Chapter Text
I.
The one grateful thought that he threw to the sky was that he was not surrounded by trees. Truly, Harry was used to waking up in enchanted and lonesome forests and while he could surely survive in one again, the wide-open, grassy plain was a sight for sore eyes.
The untamed magic and general feel of a land unknown to him were far outweighing any relief he could find, however.
Because of course Harry Potter, the boy who had never stuck between the lines of “physics” and “magic,” would again defy the rules and end up very, very far from Hogwarts – the place where he should have been at the moment. Appearing in a world with nothing but the clothes on his back and the wand in his holster for protection was very unfortunate indeed, and it was only the mind-numbing shock Harry was in at the current moment that saved the grass in a small radius from him from an explosive destruction.
“What,” he said, “is this.”
Hermione would surely have a plan already thought up, as she so often did when they were on the hunt, and Ron would be ready with jokes or complaints about “caught in a mess, again!” all in good jest, of course, if only they were here. But the stark truth was that Harry saw no one around him and could hear nary a sound for miles.
“Well done Potter, really. Some of your best work by far.”
Of course, this statement only made him think of Malfoy - not his preferred thinking subject - and so he focused instead on the fact that he was in a different world.
His strange travel here already left him on his knees so he bent over at the waist and touched his head to the ground. Why, why, why, why had this happened to him? What had he done to deserve a total removal from his life, his friends, and his family? Why was he not allowed peace and happiness? The tension in his limbs built and a frown on his face grew until it was an open-mouthed scowl when at last he let out a desperate scream and everything built up was released at once. His magic flared outwards in a wide circle and the grass around him scorched and was sent flying in the air. When he opened his eyes, he was silent.
Death surrounded him, as it always had.
II.
He tried the obvious ways to get home, like attempted apparition to Gimmauld Place or accio-ing his broom, but there was no hope for either: from the first, he was built up with the magic to transport but with no such place to apparate to he was then popped as if a rubber balloon; from the second, he waited close to ten minutes but the firebolt never arrived.
They were valiant tries, this was true, but he had never held any real hope that they would work, as even he could tell he was too far for such normal methods of transportation. But while Harry might not have been a Hufflepuff he had the dedication enough to pass for one. He figured elderly magical beings or one of the large tombs Hermione so dearly adored would be the way to go. But they would not just appear to him, so he climbed to his feet and began his walk.
He had no real direction to be moving in, so he picked the way the wind was blowing and stuck with it. The only immediate problems were no food or water, though shelter would become more important as the high sun found the horizon. He was not ill, nor terribly hungry, and there was no predator that he could see; therefore, it was a quite leisurely walk that he took and was pressed faster only after several hours must have gone by.
He was wearing his good shoes, meaning the dragonhide boots he’d bought many months before, but they were not meant for so much walking on such uneven ground. For when he had passed along the flat plains, he reached small hills that were steadily becoming larger and jagged and he could no longer walk between them. It was no mountain range (which was a relief, since his shirt, trousers, light underarmor, and old black cloak were not enough to keep out the biting air of mountain peaks) and in addition he could not find any mountains as far as he could see until the earth bent away from him. However, in the distance where he was headed there was a great bunch of trees. Harry thought back to his only grateful thought and cursed himself for jinxing his luck as always.
“You’ve already spent enough time in forests, what is a little more for the purpose of food?”
So he increased his pace and made it to the trees in record time, and it was there that he was swallowed by branches and seen by another.
III.
There were bushes far back, beyond the tree line, but Harry was hesitant to trust the berries that grew there. He had known many poisonous berries back on Earth and did not wish to die from some before he could make it home. He took some, just in case he came to the threat of starvation anyway, and tucked them in the largest leaf he could find - if he had more than a school’s education in transfiguration, he could have turned that leaf into a bag. As it was, he tucked the leaf into a pocket and dealt with it.
His second hope was catching some meat to eat, but he had neither materials for making a fire to cook it with nor a reliable weapon for capture. His wand could be used for a cutting hex, that was true, but it would be messy and risk only harming the animal and putting it through pain. So meat would have to wait.
In front of him, Harry thought he could see a fruit tree. A little tall, but not more than he could climb. He cleared the trees that stood between them and then gazed at the green apples that he thought he could see on the higher branches.
His mind flashed back to Aunt Marge and her awful dog as he scaled the tree. It was very large, as were all the others, but the fruits were not as high as he first imagined. On the inside of the tree, there was much more than originally could be seen. He sat on a branch and snapped one apple from its stem.
It was green and apple-shaped, like he’d thought, but the texture was much bumpier than it should have been. Like an avocado skin on an apple. Harry brought it close to his mouth but sniffed it instead of biting.
“It’s quite safe to eat, I assure you.”
Harry dropped the fruit and wobbled precariously on the branch but he succeeded in where it was important: his wand was out and directed at the owner of the voice.
“Who are you?” Harry demanded.
The old man who was there walked to the dropped fruit (directly below Harry and therefore at an advantage, as Harry could not aim through a tree branch) and picked it up.
“Quite a good thing the peel is so thick, I’ve always said. I knew it would come in handy for someone someday. The tender fruit inside is not damaged at all! You can tell from tapping it, you know. Tap, tap, tap - no noise difference whatsoever.”
The man must have been mad, thought Harry. The babbling continued even as branches were switched and a better vantage point was gained within the tree. His wand arm never quivered from its directed path.
“The berries in your pocket, however: most harmful! You were smart indeed not to eat those, unless of course you were saving them for a different purpose. I’ve heard a great number of reports saying that poisoning your prey with rumun berries gives the meat a nasty flavor. But, ah! What would they know?”
The man was tall, and old, and dressed most fully in grey. Grey clothes with a long grey beard, white hair, and a blue pointed hat on top. It was unmistakable that he looked like a wizard. He would have looked like Dumbledore, if only his robes were brightly colored and Harry could see his face.
“Who are you?” Harry asked again, voice more dangerous.
“Who am I? I dare think the question should lean more what am I and am I a friend, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” Harry cut him off before the rambling could begin again.
“Well, very well then, I suppose not. I am Gandalf! Gandalf the Grey!”
“Why ‘the Grey?’” Let it not be forgotten that Harry was a marauder’s son and godson and student.
“‘Why the-’” Gandalf spluttered in response. He looked down to his own clothes then back to Harry. “It might be the beard, I think,” was the poor attempt to regain his voice after such a surprising question.
“Ah, and I thought it was your personality.”
“What is that you’re holding?” The man asked instead of following up the conversation.
“A weapon.”
“Is it meant to be a threat?”
“Depends. Do you feel threatened, Mr. the Grey?”
“Not in the slightest, young man,” Gandalf said heartily and ended with a smile and loud laugh. Not sure if he was being laughed at, Harry adjusted his grip and said nothing. “Well then, this is enough of that conversation, don’t you quite agree? Come on down here and we can feast together! I have bread and meat, well enough to share.”
“I’m fine where I am, thank you.”
