The Twins of Mirkwood

Original Author: Etidorpha

Re written author: me :)

Warnings: Spoilers, AU, crossover with LoTR

Disclaimer: Hell no.

This story is adopted, and updates may be slow, I am hashing ideas with the original author. Thanks Etidopha!

Prologue

It was an early December night, and an icy chill permeated the halls of the castle, and into the towers that adorned the school. Only one student was up that late, sitting in his bed with his crimson comforter pulled tightly about him. Unknown to his slumbering roommates, the student in question, one Harry James Potter, was currently carrying on a rather heated argument via a charmed parchment in his lap.

Before we go any further in this story, I feel it pertinent to give you some background information. On Halloween night of 1981, the home of Godric's Hollow, which a young couple by the name of Lily and James Potter shared with their one-year-old son Harry Potter, was attacked by a madman by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle, or, as he prefers to be known, Lord Voldemort. Lily and James perished in the attack, but Harry survived only with a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. This scar would forever mark him, in some worlds, as the famous Boy-Who-Lived. For the next ten years, Harry grew up with his neglectful relatives, the Dursley's, which consisted of Vernon Dursley (the Walking Turnip Man), Petunia Dursley (Lily's sister, also known as the Horse Woman), and their same-aged son, Dudley Dursley (the Pig Boy). I say only for the next ten years because on his eleventh birthday, which they forgot about, he received an invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Of course, that is the more widely known, public story. What was not commonly known was that Harry Potter was not the biological child of the Potters. James Potter was infertile (Lily always secretly blamed it on the Quidditch). Harry, ironically, as this would happen again, had been placed on the doorstep of the young couple, who had immediately taken him in, adopting him and christening him Harry James Potter. Among those who knew of James' infertility, Albus Dumbledore was one such person. This takes us to now. Harry, in direct contrast to Dumbledore's understandable belief, knew exactly who he was, from whence he had come, and was well acquainted with his remaining family. It was one of these family members with whom Harry was currently conversing.

"You want me to come back simply because you think something's wrong!?" Harry hissed, a strong Silencing charm the only thing keeping from waking his blissfully oblivious roommates.

"Look, little brother," the blonde on the other end said, distressed, "Father and I both know how important what you're doing over there is, but Gandalf is convinced It's moving, he has Lord Elrond convinced, and I'd put a large wager on the Lady Galadriel as well." He paused, then spoke softly, words nearly inaudible. "Don't you miss us?"

Harry's raging green eyes softened.

"By the Valar, you're my twin," Harry murmured. "You can't begin to understand how much I miss you."

"Probably about as much as I miss you, Elian (Pronounced: Elle-Lee-Ahn)."

"Legolas, my work here is vitally important. Gandalf is truly convinced the situation is that bad?"

"Yes." There was no question about it. Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. He needed to leave soon anyway; his glamour's were starting to wear off, and it would raise some eyebrows if he suddenly had blonde hair, blue eyes, and pointy ears.

"Very well. Have Father give me three days to deal with things on my end, and send him my love, will you?"

"Of course." Harry smiled wanly. After exchanging their goodbyes, Harry locked away the parchment in the trunk at the foot of his bed, then, with an odd sigh, he crawled under the covers, trying to conserve warmth as he drifted off.

Chapter One

Ronald Bilius Weasley was currently frantic. Accustomed to being woken by Harry, who was always the first of them to arise, he was startled to woken by Dean Thomas, a tall black boy, who had a look of immense concern on his face.

"What is it?" Ron asked, his words sleep-slurred. In response, Dean silently pointed to Harry's bed. What Ron saw made the blood drain from his face as all traces of sleep disappeared.

The bed was empty.

After ripping the dorm room apart (and ignoring Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnegan who tried to assure him they had already checked everywhere conceivable) the group of four ran down to the common room, and, not finding Harry there either, they exited the tower at full speed. None took any heed to the looks they were garnering at their underdressed state, save Neville, who was bright red and attempting to dress as he ran, causing him to stumble often.

"Professor Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore!" Ron shouted as they burst into the Great Hall. Dumbledore stood, a look of concern beginning to dawn on his face, especially as he failed to note Harry's presence amongst the group.

