Ragnok said and put his glass down as he sat down at the desk. “It’s just frustrating for me, personally. I’d never want you to torture yourself, and it’s become clear that every day you spend here is a special kind of agony.”

Harry pulled a letter out of his cloak and put it on the desk. “It’s for Hermione. Take it from me before I change my mind about sending it.”

Ragnok picked it up and tucked it into a drawer. “We’ve packed a trunk with all the items you wanted from the Potter estate. Everything else has been turned into gold and put into the trust you arranged for Ms. Granger. What should we do if she refuses it?”

“Distribute half to the charities we’ve already chosen and keep the rest in reserve for her until the day she dies. Then, that money can be released to charity,” Harry murmured and blinked back tears. “I don’t think I can make any more decisions, Ragnok. I need to go home to my ada, please.”

“Of course, lad,” Ragnok said gently. “Come, it’ll be my honor to send you home to your father.”

* * * *

Harry closed the door to his home, stunned to have a place in Rivendell that had been built and set aside for him and his father. He’d spent many years in the elven city but had always in the guest quarters in Lord Elrond’s home. The permanence of a home seemed unreal as precious few non-elves were welcome to live amongst them. He took off his cloak and dropped it on the back of a chair and rubbed his face with a shaking hand.

He was exhausted in every single way possible. Harry wished he could just apparate to the Shire, but it probably wouldn’t be happening for days due to the magical trauma of going through the portal. He wondered how he’d survived it as a toddler, but the circumstances had been different since his mother had directed that travel. Razel had just tossed him, arse over tea kettle, through the portal with a cheerful smile and a heartfelt shout of good luck.

He counted Razel Fireborn as his best friend, so it was just another loss he’d have to accept and carry with him. Harry was so fucking relieved to be free of Earth and all of the expectations that he could barely articulate it. Finally, he stumbled to the sofa and tossed himself on it. It was very comfortable, but a bed would be better.

I’ll move to a bed soon, Harry thought and closed his eyes.

He snagged the edge of his cloak, which was falling over the arm of the sofa, and pulled it to him then covered his body with it. A little nap on his very nice sofa would be fine because he was tired and sad. Sleeping in front of the fire reminded him of Bag End, which he’d missed so much. Being so close to his ada after so many years was both a relief and a heartbreak. He really wished that he had the magic to go all the way home.

* * * *

The peace of Rivendell settled uneasily on his skin—the apathy and betrayal he’d suffered at the hands of Thranduil was difficult to set aside, and Thorin Oakenshield had honestly never made much of an effort to do so. The wizard was looking pleased, which was also profoundly irritating. It was like the entirety of Arda was conspiring against him and his quest.

“Harry!” Their burglar abandoned his pack and darted forward so quickly that none of them could stop him.

The halfling ran up the path and met with a young human. Thorin watched, utterly baffled, as the human sank to his knees and grabbed the hobbit in a fierce hold.

“Easy,” Gandalf murmured and swept his staff out briefly to keep them from interfering. “You’d not survive the attempt.”

“Who is that human, and how does the halfling know him?” Thorin demanded.

“That is no human, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf said gravely. “That’s a wizard. He’s also Bilbo’s son.”

“Bilbo Baggins raised a wizard,” Thorin said flatly. “I thought the maiar arrived here full grown and full of shite?”

“I never said he was one of my kind,” Gandalf said with a narrowed-eyed glare. “He’s from another realm, but not the Undying Lands. He was brought here by an ancient magic when he was less than two years old. After much thought, I took him to the Shire. I’d intended on asking Belladonna Baggins to raise him, but when I arrived, I found she’d perished the year before. But Bilbo was nearly of age and was quite lonely in his grand little smial. Of course, young Hadrian was immediately quite taken with Bilbo. So, I stayed in the Shire until Bilbo was considered an adult and could raise the boy on his own then I went on my way.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned him?” Dwalin demanded.

“He wasn’t supposed to be here,” Gandalf said. “I did not believe he’d return for at least another five years. He’s been gone close to two years, you see, on a quest of his own to meet an unspeakable destiny that I could not keep him from. He was recalled to his own realm by a magical species called dverger, and they trained him in magic so he could meet his fate.”

Thorin focused on Bilbo and his wizard son. They were still in the same spot they’d met, and the hobbit was gently patting the younger man’s unbound hair as they pressed their foreheads together. “This changes things.”

“Yes, young Hadrian is probably going to kill me,” Gandalf said with a sigh.

Thorin didn’t think the wizard appeared too worried by the prospect. He watched the hobbit extract himself gently from his son’s hold and take his hand. The two of them approached, and Thorin cleared his throat when he realized Dwalin had drawn his hammer. “Let’s not pick a fight with a wizard, old friend.”

The young wizard had a full but tidy beard that any dwarf would be quite proud of, even if it was cropped short. Thorin found himself thoroughly inspected by a pair of vivid green eyes as they came to a stop in front of him. He was short for a wizard, Thorin thought. The young man was perhaps only as much seven inches taller than himself.

“This is my son, Hadrian James Potter,” Bilbo said proudly. “Harry, this is the king of Durinfolk, Thorin Oakenshield. His nephews—Kíli and Fíli. Then, from Thorin’s right, we have Dwalin, Balin, Óin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” the young wizard said stiffly and focused on Gandalf. “You.”

His face darkened, and magic drifted on his skin even in the brightness of Elrond’s courtyard. Thorin took a step back, and the company followed suit.

Hadrian took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. “The only reason I’m not killing you is that I promised Ada I wouldn’t, and you’d just come back—probably twice as annoying as you are now.”

“Now, Hadrian,” Gandalf began. “Your father has come to no harm….”

“No harm?” Hadrian demanded. “He’s barely been on the road a month, and he’s underfed already! He has a fractured rib from being tossed around by a bloody troll, and he was so worried about being a further disappointment to these dwarrow that he wasn’t going to tell them!”

“Harry, it’s fine.” Bilbo took a deep breath. “Truly. Now, you said that Lord Elrond has gifted you with a home?”

“Yes.” The lad looked upward as if he was seeking some advice from a being Thorin couldn’t see. “I only returned yesterday. I was in the middle of writing a letter to you since I’m not recovered enough to travel magically.”

“Is your name Hadrian or Harry?” Fíli asked suddenly and flushed when the wizard focused on him.

“Harry is a shortened version of my given name that my birth parents used. I’ll answer to either.” He motioned them to follow him as he turned on his heel and tugged his father toward a path. “Come along then. I have the room for all of you to take a rest and a meal while we wait for Elrond’s return. He’s out killing orcs, from what I was told.”

Gandalf cleared his throat.

“Yes, you too, you meddling old goat,” Harry snapped. “I’d like you close by to yell at.”

Thorin gave Dwalin a nod, and they followed along behind Bilbo and his very surprising son. The dwelling was quite spacious, built with an elf in mind, but there were several pieces of furniture throughout the home that were obviously meant for Bilbo’s use. He noted that Gandalf chose to stay on the wide front porch of the house and light his pipe. It was probably for the best because he figured that the maia might actually be a deterrent in getting on the younger wizard’s good side, which would be required if they meant to keep their burglar.

“I wasn’t unaware we were underfeeding him,” Thorin said. “I’d never intentionally allow a member of the company to starve.”

Harry looked at him briefly and nodded as he held out his hands. A small trunk appeared in them, and Thorin barely kept his mouth from dropping open. He suddenly realized that Gandalf hadn’t told him exactly what sort of wizard Bilbo’s son was.

“Hobbits aren’t half a human or half an elf,” Harry said neutrally as he sat the trunk down and opened it. “Ada, come sit on this foot stool so I can treat your injury.”

Bilbo came to the door way, a tea towel already in hand. “I was fixing a meal.”

“I’ll handle that after we take care of your rib,” Harry said and pointed to the stool in front of him. “As I was saying, Master Oakenshield, hobbits aren’t half of anything, and that is a mistake many people make. They make assumptions about their species based on their knowledge of humans or elves.”

Bilbo took off his waistcoat with a sigh and sat down. “It barely hurts.”

“It hurts quite a lot,” Harry protested with a frown, and he pulled out a vial of sparklingly purple liquid. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” Bilbo asked as he took the vial.

“A plant-based nutrient potion,” the wizard said flatly, and with a shift of his wrist, a long stick appeared. Bilbo downed the contents of the vial with a grimace. “As I was saying, hobbits are their own unique species. They, in fact, have more in common with a bloody tree than they do you or me when it comes to their nutritional needs.” He looked briefly at Thorin before he swirled the stick and murmured something. A stream of light poured out of the wood and enveloped Bilbo’s side.

“You’ve gotten so much better at that,” Bilbo said cheerfully.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Harry said.

“If hobbits are like plants,” Thorin began. “Then he….”

“They don’t eat seven to nine meals a day because they’re greedy,” Harry said in exasperation. “They need food, sun, and water—to live and to thrive. Plants feed constantly from the soil they’re planted in. Well, hobbits aren’t planted, so they have to consume nutrients on a good schedule to prevent illness or a quiet kind of starvation where they simply wither away like a bed of neglected flowers.”

“You should’ve told us about your dietary needs, Master Baggins,” Thorin said gravely. “And not reporting your injury was inappropriate. We’re only as strong as our weakest member, and an injury would make anyone of us that, no matter our training.”

“I didn’t even feel it until we were running from the orcs,” Bilbo exclaimed and frowned at them all individually as if they were at fault for his non-disclosure.

Thorin considered that. “The excitement of the moment might have prevented you from noticing. I’ve seen it happen in battle and even in sparring. We’ll rest here in this place until your rib is healed.”

“It’s already healed,” Harry said and stood. “It was a small fracture. I’ll give him another potion when it’s time for sleep to shore up his bones.” He focused on Bifur. “How long have you had that axe in your head?”

“He received it at the Battle of Azanulbizar,” Thorin said shortly when Bifur made a few gestures in Iglishmêk. “Our healers believed removing it would kill him. It’s been a 142 years.” He paused and glanced toward the chest. “Can you remove it?”

“Not without careful study,” Harry said with a frown. “I don’t know enough about his specific physiology to fiddle with such a wound.” He closed the trunk, picked it up, and it disappeared in a flash.

“Where did it go?” Kíli questioned. “Where did it come from? What kind of wizard are you? I’ve never seen Gandalf do anything like that.”

“I’m….” Harry paused and held out his right hand. A shining bracelet of mithril was snug around his wrist. “This is a magical storage. I keep most of my belongings in it. The trunk is in it, and when I want the trunk—I just push the bracelet with my magic to remove it.”

He stood and shared a glance with his father. “As to your other question, I am a magus—the only one of my kind on Arda. I can use magic to conjure objects and various elements. I can change an object’s shape with magic on a temporary basis. These are disciplines all of my kind are capable of, but due to the strength of my magical power, I’m further classified as an archmagus on my world.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about your abilities,” Bilbo said as he stood. “Food. Now, lad. I’ve had a difficult morning, and I’m precariously close to being cross.”

Harry grinned. “Fortunately for you, the pantry was already stocked when I was seen here last night. As to my abilities, Ada, there isn’t a force in this realm that could hold me against my will for more than a few hours, so I don’t worry so much about being captured for someone else’s purpose anymore.”

Shortly, Thorin found himself seated at a table in a large kitchen beside Bilbo Baggins. The rest of the company had settled in as quietly as they could. If their behavior weren’t rooted in outright terror of their host, Thorin might’ve found it amusing. A pair of owls were perched on a wooden stand near the open window. They were larger than any owl he’d ever seen.

“They’re snowy owls,” Harry said. “Hedwig is the white one with black spots, and the solid white one is her mate. His name is Byron. On my world, they’re used to send letters to other magical people. Hedwig is my familiar—we are magically connected.”

“So, they’re a magical creature,” Thorin said.

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “They can read and are excellent navigators—though only in the language that was spoken around them on my world. They’re learning Westron currently. I can use my magic to direct them—to ensure that they take a letter to the right place until they learn the lay of the land. I was going to use Byron to send a letter to the Shire so that Ada would know that I’d returned.”

“Gandalf said you were early.”

“Gandalf neglected to consider that time on my original world doesn’t always work the same way as it does here,” Harry said neutrally as he put a teapot down near his father. “I was gone nearly thirteen years.”

“Oh, Harry,” Bilbo said with a frown. “It’s just been two years for me. I’m so sorry, lad.”’

“I’m fine, mostly,” Harry said quietly and pulled a large block of cheese from his pantry. “If one of you cooks—I could use help putting the evening meal on.”

“I can help,” Bombur said and stood. Thorin appreciated the dwarf’s bravery, considering the fact that he looked petrified.

Harry focused on him and very carefully put down the knife he was using to slice the cheese. “Master Bombur, I assure you that I’ve never once in my whole life attacked someone who didn’t mean me harm. Magic is a tool and a weapon—just like any other—and I’ve never misused it. I never will.” He motioned toward a door. “The main food pantry is there. I believe I have the better part of a boar in the cold storage. We can roast that for tomorrow.” He brought a platter of crackers and cheese to the table for his father as Bombur nodded his agreement. “Does anyone else need to eat immediately? I’ll put together a stew for dinner, but I’ve already eaten lunch.”

“We can wait for dinner,” Thorin said.

Harry eyed him and pulled a basket of scones out of a cabinet. “Perhaps a snack?”

