The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 14 (Patreon)

For the first time in many years, Sirius Black found true peace. It came not from isolation or escape, but from the unlikely embrace of the hobbits, the most laid-back and easygoing people he had ever encountered. They lived simple lives filled with joy, laughter, and the kind of contentment Sirius had almost forgotten existed. The hobbits welcomed him—well, "Jimmy," as they knew him—with open arms and not a single question about his past.

Sirius, in his new hobbit form, worked as a farmhand, something that allowed him to immerse himself fully in the rhythm of hobbit life. He found work among those with large grain productions, tending the fields, hauling sacks, and caring for the crops. At first, the labor was not the hard part. Sirius was no stranger to physical work—his days on the run had hardened him, and the fields of Middle-earth had demanded their toll. No, what made it difficult was maintaining the small, hobbit-sized form he had created. Reducing his stature to match the hobbits’ was a strain, one that required concentration he had not needed to muster before. He could manage it, but keeping his size in check while working in the fields tested his endurance in a way he had never expected.

Despite the strain, Sirius found something truly beautiful in the way the hobbits lived. They weren’t like the humans, elves, or even the wizards he had encountered in his past life. For the hobbits, life was something to be savored—slowly and with deep gratitude. They loved the quiet routine, and the idea of excitement or adventure was outright laughable to them. They shunned it with a passion. To them, life should be the same today as it was yesterday and would be tomorrow. A comforting, predictable cycle.

Sirius quickly adapted to the habits of the Shire. The hobbits’ lifestyle was something that initially baffled him but then started to feel like a long-forgotten dream. They ate five or six meals a day—breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and sometimes supper. It was not gluttony to them, just the way of things. Food was plentiful, and everyone made sure to keep their larders and pantries well-stocked. The hobbits were hard workers, toiling in their fields and gardens with quiet diligence, but always with a smile on their faces. To them, life was to be enjoyed, and the hard work was a part of that joy.

What fascinated Sirius the most was their sense of merriment. They took pleasure in the simple things—good food, good company, and good songs. Some hobbits smoked long pipes filled with pipeweed, puffing away with relaxed contentment as they watched the sunset over the rolling hills. And when the day was done, they made merry. It was nothing like the raucous celebrations of men or the formal feasts of elves. It was simple, joyful, and entirely devoid of the weight of the world beyond their borders. Sirius marveled at how little they cared for the future. And the past? Well, that was even less important. To the hobbits, the only thing that mattered was the here and now.

As the days stretched on, Sirius found himself slipping into their routine. It was hard not to. There was something infectious about the hobbits’ carefree way of life, and slowly but surely, Sirius let his guard down. In this small corner of Middle-earth, no one was chasing him, no one was hunting him, and no one knew his name. He was simply Jimmy, the helpful hobbit who worked the fields and shared stories at the tavern after a long day.

Though Sirius had always been restless, constantly driven by the need to stay ahead of danger, here in the Shire, he found something he hadn’t experienced in years: peace. True, deep, unshakable peace. He had no need to look over his shoulder, no fear of betrayal or capture. The hobbits accepted him for who they thought he was, and that was enough.

They were curious about the new face in town, of course. Hobbits were a close-knit folk, and they had a way of knowing everyone in their community. But Sirius’s natural charm and his newfound skill in changing his appearance allowed him to settle in without too many raised eyebrows. He shared stories of his “travels,” always careful to keep the details vague, weaving tales that fascinated the hobbits but never gave away too much. They laughed at his adventures, not because they didn’t believe them, but because to them, such stories were outlandish. Who would willingly leave the Shire for a life of danger and excitement? Madness.

Yet Sirius found that the hobbits didn’t push him for more than he was willing to give. They were, in a word, easy. Easy to talk to, easy to live with, and easy to leave behind when the time came. But for now, he stayed, soaking in the simple pleasures of life in the Shire.

In this peaceful land, Sirius learned to appreciate the present. He had been running for so long that he had forgotten what it meant to stop, breathe, and simply live. The days passed in a blur of small joys—helping in the fields, eating meals around the table, sharing laughter with newfound friends.

And as time went on, he began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was what he had been searching for all along. Not a life of power, not revenge, not even escape from his enemies. But this—this quiet, unassuming life among the hobbits. A place where no one cared about his past, where the future was as predictable as the sun rising over the hills each morning. Where, for the first time in a long time, he could simply be.

But deep down, Sirius knew the peace wouldn’t last forever. The world outside the Shire was still turning, and eventually, it would catch up with him. For now, though, he allowed himself to enjoy the peace, to let go of the constant tension in his chest, and to live as the hobbits did—one day at a time.

