Harry Potter and the Ring of Doom

Chapter 24: The Voice of Saruman

The group passed through the crumbling archway tunnel and looked out upon the devastation. In the distance they could see the group on horseback returning. “Ah! There are the others,” Legolas said. “Let us go greet them.”

“Careful!” cried Hermione. “There are quite a number of slabs that could flip and drop you into a rather deep pit.” Legolas nodded and smiled at her, which made her blush.

They followed the road (or what was left of it, at least) from the gates toward the tower Orthanc; slowly in order to avoid the very peril that Hermione had warned of. Those on horseback halted under the shadow of the tower to wait for them while Gandalf rode to meet them. “Well, Treebeard and I have had some interesting discussions,” he said. “We have also made some equally interesting plans. Now, however, we must be moving again, since all have had the chance to rest and refresh.” He sighed. “I have one final task before we make our way onward; I must speak with Saruman."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"There are things that must be said between us, and choices offered. They will doubtless be of little to no use to say and offer, but nonetheless they must be done."

"I will come," Gimli said. "I wish to see him and see if he truly does look like you."

"And how would you learn that, Master Dwarf?" Gandalf asked. "Saruman could look like me in your eyes, if such was his purpose. Are you wise enough to detect all his counterfeits? Well, I suppose that we shall see. He may find himself shy appearing before such a crowd; so many eyes to look at him. I have ordered the Ents away from sight so that persuading him from hiding may succeed. I repeat to all, once again - Beware his voice!"

They took the slow trip to the foot of Orthanc, and climbed the gigantic flight of stairs leading to the door, with a balconied window just above it, set high in the side of the tower. Gandalf struck the door with his staff, the sound ringing across the plain. "Saruman! Come forth!"

For some time, there was no answer at the knock, and the door remained firmly closed, but finally they heard the window unbar. A voice said, "Who is it? What do you wish?"

"I know that voice," Theoden said, "and curse the day that I first gave it mind."

"Since you have become his footman, Grima Wormtongue, go fetch your master. Tell him that we would speak with him. And do not delay!" They waited for a time before another voice began to speak, soft, low and melodious. The assembled people, save Gandalf, felt the power behind the voice, and knew the speaker to be wise and reasonable, and all others to fall short of the mark. No one who heard it could remain unmoved, and it took an effort of mind and will to reject what it said.

“Well?” it asked in gentle question. “Why am I being given neither peace nor rest?”

The group assembled on the steps looked up. There was an old man, wearing a great cloak of constantly shifting colors. The face was not unlike Gandalf's, though the eyes were perhaps deeper set, the nose narrower. Certainly there was more assurance there and less kindliness.

“Like, and yet unlike,” muttered Gimli.

“Gandalf I know, and do not hope that he would seek help or counsel here. But you, Theoden, Lord of the Mark, I have long hoped to see here. Even the mightiest king may be beset by unwise and evil counsels, and ruin await on the road chosen. Even though the men of the Mark have had some part in the injuries done me, I still would save you, as indeed I alone can aid you now.”

Theoden opened his mouth and closed it again, and looked from Saruman to Gandalf and back again, but Gandalf stood still as a stone.

On the third step down, Draco was listening to the parlay with only half an ear. He didn't know the politics of these people, or who was on what side. He was quite clear what he felt about Saruman, and had come along mainly because he didn't want to be left out. And yet he found himself wondering, had he perhaps misunderstood what was going on here? Certainly Saruman was entitled to protect his own interests and make his own alliances with Men or with Orcs … the thought of Orcs, though, blew through his mind with a blaze of hatred, and the warm cocoon that Saruman's voice had been weaving around him was shredded.

“Your words are turned around, nothing but lies! You say help when you mean ruin, save when you mean kill! You fancy yourself a leader of men, but all you lead are Orcs and outlaws!”

Theoden started at Draco's outburst, and there was a little gasp from Hermione standing next to him, as if she had just jolted awake from a peaceful dream.

Saruman now turned his attention to Draco, who gulped as he felt the entire power of that regard descend on him. The young wizard felt a strong desire to abase himself before that gaze and beg forgiveness for his impertinence. His fingers clenched tightly around his mithril wand and he forced himself to stand his ground instead of running to find somewhere to hide. “Peace!” said Saruman, though an emotion quite unlike peace flickered through his eyes. “I do not speak to you, young man. I know not who you are nor where you come from, and I'm sure it was not by your own design that you have become involved in the affairs of these lands. I pray you, allow me to speak with my neighbor, the King of Rohan, without interruption.”