It took another few minutes in this style and the pulling of one of the fruits and subsequent eating of it until Gandalf made any progress with Harry. There was no way for Harry to know if Gandalf had some sort of immunity to the fruit and was just trying to get Harry to eat it, but there would be no real reason to poison a man out here (unless cannibals were a bigger threat than imagined), so Harry took a leap.
He was also convinced to come down when the day stretched into night and it grew cold. Gandalf built up a fire and had come forth entirely about who he was (one of the five wizards, called Istari or Ithryn in the two most-used Elvish languages) and what he was doing (on his way to visit a friend in the Shire). Harry had not felt any ill tidings by his magic towards the man so he eventually had to pull back his guard. He jumped down with three more of the fruits and his wand out but resting. He emptied his pockets and sat down on the other side of the fire.
“Glad to see you join me, young master! Now then, every traveler has a story behind the journey. What brought you here?”
“A lot of walking,” Harry circled the question. It wasn’t the greatest idea to admit being tossed into this world from a different one earlier that day.
“Are you lost?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“But you are not found?” It was shaped as a question.
“In what sense?”
“Hmm,” Gandalf pulled out a pipe and watched Harry carefully as he filled and lit it. “What would your name be?” What was the harm?
“Harry.”
“Har-ry,” he sounded it out. “That sounds more like a dwarf’s name than a Man’s.” Dwarves? “But there’s no mistaking that you’re from a Town of Men. Which one would that be?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The town. Which town would you be from? Lake-town is too far and I would expect you to have a horse if from Rohan, or at least a companion.”
“I’m not from any of these towns you speak of.”
“Oh?” His smoke rings faltered. “Where are you from, then?”
“England, Surrey to be exact. Or actually, I may originally be from Wales; I believe that is where Godric’s Hollow is. But I spent quite a bit of time in Scotland, so I really considered that my home for a good seven years.” It was fun, stumping this wizard so obviously.
“What on all of Middle-Earth do you mean?” He asked faintly, and it was there that Harry found the answer to an unvoiced question. He was somewhere called Middle-Earth and it was very much similar to his home but not nearly similar enough. He did not care if he was on Low-Earth or Almost-Earth if it did not hold his friends and family.
Harry’s mind went back to another thought he had since coming here. There was no clear idea where the nearest library would be, but there was an elderly wizard in front of him that seemed to know his way around.
“Not on Middle-Earth, is kind of the point.”
“A traveler from a distant world?” Gandalf wondered, catching on right away. Age had certainly not deteriorated any part of his brain: that much could be seem. “But the Valar gave no warning.”
“Yes, well. I can’t really be held responsible for that.”
“You do not know of the Valar?” Gandalf guessed.
“That would be correct.”
“Or of dwarves?”
“Nope.”
“The elves and wizards?”
“Nuh-uh,” he could keep that point a secret for now.
“Hobbits?”
“What-its?”
“Hobbits!” Of all the names that Gandalf had thrown, ‘hobbits’ was the only one that was lost on Harry. The others were sure to be similar to his own world and he could practically hear the capital V in ‘Valar’ that assured it to be an important group of people. “Short little creatures that live in homely hills and are quite content with good food and frequent meals. They give away presents on their birthdays, you know. I am on my way to visiting one now, as it is! Miss Berylla Boffin over in Hobbiton, the Shire!”
“Oh,” Harry nodded.
“Of course, it is no fun making such a journey alone. I would be quite pleased to find a travelling partner unafraid of these areas.” Gandalf peered at him under thick eyebrows.
“I don’t even know these areas, Mr. the Grey,” Harry reminded him, caught suddenly in a situation where he believed his worth was being overestimated.
“Well, a fine wizard such as I could not leave you here to suffer! I insist you join me on my journey to the Mistress Boffin from where you can make your own path.”
“O-kay?” Harry hesitated. Was that a choice or not?
“Wonderful! I will wake you for breakfast.” And then he spread out his sleeping roll and slept.
Of course Harry, a master of faking sleep in his own right (thank you, frequent stays in the infirmary), was sure it was not a real slumber; however, he took the chance for what it was and sat up for a great deal longer, pondering where he stood now and what to do. He peeled the first fruit carefully, copying what he saw from Gandalf, and discarded the peel next to the dying fire. He bit into the fruit, finding it had a unique taste somewhere between pineapple and a melon of a sort, and wiped the dripping juice from his chin.
No one was going to look for him. So soon after the final battle they would all expect him to be holed up in Grimmauld Place and mourning the lost. Those that would have bothered were no longer in any position to do so.
The thought brought a wave of sadness that he had tried to stuff away days ago, initially. He was getting better at ignoring his feelings every day. But the fact was that he was alone in this world and emotions would get him nowhere and neither would his old companions, at least not for another few weeks. Did time even pass the same way here as there?
Harry swallowed his fruit and wiped his hand on the grass. He would need to find his own way home. And the solution rested somewhere in this sleeping wizard’s knowledge, be that world-hopping or library locations.
IV.
True to his word, Gandalf woke him a little past sunrise with the offering of bread and jam. Harry was already awake, instincts having woken him at the first sound of movement, but it was another point for the trustworthiness of the tall wizard, as well as waking up alive at all. They chatted through breakfast, beginning with hobbits’ preference for six meals a day and changing to a dwarrow’s love of gems by the time they were packed up and moving. Harry had nothing to pack but offered to hold one of Gandalf’s many bags.
“What about the elves?” Harry asked freely when conversation lulled. “What are they like?”
“Ah, that would depend more closely on the group you mean. Elves are nature-lovers and quite vain, wanting comfort and beauty to surround them. They are long-lived and enjoy a merry feast as well as any other. Passionate towards music, quite wise, beautiful in every sense, and fierce with a bow or spear.”
“Not at all like the elves in my experience,” Harry noted. “I supposed they’re tall, too.”
“Your experience?”
“Yeah, house elves. The only kind we’ve got, I think. Little things, treated like servants, not the greatest grammar-wise,” but Hermione would know more about that - something about not enough attention to properly teaching them or the likes.
“Ah. No.” And then Gandalf went on to explain more about the race of elves, how the more noble are taller (far passing the normal height of men back on Earth) but the weaker the noble lineage, the closer to the standard five to six feet they are. Gandalf himself was not as tall as Harry originally thought, though his presence makes him appear a foot taller than he is. Harry was at least a good four inches taller than him, as it was, and it felt good that his nutritionally-stunted growth was still able to best this important wizard.
There was a great diversity in Men too, both in appearance and general behavior. Harry could not possibly repeat all that was told to him as it was too much and was delivered too greatly at one time. Not to mention the names – none being as simple as Fred or Susan. Still, Harry learned much and with time would be able to retain it all. In return, he told of his Man-led world with small populations of witches and wizards, house elves, goblins, and more. He did not clarify which of the populations he belonged to.
That in turn became a conversation about evil beings on Middle-Earth such as cave trolls, goblins (“or Orcs, depending on the language”), and Wargs. Harry debated as much as he could and they compared the worlds all day, swapping general histories until they had walked the day by and it was time to focus on finding shelter once again.
V.
They grew close in that short journey. By the end of the second morning they had finished their trek through the Old Forest and by that night they were in the Shire. They had to rest one more night to reach Hobbiton, but it was not any trouble for them, as they still had much to speak about. Harry distracted himself well enough from his problem at hand until that last night when he realized that they could be parting the next day.
