To Skin Changers and Animaguses
It was late at night when a tall figure walked into the room, his presence filling the space with an air of authority. The man stood at least eight feet tall, with shaggy black hair and a thick beard that framed his strong features. As he stepped inside, the flickering light from the fire illuminated the muscles rippling beneath his rough spun clothing.
Harry, instinctively sensing the shift in energy, reacted in an instant. He sprang from his resting place, leaping gracefully onto the rafters above. As he ascended, his body transformed, shifting seamlessly into his panther animagus form. In midair, he felt the familiar rush of power as he landed with a soft thud on the beams, his sleek black coat glimmering in the low light. His emerald eyes glowed with intensity as he surveyed the newcomer, a low hiss escaping his throat.
The man paused, looking up at Harry with a mix of surprise and admiration. “So you are the Creator…” he said, his voice rich and warm. A broad smile broke across his face, revealing a sense of genuine joy. “It is a great honour to have you here. I am Beorn, the last of the skin-changers.”
Harry’s ears perked up at the mention of Beorn’s name. He remembered Gandalf telling them about their skin-changer host, the one who could shift between human and bear. The connection to the natural world was palpable in the air around them, and Harry’s instincts told him that this man was not just any ordinary creature; he was woven into the very fabric of the wilds.
Cautiously, Harry prowled along the rafters, observing Beorn as he took a few cautious steps forward. The man’s demeanour was respectful, and there was no hint of threat in his posture. Beorn’s eyes sparkled with reverence as he gazed up at the panther, fully aware of the significance of the creature before him.
The moment Harry pounced down from the rafters, he felt a surge of instinctive energy coursing through him. He brushed his furry head against Beorn’s hip, feeling the warmth radiating from the towering figure. It was a gesture of acknowledgment and respect, a silent recognition of their connection to the natural world.
“Greetings, you are our host,” Harry said, shifting back to his human form as he stood before Beorn. His voice was steady, but he could feel the weight of their circumstances pressing on him. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a bond forged in the acknowledgment of their respective roles within the tapestry of life.
Beorn regarded Harry with a mix of awe and amusement. “It’s not often I meet one who can shapeshift as I do,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “Your presence here is indeed a blessing.”
With that, Harry walked back over to Bilbo, feeling an overwhelming sense of comfort as he cuddled up next to his father figure. Bilbo wrapped his arms around him, the warmth of their bond radiating through the tension that still lingered in the room. In that moment, the fear and uncertainty of their journey faded slightly, replaced by the solid grounding presence of the hobbit.
As Beorn approached, Harry’s emerald eyes glinted in the dim light, reflecting a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “Are you alright?” Beorn asked, his voice low and soothing, mindful not to disturb the sleeping company.
Harry nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Just... processing everything. The wargs, the journey, and what comes next.” His voice was barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed them just hours before.
Beorn studied him with compassionate eyes, understanding the burden that such a young soul carried. “You have faced much at your age. But remember, even the strongest trees need support to grow,” he said, his tone reassuring. “You’re not alone in this fight.”
The words resonated with Harry, bringing a small flicker of hope to his heart. “I just... I don’t want to let anyone down. So many depend on me, and sometimes I feel like I’m losing myself,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly.
Beorn’s expression softened as he leaned against the wooden post, his towering figure seeming less intimidating in the quiet of the night. “It is natural to feel lost when the path is unclear. Trust in your friends; they will guide you when you cannot find your way.”
Harry’s gaze drifted toward Bilbo, who slept soundly, oblivious to the turmoil swirling in Harry’s mind. The comfort of the hobbit’s presence anchored him, reminding him that he had allies who cared deeply for him.
“I wish I could feel like this all the time,” Harry said, almost to himself. “But sometimes, it’s like I’m floating above it all, watching my life unfold instead of living it.”
Beorn nodded thoughtfully. “It is a heavy burden, the weight of expectation. But just as you have your friends, you have the forest, too. It resonates with your magic; it is a part of you, just as you are a part of it. When you feel lost, remember that you can always find solace in its embrace.”
The words wrapped around Harry like a warm blanket, momentarily dispelling the cold fingers of anxiety that gripped him. “Thank you, Beorn. I’ll try to remember that,” he said, feeling a sense of gratitude for the skin-changer’s wisdom.