Having dealt with the upstart, as he saw it, Saruman turned his attention back to Theoden, speaking once more in reasonable tones. “What say you, Theoden King? Shall we have peace, and take counsel together in these evil days? Shall I give you the aid of long years of knowledge and we both repair our injuries?”

Once the quelling attention of the older wizard had turned away from him, the rage boiled up anew in Draco's heart. “What aid can a trapped wolf give to the hunter? All he desires is escape, and perhaps revenge once he is safe again. He sends his servants out to murder and rape, and his words are poison covered with honey.”

“If we speak of poisoned words, what shall we say of yours, young serpent?” retorted Saruman, and his anger was now plain to see. “This is war, and regrettable things happen during such dark times. When you are older, perhaps you will understand the necessity to put personal enmities aside for the greater good of all. But if you wish to gain such understanding, it were best that you hold your tongue and not interfere in the counsels of your betters!”

Draco flinched before Saruman's anger, then drew his wand, drawing a protective rune in the air with a flash of silver. “Regrettable? My friend and I had no interest in your affairs and were no threat to you, yet we were kidnapped by Orcs sent at your command, assaulted, dragged halfway across Rohan, and she was almost raped by one of the foul things, and you call it regrettable? And I suppose the destruction you brought against the Ents and the living, feeling creatures of Fangorn is merely unfortunate? I understand you all too well, you and others like you; I was brought up in a world just like the one you would create, and I reject it! No more! Not here, not now, not ever!”

And now Theoden spoke, having shaken off the glamour cast by Saruman's words. “Yes, we will have peace, when you and all your works, and those of your dark master, have perished! You are a liar and a corrupter of men's hearts! There was no cause for your Orcs and bandits to pillage the Westfold and ravage the women and children there. Nothing gives you the right to try to take and hold what is mine for your own profit. When you hang from a gibbet, then we will have peace! Your armies are shattered, your Orcs smashed against the Hornburg, your holding reduced to this tower and your company to the traitor serving as your doorwarden!”

Saruman's anger was plain now for everyone to see, and he lifted up his staff as if to strike the King. “You speak of gibbets? Too long have the brigands the House of Eorl escaped the gibbet themselves! The noose comes, slow in the drawing, but tight and hard at the end. Hang if you will!” Slowly he mastered himself again. “I know not why I have bothered to speak with you. I need you not, but still I offered you aid beyond your merit and your wit. And you spurn me and give me abuse from children. So be it! Go back to your huts, and do not look to me for aid when the darkness comes upon you all!”

“But you, Gandalf, for you I am grieved. How can you bear the shame of such uncouth company? You do not belong with such as these. I regret that in the past I lost patience with you when you misunderstood my intentions. I bear you no ill will, even now when you come to me again with ignorant and violent companions. How could I? Are we not both members of an ancient and distinguished order? Do we not understand one another? What could we not do together to heal the disorders of the world? Let these lesser folk wait on our decisions! Will you not consult with me? Will you not come up?”

For a moment, it almost seemed to those assembled that it was inevitable that these two should make alliance, and that Gandalf would ascend into the tower and shut them out, and they would be left outside to await allotted work or punishment. Then Gandalf laughed softly, and the fantasy vanished like a puff of smoke.

“Understand one another? I am beyond your comprehension, Saruman, though I understand you all too well. The guest who escaped your hospitality once before will think twice before coming in your door again. I do not think I will come up. But will you not come down? Isengard is not as strong as you hoped it to be, and other things may not fare as well as you trust. Think well! Will you not come down?”

“Come down? Does an unarmed man leave his home to speak with robbers? I know the wood-demons wait at your command, your young spitfire there with his children's magics would gleefully see me slain, and I do not trust you.”

“You need not fear for your safety, as you would know if you really understood me. I have the power to protect you. I am giving you a last chance to leave Orthanc and go free, if you choose. Surrender the Key of Orthanc and your staff to me, and go where you will.”

“Oh, yes,” Saruman laughed bitterly, and his face twisted with rage. “And what will freedom gain me when you have the Keys of Barad-dur besides, and the crowns of kings and the rods of the Five Wizards? I see your plan clearly now. I have other things to do than treat with you and these cutthroats and children who follow you. Good day!” He turned and left the balcony.