“Say, Gandalf,” he began, holding the “Mr. the Grey” jokes for matters less serious, “You wouldn’t happen to know of any way I could get back to my world?”
“Eager to get home?” He asked lightly.
“Quite. My friends are there, after all, and it’s not natural to take a step and be in a different world than you were a second ago.”
“Yes, your friends. You haven’t mentioned any friends at all, as it is.” That was on purpose, Harry thought, keeping his mind away from their names and faces even now.
“Well, neither have you! From what I can tell, you’re a lonely old wizard that walks too much.”
“I have mentioned Radagast and Saruman-”
“They are more coworkers, by definition.”
“And Elrond and Galadriel-”
“Part of your council, weren’t they?”
“Beorn and Thranduil-”
“You have certainly not mentioned them.”
“And Berylla, of course!”
“The hobbit.” There was a moment of silence. “You still have not helped me.”
“World travelers are not a common occurrence, if you can tell. I have never met one and I believe neither has any other. Lord Elrond may know more, or hold more answers in his great library.” That was promising. “But alas, most is written in various elvish dialects and you could not read it.” Never mind.
“Would he be willing to speak with me about it?”
“He would be most intrigued to meet you!”
“Well, great. I don’t suppose you have a map to spare?”
“Is that what you expect from me?” Gandalf laughed, “To hand you a map and set you off to roam? No, no, that won’t do. I will accompany you to Rivendell and we can speak to Lord Elrond together.”
Harry grimaced and took a careful look around him. In the distance he could see the little hills and doors that made up hobbit holes and far behind him were a bridge and the forest. “How long would that take?”
“The journey to Rivendell? Three weeks I would say – at the least!”
No, that wouldn’t do. That was too long. Harry needed to get home, needed to get back to where people were waiting for him, to where he had expectations and duties, and to where he has been too long from already. But what could he do? As far as he could tell, it was only an elaborate spell or ritual that would take him back, and none of the wizards’ magic worked in such a way, from what he was told. He wanted to be back immediately, he didn’t want to miss any funerals or memorials, and he couldn’t wait three weeks or he’d be much too late!
“Dobby!” Harry called, struck suddenly with a thought. “Dobby! Winky! Fawkes!”
Gandalf was looking at him as if he was quite mad, questioning his abilities to cope with the information, when with a flash of light, a brilliant bird appeared.
“Fawkes!” Harry could have cried. He might’ve, actually, but it escaped notice. “Oh, I’m so glad you could hear me.” They shared a strange hug, where Harry felt he was squishing the phoenix and wings were awkwardly in the way, but then Fawkes settled on his shoulder. “Fawkes, I’m very far from home. Do you think you could take me back?”
Harry’s hopes were built up, his ears straining to hear a confirmation, when a regretful trill dashed everything away.
“Why not?” Harry choked out even though there was no way for the phoenix to answer. It was to his surprise then when he made eye contact with Fawkes and got a vague feeling in his mind. “Is it because it’s a completely different world? Too far?” Just like apparition.
Fawkes nodded, as well as a bird could, and Harry was crushed.
“Do you think you could bring them a letter then, for me? Please, just a small letter?” And there was the confirmation Harry so desired to hear. “Oh, thank you! We’ll be to the house soon, where there’s sure to be paper and ink - isn’t that right, Gandalf?”
The wizard in question stood a few feet away, eyes wide open and staff held loosely in hand as he stared unblinking at the fiery bird. “Yes,” he managed, and Harry led the walk as best as he could, suddenly much more eager than he had been before.
“Harry, if I may, what kind of bird is that?”
“This is a phoenix, Mister Gandalf, sir! Fawkes was a friend of my old headmaster’s but he’s a free bird now. He’s very loyal, and it’s one of his tail feathers in my wand core.”
“Interesting capabilities he has,” oh, he had no idea. “Wand, you say?”
“Who to write the letter to?” Harry mused for most of the rest of the quick walk, ignoring or simply not hearing the other questions being thrown at him. He couldn’t send one to Hermione or Ron (the idea made his heart clench) and the list of trustworthy friends decreases from there. Neville or Luna would be fine, but this wasn’t something they could help him with, and Ginny was very obviously out of the question. It was Professor McGonagall that he was on his way to meet that day, and she was the one with the most knowledge and access to records, so she would likely be the best bet. “Could you get the letter to Professor McGonagall, Fawkes?” He asked when his mind was made up and there was a positive trill. “Thank you!”
“Harry, I am quite confused,” Gandalf said loudly, and Harry realized then that he had missed questions.
“Um,” Harry reached a hand up and stroked the phoenix to sooth himself, “Okay, go ahead.”
“What exactly is a wand?”
“Like a staff, but smaller.”
“For wizards?”
“And witches.”
“So you are a wizard?”
“Yeah, that’d make sense.”
“And this is your friend?”
“Yes. He’s helped me out of some tight spaces.”
“You can understand him?”
“Not really. Dumbledore could, but I’m much worse at it.”
“And he is going to help you get out?” This question seemed to worry Gandalf, but for what reason Harry could not discern.
“Not directly, but hopefully he can get a letter to someone who can.”
“Forgive me, Harry, but have you considered yet that you could be here for a reason?”
“What reason could I possibly have to be here instead of home?” Harry asked, honestly surprised and confused. “I have just finished my big duty at home, that is true, but Hogwarts has to be rebuilt, and I need to make sure the medical forms are signed, and there is so much aftermath that I have to be a part of. Not to mention the uncaptured Death Eaters!”
“The Valar would not mistakenly bring you here. There must be a bigger reason behind it.”
At that point, Harry got angry.
“I’m not available for a summoning to fix anyone else’s problems, Gandalf,” he glared. “This is not my world and I refuse to get caught up in it.”
“I don’t mean problems; I mean peace.”
“There is no such thing; where I am, I will always attract trouble. In my world, it is expected. Here, it is a nuisance. Thank you very much, Mr. the Grey, but I believe I will be making my way home as soon as possible.”
VI.
The land of Hobbiton, the Shire, was full of roaming hobbits.
Ah, hobbits.
Cute little things (and really, they were all under four feet in height) but very proper. Most in the town looked to him with suspicion, but not Berylla Boffin. Or, since Gandalf had last visited, Berylla Baggins with an incoming Baby Baggins.
She, along with the rest of her kind, had large feet and a short stature. But Harry was almost sure that such a small body couldn’t possibly fit the large heart she had. She welcomed Gandalf with a warm hug and Harry with equal enthusiasm and the young man found himself reminded of Mrs. Weasley. It was an interesting thought, filling his heart with both honeyed tea and daggers, and he shoved it away soon after.
“Oh, come in, come in! Good evening, Gandalf, it’s been so long! And who is this? And this!” She examined the third companion with delight.
“Good evening, Berylla! This is Harry, a current travelling partner of mine.”
“How do you do?” Harry asked quietly when she looked over at him. “This is Fawkes, a phoenix.”
