In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Sylas's brow twitched as he watched Dwalin devour the food with the ferocity of a Warg. Whatever appetite he'd had vanished instantly. He silently set down his knife and fork.

Bilbo stood frozen in disbelief, mouth slightly agape. Before he could even begin to ask what was going on, there came another knock at the door.

This time it was a white-bearded Dwarf with a kindly but sharp expression. "Balin, at your service," he said cheerfully, brushing past Bilbo as if entering his own home. He spotted Dwalin and greeted him with a hearty clap on the shoulder.

"Balin?! W-wait—what's going on?!" Bilbo stammered, thoroughly flustered. "Why are you in my house?!"

But no one seemed to hear him. The Dwarves were already helping themselves, opening cupboards, peering into jars, clinking bottles of ale together.

Then came another knock. And another. And another.

Like a Dwarven avalanche, the rest of the company arrived: Fili and Kili, all bright eyes and grins; the three brothers Dori, Nori, and Ori; Bofur with his fur-lined hat, Bombur already sniffing out the pantry, and Bifur muttering something in Khuzdul.

Each one marched right in, squeezing into Bilbo's cozy dining room, bumping furniture, knocking over trinkets, and piling more food onto their already overflowing plates.

The once-quiet hobbit-hole was suddenly loud and crowded, filled with laughter, clinking mugs, and clumsy singing.

Bilbo stood to the side, overwhelmed and helpless. His tidy pantry had become a battlefield. His wine was uncorked, his cheeses sliced without permission. He looked utterly heartbroken.

Turning his eyes toward Sylas, he whispered, "Sylas…"

Sylas saw Bilbo's pleading face, the kind of sorrow that only comes from watching a year's worth of food vanish in five minutes. He smiled softly, patted Bilbo on the shoulder, and stood.

"All right, let's bring a little order to this chaos."

He raised his wand and calmly murmured, "Petrificus Totalus… Petrificus Totalus… Petrificus Totalus…"

The effect was instant.

The room froze.

Twelve Dwarves stood stiff as statues, locked in awkward poses: mid-bite, mid-drink, mid-song. One was still reaching for a biscuit. Another had cheese balanced halfway to his mouth. Only their eyes moved, wide and panicked.

The silence was magical.

Bilbo blinked, then let out a sigh of relief so long it nearly deflated him. "Thank heavens for you, Sylas."

Just as peace began to settle over the house once more…

Knock knock knock.

Bilbo visibly flinched. He looked toward the door like a man awaiting doom.

Sylas gave a weary sigh and rose again. "I've got it," he said gently, strolling toward the door.

He opened it.

Standing tall beneath the starlit sky was a figure cloaked in dark blue, with a proud bearing and piercing eyes.

"Thorin," Sylas greeted calmly.

"Sylas."

The two nodded politely to one another.

"Has Gandalf arrived?" Thorin asked, stepping inside and glancing around.

Sylas shook his head. "Not yet. He's likely been held up."

Thorin's brow furrowed at the response. As he entered the living room, his eyes immediately locked onto the frozen forms of his kin, twelve Dwarves stiff as boards around the dinner table. His pupils narrowed, and his tone dropped like a hammer.

"What happened here?" he demanded. "What did you do?"

Sylas remained calm. "They were... rather impolite. So I simply quieted things down."

Thorin's face darkened, jaw tightening with restrained fury. He clenched his fists, interpreting the spell as a show of power, a challenge to his authority.

"Undo it, Wizard Sylas," he said coldly. "I will apologize on their behalf."

But Sylas didn't move. His voice was quiet, but firm. "They shouldn't be apologizing to me... but to the owner of this house."

The air between them thickened.

Then, just in time, the front door opened.

"Sorry I'm late!" came a cheerful voice.

Gandalf bent as he stepped through the round doorway, staff tapping the floor. His eyes sparkled as he surveyed the scene. "Have I missed anything interesting?"

"Gandalf!" Bilbo exclaimed, running toward him as though salvation had just walked through the door.

The tension that had filled the room drained like water from a cracked barrel.

"Good evening, Bilbo," Gandalf said with a warm chuckle, then turned to see the dozen petrified Dwarves still frozen around the table. "Ah. I see you've all already met. Saves me the introductions."