“Come back, Saruman!” called Gandalf in a commanding voice, and all unwillingly Saruman turned and came back to the iron rail. “I did not give you leave to go. You are a fool. You might have turned away from your folly and still have been of service. If you choose to stay, stay then! But you will not find it easy to come out again. Saruman, I am no longer Gandalf the Grey, whom you betrayed. I am Gandalf the White. You have no color now, and I cast you from the Order and from the Council.” He raised his hand and spoke slowly a cold, clear voice. “Your staff is broken!” There was a crack, and Saruman's black staff split in his hand, and the head of it fell at Gandalf's feet. “Go!” With a cry Saruman fell back and crawled into the darkness of Orthanc.

At that moment, Draco's Seeker's eye was caught by movement from above, as something heavy, dark and round came hurtling from a high window, straight at Gandalf's head. With only a split second to act, he raised the mithril wand in his hand and made a jerking motion with it. “Accio!” He cried, and the object leaped towards him, crashing into his midsection and bowling him down several steps. “Ooof!”

“The murderous rogue!” cried Eomer.

“No, that was not thrown by Saruman, or even at his bidding. That was a parting shot from Wormtongue, unless I miss my guess, and I believe I owe my intact skull entirely to Master Malfoy's quick reflexes. Let us step away before we are pelted with other household goods,” said Gandalf. “Draco, let's see what you have there.”

By this time, Draco had managed to recapture his breath and was sitting on the edge of a broad step, looking intently at the object that had nearly broken his ribs. It was a globe of crystal, dark like smoky quartz, but glowing with a heart of fire. There were shapes moving in the fire and darkness, but indistinct. Gandalf caught his breath as he saw the blonde head bent over the dark stone. “Here, my lad, I'll take that!” He hastily reached down and took it from Draco, avoiding looking into it himself and wrapping it in a fold of his cloak. “I'll take care of this, and now I think we should be moving beyond stone's throw of this tower.”

Hermione helped Draco to his feet. “Are you all right? That was some hit you took.”

“I've taken shots from Bludgers that weren't that hard. Where's my wand … oh, thanks, Legolas.” He brandished the offending implement at Hermione. “Never use one of these for an Accio unless you really want to be bowled arse over teakettle. Ow.” With a little unnecessary but not entirely unwelcome assistance from Hermione, he made his way down the long flight of steps, muttering under his breath the entire way. “Here my lad I'll take that. Never a Good catch, Draco. Or even a Thanks for keeping me from being brained. No, it's just I'll take this and now let's move on. My ribs are going to be sore for a week.”

They returned to the gatehouse and Draco and Hermione did a quick repack of their belongings while Gandalf and the others had a last conversation with Treebeard. The sun was beginning to sink behind the western mountains when the two Hogwarts students said a fond goodbye to the Ent, awkwardly mounted horses, and rode off at the tail of the column of Rohirrim.

Even riding at an easy pace, Draco was soon in difficulty. He had never sat a horse before, and found it far different from riding a broom. Brooms were much narrower, for one thing, and needed far less guidance with the legs. Brooms also came with cushioning charms to enable one to sit the narrow shaft without mashing important parts of the anatomy. Saddles were far less comfortable. Neither did brooms have wills of their own; Draco's horse seemed to know that his rider was inexperienced and kept trying to stop to graze or to shake him off entirely. By the time the party left the hills and the moon rose to illuminate the plains before them, Draco was sore in places he hadn't even known he had places, and the fact that Hermione seemed to have had experience with horses and wasn't doing nearly as badly wasn't helping. At last they halted in a sheltered dale, and Draco practically fell off his horse's back onto a pile of bracken and heather. He was tired enough that the sweet-smelling plants seemed as good as the finest bed, and did not appreciate being made to get up and help get the horses settled for the night. He could swear the one he'd been riding was laughing at him as he hobbled about.