Sirius Black had always known that the Shire’s idyllic peace wasn’t accidental. The hobbits lived carefree lives, untouched by the dangers that lurked in the wider world. They were sheltered, but not through their own efforts. Sirius had sensed it, and his instincts told him that someone, or perhaps a group of people, were actively protecting the Shire from the threats that existed beyond its borders.

Weeks ago, he had spotted a camp of bandits not far from the Shire's outskirts while on one of his longer walks through the countryside. They were a rough-looking group, and Sirius immediately knew they had ill intentions. The way they had been positioned suggested that they were waiting for the right moment to strike—possibly to loot and plunder the unsuspecting hobbits. Sirius had anticipated an attack and had begun to prepare himself for a confrontation. He planned defensive wards around the edges of the Shire, magical precautions that would give him a head start in case things went wrong.

But the attack never came.

Days passed, and there was no sign of the bandits moving toward the Shire. Sirius felt a growing unease. They were out there, and yet nothing had happened. When another week passed in complete silence, Sirius couldn’t take it any longer. His curiosity, and his natural protective instincts, got the better of him. He decided to check on the camp himself.

Taking on his Animagus form—a great black dog—Sirius made his way through the dense woods surrounding the Shire, tracing the route he had discovered weeks ago. When he finally reached the spot where the camp had been, he was shocked by what he found.

The camp was gone.

Not just deserted, but completely obliterated. The bandits had left no trace of themselves. Tents had been torn down, supplies scattered, and the remains of fires were cold and lifeless. But there was no sign of a struggle. No bodies. No tracks leading away from the scene. It was as though the camp had been wiped off the map by some unseen force. The bandits had simply vanished.

Sirius, now back in human form, crouched near the remnants of one of the fire pits, running his fingers through the cold ash. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. Magic? Maybe, but he didn’t sense any lingering spellwork. A battle? Perhaps, but where were the bodies? Whoever or whatever had dealt with the bandits had done so with such efficiency and stealth that they left no evidence behind.

It was disconcerting. Sirius prided himself on being able to read situations, to predict danger before it happened. But this was something else entirely. Someone—or something—was protecting the Shire, and they were doing it far more effectively than he could have imagined.

When Sirius returned to the Shire later that day, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. The hobbits, oblivious to the danger they had narrowly escaped, went about their lives as if nothing had happened. But Sirius couldn’t let it go. He needed answers.

Later that evening, while enjoying a quiet meal at a local tavern, Sirius decided to ask the hobbits directly. He hadn’t been in the Shire long enough to know all of their stories, but he figured if anyone knew how the Shire stayed so peaceful, it would be the locals.

He struck up a conversation with one of the older hobbits who lived near the edge of the village, someone who had seen more of the world than most.

"You know," Sirius began carefully, "it’s curious how safe this place is. The Shire, I mean. You don’t see much trouble around here, do you?"

The old hobbit chuckled, shaking his head. “Trouble? Here? No, no. That’s not how things work in the Shire. We don’t get into trouble, and trouble doesn’t come to us.”

Sirius pressed, “But you must know that the world outside isn’t always so kind. There are bandits, wild creatures, all sorts of things that could cause harm. Don’t you ever wonder why none of that reaches here?”

The hobbit glanced around the room before leaning in, lowering his voice slightly. “Ah, you see, that’s where you’re mistaken, lad. Trouble does come, sometimes. It just doesn’t last long enough to cause a fuss.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“There are... well, I suppose you could call them protectors. We hobbits, we don’t fight. Never had a reason to. But there are folk who keep an eye on us. Rangers, for one. They’re always wandering about, never seen but always close when needed. And then there’s Gandalf.”

Sirius’s ears perked up at the name. “Gandalf?”

“Aye,” the old hobbit said, nodding knowingly. “Gandalf the Grey. He’s a wizard, and a good one at that. He comes by every now and then—brings fireworks, helps with festivals, always a bit of fun when he’s around. But he’s not just here for the parties. Gandalf keeps an eye on things. If there’s ever trouble near the Shire, more often than not, it’s him or the rangers who see to it before we ever hear a word.”

Sirius leaned back, absorbing the information. Gandalf. He had heard the name in passing, a powerful wizard with a reputation for meddling in the affairs of both men and magical creatures. If Gandalf was protecting the Shire, that explained the disappearance of the bandit camp.

“So, it’s the rangers and Gandalf who keep you all safe?” Sirius asked, intrigued.

