Leaving Home
Harry did not sleep. For someone who was known for sleeping deeply and soundly, he now stood wide awake, refusing to succumb to the sweet pull of slumber. Beside him, Bilbo was curled up against his side, a soft, steady rhythm of breath that contrasted sharply with the turmoil within Harry's mind. He stared at Bilbo’s pocket, his gaze locked onto the ring nestled there, the very horcrux he longed to destroy. It felt wrong to think of it as merely a piece of someone's soul. In that moment, it seemed too dark, too twisted to belong to someone as warm and kind as Bilbo. Yet the thought of taking it felt like betrayal, like stealing something precious from a friend, albeit a friend who carried a dangerous secret.
The weight of the decision pressed heavily on him. If he reached out and took the ring, would it make him a thief? Would he become like those who sought power at any cost? No, that thought was too familiar. It echoed through his mind, wrapping him in an icy grip that paralyzed him. He couldn’t take it from Bilbo; he didn’t want to harm the gentle hobbit who had shown him kindness when he had felt most lost.
As he stood there, anyone who might have woken to see him would have found Harry's slightly glowing green eyes distant, as if he were gazing through the very fabric of reality. His expression was a blend of anguish and resolve, trapped in a place between action and inaction. Every so often, his hand would twitch, moving instinctively toward the ring, but he would pull it back at the last moment, his fingers trembling with uncertainty. It was a futile struggle, an embodiment of the chaos within him as he fought against the disassociation threatening to pull him deeper into the recesses of his mind.
Harry felt detached from everything around him, as though he were floating above his own body, watching the scene unfold without truly being present. The forest around him faded into a blur, the vibrant greens and golden hues melting into a backdrop for his internal conflict. Time lost all meaning; minutes stretched into hours as he stood still, caught in a moment that felt both urgent and suspended.
He found himself lost in thought, grappling with the memories that washed over him like waves crashing against a shore. The horrors of his past were vivid, yet they felt like echoes from a distant life, a narrative that no longer felt entirely his own. The faces of friends and foes alike flickered through his mind, intermingled with the feeling of isolation that had become so familiar. He wanted to scream, to shake off the oppressive weight of expectation, but he remained still, afraid to disturb the peace that Bilbo had found in sleep.
As Bilbo nestled deeper against him, Harry felt a pang of longing mixed with despair. He yearned for the innocence of a simpler life, for the days before the burden of prophecy and darkness loomed over him. But the truth of his existence loomed larger than ever, casting shadows that threatened to swallow him whole. In this moment, surrounded by friends yet feeling utterly alone, Harry grappled with the paradox of his reality: he was alive, yet he felt as if he were merely a spectator in his own life, a prisoner of his own mind.
Harry remained motionless throughout the night, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts as Bilbo curled up against him, blissfully unaware of the inner struggle unfolding beside him. The gentle rhythm of Bilbo’s breathing contrasted sharply with the chaos in Harry’s mind. He felt an overwhelming urge to reach for the ring, the dark artifact that represented so much pain and suffering. It was a connection to his past, a reminder of the battles he had fought and the ones still looming ahead. But he hesitated, caught in the grip of a paralyzing disassociation that made the world feel surreal, as if he were observing everything from behind a glass wall.
As the night wore on, Harry was trapped in a loop of memories and emotions, each wave crashing over him more ferociously than the last. He thought of the countless times he had been forced to fight, to endure, and to survive. In this moment, he felt disconnected from that reality, almost as if he were watching it all unfold from a great distance. The warmth of Bilbo's presence was a stark contrast to the icy grip of his own thoughts, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing himself in the chaos.
When dawn finally broke, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the trees brought an abrupt change to the atmosphere. The sudden weightlifting from his leg jolted him back to the present, and instinctively, he reached out, grasping Bilbo tightly. The hobbit, still in the realm of dreams, stirred slightly but didn’t awaken. To Harry, Bilbo was the embodiment of safety, a grounding presence amid the storm in his mind. In his fractured state, he clung to the belief that Bilbo was the only adult who could shield him from the turmoil that had been his life.
