I make clear from the start that this is a rather odd story- I am not sure why I even wrote it except that I wanted to see some really awesome and sneaky hobbits.

I am unlikely to update this story for a little bit but it has been sitting on my computer for so long, I just had to publish it.

Please note: I am well aware that hobbits do not have any type of royalty but please just go with it!

Disclaimer- I own neither Harry Potter nor The Hobbit

Chapter 1: Dealing with the Aftermath

It has been argued that the aftermath of a war is almost worse than the war itself. Without the fighting there is too much time to reflect on the losses. The destruction becomes more obvious as people work out and total up the cost of the war while blame and judgement abound. This was what was discovered at the end of the Second British Wizarding War. Entire families were gone, others split irrevocably by their beliefs and actions. Azkaban was heaving but the Ministry seemed to have returned to normal.

Perhaps this was to be expected. Routine and normality were craved by many and the easiest and quickest way to do this was to return to the original state but with new people in charge. After the Battle of Hogwarts, the courts were filled as the people of the British wizarding world tried to pass the blame and find both scape-goats and heroes. Many of those tattooed with the mark of Voldemort ended up in Azkaban but some, too many in fact, had once again managed to evade punishment through their money, name and power or simply due to their disappearance into anonymity and hiding.

For Lyra Potter, whose entire life had been ruled by the actions of Voldemort, the changes or, in some cases, lack of changes were impossible to deal with. And she felt like she alternated between being a show pony for the Ministry and being ignored as she was deemed perhaps unnecessary now the Dark Lord was dead. She craved normality and peace as well as friends who weren't off in their own little world, leaving her alone, not that she could blame them entirely. Hermione and Ron had become engaged two months after the Battle of Hogwarts, they had moved in together and were content. They spoke to Lyra but rarely outside of the parties and events that they attended together. They were happy; happy being a part of the group that destroyed Voldemort. Ron had the fame he had always craved, whilst Hermione had been offered the pick of jobs in just about all departments of the Ministry, she eventually chose to join the Department of Creature and Creature Relations in order to help house elves and the like.

Lyra felt alone. Remus was gone. Sirius was gone. Dumbledore was gone. All the mentors and people who she had looked up to were dead and those that were alive had found solace with others and their problems or their own grief. While she of course understood this, it hurt no less. She rattled around Grimmauld Place, trying to avoid going out for fear of the paparazzi who seemed interested in her every move but at the same time scared to remain in the house as the memories weighed her down like stones around her neck. She had no desire to return to Hogwarts, the halls of the school had too many ghosts of people and memories she loved. So, since the memorial there, a month after the Battle, she had not returned despite pressure for her to go to teach, lecture or speak to the students. She knew she was struggling to cope and admitted it to herself. The nightmares plagued her and she struggled to eat enough (too used to the lack of food whilst on the run) despite Dobby and Kreacher's attempts.

The two elves had stayed with her, helping her when she needed it and trying to help her move on, although it didn't really work to pull her from her present state. It had surprised her that the two had actually finally started to work together, after Dobby had saved them at Malfoy Manor, Kreacher had decided that the younger elf wasn't a total waste of space whilst Dobby had appreciated the help the Black elf had given finding the locket horcrux. Together the pair had led the Hogwarts house elves in the Final Battle and had both survived much to Lyra's relief, she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself if one of her loyal little companions had been hurt or killed like so many others had.

Now just under three months after the Battle of Hogwarts Lyra sitting in the Drawing room in Grimmauld Place as the mantel-piece clock ticked down the seconds to her eighteenth birthday. There was no dust now to draw a birthday cake on the polished table so she grabbed the salt shaker and, emptying it, carefully constructed the image of a birthday cake in front of her with its contents.

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

And as the clock struck midnight Lyra blew the image of the cake away, sending it skittering over the mahogany and onto the floor beneath where it vanished and slipped through the floorboards.

However, she was not expecting the pain that followed afterwards. Her cry of pain attracted the attention of Dobby and Kreacher in the kitchen below who appeared with a 'crack' in the room. Seeing their beloved mistress slumped over whimpering in pain, they cried out too, racing to her. But as quick as the pain came, it went, leaving the witch asleep, her face relaxed and calm. Seeing Lyra in no more distress and only asleep according to their diagnosis spells, the two elves moved her to her bedroom and lay her on her bed. Silently agreeing to wait for her to awake, the pair sat beside her bed until dawn.

The following morning, Lyra woke up later than normal at around ten o'clock and undisturbed by her normal nightmares but as she was about to turn over to go back to sleep to further enjoy the peace, she heard Dobby's worried voice,

"Missie Lyra, are you okay now?"

"Good morning, Dobby. Yes, I am fine, why?"

"Do you not remember last night?"

Lyra thought for a minute then sat up as she remembered the sudden flash of pain she felt the previous night.

"What was that? Why did I feel that?"

"We don't know Missie", Dobby was saddened by this for he felt as though he had failed his mistress.

"I feel fine, I don't look any different do I? It wasn't a creature inheritance, although I suppose they happen when you turn seventeen."

As she raised her hand to swipe away her fringe, both Dobby and Kreacher yelped.

"What, what is it?"

"You… you're hand"

Looking down at her hands before her, Lyra was struck dumb for on the back of her right hand was a mark that had not been there before, the mark of the Deathly Hallows. The line of the Elder Wand, the circle that was the Resurrection Stone, enclosed by the triangle that was the Invisibility Cloak, decorated with swirling lines, Lyra turned her hands over and over, tried rubbing the dark-grey mark with her left hand before racing into the adjoining bathroom to the basin to try to remove it with water and soap. Nothing worked and the mark remained unaltered and true on her hand, the dark outline standing out against her pale skin.

"What is it? Why is it there?"

Lyra was panicking she knew that but as she stared at her house elves she saw that they knew no better than she. She had destroyed one of the Hallows and lost the other, only the cloak remained with her, hung on its peg by the front door for use when she wanted to escape the packs of photographers and reporters that haunted her every move.

"LYRA, LYRA! Where are you?"

Hermione's voice rang through the house from the fireplace in the drawing room. Lyra quickly ran to a dresser and started pulling items of clothing from its drawers trying to find some gloves, Kreacher beat her to them though and pushed a pair of fine white silk gloves into her hands.

Looking at her as he held her hand gently, the aged elf said, "Don't tell them yet, enjoy your birthday and we will go through the Black Library later. Understand Missie?"

Lyra nearly choked with panic over her own situation and gratitude towards the odd creature who had stayed with her through war and peace with the same level of cynicism, "Thank you Kreacher"

Hermione suddenly walked into the room, a pale blue cocktail dress on, a cloak over her arm and her hair tamed into a smart French twist.

"Come on Lyra, you aren't even dressed. Come on, everyone is waiting. Let me find you a dress. We haven't talked in ages, I have so much to talk to you about. Oh, did you read in the papers that Ron has been offered a position for the Canons, it isn't a starting position but he is so happy! The other thing I have on my list for you is to organise a time for you to publicly speak to the Department of Creatures and tell them some of our stories about how house elves helped us win the war. Speaking of, why do you still have Dobby and Kreacher here, I thought you cared about S.P.E.W…"

Hermione continued in this vein for a while longer as she rummaged through the wardrobe, Lyra wondered whether her friend had always been like this. She could not decide whether Hermione had changed or she had; whatever the case, she just knew she didn't like it now she had noticed it. To be truthful, it scared her; she felt like she had no idea anymore who people were. She had been through war and this feeling she could not shake really bothered and worried her.

Seeing the dress that had been picked out, Lyra shuddered slightly, it was a set of full and very expensive silver dress robes that complemented her dark hair and caused her green eyes to shimmer against the monochrome colours. This had been what she had dreaded, this obviously wasn't going to be a quiet and private birthday like she had enjoyed at the Burrow while at school but a public event, with the rich and famous of the wizarding world. At this moment Lyra could only wonder whether her whole life was going to be like this, a public event, what would her wedding be like? Would any husband and children she had be subject to the same scrutiny? Would it never end? She had spent the last seven years fighting, she wanted peace now and a family, not sycophantic followers who only cared about her titles, money and fame. She wanted people who wanted her as 'just Lyra', what made the entire thing worse was that she found herself doubting even Hermione and Ron at times like this.

She sighed as she pulled on the robes and allowed her friend to liberally apply some cosmetic and hair charms to tame the riotous black curls that fell to her waist. Picking up her clutch, she followed Hermione to the floo, as she followed Hermione through, yelling 'Ministry of Magic atrium' she collected herself and pushed all her feelings aside, pulling on a mask.

As she exited the floo elegantly, (Kreacher had forced her to practice until she could do it in five inch heels and a floor length gown whilst balancing a copy of Hogwarts: A History on her head), she heard clapping and cheering and saw a crowd of over three hundred people. Waving slightly, she walked towards Kingsley who was still acting as the Minster for Magic. After he had kissed her cheeks and he offered her his arm and led her up onto a small platform. From it Lyra could looked down at the throng of richly attired people below who stood, champagne glasses in hands, as they listened to Kingsley.

"It is a great honour to be able to celebrate with you all the birthday of Lyra Potter. I have known Lyra now for over three years and in that time she has gone on to do some of the most amazing things that have saved our world and for which we are so grateful. Our world owns a great deal to this woman and I can honestly say, that I am honoured to know her, as, I am sure, are you. So let us all raise a glass to our Girl-Who-Lived and Woman-Who-Won"

Lyra could only look as the room toasted her. Struggling to contain her emotions, she wanted to shout at them, to tell them they had no understanding of her pains, that she was Lyra Potter and no one else. She wanted them to acknowledge that she was her own person, not some weapon to be used, not some toy to be paraded about when the mood struck, that she was not theirs. However, at the same time, she was not, by any means, ungrateful and had no wish to upset, offend, or make life difficult for the survivors of the Second Blood War as it was now known. So she once again shoved those thoughts down as she tried to smile, rather than grimace at the crowd below, the majority of whom were celebrating the peace that their world now enjoyed.