“You were definitely raised by a hobbit,” Balin said dryly. “Is there coffee?”

“Yes, of course.”

Nearly a half hour later, most of the company had wandered away to clean up, and Thorin found himself alone in the kitchen with Bilbo and his son. He knew he should probably leave them to their reunion, but he felt like the moment he turned his back the young wizard would make off with their burglar.

Harry sat down at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands. “Ada, why have you left the Shire?”

Bilbo frowned. “It was difficult after you left—lonely, I guess. I traveled back and forth to Bree several times a year with the traders, but I still had to come home to an empty smial. I always knew it would happen, of course, but I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I would be. You were never going to stay in the Shire with me—even if you hadn’t had to return to your realm.”

Harry reached out and put one hand on his father’s. “I promised to return.”

“And you have,” Bilbo said and smiled, though Thorin thought the smile was more sad than happy, and he wondered when he’d started to notice such a thing about the hobbit. “But the Shire is…too rigid a place for you, Harry. They’ve always wanted you to act more like a hobbit than you ever could manage. Remember that summer you refused to wear shoes because Bruno Bracegirdle called you tender-footed. You broke two toes before you gave in and just stayed home completely. I couldn’t even get you to go outside to help harvest our little garden.”

Harry’s mouth quirked up slightly. “I was just eight, Ada. I’ve matured since then. Besides, Bruno stopped picking on me when I grew taller than him.” He huffed. “The little bastard, he was only ever cruel to me because you refused his courting gestures.”

“Yes, well, he is, in fact, a little bastard, and his scones are a genuine atrocity,” Bilbo said tartly. “You look worn—upset. Was it difficult in your realm?”

“It was war, Ada,” Harry said quietly. “Chieftain Ragnok prepared me for it the best he could but….” He shook his head. “I just don’t think anyone is prepared for battle until they’re in the midst of it. There was…a woman.” He frowned and took a deep breath. “I knew I should keep my distance from her because I never intended to stay. I loved her before I even understood what was happening to me.”

“I’d have never wanted you to leave behind such a love,” Bilbo murmured. “Can you go back to her?”

“No, the portal is failing. In a year, it’ll be gone, and I knew when I stepped through the second time to return to Arda that I wouldn’t be able to go back. I love her, but she chose another. It wasn’t a surprise—she’d known him since she was very young.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee. “It hurts, of course, but it was just one more loss I was forced to deal with in that realm. It was a place full of pain and betrayal, Ada. Even after I met my destiny and defeated the enemy magic deemed was mine, the people there pulled at me—tried to control me. I had to sneak away just to escape them.”

“And this woman you love, she was part of that?”

“No, in fact, she helped me get away and made sure I reached Chieftain Ragnok without any of them knowing. I didn’t tell her what I was going to do once I was free, but I left her a letter. I hope…well.” He shrugged it off. “I hope she’s happy, but frankly, so few people in that world seemed to be. They were greedy and cruel—even the ones that were supposed to be on the side of good. I couldn’t stay and watch her marry another man.”

Thorin grunted his agreement. “I can’t blame you there.” He poured himself more coffee and stood reluctantly. “I should leave the two of you to catch up….”

Harry grinned. “I’m not going to hobbitnap him back to the Shire, Master Oakenshield. I respect him far too much to take his choices from him—even the immensely foolish ones. There is a private bath upstairs if you’d like to have some peace and quiet to clean up. Everyone stayed on the first floor, so it’s empty up there.”

“Harry.” Bilbo winced when his son just lowered his head to the table and groaned as Oakenshield left the kitchen. “It’s not as bad as all of that.”

“Ada, you….” He huffed. “It is as bad as that. I’ve seen a bloody dragon, you know. And it wasn’t a third of the size of the ones here on Arda. Gandalf had no business involving you in this mess. He preyed on your loneliness, and I’m not going….” He frowned when his father started to disagree. “You know he did.”

“I’m fine,” Bilbo chided. “This cake is lovely. Did you make it?”

“No, Ragnok’s wife did. She prepared a whole pouch of food for me to take through the portal. The contents would feed us both for a year. She thought you’d enjoy sampling food from another realm.”

Bilbo grinned. “I look forward to eating it all then.” He bit down on his lip. “You’ll go with me, right? To Erebor?”

“Of course, Ada, I’d never let you traipse off into the wilderness with a bunch of dwarrow I don’t even know without me,” Harry said with a scowl but then reached out and took his father’s hand. “I’ve missed you so much. I can’t even say. Every day there—I walked around with an emptiness that I cannot explain. I resented every delay, every obstacle they threw in the way of my path home.”

“Why did they want to keep you there? You said your gifts weren’t all that uncommon.”

“I did have more magical power than many,” Harry said. “But it was the politics and financial power they wanted to control. Before I left—I designated an heir and turned all of my personal money into precious metals and jewels I could trade here. I don’t think it’s what my birth father would’ve wanted—because in giving away my title, I forfeited a thousand years of familial legacy.”

Bilbo put his free hand on top of Harry’s. “Now, none of that. James Potter died for you—sacrificed himself so that your mother could complete the ritual that would see you brought here. I believe they both knew, deep in their hearts, that you’d never be truly safe or happy in that world. Chieftain Ragnok said that their sacrifices were overwhelmed with love and the desire to protect you. They wanted you to be safe and happy.”

“Maybe they meant for it to be temporary,” Harry said. “I was defenseless then. I’m not defenseless now. I could’ve stood against all of them and made my own way on that world, though the road would’ve been hard.”

“For her?” Bilbo questioned gently.

Harry’s eyes welled with tears he wouldn’t shed, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, for her. In the end, I waged war for her and not for any of the reasons they all assumed. There came a point that she was the only reason I remained there at all. As I said earlier, they couldn’t be bothered to hide their greed.

“They heralded me a hero in one moment and berated me in another for taking too long to solve a problem of their own making. That great enemy I was prophesied to meet? He was a product of generations of ingrained societal bigotry. It’s like the whole damn place was full of Sackville-Baggins.”

“That’s a nightmare right there,” Bilbo said. He patted Harry’s hand. “I’ll make your favorite biscuits.”

“Ha,” Harry exclaimed and held his father still when he went to leave his seat. “You’ll take a nice long bath and have a nap before lunch.”

“But….”

“Please,” Harry said quietly. “You look so tired, and I hate to see it. Have a bit of a respite while you can because the road to Erebor isn’t going to get any better than you’ve already experienced. In fact, considering you lot ran from an orc hunting party to get here, I have to think it’ll only be worse.”

Bilbo allowed himself to be led upstairs and into a room with furniture all meant for him, and Harry set his ada’s pack near the bed.

“Don’t worry so much about me, Harry. I’m the parent around here.”

“I think we’re going to have a bit of a role reversal for a while,” Harry said wryly. “It’s been a long thirteen years.”

“You’ll explain that part to me later?” Bilbo asked.

“Of course,” Harry promised as he pulled the bedroom door closed. He activated the runic protections on the frame that would give his father the privacy he obviously needed and went in search of Gandalf.

He found the maia on the veranda, smoking a long pipe. There were several dwarrow with him, Thorin Oakenshield among them. Harry wasn’t at all sure how he felt about the dwarf king’s overt possessiveness regarding his ada, but he’d let that situation alone as long as his father didn’t complain. Harry leaned on the railing and crossed his arms.

“Give me one perfect reason why I shouldn’t drop-kick your arse all the way to Rohan,” Harry said evenly.

“Saruman is on his way here, and you’ll probably need me to watch your back.”

Harry made a face because, yeah, that was likely. Saruman had always been vehemently opposed to his continued presence on Arda. It was infuriating. He flicked a slim, silver case from his bracelet and tapped an herbal out of it. It lit in his hand, and he took a long drag from it before focusing on Gandalf.

“Chieftain Ragnok told me that Saruman spent the last two years trying to find the portal so he could close it. He also told me that you refused to tell the White Wizard where the portal was. Why?”

“If Eru didn’t want you here, the portal wouldn’t exist,” Gandalf said easily. “Saruman may question the will of our maker, but I do not. I never have. I wouldn’t be here if I did question. It isn’t like I wanted to come here.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah—the orc infestation alone is enough to set anyone off their stride for decades.”

“You’ll join the quest then,” Gandalf said and nodded, clearly satisfied with his assumption.

“I’ll join Ada on his little adventure,” Harry said evenly and focused on the dwarf king. “I’m going to read the contract my father signed, and you can expect it to be renegotiated if I find his good nature has been abused.” He raised an eyebrow when several of them puffed up in irritation. “And I won’t be signing one at all. My only obligation over the next year will be protecting the life of my father—your goals, needs, and desires are utterly unimportant to me. They’re currently important to Ada, so I suggest you do everything in your power to keep it that way. Right now, I’m magically impaired due to my travel, but I’ll be back where I should be within the next week. I could return my father to the Shire in a matter of minutes.”

Thorin frowned. “Could you transport us to Erebor that quickly?”

“I’ve never been there, and I can’t travel long distances magically to any place on Arda I’ve not visited without the aid of a device. On my world, I could apparate at will, and my magic would guide me to a safe landing place due to the fact there are many magus there, and over the centuries, pathways have formed in the fabric of magic that we could use.

“But here on Arda, I have to establish landing points and attach them to my magic. Traveling without these points could result in the loss of limbs or my passenger. Due to the distance, I couldn’t apparate more than a single person at a time for safety’s sake, at any rate. There are other methods of near-instant magical travel at my disposal, but again, I couldn’t use those without knowing the specific coordinates for the location.

“Should your people reclaim Erebor, I could, in theory, migrate your entire population from the Blue Mountains in a few hours. I’d need to travel back to the Shire, then go to the Blue Mountains to establish a travel network of sorts using a magical device called a portkey. There are other ways—it will depend on the magical landscape of Erebor.”

“We….” Thorin exhaled sharply and focused on Gandalf. “Can you do any of that?”

“I can travel fast on my own,” Gandalf said. “But not like he does. I’ve read a few books over the years about the magic of his world so I could help prepare him for what he’d face there. But I’ve never been able to harness that kind of magic. It’s not my role here to do such a thing. Saruman cannot master these things either—one reason why he finds young Hadrian so vexing, I’m sure.”

“What sort of payment would you require to move my people magically?” Thorin asked roughly. “I don’t know what we’ll find in Erebor, and you don’t want a contract.”

“I don’t need your gold, Oakenshield,” Harry said shortly. “I have more wealth than I could spend in a thousand years and have little need for what I do have. I brought precious metals and jewels back from my home realm to ensure that my father could retire when he was ready and not have to worry about money.”

“What sort of work does Bilbo do?” the dwarf named Balin asked curiously.

Harry’s mouth dropped open, and he turned to Gandalf. “Gandalf, did you just drag Ada from the Shire without any sort of warning or preparation?”

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow. “He’s a farmer like his father, correct?”

Harry laughed. “Oh, no, not all. He certainly enjoys his personal garden, but he doesn’t handle the farm for Hobbiton. If he were the Farmer, you’d have never had any hopes of getting him out of the Shire. It is a huge responsibility to grow food for the community—he’d have never turned his back on it. Ada inherited all of his mother’s holdings and manages properties all over Hobbiton and Michel Delving. He’s also spent the last decade working as the Arbiter of Hobbiton.”

“What’s an Arbiter?” Balin questioned in a low tone.

“It’s like….” Harry frowned as he considered how to explain the role his father had. “A judge? Once a month, there is a gathering, and he passes judgment on issues that might have cropped up between people—everything from land disputes, theft, and the occasional divorce. Couples rarely separate in the Shire but when they do—they need an impartial party to handle the split due to the fact that hobbits are vengeful, unreasonable little bastards as a species. My ada has done that since my great-grandmother retired from the job.”

“How did he gain such authority over a large portion of the Shire?” Thorin asked.

“He’s the grandson of the current Thain, which is…basically the hobbit king. Though they’d all have a complete fit if you called him that because they don’t actually believe in any sort of regency government in theory. In practice, however, they’re very much ruled through regency. The current Thain inherited the position from his grandfather, who inherited it from his father—it’s a position steeped in legacy and honor.”

“He’s royalty then,” Balin said grimly and glared at Gandalf. “You didn’t tell us that.”

Gandalf had the grace to look chagrined. “I wasn’t quite aware of any of that. Hobbits are a suspicious and secretive lot.”

Harry sighed. “I’ll need to make sure he assigned someone to manage his property and secure Bag End because his cousin Lobelia would like nothing better in the world than to steal the place from him—lock, stock, and glory box.” He ran a hand through his hair and pulled a clasp the his nape free.

“Your people don’t braid…then,” Fíli said roughly as Harry ran his fingers through his hair until it fell halfway down his back.

“Our women do, for purely decorative purposes,” Harry said.  “Ada used to braid mine to keep it out of the way. I never liked getting it cut—which is Gandalf’s fault.”’

“Ha, don’t blame me.” The grey wizard pointed his pipe at him.

Harry grinned and focused on Fíli. “I was convinced very early on that wizards were to have long hair, so I refused to let Ada cut it for ages. He learned to braid it as a defense. Then, of course, I came here to Rivendell when I was thirteen for training and saw that elves didn’t cut their hair short, either. After that, Ada completely lost that battle.”

“You use the Sindarin term for father,” Thorin said shortly. “But hobbits primarily speak Westron.”

