In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Gandalf's face darkened as he saw hundreds of giant spiders closing in from all sides. Without hesitation, he drew Glamdring.

The creatures surrounding them were enormous. The largest among them rivaled the size of a small cottage, while the smallest still loomed over two meters tall. Their long, hairy legs spanned several meters across, and each one radiated a heavy aura of dark magic.

Clusters of beady eyes dotted their grotesque heads, arranged in two tight groups, glowing faintly as they released an eerie, dizzying enchantment meant to confuse and disorient. Just breathing near them risked falling under a spell of hallucination and dread.

Part of what had turned Mirkwood into the shadowy forest it was today could be blamed on these very monsters. They were the cursed spawn of Ungoliant, the primeval spider of darkness, and they carried her legacy of corruption.

These descendants were not only vast and vicious, but also protected by thick, nearly impenetrable hides and armed with razor-sharp fangs that dripped lethal venom. Even their breath was poisonous, tainting the very air around them. Over the years, much of Mirkwood's once-lush vegetation had withered and died from their pollution. Many woodland creatures had fled or perished.

Even the Woodland Elves, once rulers of the entire forest, had been forced to retreat and now only inhabited the areas north of the Old Forest Road. But now, even that border was under threat. The spiders had begun creeping past the road, drawing ever closer to Thranduil's realm.

Fortunately, Sylas and Gandalf were shielded from the poisonous air thanks to the Bubble-Head Charm, which formed shimmering protective spheres around their faces. One of the spiders' greatest weapons was thus rendered useless.

Still, being surrounded by such a vast number of monstrous arachnids made the situation deeply unsettling.

What worried Gandalf even more was the safety of Bilbo and the Dwarves. If they were somewhere nearby, unshielded and unaware, then they were in grave danger.

Though incapable of speech, the spiders were by no means mindless. They possessed intelligence and capable of coordinated attacks. Perhaps recognizing that Gandalf and Sylas were no easy prey, they didn't immediately rush in. Instead, they began launching thick ropes of webbing from a distance.

These weren't ordinary webs. They shot through the air like coiled cables, anchoring to trees and roots as the spiders wove a massive trap around their prey. It was clear they intended to encase the two wizards like flies in a jar, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Protego!" Sylas shouted, casting a shimmering Shield Charm that enveloped both him and Gandalf.

The first wave of webs struck the barrier with wet, snapping sounds, spreading across its surface like a giant net. Sticky strands wrapped tightly around the shield, piling up in thick layers.

Not to be outdone, the spiders kept spitting out more webbing, gradually reinforcing their net with terrifying speed and precision.

Gandalf grunted and slashed at the tangled mess with Glamdring, but even the ancient Elvish blade met resistance. The webs were absurdly tough, springy, elastic, and enchanted. His first few strikes merely bounced back, barely making a dent. It took a series of forceful, well-aimed cuts to finally sever just one strand.

Sylas flicked his wand. "Diffindo!"

The cutting charm burst forth in a streak of light, slicing through a section of the web, but not completely. The magical strands resisted part of the spell, reducing its effectiveness.

Sylas frowned, then narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

Instead of rushing to escape, Sylas stepped back and observed. He wanted to see where the webs' tolerance limit was.

Sylas raised his wand and chose a more destructive spell.

"Confringo!"

The spell shot forward in a burst of fiery energy, exploding on contact and tearing a large hole through the spiderweb. Sticky, smoldering strands fluttered away like ashes.

Seeing the blast punch clean through, Sylas's eyes lit up with satisfaction.

"These webs… are truly something," he muttered. "Tough as steel, and even resistant to spells. If woven into fabric, they could be used for armor, both blade-proof and magic-resistant."

His mind briefly wandered to the possibility of raising giant spiders like silkworms, but now was hardly the time to consider spider farming.

Refocusing, Sylas raised his wand again.

"Bombarda!"

A brilliant white light erupted from the wandtip, followed by a deafening explosion that shook the forest. A wave of raw force expanded outward, flattening everything in its path, giant spiders, trees, and brush were all blasted into ruin.

When the dust settled, Sylas and Gandalf stood untouched at the epicenter, protected by layers of enchantments. Around them stretched a wide, desolate clearing, silent and scorched.