Later, whilst moving through the crowd, she met a group who looked almost as uncomfortable as her, consisting of Neville, Luna, Fred and George. Seeing her approach they smiled in greeting and pulled her into hugs, Fred whispering that they were sorry this had all been organised without her permission. The twins had always knew that she hated this, the attention and the glory and they never tried to compare their pain to hers despite the fact that they had suffered so with Percy killed during the Final Battle saving Fred, nor did they give insincere platitudes and sympathies like others had. Instead they helped Lyra in the same manner that Neville and Luna did, by simply being there whether she wanted or needed them, whether it be night, day or anytime in-between. Unlike Ron and Hermione who were forever flittering around making the most of their new opportunities and status, Lyra knew that she could always call on one of the four and they would come whether to listen to her sobbing or her ranting, it did not bother them so long as she called rather than waste away in silence.

Just as Lyra was about to turn to leave the group to continue her greetings to the others in the party before Mrs. Weasley or Hermione came to remind her of her 'duties', Luna grabbed her gloved right hand and rubbed her thumb across the back of it. Looking up in panic, Lyra was surprised to see a soft smile on the face of the airy blonde.

"Lyra, it will be alright. Whether today, tomorrow or in five years' time, I promise you that you will find your place, a family and love. It will be alright and you will be happy. You will go beyond us all!"

Having heard these types of messages before, Lyra knew to heed them as there was occasionally prophetic undertones to her words. Nodding minutely at her friend and giving a look that promised further words on the subject, the Girl-Who-Lived was enveloped into a group of fawning sycophants, all congratulations and best wishes that made her feel sick to the bone with their insincerity.

When Lyra returned later that afternoon she entered the door of Grimmauld Place and sighed deeply as she pulled the glove off her right hand to inspect the mark once more that had neither faded or disappeared as she had hoped.

"Kreacher? Dobby?" She called as she wandered up the stairs to her bedroom to remove her robes and change into something a little less formal.

"Missie Lyra?" Kreacher said as he appeared in front of her on the landing, "How was the party?"

Lyra chuckled slightly, " A bore but what can one do. Would you mind having some tea prepared for me in the library? I feel we need to get to the bottom of whole mysterious and rather creepy tattoo randomly appearing on me."

Kreacher nodded, "There are some presents that arrived through the day for your birthday. Would you like to open them then?"

"Sounds a good plan. Would you like to come and sit and have tea with me? It feels a bit lonely to sit and open presents by myself."

Kreacher nodded, it was now quite normal for the two house elves to sit with Lyra, "Dobby made treacle tart earlier, Kreacher will bring some up."

The witch smiled slightly as she opened the door to her bedroom, her two house elves were wonderful beings and she was ever so grateful for their presence in her life. Slipping out of the cocktail dress, she put on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and her quidditch jumper, before wiping the make up off her face. Clean faced, she made her way back down the stairs and into the fabled library of the Black family which had been supplemented by the large collection of volumes from the Potter family. Spying the tea tray on a table by the window, she made her way over.

"Kreacher? Dobby?"

"Here Missie!" Came the voice of Dobby from somewhere deep in the stacks of books, "We is looking for some books to look at."

Lyra made her way to where the voices came from and found the two elves standing looking up around the shelves filled with books of runic law.

"I think we should start with the Tales of Beedle the Bard, and go from there. That is where the symbol came from after all." Lyra said, as she pulled out a heavy tome on symbolism within myths.

As Dobby rushed off to find a copy of the children's book, Kreacher turned to Lyra,

"The tea should have steeped enough. I shall pour you a cup, Missie."

Following in the wake of the elf, Lyra soon found herself seated in a comfortable arm chair with a cup and saucer in one hand and a generous piece of treacle tart at her elbow. Soon enough, Dobby came trotting back with two books, a slim volume and beneath, a large grimoire.

"Sit down you two!" Lyra said, "Why don't you have some tea and tart and I can open some presents?"

After both elves had both been supplied with vittles, Lyra turned to the pile of presents. There weren't that many, for which she was glad. Between the goblins and the elves, all her mail was checked; fan mail removed, cursed letters and parcels destroyed and all monetary donations going straight to a Hippogriff sanctuary on the Borders of Scotland in memory of Buckbeak. Therefore, by the time she had got her post, she only really had to contend with personal correspondence, letters from Gringotts, invitations and the occasional important missive from some politician, dignity or official.

Pulling a parcel from the top of the pile, Lyra grinned at the wrapping paper. It alone showed that it was from the Weasley twins as it featured a werewolf, grim and stag running across the paper, pulling each other into playing. Carefully, she pulled off the ribbon and paper, trying her best to save it. Opening it, she was not surprised to find a whole collection of their new projects, ranging from everlasting notebooks to a potion which improved the soil conditions of a garden. Smirking, she remembered the work that Gred and Forge had done with Neville that had resulted in that particular potion.

Supping her tea, she deposited that box and pulled up another, writing a mental note to remember to send a thank you letter to the twins. Pulling the paper apart, she revealed an entire collection of seeds and miniaturised plants in tiny pots. Slightly confused, she opened the card that had sat in the box:

Dear Lyra,

Happy birthday! I was going to give you something more exciting but Luna said you would appreciate these more. I don't really know why... but, anyway, trying to argue against Luna is like trying to argue with you and that is something I prefer to avoid. Anyway, the seeds are pretty self explanatory but the shrubs and trees have been shrunk and put into a stasis charm. It should last a good long time, when you want to plant them, just remove the spell and plant as normal.

You are one of the most amazing people I have ever met. Please remember that and remember that you mean so much to me and many others. You are a brilliant person who deserves so much more than you are getting at the moment, just do something with your life, meet someone and be happy. You deserve it, more than any of us.

With the utmost love and affection,

Neville Longbottom

By the end of the card, Lyra was forced to wipe a tear from her face, her godbrother was a good, good person who she knew would go far. Tucking the card back into the envelope, she placed it back into the box and resealed its valuable contents.

As she picked up the next present, it was obviously shaped like books and spying the label, she saw it was from Hermione and Ron. With a sigh she pulled off the wrapping paper and revealed a selection of books on the Ministry and the Chudley Canons. Lyra deposited them back onto the ground. Covering them back up, she resolved to flick through them in the next week as she was sure she would be questioned on them at some point.

"Right!" She proclaimed, deciding to leave the rest of the presents for morning; most of them looked to be presents from politicians and other acquaintances and she was sure they could wait. "We should move on to the more pressing matter now." She sighed as she glanced at her uncovered hand once more.

Lyra sat back and opened out The Tales of Beedle the Bard and turned to the story of the Peverells and reread it slowly as she supped her tea. Once she had finished she sat back with a frown.

"This doesn't seem to be helping really. As a text I am sure it has been so distorted over the years and altered to become a childrens' tale."

Kreacher tilted his head, "I don't think the story will help. That story was recorded in the 13th century. And it may have been a story long before it was written down. Unless one of the Brothers told Beedle then we is not knowing if it is accurate anyway. And even in the wizarding world only the wealthy is being able to read and write. And they is writing Latin. Not English."

Lyra sighed, "I had forgotten that...". While the wizarding world had had schools earlier than the muggle one, many had been taught magic by their parents and not attended school as the children were required to work and Hogwarts had not achieved its venerable status then. Even Latin was written phonetically which was one of the reasons why so many of the ancient spell books were useless to most of the population, there was no standardised language and there were many dialects instead. It was one of the reasons why the ghosts were so useful in Hogwarts, they were able to read and write the ancient dialects of their lifetimes that were otherwise illegible to many a student.

"The stories have been translated from phonetic Latin, likely into standardised Latin and then into English which makes them pretty useless on their own as we have zero idea about the accuracy of the translator. What we do know is that the Peverell family lived in the first part of the 13th century... Antioch and Cadmus died as a result of their Hallows. Ignotus lived to have at least once child because we know he had a granddaughter called Iolanthe who married Hardwin Potter." Lyra said as she placed the book back open on the table. "In the story there are several things that are possibly up for interpretation as we know the brothers existed and we know the Hallows existed. These include: the character of Death; the creation of the Hallows; the death of Ignotus."

Dobby nodded, his ears flapping enthusiastically, "Also, what happens if you is having all three."

"That's a point!" Lyra exclaimed, "No-where does it mention anything about unifying the Hallows. The wand is an object for the offense. The cloak is an object for defense. The stone? I don't really know."

Kreacher frowned, "You is believing that they represent things that allow you to live forever?"

Lyra hummed as she flicked back through the text, "It would explain why people believed that, by possessing them, one would be able to live forever. I wonder whether Dumbledore had anything useful in his library. I know that it got donated to Hogwarts after he died."

"Maybe the goblins?" Dobby proclaimed as he topped up Lyra's tea and nudged her mostly uneaten piece of treacle tart closer to her.

"Thanks Dobby... That isn't actually a bad idea. I might send them a letter tomorrow, warn them I am coming back to Gringotts' and emphasise the fact I do not want to rob them again." Looking back down at the pile of presents by the legs of her chair, Lyra spied the label of one she had missed, "Well, I neglected to open Luna's present! May as well cheer myself up by opening it now."

Picking up the parcel which had been wrapped in leaves of all things, Lyra smiled, it was just so Luna-ish. Shaking her head slightly, Lyra pulled them off and revealed a book beneath. Frowning slightly as this was not a standard Luna present, Lyra opened it. An inscription in Luna's loopy writing graced the first page.

