Prolouge
Late in the evening, a witch sat at her desk, scribbling her signatures onto parchment. After the death of her uncle, whom she never met, she was given his estate, for she was the only one he could really leave it to. Her uncle, Kyrill Zamora, was a great man, well-known in the wizarding world. His sister, however, had no magic in her, yet one time she did manage to grow her hair down to her feet after an angry outburst toward her wizard and witch parents.
Nevertheless, she went on to marry a respectable muggle man and bore a daughter. She showed to have magical abilities and went to the excellent school; Hogwarts, a school of witchcraft and wizardry. They loved their daughter, dearly, but they just couldn't understand all of the things she went through, often giving her the advice "It'll get better," instead of genuine advice. Turning to her wizard Uncle for comfort, she felt at ease with him. She managed to make her own name for herself, not relying on her uncle's status for glory but instead making it herself with Zamora's support. Now at the crafty age of thirty-something, she had buried herself in her uncle's study, signing papers, stamping envelopes, and settling statements. The witch scratched her greasy hair, pulling out a stopwatch to find out what time it was.
3:00, it read. The witching hour. She hummed.
The witch clicked her tongue and sighed, pushing herself from the desk to stare up at the ceiling in exhaustion. Suddenly, a loud knock appeared at her door, causing her head to roll to it. She sighed, eyes narrowing slightly, as she got up. She picked up her hat, putting it on before grabbing her want and slipping it into her pants pocket. Slowly, she inched toward the dual doors, calming herself by assuring her that it was likely a maid that was checking on her. But at this hour? Her face twisted into concern. She inhaled sharply, and opened the door slowly, wand ready in hand.
"Who is it? What do you want? I'm armed!" She rushed, protecting herself from behind the door, knowing full well that the other could easily shove it open.
"Why, you can't even recognize your oldest friend? I'm here for a favor, and I do not doubt that you are armed, little Zamora." An elderly voice spoke, you could almost hear the grin in his voice.
The door shot open, revealing the witch, relief washed over her as her eyes locked with Gandalf's. A smile grew on her face, an amazing feeling after the many hours she spent pondering the desk.
"Gandalf." She sighed, moving to hug the old man tightly.
He laughed, embracing her, and rubbing her back. He heard the news of the death of her relative and came to check on the workaholic.
"How are you doing, my dear? Taking care of yourself?" His eyes glittered in the moonlight that shined through the large window behind the desk.
"Of course, of course." She nodded, waving him inside.
Gandalf looked around at the mess of papers, bills, and books scattered as if they were thrown there days ago. He hummed as he walked in, staff in hand as he studied. There was an odd smell, something like the lack of deodorant was pungent in the air. The witch tried her best to clean up stacks of papers, while the wizard stood awkwardly in the middle of the study. He looked up, familiarizing himself with the small ceiling where a beautiful renaissance painting decorated the ceiling in a dome shape.
"Kyrill did have an eye for art, don't you think?" Gandalf spoke, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Hm?" She looked to Gandalf with an armful of deeds in her possession before following Gandalf's gaze to the ceiling. "Ah, yes, we had that in common." She shrugged before setting them down in their own pile and grabbing Gandalf his own chair for him to sit down with her at the desk.
The chairs faced each other, and she lead him to the seats, waving her want to relight another candle to brighten the study.
"Come," she grinned. "Come sit with me." She patted the chair before her.
The old wizard chuckled complying with the young lady. He sat, letting out an exhale as he sat.
"What brings you here, Gandalf?" She smiled, loving the company.
Gandalf leaned back and looked at the girl as if she was a child requiring a bedtime story. He hummed, stuttering to try and find the right words.
"Well," He started. "I can't stay long, but I wanted to check up on you."
The girl quirked a brow. "Me? You were his friend, I should be checking in on you." She chuckled awkwardly.
He nodded, taking a pipe out of his sleeve. "May I?" He asked. She gave a nod before he lit his pipe and smoked in Zamora's old study. "You know, he never let me smoke in here. Said it would ruin the paint." He gestured up.
She sighed, shrugging, "Well, this is my study now, and I say 'do as you please,' please."
Gandalf nodded, turning his head to look at the many scattered papers. "My dear," he looked back at the girl. "Are you alright?" He questioned.
She raised her eyebrows, looked off to the side, and scratched the back of her neck with her wand. "Yes," She answered honestly, though her voice failed to convey her assurance. "I think so. I don't know..." She trailed off.