“Papa is preferred in the Shire,” Harry agreed. “But when Gandalf introduced me…he told me that Bilbo Baggins was going to be my ada. I was old enough to remember my birth father, whom I called Daddy—a term for father in my world. Ada was close to that, which I think probably made it easier for me to accept my new circumstances. I don’t really remember—I was very young when my parents were killed.”

“How young?” Fíli asked.

“Fifteen months—they were fighting a dark wizard. He killed my father first, then murdered my mother in front of me. They used a ritual magical sacrifice to open a portal here. When he tried to kill me as well, the ritual activated, and I was very unceremoniously dropped in Gandalf’s lap.”

“Quite, I broke my favorite pipe in my efforts to catch him,” Gandalf agreed and frowned as he puffed on the pipe he had in his hand.

“This dark wizard tried to murder an infant,” Thorin said flatly. “How was he punished?”

Harry wet his lips and took a deep breath. “Three months ago, I destroyed his soul and his mortal body in a magical combat. The duel lasted hours, and it was honestly the most satisfying moment of my life when that corrupt bastard dropped dead at my feet.” He grinned at the grunts of approval that statement earned him.

“Why did he do it?” Kíli asked. “You were just a babe—no threat to him at all.”

“But he knew I’d grow up to be the only wizard that could threaten his plans to control the world. Or really, more to the point, to destroy the world. He had no interest in rule for the sake of it. Riddle thrived on destruction and death—like an orc.

“Honestly, he wasn’t even all that powerful. I don’t think the people on that world really understand what a true dark lord is capable of. They ran in fear of him, and that fear gave him more power than anything else. I found very little valor in the world of my origin,” Harry looked out over the small garden in front of his cottage and took a deep breath. “They’re lucky I was raised by a such a good person because it would’ve been the work of nothing for me to take Riddle’s place and make them all sincerely wish I’d never returned.”

He cleared his throat. “As to moving your people—I’ll make that decision after the dragon is dead. You’ve got a few months, Thorin Oakenshield, to prove to me that you’re worthy of such a huge magical endeavor on my part.”

Thorin nodded. “Very well.” He hesitated but then leaned forward slightly. “Due to the skirmish with orcs and the incident with the trolls, we lost our ponies. Do you think you could ask Lord Elrond to send out someone to attempt to collect them?”

Harry considered that. His father had probably grown used to riding on a pony, and it would certainly make the trip easier for his hobbit father, whose stride was much shorter than the dwarrow he’d been traveling with. “How many did you have?”

“Fourteen total. We purchased them in the Shire the day before we met with your father to discuss the quest.”

“You’re in luck then. Shire ponies don’t wander far if left unattended. Unless they were killed by orcs, they probably aren’t far from here.” Harry took another long drag off his herbal and blew out a perfect ring of smoke, which earned him a few grunts approval. “Did Ada share his pipeweed with you?”

“He forgot his,” Ori blurted out. “I’ve been sharing mine.”

“I guess that’ll be on the list he’s surely compiling for me,” Harry said dryly. “He’s supposed to be up there resting.” He glanced up to the second floor of the house and shook his head. “But he’s fretting over a list of items he left at home instead.”

“I bet two silver that the first thing on the list is handkerchiefs,” Bofur said and grinned when several laughed.

“He’ll probably request half of his closet,” Thorin suggested. “Especially since his son could carry it for him in that bracelet. He was quite irritated to notice he was losing the buttons off of his waistcoat.”

“I have to say,” Harry began, “I’ve never seen him so disheveled in my life. It was quite disconcerting. He putters around in his garden, but he has staff to do the heavy labor even there. He’s a gentlehobbit, you see, more scholar than anything else. He collects his rents, keeps track of the food storage for Hobbiton, and writes books when he’s not working as an Arbiter.” He glanced at Gandalf. “You should be ashamed of yourself, you know. He obviously wasn’t in any single way prepared to dash out of his front door, and that’s exactly what you encouraged him to do.”

Gandalf frowned. “A little adventure is good for the soul, Hadrian.”

“I can’t disagree, but he wasn’t prepared for it, and that’s your fault. I think you know, very well, how easy it was to get out of that smial, so you could’ve given him time to gather the right clothes and equipment. If he’d had that time, he could’ve made his own lembas bread, at least, and wouldn’t have arrived at Rivendell half-starved.

“It was irresponsible, Gandalf. I left my father here in your care, and I can’t say I’m pleased with your performance. All the other times he came to Rivendell with me, Lord Elrond saw to his travel, and it was always by wagon where we were both coddled and protected by Elrond’s sons to an obscene degree.”

Gandalf just stared at him.

“I see you,” Harry said evenly. “And you’re transparent as fuck. You’re probably sitting there trying to figure out how to manage me because you didn’t expect me to be back for years. I have to say, if I’d come home and found that you’d allowed Ada to be killed on a quest to steal from a dragon, Eru would have had a difficult time gathering up enough pieces of you to send you back over here.”

The dwarf king coughed in his hand and shrugged when both wizards focused on him. “The ponies?”

“Let’s go see,” Harry said and flicked his herbal away. The remnants of the cigarillo disintegrated into nothing but a bit of ash before it could hit the ground.

He wasn’t all that surprised when all the dwarrow and Gandalf followed him from his house, down the path and past Elrond’s dwelling, and onto the main road leading into the elven city. He drew his wand as he stopped at the long bridge that marked the border of Rivendell. After a few moments of thought, he sent out a stream of magic seeking the ponies.

They’d have a bit of Shire magic clinging to them, so finding them didn’t prove difficult. He encountered one almost immediately and gave a gentle pull with a very light-handed summoning spell. He only had to pull three before they all started heading toward him—as they were clustered together out of fear and familiarity.

Gandalf huffed a bit when his horse appeared first. “Thank you, Harry.” He grabbed the reins as soon as the animal trotted over the bridge to him.

The ponies trickled up the path shortly thereafter. The dwarrow caught them one by one and followed Gandalf back into Rivendell. Harry watched Oakenshield pat his pony’s face and then pass the reins to one of his nephews.

When they were alone, Harry focused on the dwarf king and leaned on the bridge post. “Something on your mind?”

“Your father is well now?”

“Yes, but he needs rest,” Harry said and exhaled. “He should’ve told you that he wasn’t enough like you for it not to matter. Ada isn’t weak by any means, and he would’ve probably survived the quest easily enough if you didn’t let an orc kill him, but he’d have probably never been the same.

“Before I came to the Shire, there was a terrible winter—they call it the Fell Winter. Many hobbits died of starvation because the growing season was cut short, and the snow piled on them in an alarming fashion. The river froze, and many were killed by invading wargs. There were stories about orcs as well.

“His parents, Bungo and Belladonna, they….” Harry pursed his lips. “To save their child, they fed him first and ate very little themselves. They survived, but they were never the same. A few years after that terrible winter, Bungo had to give up his role as the Farmer of Hobbiton because he could no longer garden. The near starvation eventually destroyed his small magic, which is the root of a hobbit’s ability to produce food on such a large scale.”

“Do all hobbits have this small magic?” Oakenshield questioned.

“I’ve rarely encountered a creature on Arda who didn’t, dwarrow included,” Harry said. “But in many ways, the small magic of a hobbit is fragile. Very few hobbits require a gardener for their personal garden, Master Oakenshield. Even gentlehobbits happily work their own land. But my late adopted grandparents couldn’t grow anything near the end of their lives because of the sacrifice they made for their only child, so they hired someone to help them. They also died incredibly young for their species. My ada chose to continue to fund the job because he felt it was his duty.”

“So, if Bilbo had continued as he was on our quest to Erebor…it would’ve destroyed his magic even if he’d lived,” the dwarf said flatly. “Does Tharkûn understand this?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll be sure to fully explain the situation to him. He preyed on my father—used his loneliness and his tender heart against him.” Harry kicked a rock off the path into the high grass next to the bridge. “You did, too.”

He watched the dwarf king absorb that information, and the older man’s cheeks flushed. Harry didn’t know if it was temper or shame.

Oakenshield looked away from him and focused on the forest that spread out beyond the bridge. “I was shortsighted regarding your father. He saved our lives with his quick thinking—though honestly, I could’ve lived without the insults while he did it.”

“Insults?” Harry asked.

The dwarf huffed. “He told the trolls they should skin us before they cooked us, then told them we were riddled with parasites.”

Harry burst out laughing. “Oh, tell me everything.”

* * * *

The last meal of the day consisted of toasted cheese sandwiches and a rich potato and beef stew. Bilbo had immediately been taken with the little sandwiches, which he declared were clever and convenient. The hobbit had eaten two before anyone had gotten brave enough to snag a few for themselves from the large serving platter in the middle of the table.

Thorin had to admit they were very good, and he ate four before he even realized it and finished two bowls of the stew, which earned him a wide smile from Bilbo. As it turned out, the hobbit was convinced that Bombur was the only member of the company who wasn’t on the verge of starving to death.

Gandalf ate a little and endured a lesson on hobbit biology and small magics that had left the maia shame-faced and apologetic. Thorin figured it was sincere since, at several points, the old wizard had looked devastated. He’d also asked several pointed questions about Bilbo’s health, which was a relief because Thorin didn’t believe he had the right to know such specifics, so he hadn’t asked.

After supper, Thorin had allowed himself to be escorted to Elrond’s home by Gandalf so they could discuss the map. The conversation hadn’t lasted long as they’d discovered they’d need a full moon to view the hidden parts of the map, which was two nights away. Gandalf took him back to Hadrian’s home and abandoned him on the porch.

Thorin took it as an opportunity to smoke, so he sat down on one of the benches and filled his pipe. He had it lit before he realized he wasn’t alone. Hadrian was on one of the benches a few feet from him but shrouded mostly in shadow, flat on his back, staring at the night sky.

“Should you not be resting?” Thorin questioned.

Hadrian turned his head slightly so their gazes met. “Only a few weeks have passed since the war ended completely on my world.”

“You’re worried about your woman.”

“She was never mine,” Hadrian murmured. “And now she won’t ever be.” He refocused on the star-filled sky. “I never considered myself a coward until it came to her.”

“Because you could not confess your feelings,” Thorin guessed.

“The love I have for her is selfish.”

“Isn’t all romantic love selfish to some degree?” Thorin shrugged when Harry’s gaze jerked back to his, filled with shock. “Dwarrow only love like that once, and when we do, it is consuming. I’ve watched the strongest dwarf brought low when spurned by the one they love. It’ll make you bitter if you allow it.”

“I don’t begrudge her the choice she made,” Hadrian said. “But I can’t say she chose between us because I didn’t tell her how I felt. I didn’t have anything real to offer her as far as I’m concerned.”

“And because you promised your father you’d return to Arda.”

“I hated that world—it was cruel, senseless. Growing up in the Shire did not prepare me to deal with the avarice and selfishness I encountered on Earth. They demanded everything I had to give and were often unsatisfied with it. They insisted I defend them but were disappointed in my methods. They feared me and, in some instances, reviled me but would turn and celebrate me when I did what they wanted. I can’t explain it, really.”

“My grandfather never recovered from the loss of Erebor. Honestly, I don’t believe my father did either. Even before he left us, he couldn’t be bothered with the duties left to him in the wake of his father’s death. The failure to regain Khazad-dûm was a great shame to him. I took over much of his duties before I was even sixty. There were those who resented me for it.”

“You weren’t even an adult by dwarrow standards,” Harry murmured. “It must have been difficult.”

Thorin nodded. “I’d already gained a reputation in battle. His council believed me to be hot-headed and uncontrollable. They tried, of course, to rein me in and shape me into the king they wanted.”

“Did they succeed?”

“I hope not,” Thorin said roughly. “You should sleep. You’re clearly exhausted.”

“Good night then, Master Oakenshield.”

“You can call me Thorin.”

“Harry, then,” the young wizard said.

* * * *

Bilbo dragged a stool to the stove and hopped up on it to check the porridge he’d put on. He had spiced apple scones and a pan of sausages in the oven. The large frying pan in the cabinet was made of iron and so heavy that while he was certain he could’ve carried it he was unsure if he could have lifted it high enough to put on the stove. So, he’d put the sausages in the oven which was working out better than he’d thought. He’d put on a pot for tea and made coffee since Thorin appeared to prefer that greatly to tea.

He reached out and snagged a piece of melon from the plate he’d made for his first breakfast, then popped it into his mouth before adding a bit more cinnamon to the porridge. Bilbo started to turn, and the stool tottered underneath him. Big hands steadied him just as he was about to fall.

“Oh, thank you….” He turned and flushed. “Thorin. You’re up early.”

“Coffee,” the dwarf king said. “The smell was enough to rouse me from the best sleep I’ve gotten in weeks. Be careful. This stool isn’t very sturdy.”

“No, not like the one I have at home,” Bilbo said and felt his face heat further as Thorin helped him down off the stool. “The kitchen is made for big people, but Harry said he would make some adjustments for the future.”

“You’d live here in Rivendell?” Thorin asked with a frown.

“I’ll live where my son lives,” Bilbo said. “There is no one in the Shire that I would miss so much as I’ve missed him, so I’ll go where Harry goes if he lets me. I’d have gone with him to the other realm if he’d allowed it. He was worried that it would be dangerous for me, and considering what little he’s said about it—I’d have probably been used against him. I worry.” He bit down on his lip. “I worry they’ll find some way to come after him.”