Lyra,

I have discovered the joys of a muggle author called Dr. Seuss, have you heard of him? I thought I may give you just three of his wonderful quotations. I am certain that Dumbledore must have met him at some point, they both like nonsense words and riddles that make one feel stupid and then wonderful. Firstly, 'Don't cry because it is over. Smile because it happened'. I am sure you will agree that, it can't apply to the war, it can apply to the between. To the people you met, the things you saw and the experiences you had. Whatever happens, remember what you are and what made you you.

We all face troubles. That is a fact as consistent as the rain in Scotland. But 'Today you are you! That is truer that true! There is no-one alive that is you-er than you!'. You can move past them, you have before and you will in the future.

But this links to my last quotation: 'Life's too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat you right, forgive the ones who don't and believe that everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it. If it changes your life, let it. Nobody said it'd be easy, they just promised it would be worth it.' You will never be alone, I promise that. Relying on someone is not abusing them, there are many here who would wish you understood that more. There is a place and a plan for us all, it may lead us away, it may lead us here or there but we will all, in the end, find our place. Your place may be somewhere different from the rest of us, but that does not mean we will ever forget you, ever. Because you made me me and have done since that time we first shared a compartment in the Hogwarts' express.

With all the love in the world,

Luna x

Lyra frowned. This sounded almost like a goodbye and a rather permanent one at that. Whatever caused Luna to write this? Flicking over the page, Lyra was greeted by a photo of the first year Gryffindors. It had been taken at the first house party after the first quidditch party, at one point an image of Percy Weasley appeared, pushing various people into an appropriate place with the exasperation of a harassed mother. Gasping slightly, she flicked through the pages quickly. There were photos of everything, from her quidditch matches to Slughorn's Christmas party. How on earth had Luna found these? She didn't know there was a photo of the night the entire school sent in the dining room in sleeping bags during her third year. Gods above, there were photos of everyone she cared about and a few of people she really didn't, why on earth was there a photo of Umbridge chasing around a firework?

Not that she would hold this last photo against the album. Lyra hugged it tightly to her chest. Wiping away the tears that had started, she huffed a breath out.

"Kreacher? Would you mind checking that this has all the preservation and protection charms on it that you can think of?" There was no way that this album was ever getting damaged, instead it would be protected from fire, water or malicious damage.

The house elf realised how precious the item was and reverently held it in his hands as he settled into his seat and muttered under his breath as he cast his magic on it.

Lyra sighed gently as she looked over the books lying on the table, "I think I may call it a night. I am not sure I can concentrate at the moment."

"I agree." Dobby stated, "Missie Lyra goes to bed and tomorrow sees the goblins."

Chapter 2: Choices in the Void

Lyra had never felt such a feeling of weightlessness, like every part of her body was made of nothing. The disconnected feeling was horrendous as was the lack of sensation, whether heat, cold, pain or sound. There was nothing. She could feel neither earth beneath her feet nor a single draft or wisp of wind to give her a sense of the space around her. The only sound she could hear was the thump thump of her heart and the frantic breathing that reminded her that she was alive.

"Hello?" She asked, unsure whether she would prefer a response to come out of the vast void that surrounded her.

A response however, was not long in coming, "Greetings, Mistress." A voice called, it sounded neither young nor old, male or female. Instead it seemed to combine every possible tone of voice and every accent possible into an echoing sound that swum around her.

"Mistress?" She asked, trying to ask the easy questions first.

"You, my dear one, have been the Mistress since you died at the hands of Voldemort." The voice said calmly.

Lyra's heart raced, "But how... I didn't die and I didn't have the wand or the stone? I don't want to be anyone's mistress, let alone Death's."

"The wand gave its allegiance to you when you disarmed the Malfoy scion at his manor. And you did die. The Horcrux was you... I know that you believed that Tom Riddle killed his part of the soul only and that was why you survived, but he killed you. Otherwise, the snake would have come back to life after the soul fragment was killed..."

Lyra looked around into the nothingness that encompassed everything around her, "Who are you...What are you...Where are you?"

"I thought you had already answered that question yourself. It is odd," The voice returned, "That you ask those questions together for, in essence, they are one and the same. Who I am is what I am which is where I am."

"That makes no sense."

The voice laughed, "Who I am and what I am and where I am are all the same thing. I am Death, that is what I am and who I am. Where I am, is universal...everywhere and anywhere all at once."

"Death?"

"Hmm..."

"I am your Mistress? As in Thanatos or the Grim Reaper?"

The laugh came from all directions, ringing like a bell, "Dear one... There are two certainties in all the realms and all spatial and temporal planes, those of Life and Death. We are the constants, from us came all others. The gods of Greece and Egypt all existed but they came from us. Azrael, Anubis, Arawn, Aita, Supay...they all exist. And they are all me."

"Okay, so there is just you? Is that what you are saying?"

"Of course. Can you imagine if every Parthenon had its own different version of Death, every world and every religion? Havoc! Think of the paperwork! No, instead I each one of them is me, each one belonging to a different world, people or religion."

"Oh for gods sake!" Lyra proclaimed, "Why can't you must answer the questions?"

"Is it not more interesting this way?"

Lyra let a panicked laugh loose, "No. Definitely not. But why me...why am I the Mistress? The Hallows are real?"

"The Hallows are, of course real, I gave them to the Peverell brothers to alleviate a period of boredom I was enduring. There was no Black Death...nor natural disaster and no war and I am afraid I found myself at a loose end. And so, challenged the three to a game of wits. They won and I rewarded them."

"But they died, why not steal them back or something?"

"Antioch was killed, Cadmus killed himself... Ignotus died." Death corrected. "The challenge was not to get the Hallows, for they had already won them before the game was even started, but to keep them and use them effectively. Only Ignotus passed."

"Is there a difference? They all died."

"To me...yes. Antioch's death was violent, as was Cadmus'. Only Ignotus' was a choice; unlike Cadmus he was completely sane when he decided to meet me as an equal... Just as you did, as a matter of fact."

"But do you not hate them...they tricked you?"

"Hate them!" Death exclaimed, the surprised tone of his voice sounded almost mocking as it rung through the space, "Why would I hate them? They thought they had all bested me. However, only Ignotus won truly; he survived and thrived. Using the Cloak to the best of his abilities and allowing his descendants to do the same. However, like everyone and everything I claimed them all eventually."

"This does not explain why you did not steal them back?"

The cacophony around her answered, "Why would I steal them back? What would I gain from it? They were seen as a story and were, for a long time, lost and forgotten. While Grindelwald may have found the wand, the cloak was just an heirloom within a family I favoured, why would I take it back?"

Lyra huffed, "But what does this have to do with me being your mistress?"

"Everything. You are a descendant of the three brothers... I made those gifts for them. Therefore, even if Grindelwald or Dumbledore had managed to collect them all, they would never have worked as they had hoped."

"Why does it matter...possessing all three? Surely that was not what you intended?" Lyra asked, increasingly confused and bemused.

"They are three separate objects, that much is true. But together they give you power. Do you have any idea what the Elder tree is symbolic of?"

"At a rough guess, death?"

She received a chuckle in reply, "That is just one of its meanings. The others are rebirth, regeneration and renewal. What about the stone? What time of stone is it?"

Lyra sighed, "A stone. And not a pretty one at that."

"Your tales say I picked it from the river bank. I did but not at random. It is a black diamond although not cut or polished. They've long symbolised power, strength, innocence, incorruptibility, longevity, constancy, and good fortune."

"But it didn't stop Cadmus dying from a broken heart as he had only the ghost of his lover."

Death sighed, "Even I am bound by the laws I created. Cadmus used the stone for a purpose I had not intended. You may be interested to know, he was happier when I had taken him than before."

Lyra sighed, "And the Cloak."

"The Cloak was mine."

"And why does this apply to me and why the Hallows together form something?"

"You were right in your suppositions that the three were symbolic. They are symbolic of my favour. My cloak to protect for eternity; the wand to arm for eternity and a stone to help survive an eternity."

Lyra perked up in hope, "So can I not just give them back to you and you can go back to whatever you were doing before?"

The voice chuckled, "It does not work that way I am afraid."

"Why I am here?" Lyra sighed, giving up trying to the large answers from the entity, it was harder trying to get Ron to stop eating than it was to get any decent reply.

"Because I saw your sufferings... And wanted to give you a choice. A choice to move forward with your life."

"What does that even mean?"

Death laughed a chilling laugh that rattled around the space in a seemingly endless cacophony of noise, "It means whatever you want it to mean. I can take you forward...back...beyond."

"In time?"

"If you wanted."

"What does 'beyond' mean?"

"Beyond your temporal and spatial plane."

"So, I would go to another dimension?" Lyra asked, confused.

"If you wanted."

"What other dimension?"

"There are thousands. Dimensions where the magical world doesn't exist... dimensions where the muggle world doesn't exist... dimensions where there are other species that you could not dream of... dimensions where there is nothing and dimensions where there is everything!"

"I feel we are going back to the time when you were being a cryptic nuisance" Lyra griped.

"Well, we have all eternity to get used to it!" Death muttered, just within the girl's hearing level.

"I didn't need reminded of that..." She moaned, "Can I not just go back and live my life until I die a natural death?"

"You could go back but you would not die. I am afraid I have grown rather fond of you and would prefer that you lived a life you deserve."

"...Right." It slightly shocked the woman how little she actually cared about returning and how well she was taking this. She remembered Luna's words, 'You shall go beyond us all'. Lyra trusted that girl with all her being and if she said she should go then go she shall. But not without more information.

"Do I get a choice of where I go...? If I went beyond that is?"

"No. Not this time. Dear one. I am afraid I have already found a place you are wanted, needed and where you would be loved, adored and respected to a level befitting you."

"But what about my friends? My belongings? My life?"

Death chuckled, "Shall I tell you what will happen to your friends? Would that make you feel better?"

