It was a beautiful day in the Shire. It was sunny, yet not too bright; warm, yet not too hot and the tulips were coming in nicely this year. A gentle breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and freshly turned earth. Birds chirped cheerfully in the hedgerow, bees droned lazily among the blossoms, and Bilbo Baggins - hobbit of Bag End - was enjoying a perfectly peaceful pipe on his garden bench.
He had just finished a particularly satisfying puff of Longbottom Leaf and was contemplating whether it might be too early for a slice of seed cake when -
Flash.
With no warning, and certainly no manners, a door appeared - a literal door - suspended two feet above his flowerbed, glowing faintly around the edges and humming in a way Billbo did not at all appreciate.
He blinked.
"What in the name of...?"
The door swung open without a sound, and out of it tumbled a man - a young one at that, wearing a travel cloak and bewildered expression - who fell face-first on Bilbo's prized tulips with a rather undignified "Oof!"
Petals flew. Soil scattered. A worm fled the scene.
Bilbo sat very still, his pipe paused mid-air.
The man groaned and rolled slightly, dislodging a decorative stone mushroom.
"Misjudged the altitude," he muttered into the dirt. "Hope no one saw that."
I did, thought Bilbo.
The man worked himself to his feet. He muttered something and the dirt seemed to almost jump away from his person. He pointed his hand towards the strangely floating door. In response, the door flickered, then vanished with a soft pop.
The man took a deep breath, planted his hands on his hips, looked out past Bagshot Row, at the end of which sat Bag End (hence the name) and stared out over Hobbiton. The elevated position of the large mound which formed the outer layer of Bag End offered a spectacular view of the winding road and the nearby patchwork of fields and farmlands. The stranger looked out over rolling hills, burbling brooks and blooming fields. As the sun beat down merely on the Shire, he proudly declared -
"Let the adventure begin!"
Bilbo blinked. Adventure? The Hobbit shook his head sharply in disapproval. He couldn't possibly imagine why anyone would want to go on those. Sure, when he was a wee lad, he had some fanciful thoughts about venturing out past the woods, but that was the folly of youth. As a respectable hobbit of Bag End, he had no interest in adventures, no sir. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner!
"Excuse me! But, ah..." Bilbo finally spoke up, having found his voice again, faltering when the newcomer turned around to face him.
He was tallish - for a boy. Hair dark and ruffled like he had just wrestled a hedgerow. His outfit consisted of a shirt in a style Bilbo didn't recognise, with long pants of a made he didn't know and ending with shoes that seemed far smaller and better made than the boots and moccasins that Bilbo had seen the people of Bree and the like wear. A blue travel cloak completed the ensemble, along with a brown leather satchel hanging by his side.
He supposed that strange people who had a strange habit of dropping out of strange doors into other people's flowerbeds would dress strangely, though the hobbit did wonder why the stranger couldn't just wear good old-fashioned overalls.
The boy smiled. "Ah, hello there. Mr Bilbo Baggins, I presume?"
Bilbo stiffened. "I am. Do I know you?"
The stranger let out an amused chuckle. "No, but I know of you." Coming forward, he offered his hand. "Benjamin Carter, 3rd year. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At your service."
"Bilbo Baggins. At yours." It was only carefully cultivated manners that had Bilbo shaking the boy's hand. Inside, he was baffled. Since when did they start training wizards and witches in schools?
"Now," the boy straightened, "would you mind telling me what year it is by the Shire reckoning?"
"Well, it's 1358, if you must know. Thursday, the 20th of Astron, to be exact," Bilbo responded.
A small smile graced the boy's features on hearing this. "Astron, 1358...meaning April, 2941. Perfect timing."
Bilbo tilted his head. "Perfect timing? Perfect timing for what, exactly?"
"Never mind that now," the boy waved him off, moving towards the door to Bag End. "Judging by the position of the sun, it should be around time for elevenses. What say you we continue this chat over a nice cup of tea and some biscuits, hmm?" the boy said in amusement as he beckoned Bilbo to lead him inside.
While he indeed wished to make sense of this strange intrusion upon his quiet morning, Bilbo wasn't very keen on inviting strangers into his home, especially ones that fell out of strange, floating doors.
"Now, listen here...ah, while I would normally offer you a meal, I must say that the state of my flowerbed..."
"What of it?" the boy said, his interruption rude if it weren't for the gleaming twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he glanced past the riled-up hobbit.
"What of it? What of it! They are ruined! My precious tulips are..." Bilbo began as he worked himself into a state, turning around to point at his ruined flowerbed, only to fall completely silent in shock.
"...are...fine?" he questioned, looking at the pristine flowers growing in lush troves in the fresh soil, seemingly undisturbed and certainly not appearing as if a certain someone had used them as a soft landing spot.
"What? How...how did you do that? Who are you?" Bilbo asked flabbergasted, looking unsure as he glanced at the dark-haired stranger.
"Who I am, is none other than myself. Though you can call me Ben, all my friends do. As for how I fixed your garden, now that is something best explained in the privacy of a hobbit's kitchen. After all, you never know just who might be listening," the boy, now named Ben, said with a meaningful look.
Realising that perhaps it was best if his neighbours saw as little of this strange traveler as possible, Bilbo led Ben inside his home.
The round green door of Bag End opened with a quiet creak as Bilbo ushered his strange visitor inside. The interior of the hobbit-hole was just as one would imagine - warm, inviting and unmistakenly lived-in. The polished wooden floors gleamed beneath the sunlight pouring in through the round windows and the air smelt faintly of beeswax, old parchment and something freshly baked.
