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Prologue:

Every Valentine's Day finds them coming. Score upon score of star-cross'd lovers, their hands clasped tightly together. They come, and we teach them the social graces, how to stay steady under pressure, how to plan the perfect anniversary surprise. We instruct them in the writing of sonnets, in the intricate language of lingering glances, in the art of wearing blinders – metaphorically speaking. Our school is renowned throughout the known universe and far, far beyond. Tuition is not cheap, but we are far better than any relationship counselor ever hired. Our motto: True love conquers all. The unspoken addendum – but only with our help.

Harlequin's Finishing School for Soulmates – yes, that was the name. They paid me several hundred thousand a year to teach there, assuming incorrectly that my daughter's happily-ever-after was entirely due to my own efforts. Informing them of this oversight would have been a waste of time, for the Board of Governors were never sticklers for accuracy. For over fifty years, I taught there, doing my best to impart wisdom. At last, however, I had my fill of excessive public displays of affection and sickeningly saccharine exchanges. I tendered my resignation and transferred schools to a place where I can be more useful – and less nauseous.

I have held my new position for three years, and it has been a breath of endearment-free fresh air. This winter's class promises to be both large and quite the handful. I relish the idea of a challenge. Our founder has also requested that we rename the academy. Now that is a task I rather dread. We always have such trouble naming things. It is hard to phrase what it is we do here, to remain sensitive and never insult our prospective students. For here, our focus is not the strengthening and honing of a pair of "true loves". Rather, we must reforge anew those who have unfortunately been broken by their exclusion from such a pair. Those for whom hope is meaningless and love only a deep, piercing wound. Somehow, we must rehabilitate these unhappy, bitter souls. It does not do to dwell in regretful mourning for the rest of one's life, as I came to learn millennia ago through personal –

"Mr. Elrond!"

The too-cheerful clarion call of his latest secretary interrupted Elrond's musing. Startled, he dropped his pen onto the page of his new journal, half-covered in immaculate tengwar. The pen nib hit the page near the end of his last sentence, leaving a very unseemly smudge, indeed. Elrond frowned at the insolent black blot. He hated messes.

"Mr. Elrond!" the secretary called again, this time knocking loudly on his office door. She knew enough not to enter without an invitation but unfortunately would not leave until he let her in.

Sighing, Elrond shut the journal bound in caramel calfskin. He set it in the private top drawer of his gargantuan mahogany desk and locked the drawer. With one last regretful glance at the peace of his office's smoky gray walls and plush dusky blue carpet – a peace that had been rudely destroyed – he announced, "Come in."

The door opened, and a vision of loveliness entered. Five feet, two inches of porcelain white skin, a pink skirted business suit, red lips that formed a perfect Cupid's bow, sparkling blue eyes, and an expertly coiffed head of thick, shining blond hair. Five feet, five inches, Elrond corrected himself, noting the black stilettos that sank deep into his favorite carpet. He winced with every step she took.

"Good morning, Galinda. What can I do for you?"

She wobbled over to his desk and collapsed onto the single wooden chair set opposite him, a six-inch stack of manila folders clasped to her chest. "It's Glinda, sir. And I wanted to say thank you again for hiring me. It's been difficult finding a job, what with the economy – and you know how fickle public opinion can be."

Elrond raised a single thin eyebrow. Is that all? the eyebrow asked archly. Or perhaps the question was really: Are you not an embodiment of fickle public opinion yourself? Glinda wasn't sure, and she flushed hotly.

"Anyway," she went on, trying to recover her professional secretarial manner, "the students will be arriving at ten, which is in about an hour. I thought we should go through their dossiers, discuss potential problems, assign roommates . . . things like that. Who your roommate is can change a lot," she added thoughtfully.

"Very well. Shall we look through those folders, then?"

Glinda brightened and pushed her black horn rim glasses further up her pert nose. Elrond had yet to discern if she wore them out of necessity or for affectation. "I was actually hoping we could use the new projector."

Her boss stifled a groan. He hated having to deal with too much newfangled technology. Luckily, Glinda was adept at setting up the projector all by herself. She scurried over to the opposite wall, pulled down the projector screen, and turned off the lights. Somehow finding the projector remote in the organized clutter that was Elrond's desk, she turned it on, then commandeered the computer. "Shall we begin by admissions date, age, or alphabetically by last name?"

"Last name will do, thank you." Her perfume was just a little too strong, and Elrond sneezed.

Correctly guessing the reason for his sneeze, Glinda scooted closer to the computer. "Sorry, boss." She frowned at the screen. "Some of our students don't have last names, sir."

Elrond sighed. "Just do your best, Miss . . ." He trailed off, realizing that she didn't have a last name, either. "The first student, please."

"Yes, sir." Glinda typed frantically for a moment. "Slideshow's on." AS the secretary tapped the projector remote, the screen showed the name of each student along with their picture and a few other key details.