Lyra thought deeply, she knew she was going to move forward, Death had persuaded her. It also seemed unlikely that she would ever see her friends again or the Britain she knew. It would make her feel better to know the future of her friends. "Yes."

"Master Longbottom will take Hannah Abbott for a coffee in six months after he accidently spills hers in Hogsmede. They shall marry in two years. They shall have three children, he will die when he is 137, surrounded by his great-grandchildren. The Messers Weasley shall meet a pair of American twins when they go to MACUSA to get their import licenses for their first shop in America. They will have too many redheaded children and be very very successful. Miss Lovegood will marry the grandson of Newton Scamander in three years. Between her and Rolf, they will rewrite the books on magical creatures. But every year, the four will visit the park in London opposite Grimmauld Place and have a picnic. They shall toast you and all you did, recalling every story of you they can. Their children will know you through them and continue the tradition. The last one I shall claim will be Miss Lovegood, who like you did, will greet me with open arms."

By the end Lyra was in tears. "They will be happy?"

"Yes, dearest one. But not because you left, no. They will miss you desperately but all four will know that you are happy and safe."

"And my will? I haven't updated since before the war."

"I have taken the opportunity to procure you a few items which will be added to a trunk of your belongings that you shall take with you. Mainly books and personal affects. Your money shall go to one Teddy Lupin, or at least into a trust in his name until he is seventeen. You are the last of your line, with your death Grimmauld Place shall vanish, the magic that has sustained it disintegrating over time."

"Will they know of my death? Or will I be missing for all eternity?"

"Tomorrow morning the automatic records that Gringotts hold shall mark you as deceased. The Ministry will I am sure, be informed promptly. By tomorrow evening, I am sure many will know that you succumbed to magical exhaustion, they shall put it down to a delayed reaction from the war. So you are agreeing to go?"

"Yes but what about D...?" Lyra asked but she could not finish as that second she was unconscious as the nothingness around her swam closer, enveloping her into it.

All she would remember of the journey was that voice once more speaking to her. "I shall visit you in a few weeks and explain all. I think you should grow accustomed to your new world before I see you again. Farewell for now, my Mistress."

Chapter 3: Bilbo's odd day

Between 2911 and 2912 of the Third Age of Middle Earth, the Shire experienced one of the worst winters of both living and recorded memory. When the wolves had crossed the Baranduin River which had frozen solid, the hobbits were virtually defenceless, already starved due to the ever-decreasing quantities of food in their smials, they soon found themselves imprisoned in their own homes, unable to get food to feed themselves or fuel to keep themselves warm. Anyone who did venture outside for medicine, wood, water or food, mostly found themselves targets for the starving wolves or orcs who accompanied them. It was only after they had survived four months of winter and a month of attacks that Gandalf and the elves of Rivendell were able to arrive to relieve the Bounders' and bring the whole people food and medicines.

However, for most it was too little too late. Around a sixth of the population of the hobbits were killed and almost no family was left unaffected; from Frogmorton to Michel Delving many a smial was left with a smaller number of inhabitants or empty. From the powerful and odd Tooks' to the respectable Baggins' the events left scars upon the psyche of the race and defined their history for the next few years.

For Bilbo Baggins it had more of an impact than most others and now, five years after the events, which left him an orphan at the age of one-and-twenty, he still found winter to be the hardest time of all. At least in Spring and Summer he was able to pretend that everything was 'alright' that he was not lonely and numb beyond belief.

The young hobbit pulled his cloak closer as the night loomed, it was long past midsummer and the nights were getting closer, it had been freezing for some time and he was certain that snow was on its way. The walk from the Green Dragon up to his smial was neither long nor particularly strenuous but he often wished he didn't have to do it alone. He had only left his smial as faithful old Gamgee had all but kicked him out of his chair by the fire so that he could be sociable with people rather than his books and maps. Bilbo sniffed slightly, rather offended for his beloved books and maps; at least they neither asked unnecessary questions nor made unnecessary statements about his rather large and beautiful smial that was distinctly empty (for all he cared Lobelia could go and stick her head in his compost heap as that was as close as she was getting towards touching his house or possessions).

Just as he was climbing the last hill up to Bag End he happened to look over towards the right when he caught sight of a body lying beside the path. With the caution of a hobbit who was well aware that most things were bigger than him, he slowly tiptoed over.

It was clearly a Big Person although not a very big Big Person. She was definitely female, her dark hair that spilled out in the grass was rather long. Who she was and how she came to be pretty much lying in a ditch near his house in the Shire, Bilbo did not know. Approaching her carefully, Bilbo felt some of the thrill of Took that he had felt years ago, he tried to suppress it.

"Excuse me?" He asked the unresponsive figure, "Ahh… excuse me?"

He received no answer so bent down carefully and prodded her shoulder quickly before retreating a few steps, getting no reply or response he huffed. Repeating the action, slightly harder this time and receiving the same lack of response he wiggled his hairy toes slightly and sighed. He couldn't leave her out here alone when it was clearly going to be a hard night but nor could he carry the young girl to his smial by himself. And so, the young hobbit trotted off to his next door neighbour and solver of many problems, Gaffer Gamgee who, he was certain would have an idea of what one does when one is confronted with a female Big Person lying unconscious in the road.

Knocking on the door, Bilbo waited, every few seconds looking back down the road to see whether someone else had come across the girl in the road. When the door was finally opened by Gaffer, Bilbo smiled sheepishly.

"I am very sorry to disturb you on a night like this Gaffer. But I find myself in need of a little bit of assistance and advice."

Gaffer looked surprised, he had not seen this Bilbo for a while and the lad did not normally visit needing a problem solved, "What is the matter Mr. Bilbo, has something happened?"

"It may be easier to show you. Would you accompany me just down the road for a few moments?"

The older hobbit nodded quickly, "Let me just put a coat on, it is rather nippy out tonight."

Bilbo agreed and soon the pair walked the few hundred yards down the path to where Bilbo had left the unconscious figure in the road.

Gaffer made a sound of surprise when he too saw the girl, "Well I never! What is wrong with her?"

"I don't know Gaffer." Bilbo sighed, "I found her and I wasn't sure what to do with her or how to move her."

"She isn't…dead." Gaffer asked in a low voice.

Bilbo shook his head, "She still breaths and is warm. What should I do with her?"

Gaffer rubbed his forehead, "I don't know Mr. Bilbo. If you want to move her to Bag End I am sure we can manage that."

"Well." Bilbo sighed, "We can't leave her out here. She will freeze to death. But how do we move her?"

Gaffer tilted his head before looking back to his house, "Give me a minute?" He said before trotting off back down the road. He returned a few minutes later pushing his largest wheelbarrow in front of him.

"If we push her in this it may be easier. I spoke to the Missus who said she would come and help, she has just run to Bag End to set up a bedroom."

Bilbo sighed with relief, "Thank you Gaffer, between you and your wife I would be lost."

The gardener laughed before he looked between the girl and the wheelbarrow, "Now how should we do this?"

It took them a few minutes of huffing and, at one point, accidentally dropping the girl on the ground in a very irreverent manner to push her onto the wheelbarrow before the pair pushed her the short distance up the hill. By the time they got to the gate of Bag End, Bell Gamgee stood at the door, drying her hands on a hand-towel; seeing the pair she came down the steps,

"Is she alright?" She asked inspecting the girl, "She is rather young, I wonder how she got here."

"I don't think we will know that until she comes too. Maybe some smelling salts will help." Bilbo replied, "If we take her in the back gate then we can take her in through the back door to the smial and not have to carry her up those stairs." He finished as he looked up the short flight of steps that separated the small group from his lovely green front door.

Two minutes later and into the backdoor of Bag End, rolled a wheelbarrow bearing the raven haired Big Person. Bell was quick to open the bedroom into the room with the largest bed that, whilst not made for a Big Person, would at least fit her 5 foot 2 figure better than some of the other beds. Pushing the wheelbarrow alongside the bed the trio rolled her onto the quilt before studying her in the better light of the smial. In the light it was obvious she was young, scarcely of age, she was pale against the white linen pillow but not in an unhealthy way. Her most obvious feature was the scar that marred her forehead and was only visible through the fringe that had parted during the journey.

Bell broke the silence as she gently pulled a blanket over the girl and tucked her hair behind her ear, "She is rather pretty although her clothes are rather unusual."

Bilbo realised with a start that the girl was wearing a pair of trousers of all things in a rather odd faded blue material, her top was a striped yellow and red jumper decorated with a crest of some sorts on the chest. Bilbo studied the former carefully, he needed to check his books to see who the crest belonged to, perhaps the girl was a member of the household who had got separated from her companions?

"If you two leave," Bell stated, "I shall examine her and check she is alright?"

Bilbo nodded, "I will go and put the kettle on, I need some tea. You will join me won't you Mr Gamgee? It is only fair as I have dragged you from your fireplace."

It would take three cups of tea and a slice and a half of his Aunt Rosa's seed cake to calm down. Once Bell had checked over the girl and pronounced her completely fine, he had relaxed a little bit before he realised once more, that he had a Big Person unconscious in his best spare bedroom.

He sighed in minor horror, his reputation was going to go down the drain faster than he could ever imagine. Oh and he had tried so hard to cultivate his image.

The girl woke eight hours later. The hobbit couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or not that he was present in the room when his house guest awoke.

"AHHHHHH"

"AHHHHHHHH" Bilbo yelled back, unsure why he was yelling or indeed why she was yelling.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH...WHERE AM I?"

"THE SHIRE."

"WHERE IS THAT?"

"ERIADOR!"

"WHERE IS THAT?"

"MIDDLE EARTH?"

