In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Glorfindel was tall and slender, with a noble face, flowing golden hair, bright and perceptive eyes, and a voice as gentle and melodious as a lullaby. There was a calm wisdom in his gaze and a refined grace in his every movement, he looked more like a wise Elven scholar than a battle-hardened warrior.

As a High Elf born during the Years of the Two Trees, bathed in their radiant light, he carried with him a sacred glow, like an angel descended from a higher realm.

These days, Glorfindel lived quietly in Rivendell. He rarely showed himself to outsiders, spending most of his time in the library or secluded in his private quarters.

But now, after hearing news that his long-lost dagger had resurfaced, this radiant Elf made a rare appearance.

"Elrond."

"Mithrandir, it has been too long."

Glorfindel greeted Elrond and Gandalf with quiet elegance, his voice smooth as wind through silver leaves.

"Glorfindel, my friend, you haven't changed a bit," Gandalf replied warmly. It was clear the two shared a deep familiarity, and that Glorfindel was no stranger to the guardians of Middle-earth.

The entire hall fell silent at his arrival. Even the Dwarves, who were usually quick to crack jokes or grumble, stood still, awed by Glorfindel's brilliance.

Sylas, too, was amazed as he looked at the Elf.

In the chronicles of Middle-earth, Glorfindel wasn't spoken of often, but Sylas knew well his legendary tale. After his heroic fall in the First Age, he had been reborn with a spiritual strength that rivaled the Maiar, those ancient spirits that included the likes of Gandalf and Maiar. At this moment in time, Glorfindel was easily one of the most powerful Elves still walking the land.

And yet, despite that, he was gentle, wise, and humble.

If Glorfindel hadn't been bound by the same rules as the Wizards, restricted from unleashing their full powers and only permitted to guide others, then maybe the war against Sauron would have ended long ago.

After greeting Elrond and Gandalf, Glorfindel's eyes shifted toward Bilbo. More precisely, to the dagger clutched nervously in Bilbo's hands.

"May I see it?" he asked kindly.

"Uh… yes, of course!" Bilbo stammered, stepping forward and offering it to him with both hands.

Glorfindel took the dagger gently. His eyes softened, glinting with memory and sorrow.

"I once thought this had fallen into the abyss with the Balrog… I never imagined I'd see it again."

Bilbo looked up uneasily, unsure whether the Elf would demand it back. But to his surprise, Glorfindel smiled, and just as smoothly, returned the dagger to Bilbo's hands.

"I lost this blade many ages ago. The fact that it has found its way to you now, it must be fate. Let it serve you well."

"T-thank you!" Bilbo gasped, visibly relieved. He had grown attached to the dagger, a gift from Sylas. Parting with it would have been difficult.

To his joy, Glorfindel had no intention of reclaiming it.

With a few more polite words, Glorfindel soon took his leave. His appearance had been brief, but it left a lasting impression on everyone present.

As for Bilbo, he was now unmistakably the center of attention at the banquet.

The dagger in his hands had once felled a Balrog. It had belonged to none other than Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, a hero sung about in Elven ballads. Holding such a relic of power, Bilbo suddenly found himself on the receiving end of admiration and envy from every corner of the feast hall.

Sylas couldn't help smiling. He was happy for Bilbo.

But something else made him smile even more.

At last, his system buzzed to life again.

[Hogwarts Sign-in System]

Location: Rivendell. Would you like to sign in?

"Sign in," Sylas silently recited in his heart, keeping his expression unchanged.

[Sign-in successful. Congratulations! You have obtained the first edition of "The Book of Spells"!]

A thick, leather-bound tome shimmered into view before his eyes, visible only to him. It looked ancient and powerful, humming softly with arcane energy.

"The Book of Spells."

This wasn't just any spellbook. It was an early and rare edition compiled by Miranda Goshawk, the famed author of the "Standard Book of Spells" series, known throughout Hogwarts as the core Charms textbooks.

In truth, this volume was the predecessor of the Standard series.

Unlike the tidy, year-by-year curriculum seen in school, this original manuscript was a grand encyclopedia of the magical world, containing nearly every spell known at the time. From the common to the obscure, the harmless to the highly dangerous, its pages brimmed with magic.

It even recorded some powerful curses and dark incantations that had long been edited out or banned from public circulation.

When it first appeared, the Ministry of Magic had swiftly intervened. They declared the book too dangerous for common use, citing spells that could cause irreversible harm or tamper with the laws of nature. On the Ministry's demand, Miranda Goshawk removed the most controversial content, curses, destructive charms, and unstable incantations.

