Well, things started out innocently enough…Hogwarts School has just finished picking out which people are going to be good and which are going to be bad…On one half of the room is a scary bunch, a few ‘orcs’ (whatever they are) and scary normal people. On the other side is mostly just normal people, and, of course, Gimli Weasly.
“Aren’t you a little old to be going to school?” Frodo Potter asked the unusual Dwarf.
“I’m a late bloomer,” replied Gimli. “Hey, I want you to meet my friend, Legolas Granger.”
Another guy with outrageously long blond hair walked up. “Howdy,” he said, giving Frodo a friendly wave. “I’m Legolas Granger…by the way, have you seen a toad? Some idiot claiming to be heir to the throne of Gondor lost one.”
The heard a terrified ‘ribbit’ and then an exclamation from one of the evil guys, “That’ll teach you, ugly toad!”
A scared looking guy raced by, a Burger King paper crown flying from his head. “NO!!! TREVOR!”
“Oh look at that special sword trick that orc just did!” said Legolas, looking excited. “I’m going to have to ask him where he learned that…” he promptly walked off to interrogate the brutal looking orc.
Frodo spied the sobbing King of Gondor and asked Gimli, “Who is that?”
“That’s Aragorn Longbottom…he’s fairly unusual,” explained Gimli.
But just then the doors at the end of the room opened and in came…
THE DREADED UMBRELLA WRAITHS! *gasp!*
“EEEEKKKK!” yelled Frodo, and ran for it.
A scary silence fell over the entire room. And then…
“Hello, we are the Umbrella Wraiths and we want to take the Sorcerer’s Ring, it that is okay,” explained Wraith #1, or Jim the Wraith for future references.
“That is not okay!” squeaked Frodo from where he hid. “Gandalf just told us that the Ring is very dangerous.”
“Shut up!” yelled Wraith #2, or George the Wraith, throwing his sword at Frodo.
“Ouch,” said Frodo, and passed out.
“Go away!” yelled Gimli.
“Alright,” said the Wraiths, who weren’t a very decisive bunch. “But we’re going to keep up our devious plans until you give us the Ring!” And they walked off.
Only then did anyone pay any attention to Frodo. “He needs Althelas,” said Aragorn wisely as they all stared down at the wounded Hobbit.
“What?” asked Gimli, looking puzzled.
A pause, then, “What?”
“Never mind,” said Aragorn, shaking his head. “We should get him to the elves.” The all turned to Legolas.
“Well, I really don’t want to be responsible if he dies,” he said.
“Well, alright then,” said Aragorn, but now he seemed at a loss as to what to do. “Er, does anyone know CPR?”
Dead silence from everyone.
“Well, that’s too bad,” said Gimli, and the story ended rather quickly. By dawn the next day, the dreaded Umbrella Wraiths had stolen the Sorcerer’s Ring and taken over Hogwarts with out disrupting the lives of most of the common people of Middle Earth.
(Just Joking. Here’s what really happened.)
“Never mind,” said Aragorn, shaking his head. “We should get him to the elves.” The all turned to Legolas, who smiled widely. “Okay!” he started dragging Frodo towards the hospital wing. But they were being pursued by the Umbrella Wraiths! (Though none too quickly. The Umbrella Wraiths had to skip everywhere singing ‘I Feel Pretty’. It was a curse the notorious MR. WHO had put on them for reporting late one time.)
Hogwarts was very large. And Legolas was very slow. So after three days and three nights of dragging Frodo around the castle, with the Wraiths only just behind him, wielding the Umbrellas, and the song “I Feel Pretty” stuck in his head for all eternity, Legolas finally reached hospital. He turned around and half-heartedly shot an arrow in the Wraiths’ general direction, then shrugged, figuring that they couldn’t get him here. They turned around and headed straight back to You Know Who. Legolas knocked on the hospital wing door. There was obviously a very loud party going on inside. When the door opened, Dr. Elrond said, “Ah! About time, I should say, Legolas my boy!” Ignoring Legolas’s bedraggled appearance and wearied face, and the Oh-no-I’m-being-chased-by-Umbrella Wraiths look in his eyes, Elrond pulled Legolas inside and shut the door. Legolas promptly fell down as a result of lack of sleep and nourishment for the past three days, so Elrond stepped over him and rejoined the party.
When Legolas woke up, it was to find a rather scary elf lady standing over him. She looked very familiar.
“Hey, aren’t you that chick who used to throw mud at me when I was a kid?” he asked.
“You do remember!” she said happily.