Lyra decided to stop yelling. Her head hurt and she was struggling with information overload. Death had sent her to a different dimension! The utter bastard. Although, she had been asking for it. However, Lyra turned to the creature standing in front of her. He was small, very small. He looked human but was only three and a half foot tall and was not wearing any shoes. Why on earth were his feet bigger than hers and covered in hair? The little man was clutching a book to his chest and sitting in a chair beside the bed, likely waiting for his guest to awoke. She supposed he was rather cute, all bronze curls and big blue eyes, but cute in a definitely-never-going-to-happen-way.

"What are you?"

For some reason this seemed to irritate the little creature a great deal. For he huffed as though she had just called his mother a hamster and said his father smelt of elderberries.

"I am a hobbit, I will have you know."

"What is that?"

It was the start of a great relationship.

Chapter 4: Attacks in the Dark

The Shire Lyra decided was a strange place and the hobbits even more. It was a good thing she was rather small herself, at 5 ft 2 otherwise she would have felt even more like some sort of giant.

As far as she could work out, the hobbits were a cheerful people who took their enjoyment from food and drink. Naturally, this meant parties and a love of gardening to supply their large appetites. The thing that Lyra enjoyed most in her first few days in the Shire, was Bilbo's gorgeous smial. Everything about it screamed that it was a home, from the scattered maps and books through to the whimsical pieces of furniture that filled it. Whilst it was underground, it was in no way damp nor muddy, instead it was filled with fresh air and the scent of the last of the autumn roses that climbed around the windows.

Her host, Bilbo, was a rather fussy little man who had a heart of gold. Much to his obvious surprise, he had decided he rather liked her, Lyra wasn't sure whether this was due to her appreciation for his map collection or her introduction of Treacle Tart to his repertoire of recipes. Either way, Lyra herself, was growing more and more fond of the little hobbit and between them they had fallen into a tentative routine.

In the mornings, Bilbo would ply her with first breakfast. Then, he would settle down with a cup of tea to plan his day whilst she read from his large collection of Middle Earth histories. After a second breakfast (that Lyra tried to excuse herself but inevitably found herself eating), the pair would go out. It had amused the human girl immensely, the fussiness of her companion who insisted on changing before he went out even to the market as he could not be seen without his smart waistcoat, new handkerchief in his pocket or freshly groomed beards on his feet. After they returned for lunch, Bilbo had what he termed 'quiet time', which was either a nap or a half hour writing. The rest of the afternoon would be spent idyllically preparing the substantial garden for winter or Bilbo would attend to his affairs. In Lyra's experience, it was wonderfully domestic and quite unlike the life she had previously lived. She had already claimed a chair in the sitting room, it was a rather big armchair that Bilbo said was normally reserved for his more rotund neighbours, but it fit her small frame perfectly. Lyra could oft be found curled up in it with a book or map, studying her new world and occasionally entertaining Bilbo with stories of her world.

Along with Bilbo came his Took relatives. From what her housemate had told her about hobbits, each family had expected characteristics and the Tooks' were the most adventurous and proactive in their search for an interesting life. It therefore made sense that they would be among the first, other than the Gamgees', to come to visit. In many respects, the Tooks' reminded her of Gryffindors, after all they were rather strong headed and rambunctious, particularly the younger generation. Within a week of her arrival, Lyra had met twelve cousins of Bilbo; once she had commented to her host on this rather large number, she received a raised eyebrow and was informed that he, in fact, had over thirty first cousins and his mother was one of twelve siblings.

If the Tooks were Gryffindors then the Sackville-Baggins were far closer to some of the Slytherins she was acquainted with. Lobelia had certainly a sneer to rival Draco Malfoy's whilst her husband had all the facial expressions of Goyle. She definitely not fond of the pair and made subtle attempts to inform them of this, much to Bilbo's bemused amusement. The Gamgees were definitely Hufflepuffs and she loved them for it. They were the loveliest people (other than Bilbo) in the Shire and once they had decided that Lyra was not going to kill Bilbo with an axe they became rather fond of her.

The attack came just a month after her arrival in the Shire. A fortnight after her appearance, it had started to snow and hadn't really warmed up since, instead the temperature had dropped steadily, all around the Shire larders were packed to the rafters and families huddled closer every evening. Once more the rivers were about to freeze over and with the ice came a pack of wolves. This time though, the hobbits were slightly more prepared and certainly warier. As soon as it seemed likely that the river would freeze in the next few days, those from the outlying communities, such as Stock and the Marish travelled closer to Hobbiton. The largest community to move was that of Buckland. They had suffered the worst in the previous attacks as they were hemmed in by the river on one side and the Old Forest on the other. While they were not traditionally part of the Shire and were certainly not as naïve as their western relations, they were still hobbits. Over a quarter of their population had died in the previous Fell Winter. Therefore, they had elected to evacuate over the Brandywine Bridge as soon as the risk of another repeat was deemed likely. As soon as the last hobbit crossed over the wooden bridge it was dismantled, leaving only the supports visible in the slowly solidifying water. Already, wolves had been spied pacing through the empty Bucklebury, waiting for the ice to freeze enough to allow them access to the main lands of the Shire.

Lyra had read about the winter of 2911 and had almost wept when she realised the effect it had had on Bilbo and his community. Now it would seem, that she would see the horrors of war; she was almost unsure of whether that was the word to use as, after all, the hobbits had little defence other than a group of Bounders who were more used to vegetable thieves that wolves and were armed with damaged and old weapons. With a sigh she turned to her room and, unlocked the trunk Death had provided her with. She had to admit, he had done well packing her things up, although if he had packed her two house elves she would have been ecstatic. She often wondered what had happened to her faithful little friends, she was sure one of her friends would have taken them in and cared for them in her absence although that did little to fully assuage her guilt. Shaking her head to rid herself of those unhelpful thoughts she pulled out her dragon hide protective gear and the sword of Gryffindor.

Lyra knew that if something was not done then the hobbits would suffer once more. Leaving Bag End, Lyra turned down towards Hobbiton, knowing that was where the hobbits had gathered to make their preparations.

Ten minutes later and she turned into the market place and saw a group of hobbits gathered under the, rather ironically named at present, Party Tree. Seeing Bilbo hovering at the edge of the cluster, his hands wrung together in nervousness, she approached him.

"Bilbo?"

The little hobbit started at the soft calling of his name, but he did not look away from the rest of the hobbits "I would say good afternoon, but I fear that would be an unreasonable greeting at this time, Lyra."

"It'll be fine Bilbo." Lyra said softly, her hand reaching out to touch her companion's shoulder, "I think I may be of some use."

Bilbo looked at up this and looked at her dragon hide outfit and the rather large sword at her hip, "Lyra?"

"This isn't the first time that something like this has happened to me. Now, why don't you introduce me to whoever it is organising this shindig and see what I can do?"

Bilbo looked at her with wide eyes for a minute, "My grandfather, the Thain, is in charge of the Bounders?"

"Well, then he sounds perfect. Lead the way, my good man!"

A few minutes later and Lyra was introduced by a still bewildered and terrified Bilbo to his grandfather, Old Took.

"I hope that sword is for more than show?" The Thain asked, his eyes heavy with concern for his people.

"I should hope so. Now, I can help you a lot. But I need to know your plans and I need to know what you are wanting to do."

Old Took sighed and rubbed his forehead, "I don't know, many have panicked and fled to their smials already, which I can't exactly blame them for, but it means I have little idea of where everyone is. I had been hoping to organise it a little more."

The witch frowned, "That is a little bit of a problem. Is everyone out of the outlying villages?"

"They should be, those that needed to have been taken to the Michel Delving or Hobbiton. Why?"

Lyra frowned, "I am going to see whether I can destroy the build up of ice on the river at the moment, that may stop it refreezing tonight and give us more time. If not, I shall do my best to hold them off."

The Old Took looked up at the girl with one eyebrow raised, "I notice the copious use of the word, 'I', in that sentence. I hope that you do not mean to attempt to protect the entire Shire by yourself?"

Lyra frowned, considering whether or not she should tell them about her magic. Eventually deciding that they deserved to know, she pulled out the Elder Wand.

"I have told you that I did not come from this world and you have accepted that, so I hope you can accept this. I am not of the race of man, in my world I am what is called a witch. I shall try to protect the Shire to the best of my abilities."

Bilbo gasped, "You have magic?"

"Yes, my dear little friend, I do." With that Lyra flicked her wand, "Expecto patronum". Out of the tip of her wand burst her patronus, as it trotted carefully around, the hobbits turned to stare at it. One particularly brave Took cousin tentatively touched it and gasped at the feeling of sheer happiness that filled him.

Turning to Lyra he asked in confusion, "It feels so good. What is it?"

Lyra smiled gently, "He is called Prongs and is a patronus. It is magical concentration of happiness and hope. A patronus protects us and can be used to send messages."

As she has spoken, some of the other hobbits had, in turn, gently touched the silver stag who stood now, looking around him proudly.

"Thain Took, I shall try to destroy the ice build up with my magic and if that fails, destroy the wolves. If I am overcome, I shall send Prongs to you to warn you so you can get to safety. Is there someone else you can trust to help if need be who I can send a message to?"

The old hobbit gaped at her for a few seconds more, "Gandalf? He has magic like you, he is a wizard. You will send him a message if needed?"

"Exactly. Although, I hope it won't come to that. I will do my best." With that Lyra tucked her wand into the holster on her arm and, after hugging Bilbo and promising to return to teach him how to make lemon meringue pie, walked with purpose down towards the river and the wolves.

Her plan was basic enough, to use her magic to destroy as much of the ice as she could, thus preventing the wolves from crossing the ice at all, let alone reaching Hobbiton. However, she knew the river was wide and the ice likely thick so it would take time. Time which at present was rather valuable.