“What a singularly spectacular bird! Please, wipe your feet on the mat there. We were just about to sit for second breakfast! What will your phoenix eat?” She asked the question to Harry, but watched Fawkes carefully and nodded not a second later. “Quite right, we can do that!” And she bustled off. They placed down their bags and followed the nice Berylla to the dining room, where Balbo Baggins already sat.
“Balbo, dear, Gandalf came to visit! I told you he would sometimes.” The male hobbit nodded absently, too busy with serving himself to really pay attention. When at last he looked up, he was quite surprised to see two strangers!
“How do you do?” Harry said again. “My name is Harry.”
“Hello,” he welcomed, watching him with the same suspicion as everyone else in Hobbiton.
The second breakfast was a quiet affair. Berylla seemed curious about him and Fawkes but didn’t ask any questions, for which Harry was grateful. After that, Gandalf asked for a room where Harry could rest and then ushered him there. Harry figured as soon as he was gone they would speak of him and Harry smiled a little to himself for the secrets he was smart enough to keep. He cast a light eavesdropping charm that Fred and George had once taught him, way back in what must have been fourth or fifth year, and listened in.
“What is he, Gandalf?”
“I am not quite sure, Berylla my dear. I have only just met him, and I of course assumed him to be a Man.”
“But then?”
“But then he showed me the most peculiar thing: magic!”
“So he is like you?”
“Oh no, see that’s the issue, he isn’t at all! He is shorter than most of the Istari – except for Radagast, of course, and I confess to just missing his height – and he uses a small stick of wood, not a staff. And he doesn’t know of the Valar, so he mustn’t be an Istar since they did not send him.”
“Did you ask him what he was?”
“He said he was a wizard. But he is unlike any wizard I know… He also says he’s from a different world.”
“Oh, my! Do you believe him?”
“Yes, I find myself believing young Harry. Perhaps the Valar sent him here, but simply didn’t tell him so.”
And with that the conversation changed paths and Harry broke the spell. He lay down in the small bed and thought deeply for many hours. He did not want to be brought here for the convenience of a population he did not know. He was not there for sacrifice. But if what Gandalf said was true – that he would be allowed time to rest and regroup after such a horrific final battle – then he almost found himself willing to stay. So much had happened, so much more than anyone expected, and the losses hit him harder than his heart desired.
But Harry meant it when he said that he was incapable of staying out of trouble. And he hadn’t even mentioned his “saving people thing” or penchant for “sheer dumb luck.” There was so much that he didn’t dare share and the last thing Harry wanted was to inadvertently put everyone in danger.
This was a different world entirely. Money was likely different here. Maps could be made strangely or languages could be spread throughout or Harry could stand out much worse than he ever has. Being a Wonder-Kid in a small secluded community seemed a nicer alternative to being the only one of a kind in a wide world. Gandalf said he was very old and yet he had never met someone from a different land. Harry did not want that reputation.
Everything has suddenly become much more confusing.
Harry stayed in bed for a good while until he sat up and acquired paper and ink from Balbo Baggins, at which point he holed himself back up into the little bedroom.
“Professor McGonagall, comma,” he said aloud. “Should I add a ‘Dear’ at the front?”
Writing the letter in such a way not to raise panic but also get across that “please, you must help me home” was not as easy a feat as imagined. By the end, Harry had something like this:
“Professor McGonagall, I fear I have found myself in trouble once again. I am in a different world this time – a land called Middle-Earth in a world called Arda – with no easy way to come back. Fawkes comes when I call but no one else seems to hear. Magic is wild here and civilization is not as advanced. I have not tried to make sure my abilities are fully intact yet but I will be sure to do so when a chance comes my way. As it is, this is my third day here and the nearest library is a three-week journey that I will embark upon tomorrow. I apologize for missing our appointment and beg you will forgive me, but we must postpone a rescheduling until it is sure I can make it. With full respect and regard, Harry J. Potter.”
Harry tied the note, gave it to Fawkes, and then wished for the best as he flamed out of sight.
VII.
Harry and Gandalf left the Bagginses the next morning while it was still early but past their first meal. They had spoken with the hobbits for many hours the night before, after Harry emerged from his hideaway, and Harry was delighted by the little creatures. They were so very kind, and funny and quirky, and they amused him to no end. If he was stuck here for a while, Harry decided then, he could be back to visit.
Conversation resumed when they had hit the road again (this time with an additional bag that Harry kept strapped across his own back thanks to the dear thoughts of Berylla; it was charmed weightless by himself and had an internal expansion charm that he hid from Gandalf at least for the time being) and all previous squabbles were forgotten. An in-depth explanation of the magical government took up most of the first afternoon which was successful in keeping the absence of a return letter from his mind.
The topic of magic was most common then, as it had been mostly brushed over originally when Gandalf thought Harry had none. Harry gave visual examples of what he could do and was relieved when nothing failed him and even seemed easier than usual. Harry thought to the destruction of Voldemort and the existence of the Elder Wand but his core agreed with his head that neither of those things he would have to worry about here.
The talk turned eventually to a story for when others would ask more in-depth on what Harry was or where he had originated from.
“People will be wary if there is suddenly a new creature – and only one of it!” Gandalf told him. Harry didn’t think it mattered much, figured not enough people would ask in the next three weeks, but did not argue with a wizard on a decided path. They could not often be swayed.
“So what do you suggest?”
“We will tell them you are a new Istar, I think; the sixth one. Saruman will of course need to know the truth, and I will tell Radagast when we see him, or perhaps I shall send a bird his way, and the two Blues will find out through Saruman, no doubt, but we will be the only six to know the truth.”
“And Berylla Baggins,” Harry challenged.
“Of course. Ah, and you will have to speak with Lord Elrond about it, and perhaps Lady Galadriel as well, so that makes nine? Correct?”
“Gandalf,” Harry started, “I don’t mean to be rude, but isn’t this an unnecessary procedure? Do not worry them with a problem, as I will be gone soon. We can just tell any who asks that I am a travelling man and Lord Elrond and you can be the only ones to know the truth. There is no use in making such complex plans.”
“No, no, no. Men have no magic; it would be an obvious lie.”
“They don’t need to know I have magic. I am quite capable of keeping that to myself. Besides, you said that the Istari have the physical forms of old men; I hardly match that image.”
This argument continued for a while. Harry saw no reason to make up a lie when a three week trek over open land would make it seldom used. It’s not that he didn’t fully believe that a prepared story was a good idea - of course he believed that! One doesn’t go on the run for a year and not learn how important it is to be able to fool the inquisitive. Still, a lie making him out to be more important than he was seemed foolish: a fact he made clear to Gandalf.
“People will be curious if we tell them that. They will expect more. They will expect me to stay. There is so much that can go wrong and I am not in the business of putting myself more at risk when no one comes out any the better for it.”
And Harry would not have survived for as long as he had if not for his ability to win an argument, so with a final disappointed sigh, Gandalf stopped insisting.
“What do you suppose we tell them then?”
“I have already told you. I am a man from a town that is travelling. Perhaps I am looking for something, or I have family elsewhere. That one is true enough, I suppose.”