"What is the problem, Mr. Weasley?" he asked.

"We can't find Harry," the redhead gasped as he attempted to catch his breath.

Dumbledore's infamous twinkle disappeared.

The rest of the teachers started from their seats, faces pale and filled with horror, save Snape's, which was merely impassive. After a brief, hurried conversation with Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress, he said to the group of boys,

"Go back to your dormitory and get some clothes on, and then stay there. The rest of your house should be arriving shortly after you. I'm going to lock down the students while we search the school for any traces of Mr. Potter."

In the shadows of the room, Elian's satisfied smirk abruptly disappeared.

Said elf made a mad dash up to the tower, all the while swearing under his breath and fervently hoping they had not yet made it back. Slowing as he neared the common room, he was relieved that his sensitive hearing detected no sounds from within. Murmuring the password quietly, he slipped inside, gathering his few remaining items that could possibly signal that he was within the castle. Giving them that impression did not fit into his diabolical plans of escape. See, he had it all laid out: Disappear, make golem, have said golem tortured to death a la Death Eater, then transport aforementioned dead golem somewhere public. If all went well, Dumbledore would assume it was really him, decide he was dead, and Elian would be free to get home to his father and his twin. Get it? Got it? Good.

Yeah, so it was a little harsh, and extremely brutal to people like the Weasleys, but he simply didn't have time for a more elaborate, subtle plan. If they had no body to say with one hundred percent accuracy that he was dead, there was always the shred of hope he was alive, and therefore it stood to reason there would always be some poor depraved moron looking for him. He needed to have full assurance that no one would ever get it into their heads to try and find the Boy Who Lived.

He swept his few remaining possessions into his bag and darted out of the Gryffindor tower just as the group of boys came around the corner. Giving fervent thanks to whatever higher power was out there that he had remembered his invisibility cloak, he pressed himself against the wall as they worriedly made their way inside. He waited for a few minutes more before deciding that the hallway was sufficiently cleared, then started to make his way through the patrolled halls, using all his elfish stealth to keep himself undetected. Now, there was just one more thing to do before leaving the castle.

In an odd about-face, the snowdrifts that had accumulated against the walls of the castle insulated the dungeons, making them the warmest part of the school. Elian allowed himself to appreciate this as he headed further down towards the Slytherin common room. Stopping infront of the tapestry that he knew guarded the entrance to the common rooms; he forced his glamours to drop.

And suddenly, Harry Potter was no longer standing there, but Elian, Prince of the Elves of Mirkwood.

He grew at least six inches, standing at a respectable 6'1", on par with his brother, and his skin lightened from its slightly flushed tones to a soft, even paleness. His eyes bled from an enchanting emerald green to an equally enthralling pale blue, hypnotizing, eerie, and regal all at once. His messy black hair became a soft blonde, smooth and silky, moving down his back. His bone structure became finer, and his clothes changed to those of elfin make. Most importantly, his ears developed delicate points at their tops.

He then turned his attention to the tapestry's inhabitant, who was eyeing him with no small amount of amusement. "An impressive show, Prince," Salazar Slytherin complimented him with a faint smirk. Elian smirked back.

"My thanks, Lord Slytherin. Now, might I request entrance to the dormitories you are so skillfully hiding?"

"Oh?"

"Yes, you see, I'm here to speak with one Draco Malfoy and reap confusion upon the other hapless Slytherins before I make my grand escape from the wizarding world." Salazar actually grinned.

"This will certainly be amusing…" he murmured more to himself than anyone else. With that, the tapestry became diaphanous, showing the Slytherin common rooms. Inside, the Slytherins gaped with pure disbelief as an elf strode into their midst.

"Oh, sweet Salazar…" one of the girls murmured. Draco Malfoy, who looked like they could be related if it weren't for the lack of the ears, shot to his feet.

"Elian! Have you gone fucking insane!?"

"On the contrary, my dear friend," Elian said cheerfully, flopping ungracefully into an armchair. From the corner of his eye, he could see Salazar watching with a wide smirk, and he resisted his own.

"Then what the hell are you doing, walking around like … that!?" Elian sighed, suddenly turning very serious.