An hour later she reached the banks of the Baranduin River that divided the Shire at the west from the Brandywine region. It was still only four in the afternoon but it was below freezing and the darkness already slowly descending. Lyra frowned as she surveyed the banks of the river. Thick pack ice covered the river in parts and she was certain that the only reason the wolves had not crossed was because of the daylight. Biting her lip, the girl looked around, the struts that had supported the Brandywine Bridge had the strongest ice around them, not only was the river relatively calm there, it also had wooden posts in the middle of the river, around which the ice had built.

Lyra rubbed her hand against her face slightly with a sigh as she summoned the Elder Wand from its holster. It materialised instantly in her hand, seeming to hum pleasantly at being used again so soon.

"No need to be smug." Lyra muttered to it before she flicked it towards the ice. "Bombarda!"

The spell hit the middle of the ice and caused an explosion that caused cracks in the ice up to ten metres away. But no sign of water nor huge rifts in the ice. According to Bilbo, the ice never froze completely, the current was too strong. Therefore, the ice could be two feet deep but there was still water underneath, water that would prove useful.

Lyra growled, "Bombarda!"

Again nothing seemed to happen although there was a rather large lump of ice in the middle of the river that seemed to be loose.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Lyra spelled as she pointed at the lump of ice. She had come far from levitating feathers and the block of ice that was almost a metre and a half squared rose from the river.

The witch mentally swore, it was much thicker ice than she had expected. To clear the entire length of the river would take weeks rather than hours. Nor could she ward the entire river bank as she could not create and place ward stones that quickly. Levitating the block of ice higher Lyra dropped it, leaving it to smash onto the river ice cracking more as it broke into thousands of fragments. Anger combined with worry for her little friends caused Lyra to release a series of explosive spells, each more powerful than the next. Seamus would have been very impressed she was certain as the cracks in the ice spread out like a huge spider web at least fifty metres along the river course.

Thinking quickly, she remembered a spell theory that the Death Eater, Rowle had created. It was a rather ingenious one about combining spells; he had used it rather effectively in her sixth year on Hagrid's hut when he combined a Bombarda curse with a Fire curse. With a rather malicious grin, Lyra channelled the two spells together, the result was rather impressive even if she said so herself. She was rather glad that the hobbits had evacuated the surrounding areas as there were a few blocks of ice that went flying in all directions, she winced slightly as a large lump destroyed a large bow of an apple tree in a nearby garden. However, what heartened her more than her destructive abilities was the fact that there was a definite splosh at some point. A splosh meant water rather than ice.

Spying a few more loose sections of ice, Lyra levitated them up into the air and flung them onto the far bank, they could form a makeshift wall and stop the wolves crossing the river. Her plan seemed to have a rather visible impact as there was a stretch in the middle of the river devoid of ice around ten meters long and three meters wide. Moreover, there was something akin to a moat in the ice that was a definite bonus.

An hour later and Lyra was still working away. She had worked her way south towards the settlement of Marish. South of there was an area that could not freeze over due to a sudden widening of the river. However, north of the Brandywine Bridge was still blocked with ice. This had been a strategic choice, Lyra realised she had little help of stopping the wolves crossing in both the south and north and so had chosen to stop the ice build-up in the south as Marish was so very close to the river. North of the Brandywine Bridge, there were fewer settlements near the river and the geography was rather good for her to be on the defence. To the north of the Brandywine Bridge on the east bank was an area of flood plains, it was flat enough to allow her to attack with magic without fear of being cornered against anything. Moreover, her back would be against the Bridgefields, a rather dense wood that would not invite any wolves into it. North of the Bridgefields was not at risk, the river experiencing a small waterfall around the Girdley Island that prevented the water freezing.

Looking around, Lyra realised how dark it had become as she had worked. Night was definitely coming and with it came wolves.

It took Lyra another half hour to get back to the Brandywine Bridge site but by the time she did get back she had thought of another defence mechanism. Fire was surely likely to terrify the wolves. It would also allow her to see, for while she was certain the wolves could see in the ever-nearing dark, she could certainly not see them. Taking advantage of the time she had, Lyra started breaking up the ice north of the bridge. The ice she removed she piled on the east of the river. Remembering the lessons of that wonderful film 300, Lyra tried to create a wall to funnel the wolves into a small space to allow her to hold her position. She had tried her best to create a solid wall running from the Brandywine Bridge all the way south to the end of the ice, leaving the north for her to defend.

By now it was definitely completely dark and well below freezing. Lyra was very glad her dragon hide clothes were spelled to high heaven and included warming charms as she was certain she would otherwise be unconscious and of no use to anyone, except perhaps as an appetiser to some wolf or other. Other than the wolves of course. Now it was a waiting game. And so she sat on a log in the dark listening intently for any noise of an attack. She knew she could not light everything up yet, she wanted the wolves culled- not frightened away only to return in a couple of days.

The first sound of an attack she had was when a large series of cracking was heard followed by a yelp and a splash. It was past eleven in the evening. Instantly on guard, Lyra stood from her log and glared into the darkness trying to discern the outline of wolves. The silence that followed the splashing and yelps did not help Lyra's nerves and she shot a large firework spell into the air. The light that lit up the area above Brandywine revealed for an instant a rather large lone wolf standing on the far bank watching her. With a snarl similar to those she hunted, Lyra threw spells either side of her, causing fires to spring up, all the way down the east bank of the river. The eerie light threw shadows everywhere but at least allowed her to see. Their blue flames rose up over three metres tall, fuelled by her blood rage. The only way to Hobbiton and its inhabitants now lay in the five-metre space on either side of her. These ten metres she would certainly be defending with all she could.

The wolf, who had seen his fellow fall through the ice, was not to be denied though and slunk across the ice towards her. It did not fall and by the time it was half way across the ice, it was charging at Lyra. Pulling out the sword of Gryffindor, the witch met the wolf, stabbing it in its underbelly as it leapt to maul her. It was dead before it had taken a step onto the west bank of the Brandywine.

Lyra was not going to leave the wolf as a trip hazard and dismissively levitated the corpse well behind her. By the end of this she wanted a nice fur cloak, thank you very much. Narcissa Malfoy had always had one she was rather jealous of that looked so warm, Lyra was certain she could recreate it. Her plans for the perfect cloak were disrupted as she heard several snarls erupt from the far bank. Looking back, she saw eight wolves advancing out of the darkness, their eyes trained on her. With a sigh, the witch turned back to the fray.

Four hours later and the pile of wolf corpses behind her was substantial and there had seemed to be a lull in the attack. Lyra had no idea whether this was due to the fact that the rest of pack had retreated or were waiting on the far bank. But she was certain though that she had not destroyed the pack completely. Wolf packs in Earth tended to be of around twenty, while hyena clans though could be of over eighty. What's more, the packs here were completely natural and only regulated by local populations rather than modern life and weapons. She could not risk underestimating the pack numbers, it could spell death for many.

It soon became clear why the wolves had paused their attack. They were not the only enemies across the water. She had read about orcs in Bilbo's books but a description could not compare to the actual sight of one. It prowled along the edge of the ice, its yellow eyes fixed on her with a type of malice that made her shiver. It snarled something at her in a language as guttural and evil as any she could imagine. She hated the idea of one of her little hobbits facing one, let alone a whole pack. So disturbed was she that Lyra drew her wand and shot a Sectumsempra Curse at the creature. It fell, its black blood visible even from across the river as it spread out across the snow.

When half an hour later, nothing else had emerged from the darkness across the river, Lyra grew antsy. A change of tactics was necessary, if they wouldn't come to her, then she would come to them. This was something Lyra had prepared for, she had known it was a possibility. With a flick of her wand, the gap in the flames was filled by more flames, forming an almost impregnable barrier between the river and the Shire beyond.

"Cave Inimicum." She intoned. It was a spell she had not used in a while but one that had kept the Golden Trio alive when they were on the run in their tent. It was similar to the Caterwauling Charm and would warn Lyra if any enemy managed to cross the flames.

Grabbing her sword in her right hand and tucking her wand back into her holster, Lyra started to cross the river. Her weight was nothing compared to that of a warg and the fracture ice held although there were a few moments when the cracking noise beneath her feet made her shiver in anticipation of the freezing water that ran below. She was so grateful at this point that the soles of her boots were charmed to stop her slipping on the ice, it was actually a rather common spell at Hogwarts as the courtyards had a tendency to end up ice rinks, whether through a prank or the Scottish winter weather.

She had barely stepped onto the east bank of the Baranduin when an orc charged, leaping through the darkness, holding a rough axe above its head. Within an instant, Lyra realised her mistake.

Her eyes were accustomed to the light on the west bank and she was now almost fighting blind. Sheer dumb luck meant the sword of Gryffindor had nicked the arm of the orc as she had raised it to parry. The venom of the basilisk was as potent as ever and before she had to swing the sword to defend again, the orc was dead at her feet. But she had learned from her mistake and within twenty seconds, two large bonfires lit up the area.

Almost immediately, she was under attack again, more orcs who met their deaths one at a time by the sword. Lyra had decided early on to avoid using her magic obviously to prevent escapees telling others of her full powers. Using her magic to break up the ice was one thing, but using the Killing Curse and then letting half a dozen orcs escape was a completely different thing. Stepping clear of the bodies, Lyra continued on.

By dawn, it was clear there was no near end in sight. And the wolves and orcs had been joined by wargs. Of the three, it was these latter that scared Lyra the most. They were huge, malevolent and intelligent to a level she had not expected. If she had not been wearing her dragon hide armour, Lyra would have been dead a dozen times over. She had taken up a defensive position, with her back to a bonfire, protecting her back and preventing her from being drawn too far from the river. If she was surrounded she was dead… or as dead as Death would allow.

Something she had noticed out of the corner of her eye though as the sun had started to rise was her wall of fire on the west bank had had a rather positive effect in more than one way. The heat of the flames had been such that it had melted a path all the way down that side of the river, allowing the water to move freely and fast downstream. Even now, large lumps of ice were being carried downstream, widening the channel and lessening the danger of anything being able to cross.

