Chapter 344: The Ring Revealed
When he heard Galadriel name it a plague, Kael almost lost his grip on the black vial and flung it away. Every instinct screamed at him to step back.
This was a plague, after all.
He quickly layered several containment charms around the vial, sealing it off from the air, then flicked a series of Cleaning Charms at Peeves and the unconscious students.
They had all touched the bottle, even if only briefly. It might have been nothing, but he would not gamble on a plague.
Gandalf stared at the little vial, unease tightening his face. "I remember this pestilence," he said quietly. "Long ago, it rode on a black wind out of the East. The Black Death Plague swept across all of Middle-earth; none who were infected survived, and entire populations were cut in half."
"King Telemnar of Gondor and all his children perished of it. The White Tree of Gondor withered and died. Osgiliath became an empty city. In Rhovanion, more than half the people and their beasts died, and the realm declined. In Cardolan, nearly all the folk succumbed, and the kingdom ceased to be."
"I had thought the Black Death long vanished," Gandalf went on, voice thick with anger and revulsion. "Yet after a thousand years it still exists, and now it has been brought to Hogwarts."
He turned to Kael. "This is Sauron and Saruman's plot. They mean to unleash the Black Death within Hogwarts itself, infecting everyone in the castle.
"This plague drips with curses. Any contact with it spreads the sickness. Even you or I, if infected, might survive, but we would be left gravely weakened."
Cold dread rippled through Kael, followed swiftly by a surge of fury.
Saruman and Sauron truly stopped at nothing. To hurl a plague at a school full of children was beyond vile.
If they had succeeded in poisoning the kitchen's food and drink, everyone from Kael and the other professors down to the youngest first‑year would have been exposed.
The wizards among them, with potions and healing magic, might keep death at bay, but the castle would still drown in fear and chaos.
In that chaos, Saruman, hidden somewhere inside the school, would have his chance to strike.
Worse still, if the Black Death ever broke out of the castle, it would not only be Kael's own people in Hogsmeade, Bree, and Isengard who suffered.
The students came from all corners of Middle-earth and from many peoples. They could carry the plague back with them to every land and race.
Another great pestilence would stalk the world.
Facing such a deadly weapon, Kael dared not take the slightest risk. After layering multiple isolation and protection charms around the vial, he placed it in a completely sealed mithril box, then nested that inside several more containers, one after another, until there was no chance, however small, of the contents leaking.
There was no easy way to destroy such a thing safely. For now, all he could do was lock it away, smothered under protections.
Only then did Kael finally exhale. He turned his attention back to the scene before him.
For the first time, Peeves, still capering in mid‑air, actually looked pleasing to his eyes.
"Peeves," Kael said, "you have done very well. You have spared the school from a great disaster. Think about what you would like as a reward. When this is over, as long as it is not too outrageous, I will grant it."
Peeves's eyes lit up, his wide mouth splitting in a delighted grin.
Kael left him to his joy and turned instead to the three students on the floor.
Two were simply stunned, and the other was knocked out by Peeves's blow. A single Rennervate for each, and they woke in turn.
The two who had been Stunned looked dazed at first, but memory returned quickly. Their faces darkened with anger and incomprehension.
"Eamon, why did you attack us— Professor? What are you all doing here?" one blurted.
They had barely pushed themselves upright when they noticed the ring of professors, and surprise chased their anger away.
But Kael and the others were no longer watching them. Their eyes had fixed on Eamon, the Dragon House second‑year, or rather on the ring glittering on his hand.
It was a band of gold set with a diamond. At a glance, it seemed no more than a finely made ring.
Yet Kael, Gandalf, and Galadriel all sensed the evil power coiled within it.
"Mr Eamon," Kael said, his voice level but very firm, "can you tell us where you got that ring?"
Eamon flinched, curling in on himself. By reflex, he tried to hide his hand behind his back.
The three elders frowned in unison.
Gandalf spoke in a gentle tone. "Mr Eamon, that ring is deeply evil. The longer you wear it, the more harm it will do you. Take it off and let us deal with it, if you please."
The words only made Eamon even more tense. He clutched his hand tight and edged backward.
Gandalf called quietly on the power of the Ring of Fire, Narya, letting its warmth and courage flow into his voice as he approached, seeking to soothe and guide the boy into surrendering the ring.
Eamon hunched over, head bowed, murmuring to himself under his breath.
When Gandalf reached him and laid a hand on his shoulder, ready to continue gently, Eamon snapped his head up.
His face had twisted into something feral and grotesque, his eyes wild with possessiveness.
"My precious," he snarled. "It is my precious. No one can take it from me!"
He lunged at Gandalf.
Before he could reach him, Kael flicked his wand. "Petrificus Totalus."
Eamon went rigid and toppled, frozen in place.
Kael walked over, face like stone. Pulling on a pair of dragonhide gloves, he ignored the boy's furious, desperate stare and slid the ring from his finger.
The moment the ring left him, the madness in Eamon's eyes ebbed. Clarity seeped back in.
Horror, disbelief, and gnawing regret replaced it, along with creeping dread. Tears gathered and spilled over.
Kael cancelled the Body‑Bind. Eamon, able to move again, still showed a lingering hunger and possessiveness as he looked at the ring, but there was far more terror and revulsion now. He shrank away from it as if it were a poisonous snake.
"Headmaster, I did not mean to," he sobbed. "I do not know why I did those things. Please, do not expel me."
Kael looked down at the ring in his gloved hand. Even through dragonhide, he felt a powerful lure coiling around his mind, whispering at him to put it on.
He crushed the impulse, strode straight to a nearby table, dropped the ring upon it, and stepped back quickly.
Only then did he let his breath go.
Gandalf and Galadriel moved in close, staring down at the small, glittering band.
"This is Thrór's Ring," Gandalf said, astonished. "The last of the Seven Rings of the Dwarves."
Thrór's Ring had been the heirloom of the House of Durin, passed down to Thráin II, father of Thorin Oakenshield.
In the year 2845 of the Third Age, Thráin had gone to seek news of Smaug at the Lonely Mountain. On the road, he was taken by Sauron's servants and imprisoned in Dol Guldur, where he was tortured. There, Sauron reclaimed Thrór's Ring.
And now Sauron had sent this Dwarf‑ring to Hogwarts.
The Seven Rings given to the Dwarves had all been tainted with Sauron's malice. Worn as he intended, they would have turned their bearers, like the Nine given to Men, into Ringwraiths under his command.
What Sauron had not foreseen was that the Dwarves, shaped from stubborn stone by Aulë, possessed a natural toughness of spirit and great resistance. They could withstand his attempts at domination through the Dwarf‑rings.
So when Dwarves wore them, the Rings merely sharpened their native greed for gold and treasure, without twisting their bodies and souls.
But what had little power to enslave a Dwarf was a peril to Men second only to the One Ring itself.
If a Man wore a Dwarf‑ring for long, the corruption would seep deeper and deeper until he, too, was hollowed out and drawn into shadow, a Ringwraith bound to Sauron's will.