"I'm leaving." Draco looked like he had been smacked in the face as he fell into the seat next to Elian.

"Why?" he finally murmured, a hidden pain deep in his eyes.

"My father and brother have called me home. Matters are escalating; It is moving, and He has not been still, nor have his Riders."

"Where is It now?"

"With a Halfling," Elian answered, "if brother was correct."

"A Halfling?" Draco's voice was doubtful.

"Apparently the boy has shown a remarkable resilience to It's evil, and Mithrandir has faith in him."

"Very well," Draco sighed.

"I also came to request a favor," Elian hedged.

"Oh?" Elian leaned over and whispered in his ear. The look on Draco's face suddenly became a mixture of horrified and disbelieving.

"You – You're serious?" Elian merely gave him a long look that said exactly what he thought of that question.

"Elian, I'm not sure if I can do that for you."

"Draco, goddamnit, it needs to happen! You know it as well as I." Draco sighed, giving in. His expression clearly said he hated Elian for what he was having him do.

"Very well," he said harshly. Elian bowed his head in thanks.

"You know I would not ask it of you if it weren't vital." Draco's look softened.

"I know. I expect you to write."

"As often as I can," Elian vowed. The two embraced for a long moment, ignoring the gaping they could sense from the rest of the room, then Elian stood, looked at Draco for a long moment, and then he left the room. Everyone turned back to Draco, who gave them a glare that told them in no uncertain terms to fuck off or face the dire consequences. However, he didn't fight as his closest friends dragged them up to the boy's dormitory for some quality chatting time.

Pansy Parkinson shoved Draco onto a bed, taking a seat next to him. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott also settled themselves down.

"Explain," Pansy ordered curtly. Draco sighed then looked at them each individually; they were Slytherins and knew how to keep secrets.

"What is said in here never leaves the room," he warned. Everyone nodded; they weren't about to betray their friend in that manner. "That was Elian, one of the two Princes of a sect of Woodland elves. He also has a twin brother. His father Thranduil is my father's half-brother, who was exiled for, among other things, treason against Thranduil."

"So… Elian is your cousin," Blaise said slowly.

"Yes."

"And you're part royal elf."

"Yes and no."

"Explain that for us?" Theodore asked.

"I'm part elf, yes, but not royal. Exiled, my father cannot any longer be in any way affiliated with the royal house, and therefore neither are my mother and I."

"Then where are your ears?" Pansy asked. Draco shook his head.

"The elf blood is too diluted. It is, however, where I get some of my more feminine looks from." He gave Blaise a disgruntled look as the boy snickered. Blaise had often teased him about being quite effeminate in appearance, and while Draco couldn't deny it, he rather preferred not being seen as girly.

"What was it he asked you to do?" Pansy broached cautiously, not sure if it was wise to ask that, especially since seeing the two cousin's interaction after Elian's request. Draco glared.

"That, you do not need to know," he said sharply. She nodded easily.

"Very well."

They watched him carefully the rest of the day, knowing that whatever his cousin had requested of him, it was eating away at him. What they didn't know was why Draco had agreed to whatever it was if he was that unhappy over it, but they decided not to ask. He probably wouldn't tell them anyway. He spent the day quietly, thinking to himself, and they knew it revolved around Elian.

"I'm going to go get ready for bed," Draco murmured quietly to his friends later that night. It was nearing ten-thirty, and they were spending the time in the common room, reading for classes. Immediately they looked up from their books and nodded seriously to him. He gave a slightly strained smile, pushed his transfiguration text aside, and made for the stairs leading down to the boy's dormitories. As soon as he was gone from sight, however, Pansy turned to Theodore and Blaise.

"Keep an eye on him," she ordered curtly. "There's something seriously off about this entire business, and I don't like it." Her eyes were steely, as if daring the boys to disobey her orders.

"We will, Pan," Blaise assured her instantly. "We're just as worried about him as you are, you know." She deflated slightly.

"I know."

"I think I'll head off to bed, too," Theodore said, faking a yawn for effect, but they both knew it was just to keep an eye on Draco and hopefully tone down Pansy's nerves. Blaise immediately stood with him.