“And the phoenix? What about when they ask after him?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of birds around here. Fawkes is just one of them.”
“One that can disappear and appear somewhere else?”
“Yes, is that strange?”
Of course it was, and Gandalf said so, but Harry’s mind was made up and they continued their journey in a mixture of silence and unimportant comments. Harry’s thoughts wandered again with a focus on a return letter and he only fully removed himself from such thoughts when clouds began to gather and the duo looked for cover from oncoming rain. There were hobbit-made structures by the side of the dirt road they were on specifically for this purpose and they made their way to the closest one where Gandalf exchanged his hood for a more durable one and replaced his hat on his head. For Harry’s part, he watched the Istar do that and then decided he had more questions.
“Don’t you have any magical protection from rain?” They sat on the ground and pulled out small refreshments. Harry could tell now that though the clouds had blocked the sun, it was setting already. It had to be approaching what would have been six or seven o’clock, if only they were on Earth.
“Rain is a natural phenomenon. What reason do I have to protect myself against it?”
“So is death,” Harry shrugged, “and yet defensive magic is a thing.”
Well that stumped Gandalf, so Harry cast a water-repelling charm on himself and his clothes and they got up and continued in the light rainfall. It took what to Harry seemed an embarrassingly long time until Gandalf noticed his companion was still dry as he ever had been and he asked in surprise what the cause of it was.
“Water-repelling charms,” he responded. “Naturally.”
Harry took pity and cast some on Gandalf, though he was positive the Istar could have done something similar if he wanted to, and they walked quite a bit further in the rain that failed to dampen their spirits.
They made camp that night and Harry spent a good deal of time and energy trying various spells to turn leaves into blankets but nothing worked. There was mutat stratum but it was meant to be performed on a spare scrap of cloth, so there was no change there. There was also folium concelo but that was meant to turn a leaf into an umbrella (which it did, not that it was what he needed so it had to be changed back) so it was a fruitless endeavor. Gandalf watched with interest but Harry paid him no mind. They were still in hobbit territory so they slept easily and without a watch and they woke early the next morning, Harry first for a change.
They walked tirelessly the next day, and the one after that too, retracing the steps they first took back to the Old Forest (which apparently is usually very menacing but is respectful towards magic-users) though they followed the road and went around it this time and through to the Barrow Downs, where Harry first appeared. The fourth day dawned clear and with the arrival of the firebird.
“Fawkes!” Harry exclaimed sleepily, returning his wand to his holster after it was pulled out so suddenly. “She replied?” He took the letter, not daring to feel hopeful, but felt disappointed and confused by the end of it anyway. Gandalf did not ask but he was watching from the corner of his eye as he rolled up his bed and Harry decided to oblige him. “She wrote something terribly confusing, it certainly doesn’t make sense to me with the timeline - oh, I’ll just read it all. She said this:
“Mr. Potter, it is quite the conundrum you are facing, though I have ceased feeling any surprise at all in the situations that seem to find you. Indeed, it seems very improbable – though I know you would not joke of something at such a time – as it is not a common occurrence and it has no obvious reasoning. I have looked through some of Albus’ personal textbooks quickly, but one thing you mentioned rested too heavily on my mind and I needed to send this letter to clear it up. You say you have been there for three days, but you have only just missed our appointment by an hour at the most and I happen to know that Mr. Longbottom saw you just yesterday. Despite this, I will try to help you as best I can to get you home soon and safely. Regards, Minerva McGonagall.
“That doesn’t make sense. It has been six days now and she wouldn’t wait to send this for a full three days after if she wants to help me home ‘soon.’”
Both were quiet as they did their morning things and resumed their walking until at last Gandalf spoke up.
“It seems we are dealing with a time difference.”
“And that means?”
“You sent the letter to your friend after three days had passed for you but she said you had only been an hour late.”
“I was there early, so it must have been about an hour and a half since I had disappeared.”
“And then she spent some time researching before writing the letter to you, which you got another three days later.”
“So you mean to tell me that our time is passing differently?” Harry’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not good! If it takes her just one day to find a solution, a whole month may have passed here!” Harry began to do math in his head, putting his primary school-level learning to work. Twenty-four hours, where an hour and a half equaled three days, which would make one hour equal two days… “Forty-eight days!” He cried when he figured it out. “That’s even worse!”
“And I’m sure researching a problem as strange as this one would take even longer,” Gandalf nodded sagely, and Harry dropped down and buried his face in his hands.
He stayed like that for a long time. Nothing Gandalf said roused him and it finally took Fawkes coming down and singing an uplifting song for him to even lift his head. Harry stroked the brilliant red and gold feathers and tried to determine how far along Fawkes was until his death and rebirth to distract his mind. Boy, would that alarm Gandalf.
Harry gathered control of his limbs soon enough and they walked again, Harry’s hands moving of their own accord into his bag to pull out the letter and fiddle with it nervously. Not even talk of dwarves managed to occupy his mind and that day went more slowly than any did in his memory. By dawn the next day Harry had come no closer to any thoughts making sense but he had enough sense to write a short letter on the paper that Balbo was kind enough to send him away with.
“Professor McGonagall,” it read, “It has been exactly one day since I have received your letter. I am trying to sort out the time difference between our worlds. Please respond with how long it was for you between sending and receiving this. Many thanks, Harry J. Potter.”
The letter he got back (by a weary-looking phoenix from such quick travel over such impossible distance) roughly an hour later confirms his thoughts.
“Mr. Potter, it has been hardly thirty minutes. Yrs, M. McGonagall.”
VIII.
When the shock wore off, Harry was almost glad of it. It would make finding a solution from his home much more difficult, but it made finding his own way home look better. He could spend the three weeks travelling to Rivendell and he wouldn’t miss any funerals at all.
Gandalf was visibly relieved when Harry began to ask questions again and didn’t look so glum and the topic of Rivendell came up frequently. Dwarves sounded very interesting but held no current relation to Harry as he would not be going to any of their mountains so he did not ask after them as much. And he had always been around humans of both the magical and muggle sort so he did not care as much about them. Elves, though… Elves were creatures that he had never met and they seemed quite unrealistic. Unending beauty and wisdom in immortal bodies? Too good to be true, clearly.
But despite that, they held his interest and he knew that proper manners would be important not to offend them once they got to Rivendell. Harry questioned Gandalf on what to say, proper honorifics, and how to phrase that he needed help with a top secret situation.
Beyond that, there was one more problem. Harry could not read the books in the elvish library and with all the time he would have that seemed like quite a waste.
“Do you know of any way to allow someone to speak a different language for a limited time?” Harry asked Gandalf, thinking of Hermione’s translation spell that he could not remember the incantation for.
“No, no. There is nothing like that.”
And it would be no help to be taught how to speak and understand Sindarin elvish as Gandalf could do for him in the two and a half weeks remaining when it would not help with reading when it came down to it. Harry was still taught greetings as part of the ‘help me be polite please’ request, but it would not serve both purposes.
In the end, it was a very tiresome three weeks for Harry. Fawkes was a constant companion when he wasn’t acting as a carrier owl and tried to cheer him up – something that Harry appreciated dearly and thanked Fawkes for repeatedly – but artificial happiness did not always work against a determination to be broody.