As the sounds of awakening dwarves filled the air, Harry’s perception shifted further into a childlike demeanour. The world around him blurred, and he felt smaller, more vulnerable. He was once again the boy who had wandered through life searching for love and belonging, and in that moment, he saw Bilbo as the only anchor he could trust. The previous night’s turmoil faded into the background as he surrendered to the safety that Bilbo represented, seeking solace in the warm embrace of friendship.
“Bilbo,” he whispered softly, his voice barely audible as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace he had found. In this childlike state, the only thing that mattered was the gentle warmth beside him, the comforting presence that shielded him from the harsh realities of the world.
As the sun's warm glow spilled into the clearing, Bilbo stirred, the gentle light coaxing him from the embrace of sleep. He blinked away the remnants of dreams, his gaze landing on Harry, who was still clutching him tightly. A frown of concern creased Bilbo's brow as he took in the distant, haunted look in Harry's glowing green eyes. It was a look he had never seen on his friend before, a deep-rooted sorrow that seemed to pull at Harry’s very essence.
“Harry?” Bilbo whispered; his voice laced with tenderness. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against Harry's shoulder, trying to draw him back from wherever his mind had taken him. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
At the sound of Bilbo's voice, Harry flinched slightly, as if waking from a deep slumber. His grip on the hobbit tightened momentarily before he slowly released his hold, blinking rapidly as the haze of disassociation began to dissipate. Bilbo watched intently, his heart aching for his friend. He leaned closer, determined to help Harry find his way back to reality.
“Just breathe, Harry,” Bilbo encouraged gently, mimicking the steady rhythm of his own breathing. “You’re safe here. Nothing can hurt you. Just focus on me.”
With each breath Bilbo took, Harry began to mirror him, the instinctual calmness in Bilbo’s voice acting like a lifeline. The childlike demeanour that had taken hold of him gradually faded, replaced by the familiar determination that defined Harry. The weight of his fears and burdens felt less oppressive as he focused on the warmth radiating from Bilbo, grounding him in the moment.
“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, his voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to… I just… ”
“It’s okay,” Bilbo interrupted softly, his eyes filled with understanding. “You don’t have to apologize. We’ve all been through so much. Just take your time.” He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, offering comfort through his presence. “I’m here for you. Always.”
Slowly, Harry's breathing steadied, the tension in his body releasing as he allowed himself to lean into Bilbo's embrace. The calming rhythm of the forest enveloped them, the soft rustle of leaves and distant chirps of birds creating a soothing backdrop. In that moment, surrounded by the tranquillity of Sleepers Forest, Harry began to feel the pull of reality once more.
“Thank you, Bilbo,” he said, his voice stronger now, though still laced with vulnerability. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Bilbo smiled warmly, his heart swelling with affection for his friend. “You’re not alone anymore, Harry. You have us. We’ll face whatever comes next together.”
As the morning sun cast golden rays through the branches, illuminating the clearing, Harry focused on packing only his treasures into a shimmering bag that had seemingly materialized from thin air. He concentrated for a moment, allowing his magic to weave through his fingers. With a gentle flick of his wrist, a soft, deep green bag appeared, intricately adorned with swirling patterns that mirrored the leaves and vines of the forest surrounding them.
“Where did you get that?” Bilbo asked, eyes wide with curiosity as he watched the bag expand effortlessly, seemingly limitless in its capacity.
Harry smiled, a hint of mischief in his emerald eyes. “It’s a little trick of mine. It can hold anything without ever getting full.” He demonstrated by tossing in a handful of wild herbs and flowers he’d picked earlier. They vanished inside as if they were mere whispers of air, leaving the bag looking as pristine as before.
The dwarves busied themselves with their own belongings, grumbling good-naturedly about the lack of breakfast while the smells of the forest wafted around them. Thorin, in particular, seemed to be in a foul mood as he observed Harry. There was an undeniable spark of annoyance flickering in Thorin’s deep blue eyes every time he glanced at the young man. The reason was clear: Harry’s closeness to Bilbo only exacerbated Thorin’s growing feelings for the hobbit, a sentiment he was still trying to process.