Guards were set, a hasty meal prepared, and finally Draco was able to wrap himself in cloak and blanket and sleep. Yet sleep eluded him. Hermione was snoring softly beside him, but his various aches and pains kept him restless, until he finally dropped off into a half-doze, and when he heard the globe calling to him, he was not sure if he was waking or dreaming. No one else seemed to be hearing anything, and hunks of glass usually didn't have voices of their own, so he decided he was probably dreaming; and in that state, it seemed logical to go and see what it wanted. He rose from his bed and walked slowly to where Gandalf lay. The older wizard lay sleeping wrapped in a blanket, and by the crook of his arm lay the globe, shining in the moonlight where it had slipped free from the confines of Gandalf's cloak. Quietly, Draco gathered it up, shivering at its icy touch before he wrapped it in his own cloak. As silently as he had come, he slipped away into the shadows.

At the edge of the dale he found a spot not far from his bed, and sat down where he had enough moonlight to see by. He unwrapped his cloak from around the ball and gazed at it, into it, as he would have gazed into a Divining crystal. At first the globe was dark, as black and opaque as jet, with the moonlight gleaming on its surface. Then there was a faint glow and movement in the heart of it, and soon the inside of it was filled with spinning fire. He tried to look away but was unable to; he tried to drop it but his hands remained clasped to it; he tried to stand up but remained bent closely over it.

Hermione rolled over in her bed of ferns, chilly and seeking warmth from Draco's body. When her groping arm found nothing, she woke fully and sat up, looking around her blearily. After a moment, she saw the moonlight gleaming on his silver white hair like a beacon in the darkness, a little distance away. He was bending intently over something held in his lap. “Draco?” she whispered. He did not move or answer. She untangled herself from the blankets and crept over to him. He was staring fixedly into the black depths of the crystal sphere, his lips moving soundlessly, and gave no sign that he was aware of her presence. When she put out her hand and touched his shoulder, however, he gave a great start, and with a strangled cry fell back and lay still, barely breathing and with eyes staring open at the starlit sky. The stone rolled to a stop at her feet. “Draco? Draco!” she screamed. Her cries brought the guards leaping down from the banks, and all the camp was soon astir.

Gandalf knelt at Draco's side. “What devilry has befallen the boy? Hermione, did you find him this way?”

“No, he was looking - looking at this,” she said, uncovering the stone where she had covered it with her own cloak. “When I touched him, he screamed and dropped it and fell down.”

Gandalf looked at her sharply. “Did you touch the stone, Miss Granger?”

“No, I just put my cloak over it. Rule Number One of dealing with strange magical items is Don't Touch Them Unless You Have To.”

“Good rule. A pity Master Malfoy didn't follow it. Keep it covered and guard it while we see what he has done to himself.” He listened to Draco's breathing for a moment, then laid his hands on the boy's brow. Draco shuddered, and his eyes closed for a moment; then he gave a shout and sat up, staring at everyone gathered around him.

“It is not for you, Saruman!” he cried out, shrinking away from Gandalf. “I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!” Then he tried to leap up and flee, but Gandalf and Aragorn held him down gently and firmly.

“Draco Malfoy!” called Gandalf, “come back! From wherever you wander, come back!”

Draco relaxed suddenly and fell back, clutching the wizard's hand. “Gandalf! Was it only a dream, then? It seemed so real!”

“Dream or real, who can say? Tell us first what happened.”

“I, I couldn't sleep at first, but then I dreamed. I heard a voice, calling me, from the stone. It wanted me to go and pick it up, so I did. It seemed logical at the time. And I came to look at it, and I went into it. I saw things that I didn't understand, that frightened me, and I tried to go away, but I couldn't. And then he came, and looked at me and questioned me, and then, that's all I remember.”

“That's not enough!” Gandalf said sternly. “What did you see? What did you say?” He reached out again and touched Draco on the forehead. “Speak!” he commanded.

Draco's eyes closed again and he spoke in a low hesitant voice that became clearer and surer as he went along. “I saw a dark sky, and a tall castle with a great dark tower. I thought at first I was seeing home, but there was no lake, and the stars were strange. There were things flying about in front of the stars, like bats, wheeling around the tower. One of them began to fly toward me, and I realized it was large, very large, like a dragon, or perhaps a wyvern. All black it was, and its rider - no! I can't say. I tried to get away, but it disappeared, as if it flew over my head. Then he came, all black with an Eye of fire. He just looked at me and I heard his thoughts in my head, with no words. `So you have come back?' he said. `Why have you neglected to report for so long?'

