In LOTR with Harry Potter system

To Gandalf, Sylas, who claimed to have come from beyond Middle-earth, was wrapped in mystery.

When the Grey Wizard tried to glimpse the truth of his soul, he found his vision veiled by an unfamiliar power, like mist clouding a mirror. He could not pierce through it to discern the boy's essence.

Yet more striking was the subtle divine presence he sensed within him, a sacred blessing that could only come from Ilúvatar Himself.

The realization shocked Gandalf deeply.

As one of the five Istari, emissaries sent by the Valar to aid Middle-earth in its time of need, Gandalf knew for certain that no others had been commissioned under their guidance. And yet here sat Sylas, a stranger blessed by the One.

Could it be… that the Father of All, dwelling in the Timeless Halls beyond Arda, had intervened directly? Could this boy be a messenger of Ilúvatar?

Sylas, meanwhile, shivered beneath Gandalf's steady, soul-searching gaze. It felt as though the old wizard could see right through him. With a nervous smile, he asked, "Gandalf? Is something wrong? You're staring at me like I've sprouted antlers."

Startled from his thoughts, Gandalf blinked and softened his expression. "Not at all," he replied warmly, casting a quick glance at Bilbo beside them. "Tell me, Wizard Sylas… are you here in Middle-earth on a mission?"

Sylas's heart skipped a beat. 'Did he find out about the system?' he wondered. Sweat pricked the back of his neck.

He kept his tone casual. "I'm not sure what you mean, really."

To his surprise, Gandalf gave him a knowing smile and simply nodded, as though they shared an unspoken understanding. "If ever you need aid, young wizard," the Grey Pilgrim said kindly, "you have but to seek me out."

"Ah… thank you," Sylas murmured, confused but relieved. 'So he didn't find out about the system after all?' Yet Gandalf's sudden warmth, the shift in tone, Sylas had a sneaking suspicion.

'Don't tell me… he thinks I'm one of them?'

Feeling guilty, he decided it best not to linger on the subject. "And what about you, Gandalf?" he asked quickly. "You said you came from the East. Are you on a mission yourself?"

Now believing Sylas to be kin in purpose, Gandalf did not hesitate. "Indeed," he said gravely. "A darkness stirs again in the East. In the fortress of Dol Guldur, I encountered a tormented soul, a dwarf of royal blood. Before he passed, he entrusted me with a message and a relic to deliver to his son."

Sylas raised his brows. "A dwarf king?"

Gandalf nodded. "His name was Thráin II, heir of Durin's line. Over a century ago, the dragon Smaug descended upon Erebor and laid waste to the kingdom under the mountain. Thráin's people were driven into exile. Unwilling to abandon his homeland, he journeyed in secret toward the Lonely Mountain… but was captured by orcs near Mirkwood and taken to Dol Guldur. There he was tortured and imprisoned in the shadow of a dark power."

As Gandalf spoke, his voice grew somber, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth behind them.

"I found him," the wizard said, "but it was too late."

As Gandalf recounted Thráin's tragic fate, his expression grew solemn.

Sylas listened in thoughtful silence. 'Then Gandalf's current journey must be to deliver the relics of Thráin to Thorin, setting into motion the quest to reclaim Erebor.'

That could only mean one thing, the expedition to the Lonely Mountain was drawing near.

Sylas couldn't help glancing at Bilbo, who sat beside him, happily nibbling a biscuit, blissfully unaware that he was destined to become the central figure of that very adventure.

And judging by Gandalf's deliberate visit to Bag End, it was plain as day, Bilbo had already been chosen.

With Gandalf's legendary cunning, there was little hope for the poor Hobbit to wriggle out of it now.

Though Sylas felt a twinge of sympathy, he had no intention of interfering. This quest was not merely a chance for Bilbo to step beyond the borders of the Shire, it was also the key to the greater story.

The One Ring, now buried deep within the Misty Mountains and still in Gollum's clutches, could not be found by force or foresight alone. Even with the system's aid, Sylas knew he could not guarantee its discovery.

Only Bilbo, the one destined to stumble upon it, could set that future in motion.

After tea, Bilbo and Gandalf lit their pipes, filling the parlor with rich swirls of Longbottom Leaf. The two old smokers laughed and exchanged stories, their silhouettes dancing in the haze of sweet-scented smoke.

Sylas, who wasn't used to such thick clouds, politely excused himself and slipped away to check on his Mandrakes.

Upon hearing about these magical plants from Bilbo, Gandalf grew curious and accompanied him to the greenhouse.

When they reached the modest glass structure nestled beside Bag End, Gandalf paused, his eyes gleaming with wonder. "A marvelous bit of Transfiguration," he remarked, running his hand across the smooth surface. "You reshaped the very essence of matter. Few in Arda possess such a gift."

Gandalf's own magic leaned toward illusion and firecraft, but this—this was different. Transfiguration on this scale could manipulate reality itself.

In his long memory, even among the Maiar and Valar, few had wielded such transformative power.

And yet here it was, in the hands of a young wizard cloaked in mystery.

'This power… it must be a gift from the One Himself,' Gandalf thought gravely. 'Even the Valar cannot do such things unbidden.'

Inside the greenhouse, Sylas moved with careful precision. He first examined the pots to ensure the Mandrakes had not stirred. Now nearing maturity, their cries could be dangerously potent.

Only after casting two swift Petrificus Totalus spells did he dare remove the glass covers.

He had yet to master a proper Silencing Charm or Ear-Muffing Spell that could withstand a Mandrake's scream, so this remained the safest method.

Gandalf watched with quiet amazement as Sylas revealed the pale, human-like roots. The Mandrakes' limbs were distinct, their faces expressive, even lifelike. With Sylas's permission, he gently lifted one from its pot and studied it.

"There is deep vitality here," Gandalf murmured. "Magic courses through it like sap in spring. Were I not told otherwise, I'd have thought this a new offshoot of the Ents!"

He chuckled as Sylas dressed the Mandrake in a tiny woolen outfit and carefully nestled it into fresh, enriched soil.

"Your affinity with flora reminds me of an old friend, Radagast the Brown. He lives in the Greenwood, surrounded by birds, beasts, and all manner of growing things."

Radagast the Brown—yes, Sylas knew of him. A Wizard sent by the Valar, Radagast was renowned not for council or combat, but for his quiet devotion to nature. While Gandalf journeyed across Middle-earth rallying resistance against the Shadow, Radagast withdrew into the woods, choosing the companionship of birds, beasts, and growing things.

Though some saw his seclusion as neglect of duty, it was not malice but love that guided him. When the War of the Ring came to its end, the other Wizards were called back across the sea to Valinor. Radagast was not summoned.

Yet perhaps, for him, that was no punishment.

For a heart so deeply rooted in Middle-earth's wild beauty, the forests and fields were home enough. To live among the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves may have been the truest reward of all.