“Just don’t go too far, Harry,” Thorin said, his voice rough as gravel. “We don’t need you getting lost in the woods like some fool elf.”
Harry glanced up, quirking an eyebrow at the dwarf king. “I won’t go wandering off. Besides, I’m not an elf, remember?” His tone was light, though there was an undercurrent of seriousness to it. He could sense Thorin’s irritation and found himself both amused and slightly bewildered by the dwarf’s protective attitude.
As they packed, some of the more perceptive dwarves, particularly Balin and Dwalin, exchanged knowing glances. They had noticed Harry's unusually long ears and the way they flickered with a hint of awareness as he conversed with them. Dwalin leaned over to Balin, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. “You reckon he’s really an elf?”
Balin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Nay, lad. He might have the look, but those ears are too long for any elf we’ve ever met. Besides, his aura feels different, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dwalin replied thoughtfully, glancing at Harry as he carefully placed a few of Bilbo’s belongings into his bag—a testament to their friendship. “There’s something…other about him. Something that speaks of ancient magic, not just of elvish kind.”
Meanwhile, Bilbo, catching the tail end of their conversation, felt a surge of pride. Harry was special, and the more they learned about him, the more he admired the quiet strength he carried. “What are you two whispering about?” he asked playfully, giving them a teasing grin.
“Just pondering the mysteries of our new friend,” Balin said with a knowing wink. “You have quite the companion in Harry, Bilbo.”
Thorin, still nursing his annoyance, turned away to focus on his pack, muttering something under his breath about tree huggers and oddities.
Harry, oblivious to the subtle dynamics playing out around him, continued to pack with purpose. He made sure to gather all the clothes and items he had been gifted over the years, carefully folding them and tucking them away in his enchanted bag. Each piece was a memory, a reminder of the kindness he had received in this magical forest.
However, he kept his beloved daggers, the very first gifts he had ever received, secured at his side, their familiar weight comforting against him.
As he packed, he also left behind the plants and gifts for the forest’s inhabitants, wanting to respect the sanctuary that had sheltered him for so long. With his own items safely stored away and only a few of Bilbo’s essentials tucked in, he felt a sense of accomplishment.
They set off together, trailing slightly behind the rest of the group, engaging in lively conversation about the peculiarities of their adventures so far. Harry found comfort in the ease of their dialogue, sharing stories of his own peculiar experiences and learning about Bilbo's life in the Shire. It felt nice to connect over something other than the weight of destiny or the burdens of past traumas.
However, as they walked, there were moments when Harry’s gaze would drift, and he’d seem to fade into himself, lost in the depths of his mind. During these times, his expression would grow distant, a faraway look in his glowing green eyes.
“Harry?” Bilbo would gently prod, his voice steady and kind. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
The sound of Bilbo’s voice would pull Harry back, like a lifeline tossed into turbulent waters. He blinked slowly, refocusing on the present, and offered a small, almost sheepish smile. “Sorry, just thinking. It’s all a bit overwhelming sometimes.”
Bilbo nodded, understanding the unspoken weight that rested on Harry’s shoulders. “That’s alright. Just remember, you don’t have to carry everything alone. I’m here.”
Grateful for the reassurance, Harry felt a warmth spread through him. “I appreciate that, Bilbo. It’s just… sometimes I feel like I’m floating, disconnected from everything. It’s like I’m watching my life unfold rather than living it.”
“Ah, I know that feeling well,” Bilbo replied, his voice gentle yet resolute. “When I left the Shire, I felt like I was on the edge of a great unknown. But every step I took with my friends helped ground me. Just keep talking to me, Harry. I’ll help guide you back whenever you need it.”
Encouraged, Harry nodded and began to share more of his thoughts, weaving in snippets of his past, the adventures he’d had, and the fears that still clung to him. With every word, he felt a bit more anchored, the fog in his mind beginning to lift.