“I didn't answer. He said, `Who are you?' I still didn't answer, but it hurt - pain, so much pain! - and he pressed me, and I said `Draco Malfoy' and he said `What are you?' and I said `A wizard.' And he laughed at me, and said, `We shall meet again soon, little wizard. Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!' And he gloated, and I felt I was being torn to pieces. And I don't remember anything else.”

“Look at me!” said Gandalf. Draco opened his eyes and the older wizard held his gaze searchingly for long moments.

“It was real, then?” asked Draco, when Gandalf released him. “I thought … I hoped it might have been a nightmare.” His eyes fell on Hermione, guarding the cloak-wrapped stone. “No, I see it was real. What have I done, Gandalf?”

“You have not done as badly as you fear, Master Malfoy, nor are you directly responsible for your actions. You were trapped by the stone and by the mark that other burden left upon you, rendering you open to its call. But you were saved, and remain master of your own mind and will, only because of good fortune, because your questioner was too eager. He didn't want information immediately, or else you would have told him all you know. No, he wanted you, as quickly as possible, so that he could deal with you in the Dark Tower, slowly. And if you emerged from there whole, you would still never be your own man again. You do well to shudder! If you would be a wizard, you must think of such things. But things have not turned out nearly as evilly as they might.”

Gandalf turned to Hermione. “Come, I will take that stone again, and guard it as I ought to have before; this pass is as much my fault as anyone else's. Draco, let Hermione help you back to your bed, and see if you can rest for a bit, for it is my guess that we will be moving out again before too much time has passed.” He gathered up the stone and drew off to talk quietly with Aragorn and some of the others.

Hermione helped Draco rise and supported him as they made their way to the nest of bracken they had been sleeping in. “How do you feel, Draco?”

“Like I've been used for Bludger practice. My head is pounding, and I don't think there's any part of my body that doesn't ache. And if I close my eyes I can see that Eye … I'll probably never sleep again.” He shifted uncomfortably on the rough bed. “Hermione … is there some trick to riding horses? I realize the Rohirrim have probably been doing it since they could walk, but you haven't, and you're doing much better than I am. Why aren't you as dead as I am?”

“I took lessons when I was young, and sometimes on summer hols we went somewhere I could ride. I enjoyed it, though I wasn't as horse-mad as some girls get. Your body remembers the tricks, even if you don't ride for a while. And my hips are wider than yours; that helps a lot, too. You'll get the hang of it after a while, and you'll get less tense about it, and then you won't be as sore.”

“That horse hates me. He's vicious. Tried to bite me.”

“He's a sweetie and probably the gentlest horse they have. Good for a beginner. He was probably looking for a treat.”

“You're no help.” He saw the white flash of a grin in the moonlight.

At that moment, a shadow fell over them, as if the bright moonlight was suddenly cut off. A blind fear and deadly cold fell over the hollow, and more than one of the men flinched and ducked as if to protect themselves from a blow from above. Hermione and Draco looked up, and saw a vast winged shape pass across the moon, flying northward.

“The Nazgul have crossed the river!” cried Gandalf. “We have no time left, we must fly before the storm comes upon us all. Theoden, Aragorn, make all haste to Helm's Deep and to Edoras to muster your forces. Take Miss Granger with you; she may remain safe with the women at Edoras. I will ride ahead with Master Malfoy; speed will be needed above all to keep him out of the Dark Lord's grasp.”

Draco was struggling up from his bed while Hermione stuffed their blankets back into their backpacks. “Gandalf, I can't leave Hermione! Without her magic, she needs me to protect her.”

“She will have the entire strength of Rohan to protect her, and is more likely to be in danger around you than elsewhere. The Enemy is looking for you now, Draco, or will be shortly, and it is you that we must keep from his clutches. Come now, you ride with me. Shadowfax is perhaps the only horse in all the world who can carry us both.”

Draco snatched up his pack and turned to Aragorn. “Strider - please, make sure she's okay. If anything happens to her, I'll kill you before Harry kills me … keep her safe.”

Hermione was more than a little miffed. “Draco, I'll be all right. I'm not carrying this little pig-sticker for nothing, you know.”

“That is a noble blade, and I didn't carry it across the plains of Rohan to return it to you just so you could call it a pig-sticker!” said Aragorn. He clasped Draco's arm in reassurance. “Be assured, Draco, she will be safe with Eowyn at Edoras. Fly now. We shall meet again at Minas Tirith, though we travel different roads.”