Legolas was a little unnerved. “You’re kind of crowding my personal bubble, Arwen.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Arwen Weasley (Gimli’s younger sister) took a few steps back. “Frodo’s doing well, in case you’re wondering.”
“Frodo? Who’s tha—oh, right. Never mind.”
“Hey,” Arwen was crowding Legolas’s personal bubble again, which was very, very intimidating. “Can you introduce me to that cute guy who just came here?”
“Oh yeah, him. Sure.”
When Frodo came to, it was to find a rather fat Hobbit sitting a few feet away, reading an unusual magazine labeled ‘The Quibbler’.
“Um, who are you?” asked Frodo.
The fat Hobbit jumped as though he had forgotten he was not the only one in the room. “Oh…I’m Sam Lovegood. Hi.”
“Hi,” said Frodo. “I’m—”
“Frodo Potter, I know,” said Sam. “You’re famous cause of your scar.”
“What sca—oh. Right.” Frodo touched the lightening bolt scar on his forehead. “I’m famous!”
“Yep. That’s cool.”
So Frodo and Sam soon became best buds, and when Frodo left the hospital, they were delighted to find out that they had a few classes together. And the first was that most dreaded class…Potions. The teacher apparent favored the evil guys (and Gimli suspected that he was one himself.)
“Oh look! A dark and dank dungeon! How charming!” said Legolas brightly when they arrived in the Potions classroom.
“Are you sure we’ve got the right place?” asked Aragorn, consulting a class schedule.
But just then the door at the end of the classroom opened and in stepped a rather scary looking person who looked fairly gothic, due to his long black clothes.
“Sit down,” he said coldly, and everyone immediately did so. “My name is Boromir Snape, but you will respectfully call me Professor Snape, got it?”
They all nodded quickly. This guy was not someone to mess with, as Frodo could tell.
Professor Snape started roll call, and Frodo and Sam passed notes (though Legolas gave them a disapproving glare) until Professor Snape suddenly looked up.
“Frodo Potter…our new celebrity,” he sneered.
Frodo grinned widely, both because of one of Sam’s humorous drawings and also because the thought of being a celebrity was rather appealing. “Present!” he yelled at the top of his voice. A few student’s giggled nervously.
“Tell me, Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfbane?” Professor Snape said abruptly.
Legolas started waving his hand around widely in the air. “ME! ME! I KNOW!” he yelled, even louder than Frodo. Everyone edged away from him, looking startled.
Frodo looked around. He had absolutely no idea who Professor Snape was talking to. His own name was Frodo. So, smiling blissfully, he faced the front of the room. Snape was staring at him. Frodo smiled and hummed a happy tune, but his new teacher would not look away. Frodo gave him a friendly wave, which Snape did not return.
“You don’t know?” he said. “Very well. What is a bezor?”
Frodo realized just as Legolas loudly yelled out, “I KNOW!” that he was indeed the one being asked all of these confusing questions. “It sounds like something from Africa, sir,” he guessed cheerfully.
“Wrong,” said Snape, but he seemed to be taking a particular fiendish pleasure in asking these questions. “Alright, what happens when you combine aphordite and boomslang skin?”
Legolas actually jumped to his feet and screamed, “CALL ON ME! I KNOW! I KNOW THIS ONE!”
Frodo looked at his friend, slightly unnerved. “Professor Snape, I think you’d better call on Legolas before he hurts himself,” he suggested.
Everyone but Snape and Legolas hooted with laughter. Aragorn and Sam almost fell out of their chairs. On the contrary, Snape glared at Frodo in a rather intimidating way. “Sit down, Granger,” he snarled at Legolas.
Legolas blushed bright red and sat down, staring at his copy of Advanced Potion Making and mumbling angry complaints about injustice and racial discrimination which everyone pretended not to hear.
“Hey, that was kind of mean of you, Professor Snape,” pointed out Frodo.
Snape gave him a rather scary look. “Fifty points from Gryffindor!!” he shouted randomly.
Frodo and Sam exchanged glances. “Er, Professor, what’s a Gryffindor?” asked Frodo.
Professor Snape looked as though he thought the world was coming to a rather abrupt and violent end.
“It’s your house, idiot! God! Don’t you know anything?” someone yelled out at random.
Frodo looked around wildly. “Who said that?” He didn’t like the idea of houses having names, wasn’t so sure he had one, and was rather offended at being called an idiot when his actual grades were not even begun yet.
Aragorn gave Frodo a ‘you don’t want to know’ look and Sam wordlessly pointed at an elf sitting at the other end of the room. His shoulder length dark hair looked as if it had never seen soap and water in its entire life. He had his arms crossed and his feet up on his desk, looking both bored and ill-mannered at the same time. “I did! Have a problem with that?”