They had a fairly easy journey to Rivendell following the East-West Road as they in fact ran into no enemies at all (though the Wargs could be heard at night) but Gandalf explained that it was not an area much sought after. There were no vantage points and as it was, most races forgot hobbits existed entirely so there was no reason to go looking to attack them.
“If you were to go any further east,” Gandalf warned Harry, “You would find the Orcs that we so far have been able to avoid.” Trolls and Wargs are fond of forests, something that they have avoided fairly well on the road, and Orcs liked forests and mountains, the latter of which they didn’t cross at all. “Rivendell is a common center for activity, as there are no large woods surrounding it and therefore no Orcs.”
Well, that sounded great to Harry.
They arrived closer to four weeks later, as it was, and Harry was not too happy about it. By the end of the trip he was pressing Gandalf to go faster and was even willing to barter the spells he knew in exchange for continuing their journey into the fearsome night and earlier in the morning. By the time they got there, Gandalf’s bags were expanded and weightless and one of his waterskins had a refillable charm on it, connected to Gandalf’s magic so that it would keep going while he still did.
Professor McGonagall had been working tirelessly, a fact that Harry could have kissed her for, in the limited time she had compared to him. When Gandalf reported that Rivendell was just hours away, Harry wrote a letter to her requesting that she take a break from helping him and focus on something else (knowing that he was not in a dangerous position like the entire last seven years and knowing also that there was so much aftermath that, as headmistress, she could not put off for long).
Finally, after a great deal of stress and with dwindling food supplies, Harry caught his first glance at the great elven kingdom.
Of all of the words in the English language that Harry had been taught, not one of them was worthy of the view he was gifted with. Water flowed in various systems throughout the city and in falling streams and gorges that reflected the great blue sky upon the wooden and stone walls.
Gandalf described it as “The Last Homely House,” surely a reference to something that Harry was uneducated about, and the feeling received matched up with that quite well. It was a place of learning and a place of peace and Harry would have liked to stay there forever. They were welcomed at the border of the city by a trio of what could only be elves and he finally had to admit that such fantastic creatures truly existed.
“Mae govannen, Mithrandir,” the center elf greeted and bowed his head. Gandalf responded in kind, saying ‘Elrond’ instead of ‘Mithrandir’ and when they looked to Harry, he bowed much lower than either of them.
“Mae govannen, Lord Elrond,” his voice shook, “How do you do?”
“And who would you be?” The regal elf asked, a kind smile acting as encouragement.
“Harry Potter, my lord; a traveler who requests aid.”
“He is a friend,” Gandalf announced assuredly, thought it was pointed more at the tall elf on the left than any other.
“Of course. Stand down, Glorfindel; we are all friends here.”
They walked through the town and into the center building and Harry was hard-pressed not to gape like an idiot at the beautiful architecture. He was introduced informally to the third elf, a female named Princess Arwen who was stunningly beautiful and had passion in her clever eyes, and he was able to ignore the fact that they all stood taller than him.
“What troubles you so, Master Potter?”
“Please, just Harry is fine.”
“Harry here is traveler, arriving from much further than most do.”
His green eyes looked around, awe fading when the worry crept up the back of his throat. What if they couldn’t help him? What if they refused? Glorfindel was dismissed and he took Arwen with him and Harry was invited to sit on a chair as they entered a round room.
“Thank you, Lord Elrond.”
“Where are you travelling from?”
He hesitated. “A different world, my lord. I come from a land called Earth, where elves don’t exist and magic is abundant.”
“You don’t say?” Elrond looked interested and leaned forward in his chair (that looked much more like a throne).
“It is true. Master Gandalf says that there has never been such a situation but I come to you in hopes that you know a way I can return home. I’m desperately needed there, you see, and the longer I’m away, the more I’m missing.”
“What can you tell me about your arrival here?”
“Here, as in on Middle-Earth?” Harry clarified and Elrond nodded once. “Well. I was walking to meet with my professor – we had important things to talk about concerning what to do following a… terrible event. I was not so far from her room – it would have only been another five minute walk – when suddenly I was on grass instead of the stone like before. In the middle of a step I seemed to have popped to another location entirely! I felt nothing as it happened, there were no physical side-effects other than my shock, and any method I would have at returning to my world or getting in contact with it has failed. All except for Fawkes.”
“Fawkes?”
“A phoenix, my lord. He has been flashing between my professor and me carrying letters for the four weeks I’ve been here. He is waiting outside of the city borders currently and will find me tonight when fewer eyes will track his flight.”
“I see. The animal is new to me but I can discern enough from your explanation to make sense of it all. So what do you hope to receive from Imladris?”
Gandalf warned him about the use of Imladris in place of Rivendell and Harry was glad now that he did.
“I would have liked to roam your library, if only I could read the texts.”
“We have a great collection there. There are books in every language spoken on Middle-Earth, nearly.”
“Yes, but as far as I know I can speak none but the current one. So instead I hoped you knew more of a situation similar to mine?”
They sat in silence for a long while. Gandalf did not seem bothered and drew out his pipe as usual. Elrond got up and left the room at one point, which raised Harry’s spirits, but he came back only with a tray of strange fruits that he offered to his hungry guests. Despite the wants of his stomach, Harry did not reach for the fruit and instead continued to watch Lord Elrond with desperation.
“This is new for me as well,” he said finally. Harry let out a breath and ignored the tightening of his throat.
“I considered it being the will of the Valar?” Gandalf offered from his corner but Elrond shook his head.
“They have never done something so individual without first telling one of us about it. You have heard nothing, I was not told, and I spoke with the Lady Galadriel only last week and she said nothing of a strange guest. If I had to make a guess, I would think that the Valar are just as surprised as Master Harry here that he arrived in our homeland.”
Harry did not know what he expected to feel from such news, but he did know that he felt none of it. Everything was difficult and stressful and he wished for a long sleep that would cure him of his problems entirely.
“So what now?” Harry asked Gandalf.
“Now you wait for your friend to help you, as friends so often do. In the meantime, Rivendell is a great place for learning!”
In that case, Hermione would have liked to be there much more than he did. But Harry could not deny the beauty of the grand public library. He visited somewhat often but the only books he could read were of the history of Middle-Earth and Arda and he bored of it quickly. Sindarin elvish he was able to learn bits and pieces of by listening carefully to conversations, but he could never put it together enough to speak a full sentence.
But the thing about Imladris, the kingdom of comfort and knowledge, was that it was strangely capable of making its inhabitants feel happier and freer than they otherwise would have. Two weeks passed before Harry realized it when suddenly a letter came from McGonagall.
“Mr. Potter, I thank you for the break but I find my mind still running with the situation you are in. I have found nothing in Albus’ generous collection of tombs to get you back and I hesitate now at where to look next. You have explained to me enough what happened when you arrived there and what the world is like, but tell me more of how you are doing. Is your companion kind to you? Have you reached your destination? It may be a great deal longer until we can get you back here, so do not distance yourself too far from anyone offering to be a friend. I understand you are still shaken from what happened to your dearest friends and those you are close to, but that does not mean you should shut yourself from others. Do not wait too long to respond, I understand it has been much longer for you and I worry at the long silence. Kind regards, Minerva McGonagall.”