Sylas gave a small sigh and flicked his wand. "Finite Incantatem."

One by one, the Dwarves collapsed like dominoes, groaning, grumbling, and stretching stiff limbs as if they'd just emerged from a week-long mining shift. Several gave Sylas a wary side-eye, now knowing full well he wasn't a Wizard to be trifled with.

Though the air remained awkward, Gandalf's presence softened things. The Dwarves regained their seats, rubbing sore joints and shooting occasional glares at Sylas, though with considerably more respect.

Bilbo, ever the good host despite being overwhelmed, bustled about preparing tea and bringing out what little remained in his pantry. His hands were a blur between the table and the kitchen, and though he mumbled under his breath, he never stopped serving.

At the dining table, Gandalf and Sylas sat together at one end, deep in discussion. Thorin led the others at the opposite end, occasionally stealing glances at the two Wizards.

The talk eventually turned to the expedition.

"We don't need to confront Smaug head-on," Gandalf explained, twirling a bit of his beard. "What we need is someone clever, nimble, quiet, and... unlikely to be noticed. Someone who can slip into the Lonely Mountain and recover the Arkenstone without drawing the Dragon's eye."

"With the Arkenstone in your hands, Thorin, heir of Durin, you could rally a Dwarven host," Gandalf said calmly. "And with their strength, reclaim Erebor from the Dragon."

Thorin's expression softened slightly. He glanced at Gandalf, interest piqued. "Do you have someone in mind for this... burglar?"

Gandalf didn't answer at once. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Bilbo.

Thorin followed his line of sight, then frowned. "Gandalf... surely you jest."

The Hobbit, noticing all eyes on him, shrank instinctively behind Sylas.

"To send a Hobbit? This one?" Thorin scoffed, his voice rising. "He's shorter than a Dwarf, has no beard, no sword, and can barely lift a kettle. What use could he possibly be?"

Bilbo's ears turned red. He peeked out nervously from behind Sylas, looking as if he dearly wished he could vanish into the teapot.

But Gandalf remained unshaken. "You misjudge him," he said. "Hobbits are quiet folk, nimble, careful, unnoticeable when they wish to be. Masters of stealth and mischief in their own way. They can slip through cracks even Goblins wouldn't notice."

He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering with intrigue. "Smaug has seen Dwarves. He knows the scent of Elves. He can sense the greed of Men. But Hobbits? He's never encountered one. He wouldn't even know what to look for."

Thorin didn't respond. He looked at Bilbo with narrowed eyes, clearly not convinced but no longer dismissive.

Seeing this, Gandalf turned to Bilbo directly.

"Mr. Bilbo Baggins," he said, his voice formal and sincere, "will you join this company on a journey to the Lonely Mountain?"

Bilbo blinked, startled. "M-me?" he stammered. "No! No, I couldn't possibly! I don't go on adventures, I'm a Baggins! We're quiet folk. I read books about adventures... but I've never had one."

"But you've dreamed of them," Gandalf pressed gently. "Haven't you ever wondered what lies beyond the hills? Don't you long to see the Misty Mountains for yourself? The ruins of Dale? The shining gold beneath the Lonely Mountain?"

He smiled, twinkle-eyed. "And think of it, Bilbo. When it's all over, you'll have your own tale to tell. Your very own book. Something to pass down through generations."

Then Gandalf added, knowingly, "And Sylas will be there too."

At that, Bilbo turned to Sylas in surprise. "You... you're going too?"

Sylas met his eyes calmly. "Yes," he said. "Whether you stay or go, I'll support you, Bilbo."

Sylas knew the weight this decision would carry. In another timeline, Bilbo's choice would shake the foundations of Middle-earth. It would begin a journey that led to a ring, to Rivendell and Mirkwood, to Gollum, and eventually, to Frodo.

But if Bilbo chose to stay behind, to live a peaceful life in Bag End, Sylas would respect that too.

Bilbo hesitated. He looked between Gandalf, Thorin, the wary Dwarves, and finally Sylas.

He was just a small Hobbit. But there was something stirring inside him, perhaps the Tookish blood, or perhaps the spark of adventure that had long been buried beneath his doilies and second breakfasts.

He took a deep breath.

"Alright," he said, voice trembling, yet firm. "I am willing to join the company!"

...

STones PLZzz

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