"Come in, come in," Bilbo motioned. "Mind your head on the beams. Everything's...well, a bit smaller than you might be used to, I daresay."
Bilbo noticed with some jealousy that even though he was clearly young, Ben was already nearly 6 feet tall, whereas Bilbo, even at the age of 50, only reached 4 feet.
Ben ducked under the archway as he stepped inside. Unfastening his cloak, he hung it on a peg beside Bilbo's. His eyes swept across the hallway with genuine appreciation. "This place is amazing," he said, unable to hide his grin. "It's the very picture of a quiet countryside home. Warm and cozy. I love it."
Bilbo gave a pleased but modest harrumph and gestured down the hall. "Kitchen's this way."
They entered a warm little kitchen with tiled walls, neat shelves stacked with jars and herbs, and a circular table set near the hearth. Setting a black kettle over the fire, Bilbo busied himself with tea cups and saucers, standing on a sturdy stool to reach the upper cabinets.
Ben took a seat, his knees nearly brushing the underside of the table, and set his satchel on the floor beside him. He glanced around, taking in the homely clutter - lace doilies, half-used candles, bunches of dried sage and lavender, and a particularly stern-looking portrait of an old hobbit lady above the pantry.
"Are all hobbit homes this charming, or is yours just special?" he asked with a playful smile.
Bilbo chuckled as he poured some hot water into the tea pot. "Well, I would like to think Bag End is a cut above most. It was my father's before me, you know. Bungo Baggins built it with every comfort in mind. My mother, Belladonna Took, insisted on more space than usual." He gave Ben a shrewd glance. "Though I suppose you'd still find it snug."
"I've lived in castles, town houses and magical tents," Ben said casually, "but I can certainly say - your home is one of a kind."
"Flatterer," Bilbo said with mock sternness, though a small smile crept over his face.
While the tea steeped, Ben reached into his satchel and drew out a small tin box. He placed it on the table and popped open the lid to reveal neat stacks of golden brown cookies.
"I brought these from home," Ben said. "Thought you might like them."
Bilbo leaned over, sniffed one delicately, then picked it up with obvious curiosity.
"What are they?"
"Chocolate-chip cookies. Sweet, a bit buttery, with bits of chocolate in them."
"Chocolate?" Bilbo's brow furrowed. "Oh, we have that now and then in Bree. But not like this."
He took a tentative bite - and his eyes widened.
"Oh!" he said reverently, crumbs clinging to his fingers. "Oh my stars! This is heavenly."
Ben laughed. "Glad you like it."
Bilbo devoured the rest of the cookies with increasing delight, then reached for another. "You wouldn't happen to have a few more of these tucked away, would you?"
"I might have...a few dozen more boxes," Ben said innocently, nudging the satchel with his foot.
Bilbo looked at the satchel like it was a dragon's hoard. "You can definitely stay for tea," he said. "And possibly dinner. And second dinner."
They shared a laugh and the kitchen was soon filled with the pleasent clinking of teacups and the smell of blueberry scones and choco-chip cookies.
"So," Bilbo said, pouring a second cup of tea for his guest, "forgive me if I mistaken, but you said that you belong to some school of wizards?"
Ben smiled and set his cup down with a soft clink.
With a graceful flick of his fingers, the spoon in Bilbo's teacup rose smoothly, stirring the tea with perfect rhythm before setting itself gently on the saucer. Bilbo's eyes widened.
With a casual wave from Ben, Bilbo's sugar pot danced across the table, tipped itself to add exactly two cubes into Bilbo's cup and then returned to its place beside the milk jug. Finally, Ben raised his hand and a small illusion of a dragon, no bigger than a pigeon, formed in the air above his palm. It circled once, let out a silent puff of flame, then dissolved into golden mist.
Bilbo sat frozen, mouth slightly ajar. "Gracious me," he muttered. "You are a wizard."
Ben gave a modest nod. "Of a sort. I am a student in a school called Hogwarts. It's a place where young witches and wizards learn to master their magic."
Bilbo blinked. "But I have never heard of such a place. Nor read about it, and I have read my fair share of things, mind you."
Ben's smile turned a little more enigmatic. "I would be very surprised if you had, Mr Baggins. After all, Hogwarts is not in this world."
The Hobbit blinked again, slower this time. "Not of this...wait, what do you mean, not in this world?"
"Just like how the realm of Arda was created by the Valar, so were countless others by chance or by design. Many of those realms are inhabited by sentient creatures and otherwise," Ben explained gently. "Hogwarts exists in one such realm, a parallel world to your own. Occasionally, the school sends some of its more promising students on quests to other worlds - to gain experience, to explore different cultures, to gather valuable resources and materials, to help where help is needed."
Bilbo narrowed his eyes, sceptical. "And they sent you to theShire? Good heavens, Ben, this place doesn't have anything dangerous enough to merit a proper quest. We are a peaceful folk. No dark lords, no ancient curses, no bloodthirsty dragons - thank you very much."
Ben only chuckled, looking out the round kitchen window as his fingers absently tapped against the wooden tabletop. "Perhaps. But quests don't always begin with danger, Mr Baggins. Sometimes they begin with a warm hearth, a good conversation and the promise of home."
Bilbo studied the strange wizard for a long moment, then gave a small huff and reached for another cookie. "Well," he said, "if you are waiting for something to happen, you will be waiting a long time in Hobbiton. Mark my words."
Ben took a sip from his teacup and gave the hobbit a mischievous smile. "We'll see."