"I think I will as well." She smiled slightly and nodded, and they were gone in the same way as he had gone. Upstairs in the dormitory, they were blessedly the only three there as they changed into their bedclothes, brushed their teeth, and slid into bed.

"Goodnight," Blaise said to the room in general. Theodore gave a general grunt back, but only an uncharacteristic silence came from Draco. Sighing to himself, Blaise allowed himself to fall asleep. When he woke up, he didn't know what time it was, but he would've hazarded a guess that it was about midnight or so. He laid there in his bed for a moment, trying to figure out what had woken him, before he figured it out. The rustle of movement coming from Draco's bed.

"Dray?" he whispered harshly. His voice was like a gunshot in the silence of the dormitory.

"Go to sleep, Blaise," Draco replied back.

"What are you doing?" Blaise pressed.

"Following orders," Draco replied shortly.

"What?" There was no response save the quiet shutting of the dormitory door. It was only years of experience that allowed Draco to avoid the teachers and prefects patrolling the halls, not to mention the ghosts, as he made his way to the front doors and slipped out. Instantly the chill and snow hit him like a ton of bricks, and he gritted his teeth as he cast a warming charm over himself before a general charm that would repel snow. Then he set out determinedly across the grounds, melting the snow in his path. Although he would be loath to admit it, he felt a sense of relief as he entered the Forbidden Forest, for the trees sheltered the majority of the snow from him.

"Cousin?" he called out quietly. He heard a rustle from beside him, and Elian stepped into view.

"Draco," he greeted quietly. His blue eyes were a mixture of sadness, seriousness, and steely resolve. "Are you ready for this?"

"Does it really matter whether I am or not?" Draco shot back evenly.

"You don't have to do this, you know. You're still my cousin before anything else."

"And you are my prince," Draco replied, "and you will always be my prince, regardless of how my father disgraced the house. I will follow your orders. Do you have the golem ready?" Elian barely restrained the flinch at the harsh reminder that, technically, he was Draco's lord. He also knew that Draco was descending into duty and honor in order to cope with the realities of his current situation, and so he merely nodded, leading him to a small but solidly constructed shack. Inside it was warm, and in the center of the floor sat a blank-looking golem that was the exact semblance of Harry Potter.

"The room is warded," Elian informed him, "and time does not pass here, so you will not miss anything regardless of how long you are here. When you are finished, activate the rune here, and it will remove the golem, since I doubt you want to spend any more time with it than necessary. It will appear in the Ministry in three days time." Draco merely nodded curtly, not looking at him. "I would do it myself if I could," Elian said gently, wrapping an arm around his stoic cousin's shoulder. "But I am a fully-blooded elf; you know I cannot torture. You are family, the only one I can trust with this. I'm sorry." Draco sighed.

"Me too," he replied. He shrugged off Elian's arm, pulling away slightly to strip off his outer cloak, revealing dark, economical clothing. "You should go," he said. Elian hesitated for the briefest instant before he leaned in and planted a kiss on Draco's temple.

"Goodbye, cousin," he said, before slipping from the room. Draco paused for a long instant to gather himself, allowing himself to sink into the Death Eater mentality that his father had long ago tried to permanently ingrain in him. His eyes grew cold and dark as he shut out every moral and shred of goodness he possessed. Waving his wand, he conjured a long handheld knife as he approached the golem on light footsteps. Draco honestly didn't know how long it took, but when he finally finished, his gag reflex kicked in as he took in the sheer brutality and amount of blood around him. Whirling, he quickly activated the rune, and the body disappeared, just as Elian had said it would. He sighed and glanced down at himself, eyeing the blood that splattered and soaked his clothing. A few cleaning charms took care of it, and he quickly exited the shack, not wanting to stay there any longer than he had to.

He remained still undetected as he slunk through the halls and back to his dormitory. A quick covert look showed him that everyone was still undisturbed, even Blaise, and so he stripped, throwing the clothes in the still-burning fireplace as he donned his pajamas once again and slipped into bed.

He knew he would not sleep.

The next morning, the bags under his eyes and his refusal to talk to anyone stated louder than words that he was seriously bothered by something, but not even Pansy could get him to tell her what was wrong, and so they merely stood by his side, their presence comforting even when they didn't know what they were soothing. It couldn't go on forever, though, and so Theodore, at the other's prompting, quietly pulled Draco aside.