Draco gave Hermione one last, almost desperate hug, and then allowed himself to be dragged off to where Gandalf waited next to a magnificent white stallion. The horse bore no saddle or tack of any kind, and Gandalf vaulted almost effortlessly onto his back. “How am I supposed to ride? There's no saddle or anything!” said Draco.

“It will be more comfortable for you riding behind Elf-style than with a saddle,” said Gandalf with some humor. “Shadowfax tolerates no harness, and needs none. If he will have you on his back, he will make sure that you do not fall.” Draco had to be helped to climb up behind him, and he clutched his arms convulsively around Gandalf as the mighty horse leapt forward into the night.

In the dark, Draco could not judge how fast they rode as they passed from the hills, forded rivers, and flew across the plains. The wind blew cool in Draco's face and the horror of his experience with the stone and the shadow of the Nazgul finally began to leave him. The galloping stride of Shadowfax seemed gentler to him than the walk of the horse he had been riding earlier, and he began to relax and trust the mighty beast not to let him fall. Draco found he could even talk to Gandalf as they rode. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To Edoras first. They must be notified to start the muster, and every hour saved will be precious. Even Shadowfax must rest, and he will do so there, and so may you, while I make preparation. A few hours only we can spare, and then we will be off again to Minas Tirith, and hope we can reach it before the seas of war surround it and cut us off.”

As the long night passed, Gandalf spoke of many great deeds, and places that Draco had never seen and probably would never see, and the mighty horse ran on and on through the dark. With the dawn, Draco saw the sun glinting off the golden roof of the House of Eorl at Edoras, and the green banners with the running horse unfurled in the morning breeze. Gandalf dismounted lightly from Shadowfax while Draco slid rather gracelessly to the ground. Gandalf was disturbed to see Shadowfax slightly lathered in the light of day. “Any other horse would have foundered under us in the first hour, but even Shadowfax has his limits. If it were only me riding him, we could be at Minas Tirith in two days. I fear your weight, Master Malfoy, may cost us another full day. Things are moving fast. I only hope we have enough time.”

Draco was getting an idea. “Gandalf, when we were planning this trip, our Headmaster told you of the normal way we get around, didn't he?”

“He mentioned that you used broomsticks to fly. It seemed rather an unusual way of getting about, and we deemed it too likely to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“Well, I've already got the wrong kind of attention, and I don't think I'm going to be in any more danger if I fly than if I ride. That way Shadowfax won't have to bear my extra weight, and I'll also have more maneuverability if we need to defend ourselves. I can defend myself from a broomstick; I can't from horseback.”

“Can your broomsticks keep up with Shadowfax?”

“If I had my Nimbus with me, I could fly in circles around him while he ran. As it is, I'll have to find a suitable broom here and rig it with spells to do what a regular riding broom does, and it won't be as fast, as comfortable, or as maneuverable, but it will do for the short term.”

“How long will it take to do this?”

“The hardest part will be finding a suitable broom and preparing it. Casting the spells themselves, only a few minutes. Then I'll have to renew them periodically. In a riding broom, they're permanently locked to the broom itself, but I don't have the skills to do that yet, so I'll have to keep re-casting them.”

“This will not tire you overmuch?”

“Yes, it will tire me. But I have potions for that, and spells for when the potions run out, and I can keep going for days before it all catches up with me. Once that happens, I'll be pretty useless for a while. But I'm pretty sure I can make it to Minas Tirith in once piece and still be useful, especially if it's only two days instead of three.”

“Then see if you can find this suitable broom; I shall introduce you to the Lady Eowyn and ask her to instruct her people to aid you in acquiring anything you might need.”

And so it was that four hours later, running on pure Pepper-Up potion and nerve, Draco Malfoy, wearing an old pair of padded Quidditch pants that had been left in a closet in the family tent the previous summer, straddled an ungainly, out-of-balance broom with horse stirrups crudely mounted as a foot support, and kicked off from the ground. He was gratified to see even Gandalf gasp in surprise. For all he'd told the older wizard what to expect, seeing was believing. It was nowhere near as fast as a Nimbus, or even one of the old school brooms, but it was a broom, and it would fly, and Draco grinned happily as he circled the roof of the Golden Hall. “It's not pretty, and the Quidditch coach at school would probably have it burned, but it will do the job,” he said, grinning as he floated lazily down next to Gandalf. “Minas Tirith, here we come!”