“I can put my sword in a wizard just as easily as I can an orc,” Thorin said roughly and went to pour himself coffee. “The food smells good.” He sat down at the table just as the rest of the company stumbled into the kitchen.

Harry came in last, already dressed for the day—his hair unbound, falling like black silk down his back. Combine the hair with the beard, and Bilbo figured that his son was going to be an intense distraction for some of the younger members of the company. As it was, they were all staring at him.

“Harry, lad, put up your hair before you give the dwarrow fits,” Bilbo said with a laugh.

Harry paused in reaching for a cup and looked around. “Hmmm, what?”

“Among our kind, hair such as yours would be highly coveted. It’s startling to see such thick hair on anyone but a dwarf,” Balin explained.

“Oh.” Harry shook his head, and with a movement of his wrist, a small black band appeared in his hand. He tied his hair back with it. “I’ve honestly never interacted with dwarrow on Arda, so your social customs are a mystery. Does my beard bother you? I could shave it.”

“No!” They all shouted at once, and Bilbo laughed.

“No,” Thorin said firmly with a surprisingly neutral face. Bilbo figured he was just as horrified as anyone else. “Shaving one’s beard is only done in times of grief or shame among our people. If it bothers you personally, then it is yours to do with as you wish, but you needn’t alter your appearance for our sake.

“We’ll grow accustomed to you…in time. You are just physically close to the dwarven ideal despite your height and species, which is disconcerting since you aren’t a dwarf. Though I’m surprised by your shortness comparatively speaking. You can’t be more than five and a half feet, which I know is rare for humans.”

“Wish magic,” Harry said wryly. “At least that’s what Elrond thinks. As a young lad, I was quite dismayed by my height and my small feet. I’ve not grown an inch since I was fourteen. My magic was responding to the fact that I wanted quite desperately to fit into the Shire. I knew I was different than Ada; I just didn’t want to be.”

“I see,” Thorin murmured. “The stool is in poor shape. Your father almost fell off of it.”

Harry leaned back and glanced at it. “Ah, I put that in the cupboard so you wouldn’t use it, Ada. I was too tired to fix it last night.”

“How else was I supposed to make porridge?” Bilbo asked tartly as he put a platter of scones on the table. “It’s ready—so you can serve.”

Large bowls of porridge were soon passed around and Bilbo was relieved to see that the meal was well-received. It was really only the second time the dwarrow had eaten his cooking in full, and the first time hadn’t been what he would’ve preferred.

“Do you eat like a hobbit or like an elf, Harry?” Fíli asked.

“More hobbit,” Harry admitted. “It’s required for my magic.”

“I’ve rarely seen Gandalf eat,” Dwalin pointed out. “Which is weird.”

“Very,” Harry agreed. “I don’t think he actually needs to eat but uses it to make others around him comfortable. He’s not…well, he’s an immortal spirit, you see. A maia is more of a magical construct than an actual living, breathing man. Gandalf’s magical gifts are different than mine—he has immense physical strength, limited shape-shifting, immortality, foresight, calmness of mind, and, most importantly, enchantment. We share some gifts—specifically telekinesis and the ability to use a magical focus to amplify our power.”

“So, you’re not immortal?” Kíli asked.

“No, not at all. I’ll live several hundred years—maybe longer here on Arda than I would in my home realm. I’ll age very slowly, and I could suffer a mortal wound, though I do have magical protections against that.” He turned to his father. “I took a restorative potion before sleeping so I can travel to the Shire today rather than next week. You’ll need to finish your letters, Ada, because honestly, leaving a note on your door telling everyone you’re going on an adventure isn’t quite enough.”

Bilbo blushed. “Well, I was pressed for time.”

“Do make sure to get his handkerchiefs,” Thorin said as gravely as he could and laughed when Bilbo glared at him. “You said that you worried about some hobbit woman stealing his home?”

“I’ll renew the protections on Bag End that will prevent her from coming near the place and put a runic lock on the door,” Harry said as he polished off a scone. “I need to speak with Lord Elrond, and I’ll be ready to go, Ada.”

“All right,” Bilbo said. “I’ll write the letters and finish the list of things you can retrieve.” He paused. “Why did you take the potion? You told me those things are really uncomfortable.”

“Elrond informed me that his guard fought three different orc packs before returning. I’d rather not leave Rivendell in a weakened state, and Saruman will be here at the end of the week—we should go before he gets here. I’ve brewed four doses of the restorative. I’ll take the other three over the course of the day.”

“How uncomfortable is the potion?” Thorin asked.

“On par with a broken bone,” Harry said and stood. “I need to go through my trunk and find the mokeskin so I can make pouches for the company. We should be able to shed those large packs entirely with mokeskin storage, and they’ll be easier to keep up with.”

Bilbo was certain that Thorin would decline, so he was surprised when the dwarf merely nodded his agreement and said, “We would appreciate any assistance you can offer.”

After breakfast, Bilbo and his son essentially disappeared, and Thorin was left to explain himself to both Dwalin and Balin. They were really the only two members of the company that would dare question him outright regarding his decisions, so when they prodded him into a large, airy room near the front of the cottage, he went along without protest.

“You’re being very agreeable,” Balin said without preamble. “Why? You’ve not been on board with Bilbo’s inclusion since you set eyes on him. Do you think his wizard son will end up doing the work for him?”

“No,” Thorin said roughly. “Gandalf said we needed the hobbit, and I believe we’ve overlooked something about him. Elrond and Gandalf trusted Bilbo Baggins to raise a wizard, Balin. What does that mean? Wouldn’t the boy have been better raised among the elves? Yet, he wasn’t, and that’s curious. What is it about Bilbo Baggins that makes him so special? I can’t say his son isn’t an asset, and I’d be a fool to decline any help he offers. You said that to me about Gandalf. I have to think it goes double for Hadrian. He doesn’t appear to have the same kind of agenda that Gandalf does.”

“True,” Balin agreed. “I don’t disagree with your thinking on the subject. I’m just surprised I haven’t had to talk you around to it.”

“Do you think Hadrian can break the curse?” Dwalin asked bluntly. “The madness curse? Gandalf tried, if you’ll remember, and he failed with Thror.”

“I remember that day very well, Dwalin,” Thorin said lowly. “And no, I don’t think Bilbo’s son can break the curse on my line—it is a burden, but I’m strong, and I can fight it.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

They all three looked up and found Bilbo standing there. He had a stack of parchment clutched to his chest. A quill and a bottle of ink were fisted in his other hand.

“Halfling,” Thorin began but stopped when Bilbo frowned at him.

“If you’re going to constantly refer to my species rather than use my name, I’d greatly prefer that you not use a slur to do it. I don’t go around calling you insults, and I frankly know quite a few for dwarrow.” Bilbo crossed the room and sat down at a desk near the window with a chair his size. “This is my study, so…hmmm…you can stay and continue your ridiculous conversation, but I need to write my letters before Harry returns from his conversation with Lord Eldrond.” He fussed a little over his parchment and inked his quill. “And you should ask Harry about the curse. If it actually exists as you say, then he might have a solution.”

“Of course, it exists….” Thorin trailed off when the hobbit looked at him with what looked a little like pity. It was infuriating.

“What I mean to say, Thorin, is that perhaps the curse isn’t on you or your line but on the mountain itself. You don’t look so crazy right now, and if your line was cursed—wouldn’t you all be suffering? Balin and Dwalin are cousins to you, are they not? What of your nephews? Have they exhibited any of the symptoms that you associate with the curse? Your grandfather and father went quite mad, correct?”

“How do you know about the curse?” Dwalin demanded roughly.

“I overheard Lord Elrond and Gandalf discussing it,” Bilbo said simply. “I couldn’t sleep last night, and they were in a small garden behind Elrond’s home. Harry’s cottage shares that garden.” He paused and fussed with his parchment again. “As to your other assumption—I wasn’t the first choice to raise Harry, but Gandalf said that I was honest and without….” Bilbo frowned. “Ah, without guile. He wanted Harry to grow up in a good home where he would be allowed to forge his own path forward.”

“You didn’t have any goals for him?” Dwalin questioned.

“I wanted the same thing then that I want now,” Bilbo said as he started to write. “I want Harry to be safe, happy, and strong enough to bear the burdens that powers beyond my grasp press upon him. I can’t control what the world will throw at my boy, but I did what I could to raise a young man who’d face all of that with a fierce and good heart.”

“He threatened to kick Gandalf over to Rohan,” Balin said.

“Yes, the creative threat-making turned out to be an added bonus,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “When he was a wee lad of six, he threatened to give Lobelia Bracegirdle a black thumb, which is honestly the worst thing you could do to a hobbit. She’s avoided him ever since as a result. One of the biggest issues I had after he left was that she kept showing up at Bag End. Of course, Harry left magic in place around the smial that prevented her actual entry, but that had started to fade in the last year since he wasn’t around to shore it up. She certainly did her part to test it regularly.”

* * * *

Thorin honestly wasn’t surprised to find Fíli on the front porch of the cottage, staring off in the direction of Elrond’s dwelling. He sighed. “He’s in love with some woman he left behind on his former world.”

Fíli blushed. “I’m not….” He grinned then. “He’s really attractive.”

“I couldn’t argue against that, but I’d not want you to get hurt pursuing someone utterly unavailable to you. The look on his face when he spoke of her—it was like he left half of himself behind, and I don’t know if he’ll ever get over that loss enough to….” Thorin frowned. “I’d not want you to settle for being second in someone’s heart.”

“Uncle.” Fíli leaned on the railing next to Thorin. “It’s…I plan to offer Duma a courting gift after the quest. She told me that she would welcome my formal attention if I were interested, and I am. She’s lovely and talented. She made my beard beads and gave them to me before I left.”

“I noticed they were new but assumed you’d made them. They don’t have the marks of a courting gift.”

“No, she said that they were full of her well wishes and hopes that I wouldn’t get myself killed foolishly fighting a dragon. She believed it best, and I agreed, that we shouldn’t place any obligations on one another before the quest was done.”

“All heart that one,” Thorin said, but there was no heat in his words. “And she’s a good choice—she’s a generous dwarrowdam both with her time and her wealth. I have a feeling she might have come to the Blue Mountains from the Iron Hills to meet you, actually. She arrived the same year you came of age.”

Fíli flushed. “Yes, well, there were several others that appeared to have the same goal, but she’s the only one who came to the settlement and invested herself in living with us. She took a position in a guild—a lower one than she’d already earned in the Iron Hills and immediately started volunteering for various tasks and jobs around the settlement to help.” His gaze flicked up the path. “But currently, I’m single, and he’s obviously unattached. A little fun between friends never hurt anything.”

Thorin laughed at his nephew’s cheerful tone. “I wish you well with your efforts to make a new friend then.”

Fíli grew serious. “But I wouldn’t press for more than what would be willingly given.”

“I have no concerns regarding your honor, Little Lion.” Thorin wrapped an arm around his nephew’s shoulders and pulled him close. “I know you’re a good dwarf.”

Fíli relaxed. “Have you ever honestly seen anyone that attractive? What is that? Magic?”

“Mahal knows,” Thorin said wryly. “Maybe it’s the Shire itself.”

“Bilbo’s a pretty little thing,” Fíli said and grinned when his uncle huffed. “Oh, you noticed, too?”

“Shut up, lad,” Thorin said roughly. “Go check on Kíli. There’s no telling what he’s up to without you.”

* * * *

“You’re tired, still,” Elrond said. “It’s not what I’ve come to expect from you. A night of rest normally sets you to rights.”

“It’s not all physical,” Harry admitted. “I’m emotionally exhausted and heartsore. It feels wrong how much I hate the world I was born on. Leaving there was one of the more relieving moments of my life, and yet.”

“The woman,” Elrond said. “Her affection for you was clear in the…pictures you showed me.”

Elrond had found the magical pictures fascinating but also kind of appalling in a way that had amused Harry more than it should’ve.

“I can’t second guess myself at this point as I can’t ever return to that world—not even if the portal would allow for it. The magic is already failing, and it will break fairly soon. I’ve left behind so much more than I can afford to dwell on. Life is hard and rarely fair.”

“True,” Elrond murmured. “There are those who’d never want the dwarrow to return to Erebor. It’s not just about the dragon. They lost power, as a species, when their wealth became the hoard of Smaug.”

“What do you think?”

“That a strong king on the throne of Erebor would serve this world better than it would certain individuals,” Elrond turned and focused on him. “Can you defeat that dragon, Hadrian?”

“I won’t allow it to get loose and run amok, Elrond. That sort of threat could easily reach the Shire, and I’m bound by heart and honor to defend the place that became my sanctuary on this world,” Harry said. “I’ll have in plan in place to deal with Smaug one way or another. Take it as a promise.”

Elrond nodded. “Then I will read Oakenshield’s map and support the quest in full.”

“Truly?” Harry questioned.

“I first time I saw you—I was thrown into a vision of the future of this world that was rich with magic,” Elrond said quietly. “You are the change that Arda needed, and if Sauron returns, as many believe he will, then we need a strong Erebor. We need Oakenshield on the throne of that mountain—sane, thoughtful, and invested in doing the right thing.”

Harry nodded. “If that’s the case, then perhaps you can start by calling him by the title he’s earned with hard work and his own blood since his father disappeared.”