Harry read the letter two, three, four times, and still did not know how he was meant to feel towards it. He did not wait to figure it out and instead summoned to him (as he was in his room already) his paper and ink.
“Professor McGonagall, I cannot thank you enough for all that you are doing for me. You mentioned my friends and I asked you now: how are they doing? I meant to sign the medical forms but was whisked away before I had the opportunity. Please, I must ask you one more favor if I can. Please try and get them the full medical attention they need. If you cannot do so by authority, send Fawkes with the forms and I will sign them here. If you do this for me, I will be in your debt.
“As for me, do not worry. I am, somewhat regrettably, doing nothing that puts my health at risk. It is boring, truthfully, just sitting around and wishing for an answer to appear to me; I fear that much more of this and I may need to take another journey just to keep my mind in shape. I was not meant for the idle life. Gandalf is kind to me and much more patient than I deserve, but I know it mustn’t last forever – I can tell he is getting annoyed by my unwavering desire to go home. He believes I am here for a reason but he is the only one, not even Lord Elrond agrees with it. Rivendell (where I am currently) is beautiful. I am sure Hermione would love it here. Do not worry too greatly about me, for it is not as bad as I may make it out to be. Yours respectfully, Harry J. Potter.”
IX.
And it is true that Harry was slowly growing to like Middle-Earth. Despite his biases against it, it had done nothing wrong to him and the ones who lived there were increasingly kind and good. Perhaps that was a plan of Gandalf’s all along: to get Harry to Rivendell where anyone would feel welcomed in order to make him want to stay. Regardless of if it was or not, Harry would not have cared. But it had been a while now, another week since he sent the last letter, and he was currently in the library pulling out maps to decide where to travel to next.
“What is this?” Gandalf asked, taking half of the armful of scrolls and walking with Harry to a table.
“This is my foreseeable future,” Harry responded as he rolled out the first.
“You are going to travel?”
“That was the plan,” Harry looked up from his position bent over the table, hands splayed out to keep the map from curling back up. “Why? Do you suggest against it?”
“No, no, it’s just interesting.”
Harry narrowed his eyes.
“What is?”
“You were so against extended travel at first. You realize you will need a full story now, don’t you?”
Harry rolled his eyes and then settled them back on the parchment. “And I suppose you still want to stick with your plan?”
“I think it’s a good idea.”
“Run it by Lord Elrond. I trust his judgement. If he thinks it’s a good idea then we’ll do it but if not, I get to make up my own story.”
“I find that agreeable.”
“Great,” Harry said, “But for now I need different help. Where do you recommend I go?”
“Hm,” Gandalf came and looked over the maps at Harry’s side. “My next stop is at the Ettenmoors to do some spring cleaning. You are more than welcome to join me.”
Harry’s back went ramrod straight, his hands flying from the map leaving it to close slowly with a soft fwip, fwip, fwip, fwip.
“You would allow me to join you further?”
“Allow you?” Gandalf’s great eyebrows furrowed in the middle, almost hiding his blue eyes from view. “I would insist upon it. I have seen no proof of your ability to protect yourself and the world is dangerous beyond these borders!” It was only due to the great amount of time they have spent together than Harry could see the teasing for what it was. Such a great mood that Harry was in, he answered in a similar matter.
“Well, I’ll have to show you just how capable I am! Name a time and place, Mr. the Grey, and I’ll leave you in my dust!”
“You are rather confident in your abilities?”
“My magic is not here for nothing. If there is anything at all that I have learned through my years, it is how to defend myself from those wishing me harm. I cannot get by on weak attempts and hoping for help. I know how to survive.”
They did not talk much more on the topic but they did approach Lord Elrond that night about their plans to leave. Much to Harry’s annoyance, he agreed with Gandalf’s idea to say Harry was a new Istar (Ithron to the Sindarin Elves) but had some amendments.
“Do not reveal that lie until you are asked about it. It is true that everyone will be curious, but if you leave and do not return, there could be great backlash. If you can get by without ever telling anyone your story, do so.”
That made sense to Harry and even went along with one of his big mental drawbacks. It was the other amendment that he did not agree with.
“You will need a new name.”
“What?” He said, aghast.
“The Ithryn have many names but they all mean something. Gandalf means Wand-elf in Mannish and Mithrandir means Grey Pilgrim in Sindarin.”
“But I’m not an Ithron!”
“But you’re pretending to be one.”
“But we’re trying not to make that obvious!”
“What name were you thinking?” Gandalf asked, as if he knew this was going to happen all along.
“Ithreniol, was my idea.”
“Wandering wizard? Yes, I think that suits him quite well.”
“What?” Harry screeched, hands fisted in his messy black hair. “Are you guys hearing yourselves? ‘Oh, let’s make sure not to give anything away! And hey, by the way, let’s totally give everything away!'"
“Harry,” Gandalf interrupted, looking disappointedly at the world traveler.
“Yes, Gandalf? What have I done wrong this time?”
“Harry,” Elrond regained control of the conversation, “Are you at all sensitive to magic?” Deciding to roll with the new topic, trusting Elrond to bring it back to the current point by the end, Harry answered.
“Yes, my lord. All wizards are born with some degree of innate ability to sense magic. To what degree, it differs, but we at least can sense and connect with our own.”
“Allow me to explain something about elves. All races on Ennor have some degree of magic in them. For dwarves, it shows in their wonderful craftsmanship; for hobbits, in their farming and quiet feet. Elves are different in that they can, in addition to use their small magic, sense great amounts in others. You needed only to cross the borders of Imladris for all elves here to recognize you as a great bearer of magic. You are strong with it, though we cannot tell what it shall manifest as. A Man with magic is often a performer of miracles. What I mean to say is that they will not assume you are an Ithron, but attention will be attracted to you regardless. You cannot hide what you are from elves, and therefore there is no use in hiding it from the elvish language. But others will not sense you, they will not understand your name meaning, and they shall not be a risk to your health.”
The argument had holes in it, but Harry saw no reason to point them out. Both Elrond and Gandalf could rarely be swayed separately, so together Harry saw no reason to try. He would insist upon his friends calling him Harry and this would not last long anyhow, so he told himself he would not allow himself to be bothered.
Gandalf, for some reason, insisted upon calling Harry “Ithreniol” now whenever he had the chance so Harry reluctantly became used to responding to it. They packed their bags and Elrond provided a good quality elven cloak and a sleeping roll to Harry, who thanked him profusely, and the two wizards departed from the beautiful city only a few days after their plans were set. Harry kept McGonagall updated and she did the same for him and another week or two passed without him even realizing. He took note only when an important event occurred.
Harry and Gandalf were walking side-by-side as they passed over shallow hills and open grassland, twilight pressing on them like a well-worn blanket, when the howls of Wargs sounded closer than they ever had. It was not such a surprise: the closer they got to the Ettenmoors, the closer too was Gundabad.
“Wargs,” Gandalf spit, “And likely Orcs, too. Look closely, Ithreniol… what do you see?”