As they prepared to leave Sleepers Forest, Harry felt a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling within him. The journey ahead was uncertain, and he could sense the danger lurking just beyond the tranquil beauty of the forest. With a final glance at the ethereal glow of the trees and the shimmering barrier that had sheltered them, Harry turned to Bilbo, a small smile gracing his lips.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice filled with a blend of eagerness and trepidation.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Bilbo replied, adjusting the straps of his pack. The warmth of their camaraderie eased some of the tension that had built up in Harry's chest.
With that, they stepped out of the forest, and the air changed around them. The lush greenery gave way to a wide-open expanse, revealing the rolling hills and valleys beyond. The sun shone brightly overhead, but Harry could feel the shadows creeping in the distance. The world beyond the forest held threats they could not yet see, and the unease in his gut intensified.
Thorin walked ahead, his brow furrowed in concentration. The dwarf was acutely aware of their surroundings, ever vigilant for the lurking danger he sensed. Yet, every now and then, his gaze would flicker back toward Bilbo, and a hint of something softer would cross his features, a silent appreciation for the hobbit who had a way of bringing warmth to their group.
As they exited the forest, the sense of urgency grew. Harry’s senses heightened; he could almost feel the shadows lengthening, the world outside the safety of the trees becoming more hostile. He knew they had to move quickly, lest they attract the attention of the orcs rumoured to be prowling nearby.
“Stay close,” Thorin instructed, his voice firm, yet there was an underlying worry that crept into his tone. “We need to make haste.”
With that, the group quickened their pace, and Harry felt Bilbo’s reassuring presence beside him. The world around them shifted into something more dangerous, and as they moved through the open land, Harry's grip on the memories of the forest tightened. The weight of their journey hung heavily on his shoulders, yet he found solace in knowing that he was not alone.
Suddenly, Harry's instincts flared, and he heard the distant growl of a warg. “Run!” he yelled, urgency flooding his voice. They all took off as fast as they could, Gandalf leading the way, his long strides cutting through the air as he urged them onward.
The sound of pounding feet and ragged breaths filled the air as they sprinted through the open land, adrenaline coursing through their veins. They ran for hours, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows that danced in the fading light.
Harry’s heart raced as the growls of the wargs drew closer, their ferocity echoing in his ears like a death knell. Panic surged through him, and he pushed himself to run faster, the forest behind them fading into a distant memory. In that moment, all that mattered was survival.
Gandalf led the charge, his staff glowing faintly as he navigated the underbrush. The trees around them loomed, shadows stretching ominously as they plunged deeper into the dark forest. Every rustle of leaves sent a jolt of fear through Harry, the instinct to flee kicking in. They ran until they reached a thicket dense enough to provide cover, where Gandalf motioned for everyone to huddle close.
“What’s our next move?” Thorin panted, glancing over his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he strained to catch any sign of their pursuers.
Harry stood beside Bilbo, his breath coming in shallow gasps when suddenly he heard it, an unexpected sound that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t the menacing growl of the wargs; it was a series of soft thumping noises, almost too rhythmic to be natural.
“Rabbits?” Harry whispered, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Or something else… they sound too big to be real rabbits.”
Just then, another figure emerged from the shadows, startling everyone in their hiding place. A second wizard appeared, clad in flowing robes that mirrored the colours of the forest, his long hair and beard cascading like vines. “I’ve heard them too,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “But those are no mere rabbits.”
Gandalf turned, eyes widening slightly in recognition. “Radagast!” he exclaimed, his demeanour shifting from tense to relieved. “What are you doing here?”
Radagast the Brown stepped forward, a knowing look in his eyes as he surveyed the gathered company. “The creatures of the forest alerted me to your plight. I sensed a disturbance in the balance of nature. Wargs prowling, a sense of fear lingering. They must not catch you.”
“Then we must move!” Thorin urged, his voice low and urgent. “We can’t stay here.”