“Er, well no, you’re entitled to you’re opinion, but I’d still rather not be called nam—”
But the elf was clearly no longer listening, and Frodo broke off in mid-sentence.
“Who is that?” Frodo whispered to Sam.
“That’s Pippin Malfoy,” said Sam blandly. “He is rather scary, don’t you think?”
Frodo nodded agreeably. “He’s a bad guy, huh?”
“He belongs to Slytherin house, if that’s what you mean.”
“How is everyone getting houses? I didn’t even know there was a real-estate opportunity in the area,” said Frodo, looking confused.
“It’s like the team you belong to,” Legolas interrupted, leaning forward so that Snape (who was now writing lesson plans on the black board) could not hear him. “Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are good guys; Hufflepuff and Slytherin are bad guys. If you do something the teacher approves of, you get points for your house, and vise versa. The house with the most points at the end of the year is awarded a trophy. Does that make much sense to you?”
Since Legolas had said all of this in one quick breath, Frodo had to think about it for a moment. Finally, “Yes…but what house are you in?”
“Gryffindor,” said Legolas proudly. “Same as you.”
“I’m personally in Ravenclaw,” said Sam. “And while Gryffindors are mostly much braver than Ravenclaws, we tend to get better grades.”
“That’s not always true,” pointed out Legolas, which led to a rather heated discussion throughout the remainder of the class (which turned out to be a very boring one, since Frodo and Snape had provided much of the classes entertainment for the first half and had know settled into glaring at each other resignedly).
When the bell rang for the end of class, Frodo made quite a show of being glad to be leaving. Snape didn’t look up from the papers he was grading when Frodo slammed the door shut on his way out. However, not having gotten the reaction he had expected, Frodo doubled back, threw open the door, and slammed it shut again. Snape still didn’t do anything, so Frodo repeated this performance several times before, “GET TO CLASS, POTTER!”
“Yes, sir!” said Frodo brightly, and set off for Defense Against the Dark Arts, the class which he had most been looking forward to.
However, it was soon discovered that Defense Against the Dark Arts was not all it was cracked up to be. Their teacher, Professor Saruman, didn’t look as though he could deflect a misjudged sword thrust. He was pale and thin, with a long white beard and a turban wrapped around his head. Frodo had immediately tried to get him to remove this, but Professor Saruman only blushed and started talking loudly about the weather.
Gimli seemed to find Professor Saruman’s nervous stuttering particularly funny, and since he was Frodo’s only friend in this class (aside from Legolas, but Frodo didn’t exactly consider the two of them friends, even though Legolas had saved his life) they were soon both making highly amusing jokes, answering questions that Saruman fired at them in low, slurred stutters, and greatly enjoying taking exact notes on everything that transpired with in the classroom. Legolas constantly interrupted their conversations with criticism and scolding, which Gimli transparently pretended not to hear. Frodo, however, felt a little bit guilty whenever Legolas told him off for making fun of ‘someone not exactly like you in every way’ but also couldn’t help feeling that his privacy was being slightly intruded upon.
For the most part, though, Frodo was having the time of his life. He had new friends and was learning amazing things in almost all of his classes. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what on earth was hidden on the third floor and what the heck the Umbrella Wraiths wanted with something called the Sorcerer’s Ring…Sam suggested that it was something for deterring Wibblywobs (invisible things that floated around, randomly making unprotected people dizzy) and Legolas, interrupting their conversation as normal, said that Wibblywobs were complete nonsense. This led to another argument which put Sam into an exceptionally bad mood and quickly ended their discussion of the Sorcerer’s Ring.
Gimli too was becoming increasingly distant for Legolas, and seemed to find the elf’s know-it-all personality rather irritating. It seemed to Frodo that no one wanted to be Legolas’ friend, but that wasn’t particularly troubling to him.
Aragorn seemed to have less and less time on his hands. Arwen was practically smothering him with affection and seemed to think that any moment not spent kissing him was a moment wasted. She already wanted to exchange room keys (which everyone agreed was going a bit too far). For this sticky situation, Aragorn blamed Legolas as well, since he had been the one to introduce them in the first place. Now days, Frodo only saw Aragorn in Potions and at dinner. And it was one such evening when something rather life changing occurred.
“What happened to you?” Frodo asked when Aragorn appeared, looking even more confused and disheveled than usual.
“I’ve just escaped—I mean, just left Arwen.” He looked scared. “I’m not going to be able to take much more of this, Frodo. I’ll be dead of the exhaustion of avoiding her before the weeks up.”
