Harry Potter and the Fellowship of the Ring

Chapter 4

Harry was starting to get annoyed with the trollshaws. All those trolls that came out at night were forcing him to change his pathway to the sword. It wasn’t easy when you had a pendant that was pinging uncontrollably. Still, he could tell he was close.

The trees started getting denser and closer together. The hills became larger. When he nearly fell off a ledge, he knew he had made it to his final destination. He could hear the sounds of the Nazgul in the distance. He had to hurry.

The ledge had been the enterance to a cave. A troll cave. Ellerosse didn’t like caves very much. He had no idea if this had to do with his being an elf, or his previous experience of witnessing Dumbledore be tortured by his own thoughts, but either way, the sight of the cave made him queasy. Nevertheless, he stepped into the darkness.

He wished he had his wand with him at that time. Then he could just say “Lumos” and he would be able to see just fine. But the light of his too large sword had to do for now.

The troll hoard was full of many treasures. Harry wasn’t surprised that the pendant had brought him here. A chest of gold glittered in the corner, and strings of emeralds hung from the ceiling. He could hear trolls talking in the cave a bit further in.

“—Done well, Grimblebook!”

“He’s not Grimblebook, I am!”

“Oh, yes. He’s Jumblefeather!”

“You’re Jumblefeather!” Another one of the trolls argued.

“Yes, Grimblebook?” The troll said absentmindedly to another.

Harry shook his head and went to say a cheeky comment to Ron and Hermione before remembering that they weren’t there. 60 years tended to do that to you. He peeped over the stone to find that the trolls were gathered around an object. A sword with a ruby encrusted hilt. A sword that just so happened to be the sword of Gryffindor.

“This shiny blade will be the pinnacle of our collection!” The troll showed its rather nasty looking teeth.

“You will do the hunting today, Handbreaker!” Jumblefeather smiled creepily. “If you are lucky, you may be able to catch that wandering she-elf unawares. I smell the blood of men and elves tonight!”

“And of Nazgul.” Ellerosse stepped from the shadows.

The trolls blinked. “It’s and elf!” One of them said. “Let’s eat it!”

I really wish I had my wand right now. Harry internally sighed. He dropped his too unbalanced sword, plunging his knives into the cave walls to use as handholds. He propelled himself to the top of the cave and cut several of the strings from the ceiling. Too late, the trolls tried to step over them, resulting in a tangled mass of rock hard limbs. That quidditch training really helped him, didn’t it. He jumped down from the knife he was hanging from and grabbed the sword. A surge of warmth fluttered from the pendant to his hand, as if the sword was greeting an old friend.

“Oh.” Harry said softly. “Well, that’s new.”

“Not the sword!” the trolls wailed. A streak of fire rushed from the pendant and through to the blade, effectively becoming so bright that the trolls turned to stone. He almost felt sorry for them.

Screech! 

The Nazgul were closer, which meant that Aragorn was closer. Which meant-

“Hey Mr. Frodo!” Sam’s voice faintly drifted into the cave. “They’re Mr. Bilbo’s trolls!” There was silence for a moment. “He’s going cold!”

That sentence made his face turn as white as a sheet, and he was already pale as an elf. Not Frodo. He couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not under his watch.

He rushed out of the cave, searching for the source of the noise. His ears detected footsteps abut a twentieth of a mile away southeast. He ran in that direction. He strained his ears, hearing the unmistakable rush of a man frantically running.

He grabbed hold of a tree branch, jumping from limb to limb like he’d been taught. He soon spotted Aragorn’s mop of hair next to a sprig of Athelas. He shook his head. He should have known.

A woman dressed in white made it to Aragorn before him.

“What’s this? A ranger, caught off his guard?” Harry grinned. He jumped down behind the woman.

“Hello Aragorn!” He said pleasantly. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!”

Surprisingly, Aragorn didn’t even blush. He just let out an amused chuckle as the woman sent him a confused glance before cutting some kinsfoil. “I’m glad you’re alright, Ellerosse. We need to get to Frodo!”

Arwen and Aragorn jumped on her horse, and Harry followed behind through the trees. The woods became a prison around him, a blur of menacing green. Visions of the maze during the Triwizard tournament clouded his mind. He shunned the thoughts away with a grimace.

The Hobbits were waiting for them. Ellerosse put his hood up again.

“Griffin!” Sam shouted.

“We thought you’d left for good!” Pippin put in.

Arwen crouched over Frodo.

“What happened?” He whispered to Aragorn in sindarian.

Aragorn hesitated, but he replied “He’s been stabbed by a morgul blade

Green light. Pain. His scar. Avada Kedavra.

Ellerosse rushed over to Frodo, where Arwen was studying the sword ct. He winced, pain shooting into his own scar. That hadn’t happened in a while.

“He’s not going to last.” Arwen said. “We must get him to my father.”

Arwen scooped Frodo onto the horse, and she and Aragorn argued over who would take Frodo. Harry didn’t listen, only staring at his hands. He’d been too slow. If he’d gotten the sword before now, he might have been able to stop this from happening. Or he could have found his wand. Either would have worked, but now it was too late.

Finally, Aragorn allowed Arwen to get onto the horse.

“What are you doing?!” Sam yelled. “Those wraiths are still out there!”

Neville Longbottom was not having a good day. Yes, it did help that his granddaughter Abigail had come to visit him, but the fact that the sword of Gryffindor was missing didn’t help. It was only thing that connected with Harry. Harry the hero. That’s what they called him now. Harry would probably get annoyed and angry and rip the name to pieces if he could. It hadn’t been fair that he had to die to defeat his enemy.

Neville gave an angry sigh and glared at the empty sword stand. Ron and Hermione would be upset with him now.

As he was thinking, the air around the stand shimmered, and a sword appeared on it like it had been there the whole time. Shocked, Neville ran his hand along the blade. It was sharp. It had writing on it, like it was supposed to, except the writing didn’t make sense. The sword wasn’t the sword of Gryffindor.