“Not so fast,” Radagast said, his brow furrowed. “I’ll distract the wargs. It’s the only way to buy you time to escape.”
“Are you mad?” Gandalf interjected; his tone sharp. “You’ll be risking your life!”
“It’s a risk we must take. The forest is my home; I can draw them away,” Radagast replied firmly, determination shining in his eyes. “You must trust me.”
Gandalf hesitated, clearly torn between protecting his friend and the urgency of their situation. Finally, he sighed and nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well but be careful.”
Radagast stepped back into the shadows, blending seamlessly with the forest as he prepared to draw the wargs away. Harry felt a pang of worry for the wizard’s safety, but he knew they had no choice. “Let’s go,” Gandalf urged, taking the lead as they began to move cautiously through the underbrush.
As they navigated the dense foliage, Harry’s senses heightened. He could almost feel the tension in the air, thick with the impending danger. They moved quickly but quietly, every rustle and snap of a twig echoing loudly in the stillness.
Just as they reached the edge of a clearing, the sounds of growling wargs echoed through the trees. Harry glanced back, seeing Radagast emerge in a flash of movement, calling upon the creatures of the forest. “Over here!” he shouted, drawing the wargs' attention. With a roar, he led them away from where Harry and the others were hiding, his voice fading into the distance.
“We have to keep moving,” Gandalf urged, his expression grave as he turned back to the group. “Now!”
They pressed on, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude for Radagast. The wizard's bravery had given them precious time, but the weight of worry lingered in Harry's heart. They needed to find safety soon.
Finally, they reached the edge of a sprawling house built of wood and stone, nestled against the backdrop of the forest. “This is Beorn’s home,” Gandalf said, glancing back at the others. “We will find refuge here.”
As they stepped into the cozy interior of Beorn’s house, the warmth wrapped around them like a comforting blanket, starkly contrasting with the chill of fear still coursing through Harry. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings of animals and plants, reflecting the natural beauty of the world outside.
Bilbo looked around in awe, his eyes wide. “Is this really Beorn’s house?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Before anyone could respond, they heard the unmistakable sound of heavy paws thundering behind them. A low growl reverberated through the air, and panic surged through the group. “Run!” Gandalf shouted, urgency etched on his face.
They bolted through the doorway just as the bear lunged forward, its massive form a blur of fur and muscle. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Harry sprinted alongside Bilbo, dodging the large paws swiping through the air. They reached the entrance just in time to slam the door shut, the bear's nose getting caught in the closing door with a thud.
The group fell back, gasping for breath as they leaned against the door, the bear outside growling in frustration. “Where is our host?” Thorin asked, irritation lacing his voice as he straightened up.
Gandalf gestured towards the door, still holding it shut. “That bear is our host,” he explained, his tone calm but serious.
“Animagus,” Harry interjected, feeling a spark of recognition. He had encountered magic like this before, though in a different context.
“Indeed,” Gandalf replied, nodding. “He can become a large man or that bear. We respect his home, and if we’re fortunate, he might let us live. The bear form would likely kill us, but the human form can be negotiated with. Let us rest for now.”
As the weight of their escape settled on them, the group began to calm, the adrenaline fading as they gathered in a corner of the room. Gandalf found a spot to recline, closing his eyes as he prepared to rest.
Harry, however, felt a wave of conflicting emotions. While the warmth of the room was comforting, the fear of their situation lingered in the back of his mind. He could still feel the wargs' growls echoing in his ears and the weight of his past threatening to pull him under.
Bilbo, noticing Harry’s distant expression, settled beside him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Harry. We made it. We’re safe for now,” he said softly, trying to ease the tension in Harry’s chest.
“Yeah,” Harry replied, forcing a small smile. “Just... processing everything.”
Bilbo nodded in understanding; his expression serious. “I get that. It’s been a lot. But we’re together, and that counts for something.”
Harry took a deep breath, grateful for Bilbo's presence. As the comforting sounds of the house enveloped him, he felt a flicker of hope. They would face whatever came next together, just as they always had.