Frodo was about to say something sympathetic when there was suddenly a loud, “Oooohhh!” from the Slytherin table and Frodo spied Pippin Malfoy giving them a fiendish look. “Trouble in paradise, Longbottom?”
“Trouble with you face, Malfoy?” Frodo snapped right back. He had come to have a deeply heartfelt resentment for Pippin over the past week.
Onlookers were already expecting bloodshed.
“Why don’t you shut it?” Pippin snarled.
“Because I don’t have too! It’s a free country!” Frodo yelled.
A voice behind Frodo said sharply, “What’s going on?”
Frodo whipped around and found himself facing his head of house, Professor Èowyn McGonagall. She even looked strict. “Nothing much,” he said. Pippin nodded, agreeing with this story. Professor McGonagall grudgingly walked away.
Leaning forward so that none of the teachers could hear, Pippin whispered, “Let’s settle this the right way, Potter. A duel at midnight tonight, the trophy room. Be there…unless you’re a coward like we all think you are.”
Aragorn immediately sprang to Frodo’s defense. “He is not! In fact, I’m actually his second!”
Frodo was a little bewildered at all of these strange new terms, but didn’t reveal his confusion.
“Oh really?” Pippin sneered. “Well my second is…Merry!”
A Hobbit at the end of the table looked up at the sound of his name. “What am I?” he said, looking incredibly dimwitted.
They stopped making these odd plans because Professor Snape walked by just then, looking as austere as ever, glaring at Frodo as though he had just been done a great personal wrong.
“Er, Aragorn, what’s a duel?” Frodo whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
“It’s where two people try to kill each other,” said Aragorn, not looking concerned.
Frodo felt as though he had received a hard blow to the stomach. “And… what’s a second?”
“Someone who takes over if you die,” explained Aragorn, stirring something that mildly resembled mashed potatoes with his fork. Then, at the shocked look on Frodo’s face, he said, “Don’t worry, though. Pippin probably won’t even show his ugly face.”
“And what if he does?!”
“Well, then at least you won’t have to go to Potions tomorrow morning.”
Frodo’s eyes widened. Legolas, who had been listening in once again leaned forward and whispered, “Frodo, if you’re honestly thinking of skipping class—”
“He’s not, so mind your own business,” snapped Aragorn.
Nonetheless, Legolas watched Frodo suspiciously for the rest of the evening.
Frodo yawned as he nervously eyed the alarm clock in his room. 11:10. still fifty minutes until the duel…
“I’d tell you to stop fidgeting, but I understand why you’re nervous,” said Aragorn, who had just finished doing his homework from History and was stretching his sore arms.
Frodo looked down at the piece of paper which he had nervously torn into tiny scraps no bigger than an eraser. “Why should I be nervous?” He said, tossing the paper into a garbage can in an attempt to be casual.
“Cause Pippin’s one of those crazy Dark Elves, that’s why,” said Aragorn, as though this explained everything.
Aragorn waving his hands as though at a loss for the right words. “One of the elves who contributed to You Know Who’s rise to power in the first place.”
“You mean Sauron?”
Aragorn jumped a little. “Can you not say that name?” he whimpered.
“Why the heck not?”
“Aragorn, if you’re going to speak gibberish, at least make sense…what’s a Dark Elf? I thought they were all good guys until I met Pippin.”
Again, Aragorn looked lost for words. “Oh I don’t know why, really, but their not very pleasant to be around, and really cunning too.”
“Sound’s like Legolas,” said Frodo at a nervous attempt at humor.
“No, Frodo,” said Aragorn solemnly. “Not like Legolas.”
Frodo gulped and looked at the clock again. 11: 21. “Let’s go now,” he said. “It’ll take a while to get to the trophy room and I don’t want Pippin mocking us for being late.”
“Alright,” said Aragorn, and they crept down stairs to the door out of the Gryffindor common room.
They were just pushing open the door to the hallway when suddenly, “I don’t believe you’re really going to do this, Frodo.”
“EEEEEKKKKK!” Frodo yelled, whipping around to find Legolas’ angry face inches from his own. “H-how did you get there?”
Legolas ignored this question. “You’re acting like such an idiot! Pippin’s causing you to break a dozen rules and you’ll probably get killed—or worse yet—expelled.”
“Stay out of our business,” snarled Aragorn, pulling Frodo out the door.
Legolas stuck his foot out to keep the door from closing. “No! You can’t do this! I’ll tell Professor McGonagall! I swear I will!”
“You do and I’ll kill you,” threatened Aragorn. By that time they were fully in the hallway and setting a quick pace toward the trophy room. Legolas followed them.