But Lyra was exhausted. She had sustained nearly ten miles of flames along the river bank and fought off an attack. If she had not possessed the Hallows, she knew that she would have died from magical exhaustion hours ago. But still the orcs and wargs kept coming. They seemed to have realised they had no chance of getting into the Shire, instead they seemed far more concerned with killing its only defender and getting their revenge that way.

Lyra ducked suddenly, causing a warg to miss her and instead leap into the flames, the smell of burning flesh combined with pained howls were horrifying and Lyra had to forcibly block it out to avoid being distracted by the sickening sight. Spinning suddenly and raising her sword she sliced the arm off an orc while ducking again to avoid the crude metal weapon of another. When would this end? With a glance behind her at the river channel which was now four metres wide, Lyra made a decision and cut of the magic that fuelled the wall of flames, it burned for a few seconds more before slowly extinguishing due to the lack of fuel. The difference in her magic levels this made was incredible and the Mistress of Death could only hope she had not made a stupid decision.

It was clear the orcs and wargs had noticed the flames dying down too as several immediately headed for the river. None made it across. The fast-flowing water had undercut much of the ice and as soon as they got more than five metres across the river, they fell in and were carried away. Lyra however, could not see this as she was still fending off her attackers, she could only hope that the charm she had placed on the west bank would hold to warn her if any did make it across. The ground she fought on had become slick with blood and corpses, it made fighting much harder as she was constantly about to trip over something. Thank Death she had the sword of Gryffindor, she did not have to worry about killing the bastards, even a small wound and they would be dead in minutes.

As quickly as they came, they were gone. Lyra by this point was so exhausted, she didn't know whether they had retreated or they were all just dead. But by this point, she didn't care. She was more concerned about the fact she was about to collapse and was stranded on the east bank. She needed to cross the river and quickly. Pulling her wand out, Lyra pointed it at her boots and levitated them, and thereby herself, across the river. It was a trick she had learned from a book about the original creator of the charm who once removed all his clothes in an effort to make himself fly. Her landing was not gracious at all but she couldn't care less. With a yawn, Lyra summoned Prongs to her and whispered to him the message to deliver to the hobbits.

"Hello all. I am still alive and no one bad crossed the river. Wolves, orcs and wargs were all spotted. I am going to stick around here for a little while longer to keep watch. I will see you all soon!"

As the silver stag darted away to the west, Lyra stumbled over to a log and transfigured it into a purple squishy sleeping bag and curled up asleep by the river bank to recover for a few hours.

The second night still held uninvited visitors but these were clearly stragglers and the sight and noise of the river clearly stopped many. However, Lyra once more crossed the river to destroy them. By dawn there had been none for several hours and the river was almost completely free of ice. While it was still freezing, the water was simply moving too fast for it to freeze. As she stood once more on the west bank of the river, Lyra surveyed the devastation. She had piled the corpses high on both sides of the river and left them, apart from anything else, it would serve as a warning to any others.

The two fires on the east side of the river had long since died down, leaving scorch marks in the ground but they did not compare to the band of blackened earth that stretched the length of the western bank where her wall of fire had sat, it was made more obvious by the band of earth that was visible on either side of the scorched earth, the fire having melted a substantial channel of snow. Lyra was almost proud of it, it would be a reminder of the magic she had achieved.

Sniffing slightly, the witch turned to the more unpleasant task. She had found a warg that had had a rather beautiful grey fur that would suit her purpose perfectly. It had always amazed her how the dark curses of her world tended to have their origins in perfectly mundane and practical spells. The Killing Curse was originally a spell used to humanely kill animals for the table, the Cutting Curse was used to cut plants while the Skin Removal Curse that was a popular torture curse within certain circles was used to skin animals.

Ten seconds later, Lyra vanished the corpse of the warg away and shot a dozen or so cleaning charms at the fur. It still had the head and paws which slightly freaked her out so she carefully rolled it and, tucking it under her arm, started the walk back to Hobbiton.

By the time she got there she was so exhausted she practically tripped over the first hobbit she saw. The poor Took cousin had let loose a rather feminine squeak as he saw the state she was in and promptly screamed for help. Lyra had completely forgotten to clean the blood and gore off of herself and so had wandered into Hobbiton with blood covering her nearly from head to toe. The scream had drawn a crowd of hobbits from the smials. They had stood staring at the woman standing in armour and dripping blood for a few seconds before rushing towards her.

One Took had rather optimistically called out, "Come on Lyra, party time!"

He had promptly been hit by Bilbo who, along with his grandfather, started to organise Lyra's swift removal to bed.

It took six hobbits to partially haul and partially support Lyra up the hill to Bag End. Bilbo had run on ahead, opened every door, pulled down the coverlet and, most importantly, summoned Bell Gamgee.

The latter, when she had seen the state of her new friend, had glared at the hobbits who had helped her in. "You lot out. I need to help Lyra out of these clothes and I can't do that with you lot standing around here like mathoms."

Old Took laughed slightly, relieved he did not have to bury anyone, "We shall talk in the morning Lyra."

"Maybe not the morning." Lyra muttered. "I plan on becoming one with this bed for at least twenty-four hours."

She would sleep for thirty-eight hours without even turning over.

Lyra was wakened from her slumber by a rather familiar voice,

"Missie Lyra?"

"Mmmm?"

"Missie Lyra?"

"Dobby?" By this point, Lyra was well awake, "What're you doing here? How did you get here?"

Dobby pulled his ear, "Kreacher and I don't be knowing, Missie. We were looking for you at home when suddenly we was here."

"Huh..."

Dobby was not impressed with his mistress' reaction, or lack of, "Why is you doing this to poor, poor Dobby and Kreacher? Vanishing without a trace..."

Kreacher was keen to get involved in berating her too, "Kreacher even visited Miss Muggleborn and her pet Weasley looking for you. Not that they were any help to poor Kreacher and Dobby. Said you were dead but Dobby and Kreacher could feel their mistress and knew not to abandon her. Stupid Miss Muggleborn said..."

Whatever rude thing Kreacher was going to stay was cut off as Lyra enveloped then both into a huge hug.

As she did so, she heard a familiar voice ring through her head, "Those are two very determined elves you have. As a reward for saving the hobbits, I have brought them to you."

Lyra shivered slightly at the feeling of the voice, "Thank you Death."

"It is Mandos here." The voice chuckled. "I shall come and speak some more soon."

Chapter 5: Hobbits and House Elves

Within fifteen minutes, Lyra realised that she had either made a very big mistake or a catastrophic mistake. It was clear that Kreacher and Dobby initially had absolutely no clue what to make of hobbits and the hobbit had even less clue.

It had taken Bilbo a good five minutes to realise that these two wrinkly creatures in front of him were indeed a form of elves. That hadn't really surprised her, after all she had read the books that sat in his sitting room, describing elves as 'ethereal', 'beautiful', 'elegant' and 'fair ones'. These were not words she would really use to describe her family retainers. Once Bilbo had been convinced that Dobby and Kreacher were indeed real he was no less suspicious. What really hadn't been a help was the fact that the two house elves had been in the middle of going through Bilbo's kitchens cupboards to examine his supplies when the smial's owner had entered the room to make first breakfast. She had tried to keep them out of the kitchen but it hadn't worked and the fact that the two house elves had been busy criticising the quality of the linen of his tea towels had not endeared them to him.

It was definitely not the introduction she had been hoping for. Five minutes ago, what had been happening in front of her at a height of four feet or so was a type of Mexican standoff. On one side was Bilbo, clutching his frying pan while on the other was Kreacher and Dobby carrying a teapot and teacup respectively. It was obvious that neither party had any idea what to do as the kettle was hanging behind Bilbo and the door to the pantry was behind the house elves, thus a stalemate that appeared unresolvable on its own.

That however, was five minutes ago. A lot had changed. Bilbo had decided that he rather liked the house elves when they had looked at Lyra whose stomach had rumbled from where she had been standing thinking of a way to resolve the situation without bloodshed. Dobby had promptly declared his mistress shouldn't be standing up after the day she had had before. Kreacher had then literally pushed Lyra into a chair while complaining she should have stayed in bed or at least had breakfast in bed. The fact that Lyra had not complained at the house elves ministrations had impressed the hobbit who had put the kettle on for Dobby and then pulled Dobby into the pantry to get his opinion on what to feed his house guest. Within two minutes the whole scene in the kitchen had changed.

"Kreacher?" Dobby had asked excitedly from his position beside Bilbo minding the bacon, "Did you hear what nice Mr Hobbit was saying?"

Kreacher sniffed slightly, he was not quite au fait with the situation (or the hobbit) yet, "No."

Dobby ignored his compatriot's tone and continued happily, "Hobbits have first breakfasts and second breakfasts and elevenses and luncheon and tea and supper and dinner all in one day."

The idea of preparing seven meals a day was something Kreacher was keen to get on board with, "Missie Lyra has you been eating all your seven meals a day?"

Lyra's attempt at an answer was interrupted by Bilbo who snorted, "I have to drag her to second breakfast and supper every day. It isn't healthy. Can you help me get her to eat more? She hasn't had any meals for two days and the day before that, she only had two!"

Kreacher suddenly decided that Bilbo was the type of friend that Lyra needed and deserved, even if he did need lessons in how to make her eat. The girl in question however was wishing that she did not have three creatures all of whom were under 4ft who were glaring at the pan of bacon and eggs trying to work out whether they needed to add some more or not. Suddenly the Mexican standoff of fifteen minutes ago didn't seem so bad.

