The Hogwarts Express, or as Rove called it, the "Iron Dragon," was spewing thick smoke as it thundered through the outskirts of London, carrying its passengers toward the desolate moors of the north.
Inside a compartment at the very end of the train, the atmosphere was a bit heavy.
"Listen. This is not just a trip. It is a forced march."
Rove sat by the window. He had drawn the curtains tight, leaving only a sliver of a gap for surveillance. He turned, his gaze burning intensely as he stared at the two boys opposite him.
Harry Potter (The Ring-Bearer), looking bewildered and clutching a massive birthday cake box.
Ron Weasley (The Loyal Gardener Sam), currently stuffing a Chocolate Frog into his mouth.
> [System Notification: Fellowship Prototype Established]
> [Current Members: Ranger (You), Ring-Bearer (Harry), Gardener (Ron)]
> [Mission Objective: Ensure the Ring-Bearer arrives at Rivendell (Hogwarts) without being corrupted or assassinated.]
"Eat this." Rove reached into his backpack (which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it) and pulled out a packet of rock-hard food, tossing it onto the small table.
"What is this?" Ron leaned in curiously. "A rock?"
"A substitute for Lembas bread." Rove tore open the wax paper, revealing dark brown dried beef and a block of rye bread that was as hard as a brick. "This is warrior's rations. One bite is enough to sustain a full day of forced marching."
Harry looked at the "brick," then at the Chocolate Frog in Ron's hand, and asked cautiously, "Rove, can't we just buy some snacks from the trolley? The lady just came by..."
"Absolutely not," Rove refused flatly. "Those brightly colored things are mostly failed alchemical experiments. Frogs that move? They possess souls! Eating them invites a curse. And don't get me started on those beans!"
He pointed at the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans in Ron's hand, his eyes filled with disgust.
"Those are filled with the darkness of the unknown. You might get strawberry flavor, or you might get Orc foot-skin flavor. A true warrior never leaves his fate to luck."
Ron looked a little green and silently put the beans down.
"But this bread is too hard," Ron complained, knocking the rye bread against the table.
"Soak it in water." Rove pulled out his canteen and poured them each a cup of water. "Remember, in the wild, only this kind of food will keep you alive."
Just as Harry and Ron were forced to start gnawing on the "bricks," Ron's jacket pocket suddenly moved.
A fat, gray rat squeezed out. It was missing a toe and looked old and sleazy. It smelled the beef jerky and tried to scramble onto the table.
In that instant, Rove's pupils constricted violently.
> [WARNING! Evil Creature Detected!]
> [Target: Scabbers]
> [System Identification: Variant of Gríma Wormtongue / The Cursed Traitor]
> [Danger Level: Lurking Viper]
> [Description: This is no ordinary rat. Its eyes hide human cunning and betrayal. It is listening! It is watching!]
"Don't move!"
Rove let out a low growl, his right hand drawing the Blackthorn wand from his waist with lightning speed.
"What?!" Ron didn't even have time to react.
THWACK!
A dull thud echoed.
The tip of the hard Blackthorn wand stabbed viciously into the table surface, missing Scabbers' head by less than a centimeter.
SQUEEE—!!!
The rat let out a shrill, blood-curdling scream that sounded nothing like a normal rodent. It twisted its body frantically, scrambling back into Ron's pocket.
"Bloody hell! Rove! What are you doing?!" Ron jumped up in fright, cupping his hands protectively over the shivering rat. "You tried to kill Scabbers?!"
"That is no rat, Ron." Rove didn't withdraw his wand. He stared coldly at the pocket where Scabbers was hiding. "Look at its eyes. There is no animal instinct in them, only greed and fear."
"He's just hungry!" Ron protested loudly. "He's just an old, balding rat! He's useless, but Percy gave him to me."
"Indeed." Rove finally pulled his wand out of the table. "Traitors are always good at disguising themselves as harmless rubbish, right until the moment they slit your throat while you sleep."
Harry swallowed hard. Suddenly, the "Lembas bread" in his hand didn't seem so bad. He felt that Rove wasn't just strange—he might be a little dangerous.
"Keep your distance from it in the future, Ring-Bearer," Rove warned, turning to Harry. "Darkness always loves to seep in through cracks like that."
Just as the atmosphere in the compartment reached peak awkwardness, the sliding door was pulled open.
A girl with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth poked her head in. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robes and looked a bit bossy.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said rapidly.
Rove looked up.
> [Biological Scan Complete]
> [Target: Hermione Granger]
> [Race Identification: Human -> Juvenile Noldor Elf]
> [Traits: Arrogant, Insatiable thirst for knowledge, Rapid speech patterns, Radiates Holy Light]
> [Faction: Lawful Good / Potential Strategist]
An Elf! And specifically, the Noldor kind—the ones who loved to lecture and looked down on the intelligence of mortals!
The murderous aura around Rove vanished instantly, replaced by a slightly overly elaborate politeness reserved for higher races.
He stood up, even straightening his collar, and gave Hermione a slight nod.
"Good day, wise lady." Rove's voice became deep and magnetic. "We have not seen the lost little creature."
Hermione blinked. She had prepared a whole lecture about "what are you doing" and "why haven't you changed," but this sudden display of aristocratic etiquette choked her words back.
"Er, right." Hermione blinked again, her gaze falling on the deep gouge in the table (left by the wand strike) and the rat Ron was shielding. "Were you doing magic? I heard someone scream."
"That was a tentative strike against the Darkness," Rove replied calmly. "Though it was stayed by mercy."
Ron rolled his eyes. "He almost killed my rat!"
Hermione frowned and looked at Ron. "You're Ron Weasley, aren't you? I've heard about you. That's your rat? That doesn't comply with the pet regulations in Hogwarts: A History!"
Then she looked at Harry.
"Goodness, you're Harry Potter." Hermione's eyes lit up. "I've read all about you. You're in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."
Harry looked at her, bewildered. "Am... am I?"
"If it were me, I'd have memorized them all," Hermione said like a machine gun. "Even if just to find out why I was famous."
"Books can only record the past, my lady," Rove interjected suddenly, his tone carrying a hint of Elvish philosophy. "But true history is written in blood and steel. The Ring-Bearer—I mean, Mr. Potter's destiny—is not on paper, but on the road ahead."
Hermione turned and looked Rove up and down.
"You talk very strangely," she said bluntly. "Which family are you from? What is your name?"
"Rove. Rove Baggins." Rove answered. "A humble traveler from the Shire."
"Baggins?" Hermione frowned in thought. "That surname isn't in the Pure-Blood Directory. Are you Muggle-born?"
"Heroes do not ask of origins, just as Elves do not ask of the return journey." Rove didn't answer directly, but instead looked out the window. "The mist is thickening, my lady. That toad may be lost in the shadows of the Misty Mountains. I suggest you tell Mr. Neville that rather than seek, he should wait. All things eventually return."
Hermione opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to refute this completely illogical statement, but she stopped, feeling that it somehow sounded... profoundly reasonable.
"Right, well, you'd better hurry up and change into your robes. I've just asked the driver, and we're nearly there."
Hermione took one last look at this strange compartment: a terrified redhead, a bewildered Savior, and a weirdo who spoke like a bard and ate brick-bread.
She shook her head and closed the door.
"She's a bit scary," Ron whispered.
"That is the arrogance of the Elves." Rove sat back down and picked up his half-eaten beef jerky. "Get used to it. On the journey ahead, we will need her wisdom, even if she is a bit noisy."
He glanced at the darkening sky outside the window.
"Ready your weapons, gentlemen. Night is falling, and we are about to step into the eye of the storm."