I re-did it! I was just reading my stories and decided the first and second chapters were utter crap, so I decided to re-do 'em. Be expecting a re-done second (and hopefully longer) chapter! DISCLAIMER: I'm planning on stealing them right after BBC….

Dumbledore strode down the winding gravel path, enjoying the pleasantly warm weather Middle-Earth housed. This was extremely unnecessary-his brother had said it was of 'utmost importance', but he took his time none the less. If he could have lived anywhere but Hogwarts, he would most certainly choose this delightful country, isolated from the rest of the world, invisible to Muggles and most wizards-you had to be special to be able to even see it. And have a certain instrument to get there. And Dumbledore just happened to own it. It's a strange place, Middle-Earth, he thought as he made his long strides. Their heaven is our world, Earth, or the 'Gray-Havens'. They then live a life on Earth, and then finally, truly die.

His long nose nearly broke again; he had almost run into a stone wall in the midst of his thoughts. "Well," he muttered aloud to himself. "That was rather close, I must say. Gandalf would surely not appreciate his brother knocking on his door with a bloody, broken nose." They weren't full brothers-they were half. He, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had come from a pure-bred line. His mother and father were both magical. But before, his father had had a love, a Muggle, she was. That was why Gandalf's powers were limited; he had very few. His didn't normally happen with people in this situation, and hadn't happened to Gandalf, well, until the Valar had taken him.

Dumbledore quickly snapped out of his thoughts; he was already late. On his own accord, of course. He quickly walked around the building until he reached the wooden door, which had a jolly yellow light coming out through the cracks. He looked up at the sign to make sure he was in the correct place. The Prancing Pony. He was here. He pushed open the heavy door to be greeted with an amazing amount of sound. People were singing (very drunkenly), dancing, and shouting out at the top of their lungs. A pub, of course, it was just like Gandalf to meet at a pub. He made his way through a circle of people, not bothering to register himself in, a saw a rather short man with large hairy feet and curly dark hair on the ground. At least, before he vanished. Gandalf shook his head as he stared at the now-empty spot on the ground. This might have been normal, for all he knew. He decided to ignore it and make his way to the room. That's why Gandalf had given him a three letter number.

221, on the third floor. Dumbledore felt no need to knock; this was Gandalf. He swung the door open, stepped into the room, and shut it tightly behind him.

Gandalf jumped as his brother audibly stepped into the room, nearly shoving his pipe up his nose. He looked up from the fire to watch Dumbledore sit down in the armchair beside him. "You said this was of 'utmost importance'?" he said, quoting Gandalf's own words. "Yes," Gandalf responded briskly. They had no time to lose. Dumbledore was already late. "I looked into Sauruman's orb, and I found that you are not the only one who can come to Middle-Earth." He informed Dumbledore. "Ah," said his brother. "Who?" "Three of your students," Gandalf said worriedly. "Two of them are elves, so of course they can, but the other is a human witch, who has absolutely no relations here! It's absurd!" he added, as Dumbledore stood and began to pace. "Have you granted her permission to come?" he asked. "Of course not, I wouldn't…she hasn't been to my office in ages, it's only been Liz!" he answered, half to himself. "If, of course, we are speaking of the same human and elves."

"Rachel Turner, Rebecca Watts, and Liz Johnson. I was thinking that the three might have importance in saving Middle-Earth, I was thinking you could bring them here," Gandalf finally asked the question that had been eating away at him; could Dumbledore bring the girls here? "Then we are talking of the same ones," Dumbledore muttered. "And I will bring them here under one condition; keep them out of harm's way." Gandalf froze. He couldn't keep them out of harm, it was physically impossible if they were to help on the quest. But, he could make a white lie; the safety of Middle-Earth was at hand. "Of course," he answered as firmly as he could. "And I have a question for you: are they responsible?" let's just say, Dumbledore lies also.

0*0

I run, or skid, you might say, down the hall into, gasp, Potions. Where the teacher hates me. And the subject I'm worst at. And the class I'm always late to. I nearly slip down the stairs in my blasted Mary-Jane's, thanks to the school uniform. After I safely make my way down the endless flight of steps, I race to the dungeon door and yank it open to see the class jump, startled. I wait for what I think is patiently for it to come. It did. Every Slytherin started to laugh at me, calling out things like, "Late again, Johnson?" or "You've got it in for ya' now!" and, of course, a good deal of name calling and cursing. "Just shut your bloody mouths," I mutter, before making my way to the seat next to Rachel Turner.