First up was a young woman in her early twenties. She looked pleasant enough, with long brown hair and intelligent eyes of nearly the same color, but she could not be described as pretty. Her dress was most unfashionable and very out of date. Glinda opened her mouth to say something, then shut it quickly.

Name: Mary Bennett

Age: Twenty

Hometown: Longbourne, Hertfordshire, England

Occupation: Improving myself

Hobbies: Practicing the Pianoforte, Needlework, Studying Sermons, and Doing Good Works.

Reason for Applying: Mr. Collins

After studying the slide for a moment, his eyes lingering on Mary's face, Elrond gestured for her to move forward. "Next."

A teenage boy with brown skin and very short black hair.

Name: Jacob Black

Age: Seventeen

Hometown: La Push Reservation, Washington, USA

Occupation: Fixing Cars & Hunting Down Bloodsuckers

Hobbies: See above

Reason for Applying: Bella Swan

Elrond studied Jacob Black critically. "Bit young to be bitter. Next."

A handsome peroxide blond with pale blue eyes and a scar slicing across one eyebrow.

Name: William the Bloody, alias Spike

Age: None of yer soddin' business

Home: England

Occupation: Vampire

Hobbies: Drinking Blood & Beer, Kitten Poker, Motorcycles, Passions, Shaggin' Slayers

Reason for Applying: Buffy Summers

This one was rewarded with a distasteful grimace. "Next, please."

A familiar face this time. Elrond smiled, albeit with traces of sadness. "I wondered when you would show up."

Name: Gimli son of Gloin

Age: Older than the Fourth Age

Hometown: The Lonely Mountain, Erebor, Rhovanion, Middle-earth

Occupation: Stonemason/Metal Smith/Jewel Smith

Hobbies: Taking Care of my Beard, Exploring the Glittering Caves, Killing Orcs

Reason for Applying: Galadriel, Lady of Light

"I should never have let my mother-in-law talk the Valar into letting Gimli come to Valinor. Never. It was no favor to him."

Glinda wisely let this pass, instead moving on to the next student. "Hmm." This one was very attractive, a well-built man with glossy dark hair and a crisp linen dress shirt. Why, oh why was he wearing an ivory colored mask on the right side of his face, then?

Name: Erik, aliases: The Phantom of the Opera, Angel of Music, The Opera Ghost

Age: Thirty-nine

Hometown: Subterranean lake, Palais Garrier, Place de l'Opera, 9th arrondisement, Paris, France

Occupation: Composer, Architect, Musician

Hobbies: Stalking Promising Young Talent in the Opera House, Murder

Reason for Applying: Christine Daaé

"Not quite your type, I think. Next."

Another brunette woman. This one had a hard face, although she was definitely good-looking. Her dark brown eyes were hard, too, as if shutters were closed fast behind them.

Name: Faith Lehane

Age: Twenty-three . . . I think?

Hometown: Boston, Massachusetts, USA

Occupation: Vampire Slayer

Hobbies: Dancing, Slaying, Smoking, Beer, One-night Stands, Spending 8 Months in a Frickin' Coma

Reason for Applying: Angel

"I bet she's got a sad story."

"Sad and tawdry. Let us move on."

A nearly transparent girl with thick glasses and an expression of utmost misery.

"We do ghosts?" Glinda blurted, unable to censor herself.

"Shh. I'm reading."

Name: Moaning Myrtle

Age: Fourteen

Hometown: The U-Bend, Third Toilet from the Door, 2nd Floor Girls' Loo, Hogwarts, England

Occupation: Ghost

Hobbies: Haunting Olive Hornby, Peeking in on Boys in the Prefects' Bathroom, Exploring the Lake, Being Teased, Crying

Reason for Applying: Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy (I really have to pick one?)

Elrond looked at the screen for a long moment. "It is a terrible thing when children die young."

His secretary had honestly never been much of a kid person. "Uh huh," she replied noncommittally, clicking forward to the next student. "Oooh."

A handsome, upright man in a dark blue naval uniform. His hazel eyes stared out from the screen straight at her.

"Oh," Glinda repeated in a very small voice.

"Please remember that you are not allowed to date the students."

Blushing furiously, she hit the remote buttons several times, accidentally turning the projector off. Elrond kindly refrained from commenting as she struggled to get the machine working again.

"Right. Okay. And our wonder student is . . . "

Name: James Norrington

Age: Thirty-two

Hometown: Wherever His Majesty sends me

Occupation: Commodore in His Most Royal British Majesty's Navy

Hobbies: Fencing, Swimming, Capturing Pirates

Reason for Applying: Elizabeth Swann

"Next, please."

This one was not as attractive as the Commodore. The man was sallow and skinny with long, stringy black hair, a large, hooked nose, and black eyes with no light in them. Glinda almost shuddered.