The Shire was a society that pretty much run itself. There was a rather loose governmental system but as hobbits were a very peaceable race there was little need for silly things like councils, kings or armies in their view. At the core of their society were the familial clans, these included the Tooks, Baggins, Proudfoot, Browns, Whitfoot and the Hornblowers. Some families owned a great deal of the land in the Shire, renting it out to those of a lesser status. The families had held a great deal of power and, particularly for the heads of them, great status within the hobbit society.

The history of the hobbits very much ruled their present. Originally there were three types of hobbits, the Stoors, Harfoots and Fallohides, each group had traits that separated them. The Stoors, for instance, were far stronger and they lived around the river, actually swimming and sailing they could grow beards of all things. The Harfoots were perhaps far closer to dwarves than even the Stoors and frequently traded and communicate with them. The Fallohides were originally the smallest group, but they were the tallest type of hobbit and, rather like the Harfoots and the dwarves, had links to the elves. However, in the centuries since the settlement of the area by hobbits, these divisions had become less clear cut.

The Shire itself, was an area that was first settled by a pair of Fallohides who were later joined by others. It became an distinct area within the land of the hobbits and separated into four areas, North Farthing, East Farthing, South Farthing and West Farthing. The hobbits had three ruling figures. Firstly was the authority of the Master of Buckland which extended from the east of the river across the Brandywine into the Marish of the East Farthing, it was a title held by the Brandybuck family. This second was the Mayor of Michel Delving, an elected position for the large population of the town in West Farthing. The most powerful of all three however was the the Thain of the Shire itself.

At the start, it was the Oldbuck line who held the position, however, sometime in 2340 in the Third Age, the Tooks took over the position. Over time the Thain's role changed from a purely military position, to become a sort of formal ruler, dealing with disputes between various hobbits, the trade from outside the Shire and ceremonial events.

Gerontius Took had been Thain since 2848, and several times in his rule had had to call a meeting in the Great Smial for representatives of all the family clans in the Shire. The decision to hold a meeting had happened after Lyra had been safety tucked into her slightly-too-short bed in Bag End and after he, along with several others, had warily trekked down to the river. To the shock and awe of all, there was almost no ice in the river and piles of dead wargs, orcs and wolves on both banks. To a people who had lost so many only a few years ago, what had happened was along the lines of a gift from the Valar. They had lost no-one. Not a single soul.

Between the Mayor of Michel Delving, the Master of Buckland and the Thain they had made a decision. The hobbits owed a great deal to a girl who was lying in a smial in Hobbiton. It was a member of the Brandybucks who had said what had been in the minds of all, perhaps Lyra Potter was a gift from the Valar, sent to protect the hobbits from another catastrophe. It could not be denied, she appeared in the middle of the Shire with nary a disturbance just in time for the winter and she had protected them all. She was their very own Istari from a far off land. It had been decided there and then on the banks of the river where she had fought for them all, the hobbits would keep the young magic-wielder.

The meeting in the Great Smial had been going on for about an hour, arguments flying backwards and forwards since second breakfast. Old Took looked around the room with minor despair, it was almost elevenses and the meeting had achieved nothing, other than deciding that they wanted their protector to stay, of course. Around five hundred hobbits were in the Great Smial and others were milling around outside waiting for a decision. That many participants however did not make for easy discussions.

He sighed when a certain, recently married Sackville-Baggins yelled out "She is not a hobbit and has magic...I don't like her."

A voice from the crowd decided to retort, "You don't like anyone!"

"That is because no one likes her!" That statement, which definitely came from the Took corner once again, garnered a round of laughter, as Lobelia shrieked, that the Thain was quick to dispel.

"We are not here to argue about each other but the safety of the Shire. We have voted for the girl to stay and stay she will. But she has already said that she may well travel, can anyone think of any way to ensure Miss Potter stays here?"

There were various yells of 'free food for life', 'a nice smial', 'free beer' before the Thain took charge once more, "I think we need some other ideas now... that don't involve free food or beer."

Falco Took perked up from his position, lounging against a window seat, "I have a great idea!"

There were low groans as most of the hobbits had accepted long ago that a Tooks' concept of a 'great idea' generally was not good by hobbit standards and tended to result in everyone being late for dinner. Even the Tooks' groaned for, even by their own family standards, Falco lacked any practical sense whatsoever.

The hobbit in question was offended, "No, listen. Why don't we get her to sign a contract, she seems a decent person and I am sure would follow it? You know how the dwarves are with contracts, maybe she is like that? It is worth a try."

Isenbold Took, his brother, scoffed, "And how would we get her to sign it?"

"Well, we get her a little, little bit tipsy." Falco concluded with a flourish.

Old Took looked at his grandson with a rather queer look on his face, "So you want to get our guest and rescuer drunk and then make her sign a contract to become our protector?"

Falco looked to his Thain and paused, he wasn't quite sure whether he had had a great idea or was about to be torn apart by his grandfather, "...Yes?"

Old Took sighed, if this was one of his descendants then he feared for the future of his line and the Shire in general actually, "Does anyone else have any other ideas?" There was silence and the old hobbit shook his head for a second, "We may need to put an incentive in the contract, free food, or a title, or a house, or something of that ilk? Alright, alright, we shall sort that bit. Who has the strongest moonshine?"

Suddenly Old Took realised his mistake as members of every family jumped up, declaring their home-brewed spirit to be the best. Sighing and wondering why he ever said that, he signalled for quiet again.

"Right, as that cannot be decided, why don't we organise out yearly Moonshine Festival a few weeks earlier this year?"

This statement was followed by cheers throughout the Great Smial, although a voice piped out from somewhere at the back,

"Or we could just have two?".

This question gained the most enthusiastic response of the day as the hobbits dispersed to find their best moonshine.

"Miss Lyra?" The witch looked up from her walk up to Bag End to see two hobbits standing by the gate of Bilbo's house.

"Oh, hello Master Took, how can I help you?"

"We were heading off to the Green Dragon and were wondering if you would join us. We haven't seen you properly for a few days and there is a Moonshine brewing competition. Would you like to come help us judge?"

Lyra shrugged, she needed to get out of the house for a bit and another gentle stroll down to the inn sounded a nice break. She had been to a couple of these types of events in England, Little Whining had a flower show every year where flowers, sloe gin, jam and cheese were all judged by some nice public figure or other and everyone was given some sort of prize at the end. Surely a moonshine competition must be like that. "Sure, seems like fun."

It would take the Mistress of Death five hours of drinking and partying and eight hours of sleeping to work out the mistake she had just made. English flower shows were nothing like hobbit alcohol competitions.

When Lyra did awake it was to a headache that pounded through every corner of her skull, even her eyes hurt when closed and she did not even try to open them after her initial attempt. Trying to recall anything that happened last night didn't work. She remembered agreeing to go to the pub with one of the Took hobbits, and she remembered her first drink, then things got a little…hazy. Okay, a lot hazy. She remembered a game of some kind, some rather catchy songs to which she danced on their bar, something about a piece of paper, then more alcohol. Nope, Lyra was drawing a blank.

Without opening her eyes, Lyra called to Dobby and Kreacher who appeared with a 'crack' before her, the sound alone caused her to curl up and pull the blankets over her head with a groan. Knowing what was ailing her, Dobby disappeared again, returning seconds later with a vial of hangover potion which he placed in the hand of his mistress that was waving from under the blankets in a pitiful manner. Yet to open her eyes or mouth, Lyra feared ending up sick or having to experience the world in her present state. Both house elves heard a hum of thanks as the contents of the vial were drunk. A few minutes later, Lyra emerged from her cocoon of blankets and pillows and opened her eyes and saw the two house elves looking at her rather smugly.

"Yes, alright, I know I got drunk to the point of memory loss but there is no reason to look so smug"

"Missie Lyra, we isn't smug about that."

"…Okay, what did I do whilst squiffy?" She asked, realising that she either did something embarrassing or had something embarrassing happen to her,

Dobby smiled up at her, "That a good question, Kreacher tell mistress what she did while drunk?"

Kreacher looked even smugger at that, "Missie Lyra, or should we call you Queenie now?"

"What does that even mean?" Lyra groaned, too done with life to deal with her house elves attempts to wind her up.

"Missie Lyra signed contract that the nice hobbits gave her. Missie now Queenie of the hobbits"

Silence followed silence, until...

"WHILE DRUNK I WAS PRESSGANGED INTO BECOMING QUEEN TO AN ENTIRE RACE OF PEOPLE?"

"No, you are Queenie"

"IS THERE A DIFFERENCE?"

"Hobbits don't have queens and kings, so you Queenie" Kreacher said with a cheerful (for him) smile. "Should I make breakfast for Her Majesty?"

"You two are way too happy about this… I need to go see the Thain, what will he think, I stole his people?" Lyra groaned as she made to throw the covers off her and dash to find the man.

"Mr Thain was there when you signed contract." Dobby answered happily, glad to see that his mistress was receiving the title and honour that she deserved. Nasty witches and wizards back in Britain didn't realise that his Missie Lyra was far above them all, the hobbits however, seemed to realise that.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god…. What do I do?"

"Rule the little people?"

"Right, first law then…Unhelpful comments from you, Kreacher, are banned…"

"What should we name that law then?" Dobby asked, pulling a piece of paper and a quill out of mid-air with a flourish.

The only response he got was a muffled roar into a pillow by Lyra as she dragged the covers once more over her head.

This is, of course, set before the events of The Hobbit, I am not really sure where the story is going to go from here but we shall just have to see. If you amazing people have any ideas for pairings or events you would like to see, please PM me.

I made a 'mood board' of sorts when I started writing this. It is a collection of pictures that you may like to look at if you wanted to see where I took my inspiration for clothes, character descriptions or places. www. pinterest. co. uk/ finnie200/ (remove spaces). I shall likely update this as I go along.

This is unbeated at the moment, so some changes may occur when I get that sorted!