Only then was it approved for wide translation, into seventy-two languages, and divided by school year into the version Hogwarts used today.

But now, Sylas held the original, uncensored version.

Up until now, his spell repertoire had been limited, mostly defensive spells, useful for protecting himself or others but lacking the firepower to decisively turn a battle. With this, that limitation was gone. The possibilities were endless.

He could feel it already, this book was a game-changer.

If he weren't still sitting in the middle of a formal feast, surrounded by Elves and Dwarves, he would have found a quiet corner right away to start studying.

But the chaos around him soon snapped him back to reality.

Across the banquet hall, the Dwarves, now thoroughly drunk, had shed any pretense of restraint.

They weren't exactly enjoying the Elves' elegant harp melodies, which they deemed as dreary as funeral dirges. So, Bofur, without hesitation, jumped up on a table and began belting out a hearty Dwarven drinking song.

The others quickly joined in, clapping, stomping, and banging cutlery on plates to make their own percussion. Someone tossed a piece of bread; it hit Gloin in the beard, and a full-on food fight began.

Their raucous behavior stunned the nearby Elves, who exchanged uneasy glances but refrained from reacting openly.

At the head table, Elrond frowned slightly. He didn't say anything, his noble upbringing clearly keeping him composed, but the discomfort was visible.

As for Gandalf, who just hours ago had proudly introduced the Dwarves as noble descendants of Durin, full of dignity and refinement, he now looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Sylas sat in silence, speechless. He had no energy to care about the Dwarves' antics. All he wanted now was for this feast to end so he could start poring through The Book of Spells and strengthen himself before departing Rivendell.

After the banquet ended, Gandalf and Elrond excused themselves to discuss more serious matters privately.

The Dwarves, however, were still roaring with laughter, now using their empty goblets as drums and continuing their party long after the food had gone cold.

Meanwhile, Bilbo, feeling a bit overwhelmed, quietly slipped away. He wanted to explore Rivendell on his own.

Sylas, meanwhile, had found a quiet terrace overlooking the moonlit valley of Rivendell. To anyone watching, he looked at peace, resting, perhaps, after the long feast, but his mind was fully immersed in the ancient tome floating invisibly before him.

The Book of Spells shimmered with arcane light. Page after page revealed a treasure trove of magic: practical charms, complex enchantments, and battle-ready hexes. Sylas skimmed through the well-known spells taught at Hogwarts, Lumos, Alohomora, Wingardium Leviosa, but what truly captivated him were the spells that had been censored by the Ministry of Magic.

There they were, neatly categorized and detailed: devastating offensive spells and forbidden curses.

One in particular stood out: the Blasting Curse(Confringo).

It was a potent and dangerous incantation. When cast correctly, it could detonate a target with explosive force, comparable to several kilos of TNT. Sylas recalled that in wizarding history, Peter Pettigrew had used this very spell to fake his death and blow up a Muggle street while escaping Sirius Black. That destructive power was no exaggeration.

Alongside it were other formidable spells:

Sandstorm Hex, which blinded and battered enemies in a violent flurry.

Severing Charm, capable of cutting through armor and stone.

Arrow-Shooting Charm, which summoned magical arrows with pinpoint precision.

Each could change the tide of battle in a heartbeat.

Then came the curses. Some were mischievous or mildly dangerous, like the Stinging Hex, the Nail-Growth Curse, or the odd yet uncomfortable Bone-Swelling Charm. Others, though, treaded into darker territory. The Entrail-Expelling Curse and Extraction Charm, for example, were far more than cruel, they were instruments of torment, once categorized as Dark Arts by the Ministry.

Sylas took note of each, committing them to memory with the discipline of a seasoned scholar.

But the first spell he chose to attempt... wasn't a curse.

It was something far more elegant and powerful.

The Patronus Charm.

Among wizards, the Patronus was considered the pinnacle of protective magic, a radiant guardian forged from pure will and positive emotion. It was designed to fend off the darkest beings in the wizarding world, such as Lethifolds and Dementors.

Those didn't exist in Middle-earth... but Sylas had faced creatures just as vile. The Barrow-wights in the tombs. The Nazgûl with their suffocating aura. All of them were steeped in darkness.

He had barely survived his last encounter with the wights. If he'd had the Patronus Charm then, it would have been an entirely different battle.

...

Stones PlZzz