With a nod, Beorn retreated to the other side of the room, leaving Harry to ponder his words. The fire continued to crackle softly, and the darkness of the night felt a little less suffocating. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the sounds of nature to wash over him, seeking a moment of peace amidst the chaos of his thoughts.
As time slipped by, the stillness of the night enveloped him, and for a brief moment, Harry felt himself slipping into a tranquil dream, where the burdens of his reality faded away. But just as he began to drift, a soft rustling stirred him from his reverie.
As dawn's first light crept through the small windows of Beorn’s house, casting golden hues over the rustic interior, Harry remained seated near the crackling fire, his mind still swirling with thoughts. The warmth of the flames offered some comfort, but it was a restless kind of peace, punctuated by the echoes of the previous night’s conversation with Beorn.
One by one, the dwarves began to stir, their reactions to the imposing figure of Beorn varying widely. Thorin, ever the cautious leader, eyed Beorn with suspicion, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword. Fili and Kili, always more curious and less wary, exchanged wide-eyed glances, unable to contain their awe at the towering man who effortlessly filled the room with his presence.
“Is that… a bear?” Kili asked incredulously, blinking at Beorn in disbelief.
“No, you ninny,” Fili replied, elbowing his brother lightly. “That’s our host, Beorn, the skin-changer!”
Thorin stepped forward, arms crossed, his demeanour commanding as he faced Beorn. “We appreciate your hospitality, but we are not here to be guests. We have come for assistance, not to become your entertainment.”
Beorn’s brow furrowed slightly, but he responded with calm dignity. “You are welcome here, dwarves, and I assure you, I have no desire for entertainment. I am merely a steward of the land, and if I can help you, I will.” His voice was deep, filled with the resonance of the forest itself, offering a strange sense of peace even to the wariest among them.
As they settled at the large wooden table, the dwarves exchanged looks of confusion and curiosity as they were presented with their breakfast, a meal decidedly meatless, which drew more than a few grumbles from the group.
“Where’s the meat?” Dwalin demanded, eyeing the spread of fresh fruits, nuts, and bread. “A proper meal isn’t complete without some roast!”
Beorn chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “My home thrives on the bounty of the earth, not the hunt. Here, you will find nourishment that honours the balance of nature.”
Harry watched the exchange with a slight smile. It was a refreshing change from the tension of the previous day. He took a piece of fruit and bit into it, savouring its sweetness. To him, this was a reminder of simpler times, a stark contrast to the weight of expectation that had been pressing down on him.
As the dwarves began to eat, they continued to chatter among themselves, their usual bravado reasserting itself. Thorin’s expression softened slightly as he observed Beorn’s gentle demeanour, a realization dawning upon him that perhaps this place offered more than just refuge—it provided a chance for understanding.
Bilbo, always the peacemaker, leaned closer to Harry. “What do you think of him?” he asked, his voice low enough to keep their conversation private amidst the bustle.
Harry shrugged, still feeling the residual energy from the night before. “He seems kind. I think he understands more than he lets on. It’s nice to be here, to feel safe for a moment,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity behind it was palpable.
“Good,” Bilbo said, a hint of pride in his tone. “You deserve to feel safe, Harry. Especially after everything.”
As the meal continued, Harry’s thoughts drifted to the task ahead. The weight of the impending journey hung heavy in the air, but with each passing moment, he felt a growing sense of resolve. They were not alone; they had allies, and they had a purpose.
With Beorn’s hospitality surrounding them, Harry felt a flicker of hope igniting within him. The warmth of the fire, the hearty meal, and the presence of his friends offered a sense of safety that had been elusive in recent days. They would face whatever came next together, just as they had thus far. The path was uncertain, but as long as they stood united, perhaps they could weather the storms ahead.
After the meal, Harry walked over to Beorn, who stood near the hearth, the flickering flames casting shadows across his massive frame. “You don’t have to be nice because I am here,” Harry said, his voice steady yet tinged with sincerity. “I know you don’t like dwarves. You don’t have to help.”
Beorn turned to him, a thoughtful expression crossing his rugged features. “I may not like dwarves,” he replied, his tone deep and resonant, “but I hate orcs more. I will help. What do you need?”
Before Harry could respond, Gandalf interjected, his presence commanding. “A fast way to Mirkwood and a means to confront the necromancer,” he stated, his gaze shifting between Harry and Beorn.