Gandalf looked around in awe, then turned to Sylas with a hearty chuckle.

"Sylas, your magic grows more formidable by the day. I dare say, with you beside me, I feel much better about our journey to Erebor."

But Sylas only gave a modest shake of his head.

Since witnessing Gandalf's battle with Sauron in Dol Guldur, his once-proud heart had grown quiet. Power was a tool, but arrogance was a trap.

He accepted Gandalf's praise politely, but didn't take it to heart. After all, Gandalf himself was no ordinary wizard.

He was a Maia, a divine spirit in mortal form. If not for the restrictions placed by the Valar, Gandalf could have leveled all of Mirkwood with a mere flick of his staff.

Back in the First Age, the Valar had waged the War of Wrath to end Morgoth's reign. That war had shattered the world, mountains were raised, rivers rerouted, and entire regions like Beleriand sank beneath the sea.

The very Misty Mountains they had climbed not long ago had been formed by Morgoth to block the Valar's approach eastward.

To avoid repeating such devastation, the Valar placed strict limits on all Maiar who walked Middle-earth, including both Sauron and the Istari, Gandalf, Saruman, and the others. They could no longer wield their full divine strength, forced instead to work through subtlety, wisdom, and will.

Sylas even suspected that Sauron had forged the One Ring not only to dominate the wearers of the other Rings of Power, but perhaps to break those divine restraints, and reclaim a power closer to his true form.

But that was a matter for another time.

After blasting away the giant spiders, Sylas and Gandalf didn't linger. Sylas cast the guiding spell again, and the shimmering line of blue light pointed deeper into the forest.

To their relief, the trail didn't end at a spider nest. In fact, as they pushed on, they found corpses of the monstrous arachnids.

Gandalf crouched beside one and pulled an arrow from its body.

"This is an Elven arrow," he murmured, examining the fine fletching. "The Woodland Realm is near. Bilbo and the Dwarves must have run into Thranduil's folk."

But his expression remained tense, not comforted.

The Elves of the Woodland Realm were unlike those of Rivendell or Lothlórien. While noble in bearing, they were known to be guarded, prideful, and fiercely territorial. Their distrust of outsiders, especially Dwarves, ran deep, rooted in ancient grievances and wounded pride.

If Thorin and his company had fallen into their hands, it was unlikely they'd been welcomed with open arms.

Just as this uneasy thought passed between Gandalf and Sylas, a flurry of motion stirred in the trees above.

Without warning, shadows flickered overhead, graceful figures leaping effortlessly from branch to branch, their movements as swift and silent as the forest breeze. Within moments, a half-dozen Elves emerged on the high ground around them, bows drawn, arrows nocked, faces expressionless but alert.

The woodland warriors wore garments in hues of bark, moss, and riverstone, woven seamlessly into the forest itself. Their boots made no sound upon the boughs, and their emerald cloaks barely fluttered as they moved. Most striking of all were the green leaf brooches pinned to their collars, shaped like mallorn leaves, carved of polished emerald and silver.

"Who enters the Greenwood unbidden?" demanded one, his voice clear and cool like a flowing stream. "Speak!"

A tall Elf stepped forward from the group, regal in his bearing. His long golden hair was plaited and fell like a waterfall down his back. His features were sculpted with the elegance of Elvenkind, sharp yet noble, as if carved from sunlight and moonlight alike. He carried a beautifully carved longbow of dark yew, and a quiver of white-feathered arrows rested at his hip.

Sylas's eyes flicked to the silver-green brooch on the Elf's collar. That leaf design. He instantly recognized it. The royal crest of the Woodland Realm. This Elf was no ordinary guard.

Before tensions could rise, Gandalf took a respectful step forward, raising a hand in peaceful greeting and bowing slightly, his staff resting beside him.

"Well met, friends of the forest. I am Gandalf the Grey, at your service," he said, his voice calm and warm.

The golden-haired Elf narrowed his eyes. The name was familiar.

"And I," Sylas added quickly, mimicking Gandalf's courtesy, "am Sylas, a wandering wizard from distant lands. We mean you no harm."