"I won't ask," he immediately assured Draco, calming the warning in his silver blue eyes. "If you need to talk, though, we're here. Remember that." Draco gave a strained smile.

"I know," he replied. "Thank you." Theodore merely nodded, pulling him back to the others. "We have class now," he said briskly, "and we shouldn't be late. Come on." The mood for the next several days in the castle was strained and somber. Teachers either snapped for no reason or proved an inability to properly teach. The Gryffindors, likewise, had become both sad and belligerent as their nerves stretched beyond what they could stand. The Hufflepuffs became increasingly jumpy and clingy, and the Ravenclaws spent their time either sequestered in the library or their common room, most often in tightly packed groups. The Slytherins, for their part, were tense and quiet. They recognized the proverbial calm before the storm, and they were just waiting for the storm they knew was going to come.

It hit three days later, as Elian said it would:

Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was dead; his tortured and mutilated body found in the Atrium of the Ministry.

As the shock waves flew throughout the great hall, one particular blonde Slytherin had his eyes tightly shut. He didn't want to read the story, or see the pictures splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet. He knew what had happened.

After all, he had done it.

At the Gryffindor table, Ron and Hermione slowly rose from their seats, faces pale and stricken as they quietly left the Great Hall with all eyes upon them.

Down at the third year's section of the table, a usually reticent boy summed up all their thoughts in four eloquent words:

"Bloody hell … we're fucked."

"No! You think?" His friend challenged icily.

"Shut up!" Draco snapped down at them. Their mouths clamped shut. "This is not what we need right now!" The Slytherins turned to look at the rest of the hall. Half were talking – or crying, as the case may be – to each other, but the other half were looking at the congregation of Slytherins with a boiling hatred fueled by grief and prejudice.

"Great," Pansy sighed. "Just fucking great." Up at the head table, Dumbledore slowly stood, and the entire hall fell silent without any prompting. The old wizard was pale, with a sad, tired, hopeless look in his eyes. It was this very show of fallibility that the hall did not want to see. They all held to the small shred of hope that Dumbledore could fix everything, that this was just an elaborate hoax, but seeing the resignation on Dumbledore's features caused them to face the shadow sliding across the sun:

It was real.

"My deepest sympathies go out to the friends of Harry Potter," he said quietly, his strained voice finally showing his years. "Classes will be cancelled today and tomorrow to allow you to grieve as needed." Slowly the students began to file out of the hall back to their dormitories, the Slytherins moving quickly and carefully through a side door and the lesser-used passages. Soon, only the teachers remained.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked. The Potions Master had a look of stunned incredulity in his eyes, which he quickly tried to smother as he heard his name being called.

"Yes, Albus?" he answered without his usual snarky edge. It was true, he hadn't liked the Potter boy, but no one deserved to die like that. What was even more disturbing, however, was that he almost recognized the style in which the boy had been killed. It was a Death Eater's work, no doubt, but it was distinctly … Malfoyish.

"Did Voldemort give any sign of having Harry detained?"

"If he did have Potter in his cells, I did not detect any sign of his presence," Snape answered finally, "nor did Voldemort gloat over the capture, as he surely would have done if he had him."

"So, basically, no," Filius Flitwick summarized.

"I am hardly high on his list of confidants," Snape argued back.

"But it is the work of either Voldemort or a Death Eater?" McGonagall asked. Snape nodded.

"Without any doubt."

"If it was not Voldemort's work, then which Death Eater would he trust enough?" McGonagall ventured hesitantly.

The obvious answer hovered unspoken in the air.

The Slytherins raised their eyes warily to the entrance as the tapestry guarding it became intangible, but it was only their Head of House that entered. Unlike the other three Houses, which had most probably spent the last hour crying their eyes out, the Slytherins had been gathered in the common room, debating what hexes and curses they could legally get away with while still in school by claiming self-defense. Snape wearily took an armchair closest to the fire, and his students crowded closer, giving him their full, undivided attention.

"Severus…?" a second-year Drusilla Zabini, Blaise Zabini's younger sister, hazarded in her strong, quiet voice.

"Yes?"