Rachel leans over to me ever-so-slightly, and murmurs through her teeth, "He's coming," I feel a slight ounce of hope; if he wasn't here before, then technically I wasn't late. I stared eagerly at the door, awaiting the greasy haired teacher. He doesn't come through the door. He comes down the stairs. Of course he was getting potions ingredients, of course. I slump in my seat, maybe he won't notice. I keep making false hopes, don't I? "Miss Johnson," Professor Severus Snape begins in a voice as slimy as his hair. "I do believe that is your seventh time late to this class?" I can't resist the opportunity to get a smart-mouth. It's just to perfect. "Nice of you to keep count," I comment. It earns a few snickers from the Gryffindors, but I still regret it as soon as it comes out.

Snape sneers. "I do believe this earns you a trip to the headmaster's, as the detentions don't help this little problem. Unfortunately, teaching you 'Felix Felicis' is too important to your education, not as it does any good, so you will have to go after class." I hold back a sneer of my own. I'm still surprised he hasn't been sacked. But if all goes to plan in my life, he will be. Class continues on, Rachel earning herself a trip to Dumbledore's also, as she was spitting spit balls at Zacharias Smith, the ugly git. Becca promises to accompany us, through what I still call 'physic paper', being obsessed with the Muggle show, Doctor Who. That show is utter brilliance, no matter what the wizarding world says about Muggle shows. Andhow would Becca come? Under the secretly charmed too-small cloak of invisibility. We charmed at the beginning of the year, vowing to break many rules in our final year at Hogwarts. Fred and George Weasley had shown us this brilliant map, the Marauders Map, on the very first day. Even though they were a year younger than us, they were brilliant.

An hour later Snape sends Rachel, Becca, and I up to Dumbledore's office, harboring the new information that 'Fizzing Whizbees' was Dumbledore's password. With Becca secure under the poorly done invisibility cloak, we stop in front of the beautifully carved stone griffon. Even though I am heading towards my doom, I can't help the puff of pride swell in my chest. Dumbledore being a Gryffindor and openly showing it was a fact that I rub into Slytherins' faces often. Rachel speaks out, her voice loud and clear. "Fizzing Whizbees." The stone griffon comes to life and jumps, as if we've startled it. It then starts to spin upwards slowly as we step onto it.

All too soon we are at Dumbledore's heavy oak door with a wrought iron handle. I reach out and pull it open. We step into the circular room, seemingly empty, and look around. I notice a stone bowl in the middle of the room, filling with a softly glowing blue liquid. I take a step toward it, entranced, and quickly start to speed-walk to it. Until Dumbledore spoke from his place in the corner, that is. "Good afternoon, girls." The sudden noise made me jump; and thus when landed I slip on a small vile rolling on the floor and promptly land on my bum. Rachel roars with laughter, and I can hear Becca stifling her own giggles. I stand up and brush myself off, glaring at Rachel, as I couldn't with Becca.

Dumbledore quickly strides over to us, saying, "Miss Johnson, I recommend you be more careful. Now, I need you here for something other than your tardiness. Miss Watts, you may un-cloak yourself." Becca appears out of thin air and passes the cloak into his outstretched hand, a sheepish look on her face. "Now, you and Miss Johnson are going to go home today," "We're getting expelled!" I yelp, horrified. "No, you are going on a, let's say, quest. To help my brother."

I feel an odd sensation at the tips of my ears. I ignore it and ask the question that was bugging me. "But you said home," "It is your home, Liz Johnson, where you really came from. Middle-Earth." That's when I decide to feel my ears. They were pointed. I let out a small yelp, and look over to my friends. Rachel's are rounded and human, while Becca and I are Christmas elves. "You are elves, I have cast an enchantment that's fools you and others." Dumbledore says this casually. "I am not going in the pensive," I decide. That's when Dumbledore does a very un-Dumbledore-ish thing-he pushes us in.

Everything goes black, then we are above the ocean, plunging down, I suck in a breath, before colliding with…land. My tailbone burns with agony, as I had landed on my bum, and I wince as a stand up and look around. We are in a forest, sunlight peeking from the tree leaves and the air pleasantly warm. I watch the others stand up and look around in wonder. "I seem to remember it being winter," Rachel murmurs, dazed from having landed on her face. I start breathing heavily. What just happened comes racing to me. "We aren't on Earth, we are in 'Middle-Earth'," I say, panicked. Becca nods. "Let's find some civilization and find a way to get back," Yes. We should. But first time to panic about the pointed ears.

And let's say I panic for a very long time.

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