Her hands fidgeted with themselves, an anxious tick of her that she picked up somewhere, but Gandalf couldn't put his finger on where. He reached over to rest his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. His thumb rubbed her shoulder and mustered up the words in his head before sharing them with the other.
"He loved you very much, my dear." His voice was low, solemn, and meaningful.
She looked up at her friend with sad eyes. "You think so?" She tilted her head.
"Of course, of course," He moved his hand back to hold onto his staff. "I was his friend, remember?" He paused for a moment, chewing on the end of his pipe. "My dear, I have something I need to ask of you."
The lady's eyes narrowed as he said this, Gandalf never asked anything of her, so this was new to her. "Of course, yes, anything." She leaned forward, wanting to know the bigger details.
"I have a group, some people that you would be unfamiliar with, but they need help." He raised his pipe to pull it out of his mouth. "And you know I would never ask this of you if it wasn't important, but I would like your help with their quest."
A quest? She thought. She leaned back in her chair, head resting in her hand, nodding along as Gandalf spoke, expecting him to go on before she said anything more. "I have... work."
"Their home was taken from them, and it's time that they take it back." He finished. "And you seem like you need the vacation anyway."
He picked up a random paper, squinting at the writing before it was lifted up so the Witch could look at Gandalf. Her smile dropped, and her face was now serious and curious. He set the paper back down, clearing his throat and setting the pipe back on his lips.
"Gandalf," She began. "You're one of the greatest wizards I've ever met. Why do you need my help? I can't just drop everything and blindly follow you."
A good question, He thought, nodding his head. A good question, indeed. His hand reached up to run his hand through his beard as he thought. "Little Witch, I care about you so," he smiled at the girl. "Knowing you are cooped up in this, this.. room all day and night worries me." She shuffled a little, not knowing what to say. "These people, they're good people. A little shorter than us, but they make great company. It'll benefit you, dear." He stood, pushing his chair back. "It begins at the end of the week when the moon rises high in the sky. Plenty of time for you to tie up some loose ends, yes?"
"Where are you going?" She said, standing up with him.
"Well, I must return to my world, they'll be needing me." He responded.
Her eyes widened slightly, "You mean your company is going to be in your..' realm?'" She followed him. "You only just got here, Gandalf." Her hand tugged on his sleeve like a child.
"I just wanted to see the situation in person, little one." He said. "They will be meeting at a comfortable hole, I assume, if all goes well."
Her eyes narrowed at him calling her a 'situation,' and her eyebrows furrowed even more when he stated the venue. "A hole? Aren't they..dirty?"
"Oh, not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort." He reasoned. She fell silent, listening to him carefully. "You'll find it to be very clean and neat."
"What's a Hobbit?" She blinked hard.
"Oh, you will soon see, little witch." He laughed, but she only got more confused by that answer. "Oh, I almost forgot." He turned to look at her. "You'll need a Portkey in case you decide to go. I'll make sure it'll be set inside the hole before they arrive."
The witch nodded, walking toward her owl's empty cage to pluck two twin brown feathers, and walked back to her friend. "Portus," she murmured to herself as she pointed her wand at one of the feathers. He hummed, plotting something in his head. At that, she raised an eyebrow.
"Are you planning something, my friend?" She asked, a smile returning to her face.
Gandalf sighed and patted her shoulder before plucking the other feather from her grasp, "You'll soon find out if things go well." Cryptic as ever.
"You said that already. This doesn't mean that I'm going, Gandalf, I'm just leaving the options open, you know." She warned, but she couldn't help but grin at him.
He nodded, grey hat moving along with him. He put out his pipe and returned it to its pocket. "Sure, sure." He smiled back at her. "Oh, and if you do decide to go.." he paused and looked down at her pants. "Please do wear something more... traditional? They're a little old-fashioned." He winked.
"I'll keep that in mind." She muttered, opening the door for the wizard.
As he walked through, he called out to her. "Be seeing you soon, my dear."
She sighed, closing the door behind Gandalf. She waited for a second in thought, then swung the door open to call after the great wizard.
"Gandalf?" She called, but no response was given back. Her want pointed forward, "Lumos." murmured from her lips as she made sure he was really gone.
Eventually, she closed the doors and walked towards her desk once more. "Nox." She said quietly and collapsed in her chair. She looked out toward the window, in deep thought. She thought maybe, just maybe she'd consider the offer. She looked at the pile of papers on her desk that needed to be done. Huffing, she swung her chair and pulled out her quill again, for she had much work to finish before the end of the week.