“He doesn’t introduce himself as a king,” Elrond said. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps he clings to the idea that his father is alive,” Harry said. “But coronation or not, Thorin Oakenshield is a king. I’m going to have to remind myself daily of that in the weeks and months to come. Because he strikes me as stubborn, and I see the grudges he harbors in his heart.”

“Some of those grudges are hard-won, and he’s entitled to them,” Elrond said roughly. “I can’t say different, honestly, but those grudges don’t serve him, and they will taint his legacy as king.”

“Something to work on then,” Harry said with a sigh and looked out the large window in Elrond’s office.

“You should spend another day recovering before traveling magically,” Elrond said. “The region is dangerous—more dangerous than it has been in the past. Orcs are gathering in larger groups, and I believe there is a nest in the Misty Mountains. I’m considering sending my sons to investigate.”

“I can probe the area magically—it’ll be safer,” Harry said. “We’ll pass through them on the way to Erebor. Send a sentry to wait at the start of this side of the High Pass after we leave, and I’ll double back with the information when I can.”

Elrond nodded. “If I need to route a nest, I’d rather know as soon as possible so your plan is sound.”

“Better to be prepared,” Harry agreed.

“Speaking of, I’d like to gift you with a sword,” Elrond said. “Something befitting your abilities and station.”

Harry nodded. “As you will.”

“You’re different—harder. I hate to see it.”

“War does what it does, old friend,” Harry said as he turned to face him. “And you knew that well enough when you sent me back to Earth to face my fate.”

“A disgusting fate set upon such a young man,” Elrond said gravely. “I hated the whole of it and would’ve gone there myself to handle the problem had it been possible.”

Harry laughed before he could help himself.

“What?”

“It’s just funny to imagine how those people would’ve reacted to you. There’s nothing like you on that world,” Harry said. “They play power games, and their scope is so narrow that it’s insane. The hostility and war-mongering is awful. On Arda, we fight to defend ourselves and others. On Earth they fight over fleeting resources, which should be shared, and ideas. I don’t think I truly understood bigotry until I went to Earth.”

“Do you regret going?”

“No, but I’m glad to be home,” Harry said. “I don’t belong on Earth, and it was clear from the very start. I could barely breathe because of the corrupted air and had to learn specific magic for the mere purpose of breathing normally.”

Elrond huffed. “What?”

“They are advanced, I suppose, in many ways when it comes to travel and what they call technology, but such advancement came at the cost of their actual living environment. They’ve essentially ruined the air and water—though they seem to be adapting to it, as horrific as that is. At any rate, the world would’ve made me physically ill if not for magic.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Elrond admitted. “How can it be advancement if you’re destroying everything around you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry murmured. “I would not wish such a thing for Arda and would certainly work to prevent it. I think such a situation would outright kill the hobbits and other species close to nature.” He let his head rest on the glass. “I am very tired.”

“Then please relax and rest this day—you’ve shouldered the fate of one world for many years. Give it a day before you take on Arda’s problems like only you can solve them.”

Harry grimaced but nodded.

“Besides, King Thorin’s quest cannot continue until I’ve read the map, and that requires a full moon—a circumstance that we will not have tonight.”

Reasonable people were the worst.

* * * *

Harry returned in a foul mood. Bilbo found it disconcerting because his son had always been such a happy child and rarely kept a temper for any length of time. He watched his lad out of the corner of his eye for several moments, aware that the soft glow of magic on Harry’s skin was putting the dwarrow off. He returned to his writing and cleared his throat.

“Is there a problem?” Bilbo asked as he refocused on the letter to his cousin.

“Elrond is far too reasonable to be anything but a problem,” Harry declared. “He’s concerned about me leaving Rivendell before I complete the potion regimen and thinks I should wait until tomorrow. Then pointed out that the company can’t leave until after the map is read anyway, which can’t be done until tomorrow night under the full moon.”

Bilbo nodded. If anything frustrated Harry more than having his plans thwarted, he didn’t know what it could be. “Then you have plenty of time to write a few letters of your own to post while you’re in Hobbiton tomorrow.”

“Ada.”

He looked up and found his son pouting. “Faunts pout. Would you like me to go out into the garden and dig you a cradle to wallow in?”

Harry flushed. “Cruel.”

“And most certainly a waste of my energy,” Bilbo said mildly. “It’d take me all day to dig one big enough for you to fit in.”

Harry laughed.

“Why would you dig a cradle in the ground?” Thorin asked roughly.

Bilbo focused on the small table the dwarf king had settled at across the room. He had several maps spread out in front of him and Balin had brought documents out for Thorin to discuss. He’d avoided listening even though they hadn’t been speaking Westron. “Well, a hobbit digs a cradle to grow faunts in.”

Thorin frowned and shared a look with Balin. “But faunts are what you call your children.”

“Yes,” Bilbo acknowledged.

“I don’t….” Thorin trailed off.

Harry laughed. “Ada, I don’t think he knows how hobbits make their babies.”

“Oh,” Bilbo blushed. “Well.” He fiddled with his quill. “We grow them in the ground, you see—from heartseeds.”

“Is this secret knowledge?” Balin asked as he slowly pulled a leather-bound journal out of the satchel he had sitting near his chair. “Can I write that down?”

“It’s not a secret, but we rarely share the details of our cradle craft with outsiders. Big folk don’t understand and sometimes don’t believe us at all. Many, many years ago, we had a group of humans stay in an inn in Michel Delving while they discussed trade with the Mayor of the Shire. One of the females, in the party, had heard about how we cradle our young, and she asked a lot of questions. Eventually, she asked enough that she was able to go into a garden and find a cradle. She dug it up.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched, and his face darkened with fury. “She killed the child.”

“Yes, but not on purpose. She wanted a baby of her own, you see, and couldn’t have them herself for a reason we never knew. The faunt was months away from being ready to emerge, and she died within hours of being removed—withered away like a dried flower in her mother’s arms, as the story goes. It is very dangerous to remove a faunt from a cradle before it is time. The Dúnedain came for the woman, and she was taken to Bree…they executed her for child murder, which is so profound a crime amongst them that the only punishment is death.”

“Our people are the same,” Thorin said roughly. “Female children are especially prized—I can’t say what she would’ve suffered in our hands before she was executed for such a crime.” He paused. “Well, I could tell you exactly what would’ve been done to her, but I don’t think you want to know.”

“I don’t,” Bilbo assured. “At any rate, after that, we stopped sharing the details and began hiding the cradles as much as possible. You probably passed hundreds on your way through the Shire.”

“That’s no comfort,” Thorin said. “What if we’d stepped on one of the cradles?”

“You’d have never gotten over a garden fence,” Harry said and stretched out his legs. “The Bounders would’ve warned you off. I doubt you made a single step in the Shire without one of them watching you.”

“What’s a bounder?” Balin questioned.

“A group of hobbits that the Dúnedain train to patrol the Shire from the inside to look for threats and problems. There’s also the Shirriffs-service who helps keep the peace as law enforcement,” Bilbo explained.

“I never saw any guards or watchmen,” Thorin said.

“No, we’re good at not being seen, but a group of about ten followed us all the way out of the Shire. I think the only reason they didn’t stop the party and ask me what I thought I was doing on the back of a pony was because of Gandalf,” Bilbo said dryly.

“Are they armed?” Balin asked as he wrote.

“Yes, the Dúnedain made weapons in our size so the Bounders could defend us if needed. They use crossbows mostly.”

“What’s a crossbow?” Kíli asked, sitting up from where he’d been napping on the sofa near the double doors that lead out to the porch.

“I’ll get you one when I go to the Shire tomorrow,” Harry said. “It’ll honestly be too small for your use, but you could study the construction and make a larger version fit for your hands. Have you ever seen a wind lance?”

“Yes, many years ago,” Kíli admitted. “In the ruins that remain of Belegost.”

“A crossbow is similar in its use.” Harry shifted into a sitting position and summoned a log from the unlit fireplace with a flick of his wand.

Bilbo watched as his son transfigured a crossbow with a few swishes of his wand.

“Like this,” Harry proffered the magical construction when Kíli approached him. “It’s fine to touch. It won’t keep its shape, however, for more than an hour.”

“I saw an orc with something like this once. I had no idea what it was,” Kíli admitted. “If I’d known—I would’ve certainly taken it off the body we left behind.”

“He probably stole it from the Dúnedain. The weapon is their design.”

“Why are there wheels here?” Kíli asked as he followed the string of the weapon to the tip of one limb.

“Hobbits are small, so the weapon had to be small. The Ranger, who miniaturized it for the Shire, realized that the limbs wouldn’t be long enough to provide a great deal of tension—therefore, the weapon would lose power. He added these wheels to increase the tension on the string—thus increasing the range and strength of the weapon. They also started adding the wheels to their own weapons for the same reason.”

“That’s brilliant,” Kíli murmured as he turned the crossbow over in his hands wistfully. “You’re right. This is much too small for me. I’d have to practice loading it a lot for it to be of any use in a fight. Then learning to sight and aim with it.”

“Ada could teach you how to use it,” Harry said. “All hobbits are instructed on the use of the weapon upon the age of majority.” He paused. “So, they can defend their cradles if they must.”

“You never mentioned you had such a skill, Bilbo,” Thorin said gravely. “Nor did you bring your weapon.”

Bilbo flushed. “It was my mother’s, and honestly, I’ve never taken it out of her glory box. It wasn’t like Harry actually required cradling. He was already walking and babbling words I didn’t understand when he was brought to the Shire, and I never expected to cradle a faunt.”

“Why not?” Kíli asked and bit down on his lip. “Sorry, is that a personal question?”

“It is,” Bilbo allowed. “But I’ll answer it. I had just begun the courting process with another hobbit when Harry came to the Shire. He was vehemently opposed to Gandalf’s leaving a wizard with me to raise, and when I refused to give in to his demands to reject Harry—he ended our courtship. When my son was small, most of the hobbits in the Shire feared him, and honestly, some still do because he isn’t like us and never will be.

“By the time most everyone had grown used to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere, I was nearly forty and most of the hobbits my age that were inclined to marry had already made their matches. I announced I would not accept courting gestures shortly after my forty-first birthday.”

“Well, if you grow them in the ground…why do you need a spouse?” Balin asked.

“Oh, because heart seeds are only made with a deep romantic love,” Bilbo explained. “You need not be married, of course, to fall in love, so heart seeds may be created without marriage, but they’re rarely planted by a single parent. Moreover, the love must be utterly requited.”

* * * *

Harry came down the stairs wearing a pair of fitted black trousers, a white shirt, and a red waistcoat. The boots didn’t look like anything Bilbo had ever seen made on Arda, so he assumed they were from Harry’s realm. He had his hair clipped back with a single shining ebony clasp.

“If you could just post the letters and avoid having a conversation with anyone, that would be best,” Bilbo said. “Well, maybe you could talk to Hamfast? He’s missed you dreadfully.”

Harry took the stack of letters his father offered. “You don’t want me to get a response from the Thain?”

“Ha, no. He won’t have anything pleasant to say. There are quite a few people in the Shire who’ll be put out at that Bag End won’t be available for their use if we choose not to return there permanently. Make sure your magic will let Hamfast take care of Bag End while we’re gone, and check the food storage for perishables because I forgot to. I’ve made a list of things I’d like you to collect. I’ve given Cousin Drogo the permissions he needs at the bank to handle the estate affairs and created a notice for our tenants regarding rents.” He flushed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Harry’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “I’m just trying to imagine you running through the Shire with a contract in hand, shouting that you were going on an adventure. Very irresponsible of the Baggins of Bag End to behave in such a fashion. You’re a complete scandal, Ada, and for once, it’s not my fault.”

“No, it’s Gandalf’s,” Bilbo said immediately. “It normally is his fault, you know. Read through my mail and draft any responses you think are necessary. Do you know when Saruman will arrive?”

“Gandalf thinks two days. I’d like to be out of the valley proper before he sweeps in and tries to boss me around. I’d rather he not realize, yet, how helpless he is against me.”

“Why?”

“I worry that he might try to control me through other means,” Harry said. “I’m going to build a special magical protection called a ward for the Shire. It’ll keep anything that means them harm from entering at all. I’m going to ground it in the fey magic that runs through the land, so it won’t have to be renewed.

“I know that there are many in the Shire who don’t approve of me, but I’d never allow anyone to hurt them, and that includes Saruman. Before I set the ward, I’ll have to speak to the Thain, but it won’t take me long to carve it even if only do so at night as we travel. I’ll create all the rune stones in advance and set them when I’m finished.”

“How far will we have to be from the Shire before you can’t….” Bilbo flicked a hand. “Pop over there with your magic?”

“Apparate,” Harry corrected with some amusement. “And I’d probably have to sort of hop from point to point once we pass the Misty Mountains, so I’ll set up apparition points for my future use as I travel like I have in the Shire.”

“Will anyone else be able to use them?” Bilbo questioned.

“No, they’ll be tied to my kind of magic,” Harry said. “Well, if another of my kind came here, they’d be able to use them if they knew they existed, but the portal is falling apart, so they won’t come here. It’d be a one-way trip. Ragnok said he’d guard their side of it until it closes.” He tucked the letters into his cloak pocket. “Elrond has offered me a sword, and he’s reviewing his armory for an appropriate weapon for me, so he might bring it by before I return. He’s also had a horse brought to the stable for me. I visited with her before returning to the cottage, and she has a good temperament.”