“Come back!” he yelled, but suddenly there was a loud slam and the door closed behind them. “NOOOO!” Legolas wailed, trying the doorknob and finding it locked. “Oh look what you’ve done now! Now I’m going to be in trouble and—OUCH!”
He toppled over a human sized lump and fell face flat on the floor. “What the—Gimli?”
“You kind of stepped on me there,” said Gimli, brushing himself off and looking sleepy.
“What are you doing out here?” Frodo asked.
“I fell asleep,” yawned Gimli.
“Here?” exclaimed Aragorn.
“I got locked out of the dormitory and couldn’t get in and I was really tired, so…” he grinned. “But what are all of you doing here?”
Aragorn quickly explained about the midnight duel, and Legolas scowled and told his story.
“Hey, can I come too?” asked Gimli.
“Sure,” said Frodo immediately.
“You’ll only get into trouble,” warned Legolas, but no one was listening; in fact, they had walked off, headed for the trophy room yet again, leaving Legolas no choice but to follow them.
Aragorn cautiously pushed open the door to the trophy room, as though expecting a surprise attack. When nothing happened, they stepped inside. The trophy room was dimly lit, and what little light there was reflected off gold and silver medals lining the walls, casting the sparkling illusion that there were many luminous torches. Pippin was no where in sight.
Frodo looked at his watch. 11:50. Ten minutes…
“We’re not supposed to be here,” said Legolas fretfully, making sure to close the door firmly behind him. “And we’re breaking curfew, being out of bed this late. If someone finds us, I’m not going to take any of the blame for what you’ve gotten us all into. I’m just going to explain—”
“Shhhhh!” hissed Aragorn. “Listen: Do you hear anything?”
They listened intently for a moment, and heard a muffled noise suddenly, from just of side the door at the other end of the room.
“Is that Pippin?” whispered Gimli.
Legolas suddenly looked rather hysteric. “Of course it’s not! Don’t you see? He set you up to get you in trouble! That’s not Pippin; it’s Filch!”
Eómer Filch was a rather insane old caretaker, fond of threatening to trample misbehaved students with his enormous horse. Now that Frodo knew what to look for, he recognized Filch’s limping stride, and knew that he was closer, his irregular breathing pattern.
“Run for it!” Frodo ordered, and they bolted, racing out the door through which they had come, running recklessly down the hallway with no idea where they were going. But it seemed that Filch knew where all the secret passageways in the castle were, and defiantly wasn’t getting any farther away; if anything, closer.
Aragorn crashed headlong into a door, tried the handle and found it locked. “We’re done for!” he exclaimed, looking pale and scared.
“Idiot!” exclaimed Legolas, and without bothering with the niceties of turned the pretty gold handle, he slammed his shoulder into the door and it sprang open. “Get inside!”
Frodo eyed the elf with new found respect as they darted inside. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“In Defense Against the Dark Arts! If you would pay attention—”
“Shhhh!” hissed Aragorn again, pressing his ear to the door to listen. The heard Filch’s footsteps getting closer…then passing them by. When the sound had faded completely, Frodo let out a relieved breath.
“I think he’s gone. Probably thinks this door is locked.”
“It was locked,” Legolas reminded him, looking a little cross.
“Yeah, you probably save all of our lives—Gimli, what the heck do you want?!”
Gimli had been consistently tugging on Frodo’s arm since they had entered the room. “Frodo,” he whispered, “I think you’d better turn around.”
Confused, Frodo did so. Crouching at the other end of the room was something rather shocking. An enormous dragon, its gold and red scales shimmering, a thin trail of smoke rising from its nostrils. Enormous yellow eyes with black snake-like slits were fixed on the students. Obviously the only reason it hadn’t attacked was that it was surprised that anyone would be stupid enough to come into its lair. But surprise clearly would not save them for long. It was already growling and raising its head like a snake curled to strike.
Frodo quickly flung open the door. If it was between this monster and Filch, he’d take Filch. Together they sprinted back to the Gryffindor common room without bothering to check around corners for Filch.
“What the hell,” said Aragorn when they had safely gotten inside, “are they doing keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?!”
“It’s obviously guarding something,” said Legolas immediately.
Gimli looked amazed. “Does he know everything?” he asked Frodo.
Legolas gazed at him crossly. “It was standing on a trapdoor, probably not by accident.”
“You were looking at the floor?!” exclaimed Frodo incredulously.
Legolas stormed off, growling that they all could have gotten trampled by Filch’s horse if he hadn’t saved their lives. Gimli, Aragorn, and Frodo stared after him. “He needs to sort out his priorities,” remarked Gimli,