Name: Severus Snape

Age: Thirty-seven

Hometown: Hogwarts

Occupation: Potions Master

Hobbies: Inventing Curses, Brooding, Punishing Griffindor Miscreants

Reason for Applying: Lily Evans

"And the last one."

Name: Tinkerbell

Age: Ageless

Hometown: Neverland

Occupation: Fairy

Hobbies: Helping Peter, Flying

Reason for Applying: Peter Pan

"Ten in all. And what a bunch . . . Tell me, Glinda, where shall we put them? What potential problems do you foresee?"

Turning off the projector very carefully, Glinda flipped the light switch. "No one's gay, this time. That makes room assignments less complicated."

"Who was gay last time?" her boss demanded.

"Never you mind," she muttered under her breath, then continued in a much louder, cheerier voice. "What problems are you expecting, sir?"

"Trouble with a few of the behavioral rules, as usual. There will probably be smoking on the grounds, breaking curfew . . . Inform Tim not to let the large dogs out tonight, if you would."

Glinda did shudder this time, for Tim the ostler gave her the creeps. He had pale, floppy hair – hair like mouldy hay, it was – and eyes that were more than half mad. But at least he did well with the horses. "Okay, Mr. Elrond. What else?"

"Do you have time to get nameplates on the doors?"

The look she shot him would have withered a small tree or curdled milk that was still inside the cow. "Please don't insult my competency, sir."

Elrond nodded, choking back a half-nervous chuckle. It had been ages since someone had scorched him with such a stare. "I apologize."

"Accepted. Nameplates?"

"I have an idea for the rooming assignments."

Whipping out a tiny pink notepad and matching rhinestone-encrusted pen, his secretary nodded. "Ready, sir."

"One moment." Elrond fished through the folders on the desk, taking one last look at his new students' faces. "All right. Let us try Faith Lehane with Mary Bennett and Moaning Myrtle – what a name! – with Miss, er, Tinkerbell."

"The ghost and the fairy? Isn't that some kind of discrimination?"

"Miss Lehane would torment Myrtle and get in a fight with Tinkerbell. She may dislike Miss Bennett, and I fear Miss Bennett may not like her, but – "

"But Mary Bennett would be even more uncomfortable with a supernatural roommate," Glinda finished for him blithely, unaware that she'd interrupted.

Lips pursed, Elrond continued, "Indeed. That settles the female students. As for the males, well, six is slightly more complex to match than four. I think Jacob Black with . . . no, no, that won't do. Nor that . . . Jacob Black with Gimli. Gimli may be the most stable and least likely to scar an impressionable teenager."

Glinda carefully refrained from commenting this time, although she really detested long beards.

"Yes. Jacob with Gimli, Severus Snape with James Norrington, William with the bloody awful nickname with Erik. I trust you can arrange that."

His secretary was already halfway across the room. "On it, boss."

Elrond watched her totter to the door and exit. Breathing a final sigh of relief, he reached for his journal and the offensive pen. After gazing unhappily at the ink smear, he picked up where he had left off.

. . . millennia ago through personal experience. I mourned Celebrian for so long. She had not physically died, but she was gone beyond my reach. Even in Valinor, there was a part of her that was utterly lost to me. I lost my wife in the dens of the orcs of the Misty Mountains. Not even my sons could bring their mother back to me.

On a less maudlin topic, that new secretary is working out well. She seems enthusiastic and fairly efficient thus far, albeit a little too peppy. As a general rule, our students are not fond of pep.

I have high hopes for this year's class. Only a few cases of puppy love – the others all seem to have been deeply involved, emotionally. This makes for a longer healing process, but I have faith in the abilities of our excellent staff. Our class includes a werewolf, a dwarf, a vampire, a wizard, a madman, a ghost, a fairy, a Slayer, a spinster – twenty is too young to be a spinster. A prospective spinster, then? – and a naval officer. Thankfully, this is not our first foray into the paranormal.

Alas, the clock runs forward. The students will be here in half an hour, and I must speak to the rest of the staff before they arrive. Hopefully Tim does not fall for Miss Lehane. Bess the landlord's daughter had black hair, not brown, but Miss Lehane's is nearly dark enough. Perhaps I could ask her to refrain from wearing red lipstick during her stay here? It strikes me that Glinda may be right. She has yet to mention the subject, yet I know she would like for me to fire Tim. He bothers her. If only Erestor were here! I could use his clear-headed opinion in situations like this.

Glinda has texted me. I am needed downstairs. Already the crises begin. Oh, how I love the first day of term.

Navaer an si,

Elrond Half-Elven, former Lord of Rivendell, currently Acting Headmaster of the School of Romantic Hard Knocks.

Valar. We need a new name. Badly.

A/N: I wasn't entirely sure which crossover category to put this story in, so I went with LotR/HP. If you can think of one that fits better, please let me know. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

AiH