Harry stared out into the fading darkness, heels on a constant pivot, until he saw quick movement from their left. “There!” He shouted, and pointed to where at least a half-dozen figures were closing in. “Wargs with riders.”
“Prepare yourself. Now it is time to prove that you can fight.”
“To fight? You should ask for something difficult,” and then the Wargs were upon them and Harry’s wand got the use it had been waiting for.
Fawkes was flying far above them when the attack began and he did not come down except to claw the eyes of an Orc that got too close to Harry’s right side. It was difficult only being two fighters when Harry had grown up being a part of a group of three but they managed just fine. The Orc arrows that kept Fawkes away were easily kept out with a protego and Wargs could withstand only four to five stunning spells until finally falling victim to the next one. Harry allowed Gandalf to take care of actually killing them and then slid his wand away with a self-satisfied smirk.
“That was very well done,” Gandalf graciously acknowledged.
“That was very well done with only three spells total,” Harry (bragged) informed. “The shield spell to keep out the arrows, the stunning spell to down the Wargs, and the blasting spell to keep the Orcs away. Not even high powered or leveled spells.”
“So you still have not showed me what you can do?”
“You’ll see it all eventually,” Harry shrugged, but began to wish he had not been so cocky just then. Bad things happen to those unnecessarily proud. “You did great too, Gandalf. Thanks for the save, Fawkes.”
The bird in question gave a small trill but flamed away before he finished it, something Harry thought was strange. It was answered ten minutes later (spent continuing their walk) when Fawkes arrived with a letter.
Recently, talk with McGonagall was slowly becoming less about if she had found anything new and more about the reconstruction of Hogwarts, the welfare of the friends he no longer surrounded his thoughts on, and the curriculum changes for the upcoming school year. Harry sent a letter weekly and she would respond soon afterward so Fawkes was allowed long breaks without having to flame anywhere. She has proven to be a caring person and managed to get Hermione and Ron the best medical care possible through her authority and their fame and Harry did not even need to sign any forms.
But that may have proved to be an unfortunate curse, judging by the new letter.
“Mr. Potter, I recognize that you have not replied to my most recent letter, but there is an urgent matter that you must become aware of. The papers have caught wind of your disappearance. Fred Weasley’s funeral was yesterday and when you did not show, an investigation began. It became clear quite quickly that no one had seen you in a few days and plenty of appointments you made were missed so they believe something dreadful has happened to you. I have made no announcements and do not plan to unless you wish for something to be said. What do you want to be done?
“They think Death Eaters are involved: that they have taken you and are trying to bring back their master through violent rituals. I do not know where this rumor has come from, but it has the Weasley family worried and the world on the lookout. No one suspects anything close to the truth, except for Ms. Lovegood, who sent me a letter just this morning asking if I would tell you that ‘there are less nargles in his head when surrounded by gardfings.’ I do not know what that means, but she has always known more than other students her age.
“I will proceed how you wish for me to. This is, after all, weighing more heavily on your future than that of any other. Stay safe and think quickly, Minerva McGonagall.”
Well, of course Harry was stumped. He could not come out about what really was going on in his life, but he did not want anyone to worry unnecessarily. It took a long time and council from Gandalf until Harry finally wrote out a letter to McGonagall that had attached to it a written statement to be sent to all magical newspapers. He said in it that he was facing a difficult circumstance that made it impossible to attend all important events, not because he didn’t want to but because he genuinely was incapable of the travel there. It was short but heartfelt and gave Harry an idea.
“Before my closing, I ask you this:” Harry said at the bottom of the McGonagall’s letter, “Have you yet tried a summoning ritual? I cannot gather the magic required to leave but perhaps being pulled away would prove more effective. Thank you again for all of your help, Harry J. Potter.”
But alas it, like all other methods, proved not to help at all and Harry was left disappointed in the situation and especially in himself, for it was apparent to him that as the time passed, his determination to go home was waning.
X.
Time passed so quickly.
Harry and Gandalf made it to the Ettenmoors and defeated a great number of vile creatures before they were inevitably overwhelmed and moved on with their travelling. Gandalf insisted upon going west to the North Downs and Harry was more than happy to accompany him there to check that no questionable forces had taken control of the ruins and desolate land. When they were ready to move on from there, Harry had been in Middle Earth for over six months and thought less and less of Earth each day.
To his great surprise, Fawkes flashed in soon after that revelation with a gift parcel in his talons. Harry unwrapped it and almost cried when he recognized the item for what it was: the old mirror from Sirius.
“Hello?” He called, but received no answer when he didn’t know who would have the other end of the communication. The answer came later that same night when he heard someone calling his voice and took out the mirror to find Luna’s face staring back at him.
“Oh, Luna!” He actually cried then and she was as patient with him as she ever has been. “Please, how are you all doing?”
They spoke for hours and debated the matter of the time difference and the power of the twin mirrors for managing to stop or line up the timelines to allow for communication to happen between them. It was something that Harry was sure Hermione would have loved to throw her brain into. Luna updated Harry more completely, revealed that she was with McGonagall, who took the mirror for a minute and wished him well, and then said that it would be left in the headmistress’ office and the existence of it would be made known to anyone Harry wanted.
Harry didn’t even bother to wonder how Luna knew what was going on with his life and instead rattled off a list of names of people he wanted to hear from regularly. Professor McGonagall (who finally told him that she wasn’t his professor anymore and really, he could call her just by her surname or Minerva if he wished) assured him she would take care of it and they ended the call with smiles all around. Harry hugged Gandalf after he put the mirror back in his bag and grinned so widely he feared his face would break.
“I am so happy Gandalf,” he shared, more open with his feelings than he would normally be, “I am so happy that one of my problems has been solved.” Naturally, it was asked what problem that was and Harry had an answer ready for him. “My desire to return home has been fading as I considered Middle-Earth more and more a home to me, ever since Rivendell. But my friends were still so far away and it would have weighed on me forever if I gave up looking for a way back without attempting communication or scouring every library I could reach. In this solution, I can have everything my heart was fighting so desperately over.”
Harry smiled more easily after that day and Gandalf was always quick to mention it. When they made their way back to Rivendell months later, it was the first thing Lord Elrond made a point to bring up. Harry did not talk deeply of his old life to them and they therefore did not understand why bonds only seven years old or less were so important to him; while he humored their attempts to understand, he never confirmed anything so eventually they stopped asking outright and tried various, more subtle approaches.
Harry humored those too until he grew tired of the constant peering into personal memories and told them that he was going on another journey. Arwen, whom he had become quite close to after going to her to seek refuge from Gandalf’s prying questions one day, begged her adar to let her go, insisting to him that it had been too long since she had been outside the city limits, and he broke under her sweet voice with the condition that they would take one other. A kind but quiet warrior elf named Lithuidîr was chosen to go with them and they grew close in their year-long journey to Edoras and back.
Harry was able to speak to his friends and make new ones and he watched his godson Teddy grow by the day, all the while learning Sindarin and Quenya and having tales about him spread without his realizing, and such happenings went on for a long while, until one day Harry received word of a quest.