“Do I need to work on procuring you any sort of special stones for the magical ward?” Bilbo asked.

“No, I have what I need already. I do need a quill forged—one made entirely of platinum.”

“If Elrond can provide me a forge, I could create something that small in a handful of hours.” Bilbo looked up to find Thorin Oakenshield standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “If you have the ore already, I could go start now.”

“I do have the ore,” Harry said and pulled a pouch seemingly out of thin air. Bilbo was rather jealous of the bracelet his son had brought back with him. He wished he could have one so he could keep all of his stuff safe on the journey.

Harry opened the pouch and pulled out two small shining platinum bars. “I realize that you’re an artist, Master Oakenshield, so it would be your inclination to embellish as you work, but I need the surface to be smooth so I can tailor it to work with my magic. I’ll be using the quill to carve runes. It won’t need a traditional ink well, but the point should be as sharp as you can make it without compromising strength. Your master mark will not alter it significantly, so please feel free to add it.”

The dwarf picked up the ore and studied it. “It won’t be a problem.” Thorin glanced briefly at Bilbo. “The others are unspeakably curious about watching you leave, as it were. They’re in your father’s study.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, okay. It’s best if they get used to seeing it since I use the same kind of magic in combat to distract enemies.”

Bilbo frowned but followed without speaking.

“This form of magical travel is called apparition. I can do it over fairly long distances, provided I have an established point of landing. I can also short-distance apparate in combat circumstances so I can dart around the battlefield in a manner that most would find very startling and difficult to keep with. I can do it quietly or I can do it so loud that it would sound like thunder right on the ground. Ada, I’ll be back in a few hours.” He turned on his heel as magic rushed around him and disappeared with a faint pop.

“Mahal’s nutsack,” Dwalin muttered in obvious shock.

“You didn’t want him to go to the Shire?” Thorin asked, focused entirely on Bilbo, who was still frowning.

Bilbo pursed his lips. “He has always been treated as an oddity in the Shire and sometimes as a source of entertainment because of his abilities. He spent years here studying magic when he was a tween, and when he came back to the Shire, people were demanding. Even those who have genuine affection for him seemed to get caught up in what he could do rather than who he was. They’d insist on being shown magic as if he was just around to amuse them.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It quickly became intolerable. I realize he’s like no one you’ve ever met before, but I would ask you not to…treat his magic like it’s entertainment.”

“We wouldn’t,” Thorin said. “He said it was a tool and weapon—we dwarrow respect both far more than other species in this world. Is this why you haven’t spoken of him to us?”

Bilbo looked at him then obviously a little helpless. “He’s my son, and one day he stopped being a little lad who tracked mud through our smial. He grew up so fast—fully mature at just seventeen. By Shire reckoning, he’s only twenty years old. Our faunts don’t mature until the age of thirty-three. He said he spent thirteen years in his realm, but it was only two for me. He left the Shire shortly after his eighteenth birthday and went to his realm.”

“He’s only thirty-one?” Thorin said flatly, then turned to stare pointedly at Fíli. “You keep your hands to yourself.”

Bilbo laughed. “Thorin, he’s an adult—truly. Though I don’t think you’ll get far, Fíli, Harry’s always preferred females. Many a young hobbit in the Shire chased after him when I declared that he was to be considered of age, and he never entertained males even at the innocent, platonic gatherings I allowed.”

“That’s a shame,” Fíli said with a sigh.

“He’s very attractive,” Ori said wistfully and shrugged when Dori glared at him. “What? You’ve seen him.”

Dori inclined his head in agreement but still frowned.

“Forget what I said,” Bilbo announced. “He’s just twenty as far as I’m concerned. A child by any reasonable standard. Keep your hands and everything else to yourself.” He huffed when they all laughed, then went to his desk. “I do have a weapon now, and I’m a hobbit. You’ll never see me coming, you know.”

Thorin hid a smile behind a cough and shared a look with Dwalin. He watched the hobbit very carefully open a large book in front of him. “What is that?”

“It’s a…oh.” Bilbo’s eyes went wide with shock. “Harry says they’re magical paintings—images of people from his world. They’re moving.”

“Is that safe?” Dwalin questioned roughly.

“He said I could look at it and put it here for me,” Bilbo said and smiled. “His parents were beautiful—just like him. He has his mother’s eyes.”

More curious than he was willing to admit, Thorin walked around the desk and was quite proud of the fact that he managed to keep still as he caught sight of the page that the hobbit was looking at. “Are they wizards as well?”

“James Potter was a wizard, but their females are called witches. Her name was Lily,” Bilbo said and, after another moment, turned the page. “Oh.”

“That must be his…woman,” Thorin said gruffly.

“She’s beautiful,” Bilbo said. The picture moved, and the young woman quirked an eyebrow at him, then winked. He laughed. “Cheeky little thing.”

Thorin moved out of the way because his nephews were crowding close. “Don’t touch it.”

“I wonder what her name is,” Kíli said as he leaned in. “Magic is…kind of scary.”

“Hermione,” Bilbo supplied. “I’m not sure of her family name. I don’t think Harry’s said or if he did, I forgot it.” He turned the page and encountered a picture of his son with the young woman. The picture moved, and Harry in the picture turned and buried his face briefly against her hair. The girl nudged him and threw her arms around him as she laughed. “I wish….” He sighed. “I hate that he was hurt.”

“He seems to be handling her choice the best that he can,” Dwalin said gruffly. “I know a dwarrow or two who would be chest deep in a barrel of ale for a year or more over such a loss.” He leaned forward and looked at the picture, then grimaced. “No beard. Pretty like an elf.”

“Harry told me that magical people on his world are basically like humans on our world except for the fact that they have magic.” Bilbo closed the book with a frown. “I hate that he spent so much time in that realm without me. If I could’ve, I would’ve kept him here.”

“Why did he go?” Fíli asked as they all moved away from the desk.

“He had a destiny there that his magic demanded that he meet, and people from his realm ensured he’d be prepared for it. They started sending books through the portal when he was just nine years of age. They were all spelled—to be read in the language he was most familiar with, so I was able to read them as well since the text at least looked like Westron. Eventually, he learned to speak a language called English, and I learned it with him.

“Elrond and Gandalf helped him master his magic and the staff weapon Chieftain of the dverger Horde sent through the portal. He learned the spells fast—often faster than the books indicated that he would. Finally, it was determined that he could learn no more here, and Ragnok retrieved him. What happened after that—he hasn’t told me the details as of yet. I didn’t want to force it.”

“War is a difficult experience for anyone, no matter how prepared,” Thorin said roughly. “Let him speak of it only when he wants, and don’t press—it’ll just make it more difficult for him to talk. I’ve never spoken of the first battle I participated in.”

“Mine broke my heart,” Balin said, unwittingly drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “It was such a horrific waste of life. I was told I’d find glory in battle, but that was a lie. I found nothing but pain and loss. Your boy killed his enemy, Bilbo, and I don’t know the magical ramifications of such a thing. Did the books speak of killing with magic?”

“Yes. The books gave him hundreds of methods to end the life of another being,” Bilbo took a deep, shuddery breath. “But I trust he acted with honor while he was there and took no risks with his magic.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, I believe it’s time for elevenses.”

Thorin sighed as the hobbit trotted off toward the kitchen. “We have to stop letting him feed us like we’re a bunch of hobbits.”

Kíli scoffed as he made to follow Bilbo. “Speak for yourself, Uncle. Elevenses could certainly become my favorite meal of the day.”

“I’m partial to afternoon tea,” Ori confessed in a rush. “Do you think he’ll make the tea cakes like the ones we had in the Shire?”

“I hope so,” Balin muttered. “Let’s ask?”

“Definitely,” Ori agreed.

Thorin sighed and turned to stare at Dwalin as the rest of the company meandered toward the kitchen for elevenses. “Well?”

“Second breakfast,” Dwalin admitted. “He made those folded pancakes—with the fruit inside.”

* * * *

Three meals later, they were waiting for the moon to be positioned just right to allow for the map to be read and discussing what to do until then.

Bilbo pulled his pipe from his waistcoat. “Let’s go out onto the porch and smoke until Harry returns to lecture me for it. I have a whole pouch of Longbottom Leaf that I stole from Gandalf, so we can finish off what I have. Harry is going to bring a small barrel of Old Toby upon his return.”

Bilbo had no more settled on a bench on the porch with Thorin and Balin when Arwen Undómiel came running up the path toward the cottage. He frowned and stood because he’d rarely ever seen Elrond’s daughter in such a hurry.

“Come, please, quickly.” She took his hand the moment she reached him. “I’ve made a dreadful mistake. I have to carry you.”

Bilbo barely managed to keep ahold of his pipe before he was swept up, and she started to run toward Elrond’s house. “I don’t like to be carried about like a child!”

“I know. I’m sorry for the indignity, truly,” Arwen said as she rushed into the small courtyard where Elrond often conducted meetings. She put him down. “Someone came through the portal, and Hadrian told us if anyone came, they would be an enemy and that we’d have to act fast because his people are very dangerous.”

Bilbo ignored the rest of the company as they came dashing into the courtyard. “Oh no.” He started forward only to be grabbed by Arwen.

“Wait, when we approached her, she used magic to throw Ada into the house.”

“She’s hurt,” Bilbo protested. The young woman was flat on her back and an arrow in her stomach. Her wand was glowing with magic in her hand.

“She doesn’t appear to understand us,” Arwen said urgently.

“Oh.” Bilbo took a deep breath. “Hermione.”

The girl’s head turned, and her gaze landed on him.

“Bilbo Baggins,” she whispered, and the light around her wand started to dim. “Harry?”

“He’s not here,” Bilbo said in halting English and hoped he was getting it right. “He went to the Shire, but he’ll be back soon. You’re very hurt.”

“Yes, I think…I think I might die.” She shifted and started to try to get up.

“No, no,” Bilbo exclaimed as he pulled free of Arwen. He went to her and was relieved when she didn’t try to protest when he pulled her wand from her trembling hand. “Don’t move. It’ll be okay. The elves can heal you.”

She scowled. “They hurt me.”

“They made a mistake. Harry said only an enemy would follow him through the portal and….” Bilbo trailed off when she blanched. “But surely he’d never call you his enemy.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “He left me.”

Bilbo passed her wand to Arwen when the elf came close enough. “Come now, it’ll be fine. We’re going to help you, and Harry will be back very soon. He’ll be so pleased to see you.” He turned to the dwarrow standing behind him. “Thorin? I think she might respond best to you picking her up.”

Thorin walked across the grass and grimaced as he got his first look at the wound. “I hope she’s prone to fainting because moving her is going to be agonizing. This would be a near mortal for a dwarf.” He picked up her slight form as gently as he could, and she shuddered briefly before her eyes rolled and she lost consciousness.

Bilbo held out his hand to Arwen, and she hurriedly returned the wand to his care. “I have no way of communicating with Harry quickly. Is he going to return to Rivendell and find her dead?”

“No, Ada is a talented healer. He’s already preparing to deal with the wound. Follow me, please, Your Majesty.”

Thorin looked slightly surprised to be addressed as such by the young elven woman, but he nodded and followed. Bilbo rushed to catch up after a moment’s hesitation, and Arwen led them into a large room with a series of cots lined up in it. Healing Halls, Bilbo thought. He’d never seen Rivendell’s but Harry had spoken of them often when he’d talked about his training, which had been arduous and painful at times.

Thorin put the witch down on a cot and stepped back. “We’ll go back to Hadrian’s home and let the others know what has happened. I’ll return shortly and he’ll be told what has transpired as soon as he arrives.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo murmured.

“Here, Bilbo, sit,” Arwen urged him to a large chair. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything in here in your size.”

“It’s fine,” Bilbo said and hopped up onto the chair. “I’m used to living in a big world.”

Hermione stirred on the cot as Elrond used a tool to cut most of the arrow shaft away. Her eyes opened, and she looked around wildly until she settled on Bilbo. “You look just like you did in Harry’s memories.”

“Memories?” Bilbo questioned.

Her breath caught as Elrond used a knife to cut open the front of her dress. “Yes, Harry showed me memories of the Shire…the party tree. It was so lovely.” She shifted her wrist slightly, and a shining mithril bracelet appeared. A potion fell out onto the mattress. “Tell them it’s a pain potion.”

“That’s for pain,” Bilbo said when Arwen picked it up.

The female elf quickly uncorked it and helped Hermione drink it. The witch relaxed on the bed as soft white magic drifted briefly over her skin. She flicked out another potion. “Organ repair, but it has to be taken last.” A vial of shining red liquid came next. “Blood replenisher.”

“The blue potion is for organ repair, which has to be taken after the wound is closed, and the red one is to replenish her blood.”

Arwen picked them both up and put them on her father’s table.

“The arrow hit my digestive tract. Tell them.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “She said the arrow hit her digestive tract?”

Elrond hummed under his breath. “Tell her that despite our different origins, her body is not all that different from ours. And ask her if she has anything in her bracelet to combat an infection.”

Bilbo repeated everything the best he could in English, and the girl relaxed. She flicked out a pale blue potion, and her eyes fluttered shut briefly as Elrond made an incision so he could remove the arrow head without causing more damage. “I have your wand.”