The hobbit nodded. “That’s right. We don’t see them often, but they’re out there. I’ve heard tales of enemies who’ve tried to cross into the Shire, only to be... well, dealt with before they got anywhere near us. Most of us don’t think about it much. We just trust that we’re being looked after. It’s a simple life, and we like it that way.”

Sirius couldn’t help but smile. The Shire, it seemed, was under the watchful eye of forces far more powerful than the hobbits themselves. Rangers and wizards working in the shadows to ensure that the peaceful lives of these small folk remained undisturbed.

He thanked the old hobbit for his time and left the tavern, stepping out into the cool evening air. As he walked through the quiet streets of the Shire, Sirius felt a new sense of understanding. The hobbits might not be fighters, but they were not defenseless. They had unseen protectors, and that was why they lived such carefree, joyful lives.

Sirius realized that, in a way, he had found a place where he didn’t need to be the protector anymore. The Shire had its guardians, and for the first time in years, he didn’t feel the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he could stay a little longer in this peaceful corner of Middle-earth.


Sirius Black, after realizing the Shire’s safety and beauty, made the decision to establish it as one of his major bases of operation. The peacefulness of the hobbits, the protection from Gandalf and the rangers, and the serene landscapes made it an ideal place for him to live quietly while preparing for future endeavors. He had no intention of drawing attention to himself, but he also recognized the strategic advantage the Shire offered. It was remote, secure, and completely off the radar for those who might seek to track him down.

Using the wealth he had accumulated during his travels, including the significant treasure he had collected from his ventures near the Lonely Mountain, Sirius purchased a large piece of land. The hobbits were more than happy to help him construct a hobbit hole. After all, Sirius had earned their trust and was seen as a friendly and hardworking figure in their community, even if he kept a low profile.

The construction of the hobbit hole began as a typical project, with hobbits assisting in the building of the cozy and warm dwelling nestled into the hillside. The hole was well-decorated, featuring large round doors and windows that let in natural light, with winding hallways and rooms filled with the comforts of hobbit life. It was perfect for hosting guests or blending in with the hobbit lifestyle.

However, Sirius had grander plans in mind.

Unbeknownst to the hobbits, he had secretly designed an additional, much larger section of his hobbit hole that went deep into the mountainside. Hidden by magic, this secret part of his home was accessible only through a concealed door that blended seamlessly into the surrounding rock. The moment one stepped past the enchanted threshold, the cozy warmth of a hobbit’s home was replaced with the vastness of underground tunnels that led deep into the earth.

Sirius, having learned much from his days in the wizarding world and his time wandering Middle-Earth, employed a combination of both Muggle and magical techniques to construct these tunnels. They were expansive, reminiscent of the tunnels under Gringotts. There were winding paths that connected to larger rooms he had carved out of the mountain, spaces big enough for him to live in as a human without needing to shrink to hobbit size.

Each room had its own purpose. There was a large storage chamber where Sirius deposited the majority of the treasure he had acquired from the Lonely Mountain. The piles of gold, silver, and gems gleamed in the torchlight, securely stashed away where no one could find them. There were also rooms dedicated to his experiments with magical items and spell crafting, allowing him the privacy he needed to tinker and develop new ideas without prying eyes.

Sirius made sure to fortify the tunnels with protective charms and wards. No one would be able to stumble upon them by accident. The hobbit hole appeared completely normal to any visitor, with no sign that beneath the surface lay a hidden fortress of sorts. The only way to access the hidden parts of his home was through Sirius’ knowledge of the secret passages and the magic that concealed them.

Sirius took particular care to make sure his magical presence in the Shire remained low-key. While he was far more powerful than the hobbits, he respected their peaceful way of life and didn't want to disturb it. He ensured that the magical wards around his tunnels were subtle, so they wouldn’t attract the attention of more powerful beings like Gandalf or the rangers.

As time passed, Sirius became quite fond of his underground retreat. It was a place where he could let his guard down, where he could rest and plan without constantly looking over his shoulder. The tunnels provided him with the perfect space to operate from. He could live among the hobbits in peace, yet retreat to his more human-sized quarters when he needed to.

With everything in place, Sirius felt a sense of satisfaction that he hadn’t experienced in years. His new home in the Shire was unlike anything he had ever known. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly secure. The hobbits lived in blissful ignorance of the dangers that might threaten them, but Sirius knew better. He remained ever watchful, his secret tunnels serving not only as a sanctuary but as a fortress from which he could protect the Shire if ever the need arose.