Beorn’s expression hardened slightly, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he focused on the wizard. The massive skin-changer had little patience for interruptions, especially when he was in the company of the revered Creator. “I have horses and ponies,” he said, his voice gravelly. “They can get you there, but they will return once you reach the entrance.”
The tension in the air was palpable as Beorn’s eyes flashed with a mixture of protectiveness and annoyance. He was clearly irritated that Gandalf had dared to interrupt their conversation, but the gravity of the situation tempered his frustration.
Harry sensed the shift in the atmosphere, recognizing the underlying bond of respect that existed between him and Beorn. “Thank you, Beorn,” Harry said, hoping to ease the moment. “Your help means more than you know.”
Beorn nodded, his expression serious. “You must understand, though. The horses and ponies I provide are swift and strong, but they are not creatures to be taken lightly. They will sense your intent and spirit. Treat them well, and they will carry you far.”
“I will,” Harry assured, remembering how the animals of Sleepers Forest had been drawn to him. He felt a kinship with them, as if they could sense the magic that pulsed within him. “I promise I will treat them with respect.”
With a swift motion, Beorn gestured for Harry to follow him outside. The morning sunbathed the land in a golden light, illuminating the sprawling fields surrounding his home. As they stepped outside, Harry was captivated by the sights and sounds of nature awakening. The rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds created a symphony that soothed his anxious heart.
“Over here,” Beorn said, leading Harry toward a large wooden barn. The structure was robust and welcoming, echoing the connection to the earth that Beorn embodied. As they approached, the sounds of whinnying and snorting filled the air, creating a lively atmosphere.
Inside, the barn was filled with sturdy horses and ponies of various sizes and colours. Each one appeared strong and alert, with a keen intelligence in their eyes. Beorn gestured to them proudly. “These are my companions. Each one is well trained and knows the way to Mirkwood. Choose wisely.”
Harry walked among the animals, his fingers brushing against their soft coats. They looked at him with curiosity, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him. The bond between a rider and their horse was profound, and he wanted to ensure he made the right choice. After a moment of reflection, his gaze landed on a sleek black stallion with a glossy mane that shone like obsidian. The horse stood tall and proud, and when their eyes met, Harry felt an undeniable connection.
“What do you think of this one?” Harry asked Beorn, approaching the stallion with reverence.
“Ah, Shadowfax,” Beorn said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He is one of my finest steeds. Intelligent and loyal, he will take you far.”
Harry felt a wave of excitement at the prospect. “Then I’ll take him,” he declared, reaching out to stroke the horse’s neck. Shadowfax leaned into his touch, and Harry could sense the mutual understanding blossoming between them.
“Good choice,” Beorn said, stepping back to allow Harry and the stallion a moment to bond. “He will help you reach Mirkwood swiftly but remember to listen to him as well. They know the land as much as we do.”
After a few moments of quiet connection, Harry took a deep breath and led Shadowfax out of the barn. As he walked back toward the house, he felt a sense of purpose solidifying within him. The dwarves had gathered outside, their faces a mix of curiosity and scepticism as they regarded Beorn and the horses.
“Are you ready to leave?” Thorin asked, crossing his arms, his expression still guarded.
“We’ll be departing shortly,” Harry replied, feeling a newfound strength. “Beorn has provided us with a way to reach Mirkwood quickly.”
“Good,” Thorin replied, his tone firm. “We cannot linger here. The sooner we’re out of sight, the better.”
Beorn approached the group, his presence commanding attention. “The horses will take you to the entrance of Mirkwood, but they will return once you reach the threshold. After that, it will be up to you to navigate the forest.”
Bilbo stepped forward, looking a bit nervous but determined. “We’ll manage. We’ve come this far together, and we’re not going to stop now.”
With a final glance at Beorn, who nodded in approval, Harry felt the last traces of doubt fade away. He mounted Shadowfax, feeling the powerful muscles beneath him, and as the dwarves climbed onto their own mounts, he knew that this journey was just beginning.
With Beorn watching them, Harry could sense the weight of expectations shifting slightly. He might be young and carrying burdens far too heavy for his age, but he was not alone. Together, they would face the unknown. With a final wave to Beorn, they set off, racing toward Mirkwood, the promise of adventure and danger ahead waiting to unfold.