Her fingers shifted slightly on the bed. “Keep it. I might hurt them by mistake. My magic is reactive to pain.” She groaned slightly. “Tell him I’m sorry I banished him into that wall.”

“Yes, well, they shot you with an arrow, so maybe they owe you more of an apology,” Bilbo said dryly and flushed when she laughed weakly. “Elrond, she said she was sorry for banishing you?”

“It was quite powerful,” Elrond murmured. “I’ve not been knocked off my feet like that in longer than I’d care to remember. Mithrandir, I feel Saruman’s approach, but I’m uncertain of when he’ll arrive. If he enters Rivendell, you must keep him busy while we treat her. I don’t know what he’d do if he found yet another magus from Earth here. She’s incapable of defending herself.”

Bilbo looked around and found the grey wizard standing in the doorway of the room.

“I’m not pleased myself,” Gandalf said neutrally. “Her travel through the portal destroyed it, so there certainly won’t be anymore.” He focused on the young witch. “Let’s hope she’s not a new problem for him. I’ll take care of Saruman. Radagast also arrived.”

“Gandalf.” Bilbo hesitated when the wizard paused. “Harry would not thank you if you sacrificed this girl to Saruman to protect him.”

“I would never do such a thing, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf snapped and left.

“Will you tell her I’m sorry?” Arwen asked as she knelt next to Bilbo’s chair. “I didn’t know who she was…I was just trying to protect everyone.”

“Oh, you fired the arrow?” Bilbo questioned.

“The second one, yes,” Elrond said. “Lindir fired the first, but the girl used magic to deflect it. She didn’t see Arwen, and my daughter didn’t see the witch’s face until she was already falling.”

Arwen brushed tears from her face. “Hadrian will never forgive me.”

“What’s she saying?” Hermione asked. “She mentioned Harry.”

“She worries that he won’t forgive her for your injury. Her name is Arwen Undómiel, though she is sometimes called the Evenstar and is Lord Elrond’s only daughter. She is quite young for her race. She’s very sorry for your injury and wishes to apologize.”

Hermione’s gaze settled on Arwen. “She’s beautiful—are all female elves so attractive?”

“Frankly, I’ve never once encountered an elf of either gender that wasn’t lovely, but she is considered the most beautiful elven woman of her generation. In fact, I’d say only her grandmother outshines her when it comes to being fair of face.”

“Tell her that I understand and I’m not angry but that I gladly accept books in apology.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile. “She doesn’t bear you any ill will, Arwen, but would accept books in apology if you are inclined toward reparations.”

“Considering her circumstances,” Elrond murmured as he carefully removed the arrow, “I believe she would be best served with history texts. Give her the best of the ones we have in the library and find the books we used to teach Harry the language of his home world. Bilbo used Westron as the alternative text in those and she’ll need to learn the common tongue as fast as she can.” He focused on Bilbo. “Tell her that my magic is very different from her own, and when I seal the wound, it is going to be very painful despite the potion she’s already taken.”

Bilbo related the information the girl responded by pulling a very small vial from her bracelet. Arwen retrieved it from the mattress. “What will it do?”

“It’s going to knock me out,” Hermione admitted. “Tell her to break the vial under my nose, and I’ll inhale the magic that is encased in it. I’ll sleep for ten hours.”

“Break the vial under her nose, and she’ll inhale it. It’ll make her sleep the rest of the night.” He frowned because he wasn’t sure it was a good idea for her to sleep that long, considering the situation and the injury.

Arwen glanced toward her father, who nodded. She leaned forward slightly and very carefully snapped the vial open under the witch’s nose. Hermione went slack on the cot in an instant.

“Fascinating,” Elrond murmured. “I could spend a hundred years learning about the magic of their world and still not know enough.”

“Is she going to live?” Bilbo asked. “Because if she isn’t…can we hide that she was ever here?

Elrond was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “She’ll live, and for the record, you’ll never be able to hide anything from Hadrian. Trying would only cause strife between you, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I just…she’s hurt him so much already.”

“And yet she’s here,” Elrond said. “Having forsaken her own world in favor of this one. Chieftain Ragnok would’ve not allowed her to step through the portal without telling her that it was a one way trip. Your son obviously misunderstood her feelings for him.”

Bilbo nodded. “I wish, sometimes, that he was still quite small and that he didn’t know anything but the Shire.”

“Welcome to my world,” Elrond said wryly. “Try it three-fold.”

“Ha, I think not,” Bilbo crossed his arms. “One is quite enough, thank you very much.”

He watched in silence as Elrond used his own magic to pour the remaining potions down Hermione’s throat. The elf touched her forehead with long, pale fingers and made a thoughtful sound.

“No fever,” Elrond murmured. “Arwen, you’ll sit vigil with Mr. Baggins until the situation is secure. Allow no one but Hadrian to enter the room. I’ll place several guards in the hall to watch the door. Saruman may very well protest this new development vehemently, but with the portal destroyed the argument for forcing Hadrian to return to his own world is no longer a valid one. We owe this young witch an incredible debt.”

“Ada.” Arwen’s mouth firmed up. “I owe her. It was my mistake.”

Elrond glanced out the window. “Let me go see if I can read Oakenshield’s map. We’ll arrange guards outside the room with his input.”

“Why?”

“Mithrandir is very invested in the success of the quest to Erebor. He’ll keep Saruman well away from the King Under the Mountain, and thus, this room will be further protected.”

* * * *

Harry dropped the satchel he’d used to gather his father’s supplies in the armchair just inside the study. The house was quiet, not a surprise for the time of the night. He hadn’t expected it to take so long, but he’d decided, while he was so close, to visit the Blue Mountains and set up an apparition point. So, he’d apparated to the Grey Havens and used his broom to fly to Ered Luin.

With the apparition point established, he could build a portkey platform, or maybe if the ley lines around Erebor were sturdy, then something more robust could be possible. He’d have to research it, though he wasn’t certain if the dwarrow would want a permanent connection with the Blue Mountains. The settlement there wasn’t doing well, and maybe they would abandon that mountain completely in favor of Erebor.

“Hadrian.”

Harry turned and found the dwarf king standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. “Is something wrong?”

“Quite,” Oakenshield murmured. “Another magus came through the portal—she was injured when Elrond’s guards mistook her for a threat. Elrond treated her, and she’s in the Healing Halls.”

“She,” Harry repeated, his stomach lurching. Who had Dumbledore sent to retrieve him? Surely not Minerva McGonagall, though she was certainly the witch the old git had trusted most, as she was quite elderly for their species.

“The young woman in your book—on the second page. Is that your woman?”

“Well, she’s the one I wanted,” Harry said.

“Then she’s in Elrond’s home due to taking an arrow to the gut,” Thorin said roughly. “I sent Balin up an hour ago to check on her, and Bilbo said she’s already recovering. Saruman is here but has been confined to a meeting of the White Council since his arrival. Dwalin and Nori are guarding the outside entrance of the Healing Halls, and I’ve had the map read.”

Harry reached out blindly and grasped the doorway to keep from sinking to his knees. “An arrow?”

“As I said, she was mistaken for a threat.”

“Get your people up and out of the house—we’re leaving Rivendell immediately.” Harry grabbed the satchel he’d set aside and stored it in his bracelet. “Meet us at the stables and get the ponies ready for travel.” He apparated mid-step and reappeared in the Healing Halls. “Ada.” He winced at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“Harry.” Bilbo set aside the book he was reading. “Elrond says she’ll be fine.”

“Your dwarf king told me. We’re leaving.”

Harry picked up Hermione’s wand and stored it in his own bracelet. Then drew his own wand and performed a diagnostic charm. Her injury was entirely healed. “Potions?”

“She pulled out several—organ regeneration, pain, blood replenishment, and something for infection.” Bilbo frowned. “Also, something to make her sleep through the healing since Elrond said it would be very painful.”

He nodded and cast a cleaning charm on her to get rid of the blood then repaired her dress. Harry went to pick her up, but his father grabbed his arm.

“Why are we leaving?”

“Ada,” Harry began and took Bilbo’s hand, “Saruman the White is a dark wizard, and while there is currently no proof, Elrond believes he’s aiding Sauron.”

“Arwen gave these books to Hermione as reparations,” Bilbo motioned to the pile of ten books stacked high on the healing table.

“Arwen shot Hermione?” Harry demanded in shock. “Why would she….”

“You told Elrond only an enemy would come through the portal and that they’d need to act fast to protect themselves. Hermione managed to deflect one arrow, but the other caught her. They didn’t realize who she was until she hit the ground. Arwen recognized her at that point, though I’m not sure how?”

“I showed Elrond and Arwen a picture of her my first night here,” Harry said. He grabbed the books and stored them in his bracelet, then picked Hermione up. “Take ahold of my arm and hold on. It’s going to feel a little tight—like you’re being wrung out, but it’ll be very fast.”

Bilbo nodded. “Okay.”

Harry apparated all three of them to the top floor of his house. He put Hermione down on the bed before looking toward his father. “Ada?”

“That was terrible,” Bilbo said with a huff. “I’ll go get my pack.”

There was a sword in a scabbard on the chest at the foot of the bed. Harry picked it up and checked the blade—a Lord Saber. It was a little startling to be given a weapon that Elrond normally reserved for himself and his children but he slung it over his body and into place on his back. His father re-entered with a pack, which was annoying because he’d planned to replace those. He still would, but doing it on the road was irritating.

“I’ll take it.”

Bilbo offered it up, and Harry put it in his bracelet. “Is it safe to travel with her like this?”

“Between Elrond and the potions, she’s healed,” Harry said. “And it isn’t safe for her here. I can’t magically afford a confrontation with Saruman right now, so we must go.” He picked Hermione up again and looked toward his father. “One more time.”

Bilbo made a face but wrapped his hand around Harry’s forearm.

With a pop, they reappeared in the stables where the company had readied all the ponies and a smallish horse. It wasn’t as big as what the elves rode but it certainly wasn’t a pony. Bilbo only huffed a little when Dwalin unceremoniously plucked him off the ground and put him on Myrtle.

“Can you wake her?” Thorin questioned.

“No, she’s been put to sleep with a magical sedative that she provided—they’re used for surgery.”

“I can take her while you mount,” Dwalin said roughly.

Harry hesitated, but the urgent need to leave the valley persisted, so he placed Hermione carefully in the dwarrow’s arms and mounted the horse. He leaned down and Dwalin extended a little for leverage as he took her into his arms once more. Harry arranged her skirts as he settled her against his chest, pulled a cloak from his bracelet, and put it on so he could cover her as much as possible then jerked the hood over his head.

“Did you intend to use the Forest Road through Mirkwood?” Harry questioned.

“Gandalf mentioned that the bridge was destroyed some time ago,” Thorin said.

“And that was the only concern?”

“Yes, can you fix that problem?”

“Hermione is better at that sort of mass transfiguration, so it shouldn’t be a problem to get the whole party across the Great River. Once we’re free of the valley, I’ll create some light for us. I’d like to ride for several hours. Gandalf expects you to take a path that will lead you to the Carrock, where the river is the narrowest for crossing? Saruman will suspect the same thing.”

“Will Gandalf be able to find us?” Bilbo questioned.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “You know he has tracking magic on you, Ada, right? He told you?”

“No, he didn’t tell me,” Bilbo exclaimed. “Why would he do that?”

“I suppose to keep up with you,” Harry said in a mild tone. “It’s attuned to his magic alone, so Saruman won’t be able to track you. Gandalf will catch up.” He looked toward Oakenshield. “Old Forst Road?”

“Aye.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take point,” Harry admitted.

“Fine, we’ll put Bilbo in the middle and Dwalin will guard our back,” Thorin said and motioned everyone to mount.

* * * *

They’d ridden well into the night, and the further they were from Saruman, the better Harry felt. He didn’t think he’d be ready for prolonged magical combat for months due to the war he’d fought on Earth, and couldn’t want to take any risks with his ada or Hermione. Just seven hours before sunrise, they stopped to make camp, and Harry found a spot that looked like he could cast a security spell over easily enough with a good view of their surroundings.

“I’ve never seen this path through the mountains before,” Thorin said as soon as they found a place to camp.

“We’re not far off the East Road. But this is an elf path, and the entrance was hidden. You saw it because I led you through it. The main thoroughfare is currently home to a pair of stone giants who like to throw boulders at each other. Lindir told me about them before I left for the Shire,” Harry murmured as he put Hermione down on the blanket his Ada had put down on the ground. “If everyone would set up their bedrolls, I’ll cast a shelter spell.”

“What will the spell do?” Fíli asked before anyone else could.

“It’ll protect us from the elements—it looks like it might rain. It’s a very cozy, family-oriented spell that magicals use on my world for their homes. I’ll have to anchor it, but I have rune stones created already for it. I used them during the war on my world—we were often forced to take shelter in places that offered no comfort at all.” Harry knelt down and touched Hermione’s bracelet. A thick, dark red cloak flowed out of it, and he covered her with it.

“Can she take things out of your bracelet?” Bilbo asked.

“No,” Harry murmured as he drew her wand from his bracelet and pushed it into hers with a push of magic. “I designed and created both bracelets, so hers is open to my magic in a way I can’t close. No other magus could make the device work for them, so she’s safe from that.” He turned to Thorin. “Did you get an opportunity to forge my quill by chance?”

“I didn’t, no. I stood sentry over your witch with Dwalin until the moon was high enough to interact with the map then returned to your home to wait for you. Fíli, however, was able to use Elrond’s personal forge to create what you needed.”