"It was the Dark Lord's work, wasn't it?" she asked quite calmly.

"Yes, Dru, it was." The Slytherins groaned.

"Yep … we're dead," the same third year from earlier announced cynically. In the midst of the discussions, Draco Malfoy sat silently, as he had remained for most of the past three days, ever since he had tortured to death the golem of his cousin.

"Always walk with another person," Snape said finally. "I don't need any of you wandering off on your own and ending up in the hospital wing." They solemnly promised, and Snape stood to leave. "Mr. Malfoy?" he asked. Draco looked up; his silver grey eyes deader than Snape had ever seen them. "Can I talk with you?" Silently, Draco followed the obsidian-eyed man out of the room. In Snape's office, Draco was shooed into a chair while Snape took the one behind his desk. He leaned forward, hands clasped under his chin and eyes carefully hooded.

"Potter was executed in a style only a Malfoy can pull off," he began, voice hard, "and I know damn well your father's been in France for the past week. Care to explain?" Draco opened his mouth and shut it, numerous times, trying to find the words without giving away privileged information.

"I …" His voice broke off – how was he supposed to know Severus was going to ask him this!? "I … I did it," he finally admitted in a near-whisper as he slumped back in his chair. Snape nodded. He had guessed as much, and asked only one question.

"Why?" Draco stared at him for a long moment, not knowing how to answer that. Luckily for him, someone answered for him.

"Because I asked him to," a calm voice answered from the doorway. With a startled oath, Snape sprung from his chair, wand pointing diligently at the blonde figure lounging nonchalantly in the doorway.

"Who the hell are you?" Snape demanded.

"Elian, what the fuck are you doing here?" Draco asked far too calmly.

"Just making sure my favorite blonde doesn't get killed," Elian answered with no small amount of amusement in his voice as he quite calmly strolled into the room and took the chair next to his cousin.

"I won't ask again," said Snape dangerously. "Who are you?"

"I go by Elian," the elf answered dismissively. "You may as well sit down. We're not going to get anything done like this." Warily, Snape sat, his wand still held tightly in his hand. "Now, then," Elian said, satisfied, "let's get this out in the open. Harry Potter is dead upon my command, and Draco isn't in a position to refuse my requests, no matter if he may wish otherwise."

"You ordered a hit on Potter?"

"I believe I just said that."

"Why?" Elian shrugged.

"It was necessary," he said simply.

"You call ordering the death of the only wizard capable of killing the Dark Lord 'necessary'?" Snape demanded slightly hysterically. "You may have damned us all!"

"Ah, but you see, that is where you are mistaken. Harry Potter was not a wizard." Snape was unable to reply, as he was working on keeping the shock from his face. Elian decided to seize the opportunity to speak uninterrupted as it presented itself. "You cannot tell me you believed unfailingly in the prophecy as the old man did. A prophecy is not set in stone; like every other one, it is a possibility. Not a certainty. Removing Harry Potter from the picture served the needs of my people so much more than his presence did. So I did what I had to, and I removed Harry Potter." Finally Draco spoke, while watching his godfather absorb everything.

"Elian…" He said, voice barely audible. "Tell him the truth." Elian's head whipped around to stare at his cousin.

"What?"

"I trust him. He can be a valuable ally, if you let him. We can tell him the truth, and if he doesn't believe us or reacts adversely to it, you can wipe his memory."

"Very well." He looked at Snape, who was looking between the two suspiciously.

"Harry Potter never existed," Elian said flatly.

"Excuse me?" Snape asked slowly.

"Harry Potter was not the biological child of the Potters. James Potter was infertile. When the baby was abandoned at the Potter's doorstep, they adopted him, and not knowing his birth name, gave him one of their own. Harry Potter never existed, and therefore the prophecy never existed. Like ninety percent of the other orbs sitting in the department of mysteries, it will never come to pass because it was missing one of the two key elements. A possibility was all it ever was."

"How do I know that this information is genuine?" Snape asked suspiciously. "This could easily be a tool planted to confuse the Order. After all, you just admitted to me that you ordered Potter's hit." Elian sighed and shifted back to his Harry Potter glamour.

"This proof enough for you?" he asked bitingly.