Fíli pulled a bundle of cloth from his cloak pocket and proffered it. “I could’ve done better with my own tools.”

Harry took the bundle and carefully unwrapped it. It was roughly seven inches long, a blade shape that tapered into a thick barrel like an expensive ink pen from his own world. The tip glinted even in the limited light. “It’s perfect. I look forward to seeing the work you do with your own tools if this what you can do with someone else’s.” He glanced up and found the dwarf blushing. “Thank you very much for your work on my behalf.”

Fíli stared for a moment, clearly startled, and nodded. “You’re welcome. It was an interesting experience since I’d never had a commission like it.” He cleared his throat. “What will you do with it?”

“I’ll infuse it with my magic so I can use it to carve runes on stone. I have a quill from my own world, but when I tried to use it shortly after my arrival, I found it wasn’t working properly anymore. I did the best I could with it. But my magic works a little differently here, so it’s no longer attuned to my magical signature. I’m going to create a special type of magic called a ward and settle it around the Shire to protect them. Saruman finds me vexing on the best of days, and as the years pass, that circumstance will only get worse.”

“You think he’d attack the Shire?” Bilbo asked in shock.

“I think he wouldn’t be bothered at all to set something loose in the Shire to punish me for not bowing to his will,” Harry said roughly as everyone started setting up bedrolls. “It’s my home, and he’d ruin it for me if he could.”

“Your father told us that many hobbits weren’t kind to you,” Thorin pointed out as he pulled off his pack and set it against a log so he could rest against it.

“Yes, well, they may be spiteful, judgmental little arseholes, but they’re my spiteful, judgmental little arseholes,” Harry said and grinned when Thorin laughed. “And if anyone is going to ruin their lives and stomp their flowers, it’s going to be me.” He stored the quill in his bracelet with a thought.

“What did he want you to do?” Kíli asked.

“When he found out about me, I was fourteen and living at Rivendell. Chieftain Ragnok had found the portal my parents used to send me here, and he was using it to communicate with Elrond. Well, he was throwing books on the history of Earth, magic, and the like through the portal, which was hint enough for any of us. They quickly realized the books were for me, and I was brought to Rivendell to be taught. Saruman met me and insisted that I be moved to Isengard so he could handle my tuition personally.” Harry grimaced. “I was, at first, tempted because he’s powerful, and I’d been told he was good.”

“But he isn’t good,” Thorin said quietly.

“Not remotely, though there is no proof to be had of his wrongdoings.”

“What made you realize you couldn’t trust him?” Dwalin asked.

“In the midst of berating Gandalf for hiding me in the Shire for more than a decade, he insulted Ada. I was so furious that I had a bout of what my people call accidental magic. I threw him out into Elrond’s courtyard—straight through a stone wall.” He felt his face heat in a flush when more than one dwarf burst out laughing. “Well, at the time, it was not funny at all. I’ve never seen anyone so furious in my whole life. He petrified me, which only made my magic more reactive. He pointed his staff at me, and my magic snapped it into three pieces. Thereafter, Saruman the White began to insist on a regular basis that I be tossed back through the portal from whence I’d come.”

Bifur dropped a stack of wood in the center of their camp and set up the fire for Bombur, who was already preparing several iron skillets. Harry watched their operation for a few moments but didn’t offer to help with magic; it wasn’t good for those around him to get used to magic doing everything for them. He pulled four small obsidian stones from his bracelet and flicked them out past the boundaries of their little camp. Harry pulled his staff—six feet of shining black wood capped with an emerald—and cast the shelter spell with a sweep of magic over their heads.

Since Hermione was actually awake but pretending otherwise, Harry cast a diagnostic charm on her to check her vitals.

“How is she?” Bilbo questioned.

“Fine—no risk of infection is present, and the wound hasn’t reopened. She’ll need a restorative potion. Traveling through the portal was magically expensive. She wouldn’t have been injured at all if she’d been at full power.” Harry pulled his father’s pack from his bracelet and set it on the ground between his own bedroll and the one Oakenshield had put down. “Ada, stay close to this tree between me and the king.”

“Why the tree?” Kíli asked.

“He’s the smallest of us, and it would be the work of nothing for a wolf or warg to come through this camp and drag him away. They prey on the smallest of a group when they hunt,” Harry said. “While I don’t think there are any around right now—it’s best to always work under the assumption that there might be.”

He noted that the Ri brothers rearranged their blankets, and Ori was placed between them and the fire, which made sense since the scribe appeared to be the smallest of the dwarrow.

After a meal of sausage and fried potatoes, they all settled down to rest, and the dwarrow worked out a watch schedule that would ensure that everyone got at least seven hours of sleep. Harry shifted Hermione’s cloak around her as he sat down on his own bedroll. He’d let her pretend to be asleep the whole time they’d eaten, but he wondered if that was a mistake.

“I know you’re awake, love,” he murmured in English. “Hungry?”

“Lenore packed me a mokeskin pouch full of food,” Hermione said, and she opened her eyes. “But no, not remotely. Pain potions kill my appetite, remember? Where are we?”

“In a narrow pass in the Misty Mountains—it’s a range of mountains that stands between Eriador and Rhovanion.”

“The mountains to the east of the Shire. I remember from your map,” Hermione said. “Why?”

“You landed in Rivendell.”

“I assumed as much—I recognized Elrond from your memories when he was healing me. I was a little disoriented when I landed, then they shot arrows at me.” She frowned and shifted as if remembering the pain.

“Saruman the White was there as well,” Harry said. “I couldn’t stay there with you magically compromised as you currently are. I checked to make sure your wound was healed then we left.”

“Who are all these dverger?”

“They’re dwarrow,” Harry corrected.

“They look like the warrior class dverger from our world,” Hermione said. “But you know that.”

“Since we’re in an alternate dimension, I’m left to assume they’re actually the same species despite some minor evolutionary differences. The dwarrow on Arda don’t appear to have a great many magical gifts, but I haven’t met many. I hope to be mistaken in that impression.” He moved the cloak again when it slid down her shoulder. “I never expected you’d follow me, Hermione.”

Hermione bit down on her lip and looked at him for several long moments. “The only love letter I’ve ever gotten in my life ended with you telling me goodbye forever. I ought to curse you bald.”

“That is a heinous threat,” Harry said and brushed her hair from his forehead. “You made a choice, Hermione, and you bloody well made right in front of me. I respected it, but I couldn’t stay there and watch you make a life with another man. You knew that I promised my Ada I would return.”

“He’s adorable,” Hermione said. “It was honestly love at first sight.”

“I was quite small, but I know exactly what you mean,” Harry said with a small smile. “How do you feel?”

“Exhausted,” she admitted with a yawn. “I have a terrible story to tell you, but I don’t think I can concentrate enough to get everything out in the right order.”

She pulled a gleaming purple potion from her bracelet but frowned at it.

“You could do it tomorrow,” Harry said. “It won’t be as much work magically tomorrow, so it’ll hurt less.”

“I don’t want to be a weakness for you, and right now, I am. Would you spell me to sleep, then give me the potion?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Harry said with a sigh and took the restorative potion from her. He pulled his wand and, with a little swirling motion, cast a sleeping spell. Her eyes fluttered shut as her body went lax on the blanket then he spelled the potion directly into her stomach.

“Harry?”

He turned his head and found the entire company looking at him. “She didn’t want to be awake while the restorative potion works.”

“What does it do?” Thorin asked.

“It forces the replenishment of our magical core, which is where we store our magical energy. It’s a finite resource and we can expend it all if we’re reckless. Naturally, we can regain our strength in about forty hours if we entirely exhaust our magical reserve. She’ll only need one, but I took four yesterday.”

“You said it hurts,” Bilbo said with a frown in Hermione’s direction. “She’s hurt enough today.”

“I agree, but it was her choice,” Harry murmured. He held up a hand when his father started to argue. “Her magic is her own, Ada, and I don’t have the right to make decisions for her regarding that. A magus’ relationship with magic is personal and intimate. She’s on a new world, and being vulnerable in a place where you know little and can trust less is a special kind of danger. I know what that feels like.”

“Fine,” Bilbo finally said, but Harry could tell there was going to be an argument later. “But we can all do without magic of any sort, Harry, so don’t hurt yourself to help us, and don’t allow her to do it either.” He snuggled down into his bed.

“So says the hobbit sleeping on a cushioning charm,” Harry teased and laughed when his father huffed dramatically.

“Is that why my bedroll is so comfortable?” Dwalin asked. “We don’t need that, lad. Is it using your magic?”

“No, Master Dwalin, it’s part of the shelter spell, and I only actively use magic when I cast. This shelter spell will only last about ten hours since it’s not anchored permanently. Besides, sleeping on cold, hard ground all night would make me an arsehole tomorrow. You certainly don’t want that.” He shifted Hermione’s cloak again. “The spell is designed basically to be cast by the owner of a home. It ensures the comfort of family and friends.”

“A cozy spell, indeed,” Balin said as he lit his pipe. He went to the log they’d set up for the watch and sat down. “Huh, even this old dead thing is pretty comfortable.”

Harry laughed and lay down on his own temporary bed. After a few minutes, he discovered that half the damn dwarrow around the fire snored. Due to their circumstances, he couldn’t even hit them with silencing spells. He glanced toward Hermione and found that at least one of them was going to sleep well.

“Did she say anything about why she’s here?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“No, Ada, she said she had a terrible story to tell but was too tired to get it right.” He turned his head so he could see his father. “Did she say anything to you?”

“Just that you left her,” Bilbo said. “Apparently, she had a real problem with that.” He cleared his throat. “You said she made her choice right in front of you.”

“Nosy hobbits get no biscuits,” Harry declared. “I rue the day I agreed that we should learn English together.”

Bilbo laughed. “Just tell me, lad.”

“A week ago, there was a dinner party at the home of one of my most ardent…supporters in the war effort. The Weasley family practically adopted me the moment the Chieftain Ragnok revealed that I was back in their world. Their oldest son worked for the Horde, and Ragnok trusted Bill so much that he was included in the team of people who trained me. They had this special facility in a time-field. I spent roughly ten years in it with a group of people who gave up all that time to train me. Hermione and a few other people my age joined me for training. When we came out, only a year had passed in the outside world.”

“That’s fascinating. Did they tell you how that worked?”

“They tried,” Harry said with a laugh. “It’s very complicated magic—even more complicated than the portal my parents created. Regardless, Hermione was in training with me, and so was another wizard. His name was Ron Weasley. They’d gone to magical school together and appeared to be close friends. It took me about a month to realize he was just not the kind of person I’d choose to be around.”

“Why?”

“He’s greedy and has no manners to speak of. But more than that, he was just truly callous in his dealings with practically everyone, including his own family. Apparently it was so normal for him that no one around him called him on it. He quickly learned I wouldn’t put up with his poor behavior but I was really the only one to seem to have any kind of problem with him. Regardless, the war ended a few weeks ago and there was a lot of cleanup and rebuilding to do. I have a lot of magical power to burn, so I was asked to focus on rebuilding the school. We finished last week.

“Ron’s mother threw a party for us at their home. Shortly after dinner, Ron asked Hermione to marry him and presented her with a ring. She accepted. They’d dated off and on over the years when we’d been in training in the dverger facility, but I thought she’d finally come to realize that he was never going to treat her like she deserved. Maybe he was comfortable? I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. I respected her choice, and I prepared to leave.

“Dumbledore, the leader of the resistance effort, had me watched basically at all times because he had plans for me and wanted to use the fame I’d garnered for defeating Tom Riddle and my magical inheritance to reorganize their government. I was just a weapon to him, and he was in the midst of reshaping me for his purposes. I could’ve fought him off, but I let it ride because I wasn’t going to stay.

“I told Hermione I needed to go the bank and wanted to avoid interacting with Dumbledore’s people. She helped me get there, and we parted ways.” He glanced toward Hermione, then refocused on his father. “I wrote her a letter and asked Ragnok to send it to her. He helped me gather everything I wanted to bring back with me, and I left.”

“She’s not wearing a ring now,” Bilbo pointed out.

“I noticed. I imagine it’s part of the story she has to tell.” Harry focused on the sky above them. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like what she has to tell me. I’m beginning to regret…leaving so quietly.”

Bilbo sighed. “Sleep, lad. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”

Harry listened to his ada intently until the hobbit went to sleep. The years separating them seemed to be melting away, and he could only be grateful for that. When he’d prepared to return home, his thoughts had been of the gentle peace of the Shire, and he longed for it despite the casual disapproval most hobbits had for Bilbo Baggin’s wizard child. He even kind of missed his arsehole cousins—thieves and all.

He turned his head and focused on Hermione—he’d never known another person like her, and the thought that she’d knowingly given up so much to be at his side was humbling. Loving her had never felt like a burden, not even when he’d believed she’d never love him back the same way.

Perhaps friendship had brought her to Arda, but that seemed so unlikely. Ragnok could’ve warned him that Dumbledore was trying to retrieve him and destroyed the portal without sending someone through. He adjusted her cloak over her shoulder and exhaled slowly.

Tomorrow would be long for a variety of reasons, but the deep relief in his heart didn’t allow him to worry about it too much. He was home with the father of his heart, and Hermione had followed him to Arda.

Harry couldn’t have asked for more.