Summary: A de-aged Harry Potter was stranded in the middle of an unknown forest. To be hunted down by not only the ugliest creatures he had ever seen in his life, but also the most enthralling, would make anybody go mad. But not him. Harry Potter was a survivor. He would survive this, no matter how lost and small he currently was.

Warning: AU, Crossover, Slash (this means homosexual relationships), Killings/Torture, Mentions of Child abuse, DarkElfling!Harry

Disclaimer: I do own neither Harry Potter nor the Lord of the Rings. I would be filthy rich otherwise.

"English/Westron"

"Sindarin"

"Spells"

§Parseltongue/Black speech§

Prologue

Harry gasped, waking violently from his state of previous unconsciousness. The reason of his waking could be blamed by the pain he was currently feeling, radiating from nowhere, yet everywhere at the same time. His skin was intensely itchy, and his bones felt like someone had recently melted and was currently sculpting it to their liking. The same could be said about his eyes and ears.

Harry couldn't help but curl into himself, wishing to all his lucky stars that the pain would leave him soon. He would've groaned or cried out, but because of his childhood experiences, he refrained. He knew better than to start sobbing like a helpless child. Crying had never helped him before, in fact, it only made his throat hurt after a while.

He didn't know how long of a time had passed, it could be eternity for all he cared, but when the agonizing pain was over, he went limp, not at all caring that his cheek was pressed into the grassy groun–… Wait a second.

Harry bolted up, his Magic already in the process of numbing his nerves in preparation for him to flee from the area, or fight without worrying about his previous injuries(?). His eyes – which were no longer framed by hideous glasses due to a potion he had consumed a few years prior – scanned his immediate surroundings, taking note of all the hiding places that could fit his body if an enemy were to pop up unexpectedly.

When his eyes landed on a hollow tree root near from him, he made a move to stand and hide within until he recovered enough to apparate back to his little cottage – his safe haven. That was his plan anyway. He did not, in all of his life, expect to trip. On his own feet no less. He was not a clumsy person, thank you very much. Years of escaping bullies made him graceful and silent in his steps – it was the only way to avoid them.

With a muffled, humiliated groan, he placed both his palms onto the ground, intending to push himself up. However, he faltered. The two appendages currently in front of him were darker… and smaller. Way smaller. Harry knew that he was petite for his age, but not so much for his hands to be compared to a child's! And his skin. Oh Merlin, his skin! His usual pale complexion had turned… turned… His skin was gray, warm gray [1] to be precise! Who the hell had gray skin!? Oh Merlin… Oh fucking Merlin! The only things he knew that had gray skin were inferi! Luckily, he felt no limbs of his decomposing or in the middle of falling off.

He would've thought that this was a prank, an elaborated joke, but he did not feel any foreign Magic in his system or skin, nor was the latter covered by paint, or anything in fact. He had rubbed his arms and legs till his skin were raw, but yet, the colour still remained the same – albeit a little reddish thanks to the friction he had intentionally provided.

As if he had snapped out of his paranoiac trance, he had begun to slowly notice how his surrounding seemed far bigger, with his clothes practically eating his smaller frame up. He shrugged off his Wizarding cloak, and rolled up his top and pants sleeve. He then stored the cloak within his bottomless mokeskin pouch – which was thankfully still with him – and tested his mobility, wobbling around until he felt ready to venture away from his waking point.

Whilst Harry was busy with trying to regain his former grace, he wondered who the hell was responsible for kidnapping him, dropping him to this unknown forest, de-aging him via excruciating means, and changing his skin colour. Whoever it was, they were going to die a slow and painful death once Harry got his hands on them.

Harry was usually very apathic to any but himself, and preferred isolation, but he would not stand idle when other people shit on his peaceful lifestyle. He knew that the community (country) that he had saved from the hands of Voldemort was ungrateful and feared him, so he retreated to an unknown cottage at the edge of Britain. It was practically self-exile, but he cared not. After having died and coming back to life, he felt that he had lost a portion of himself. It was hard for him to feel any sort of emotions – especially positive ones.

His friends did not understand, yet they continued to worry about him. He found that both endearing and annoying. One part of him wanted him to remain with them, but a bigger part of him wanted to do nothing with those hypocrites. Oh yes, he knew all the plots they had planned for him. Betrayal was something he did not accept, so before they even got a chance of betraying him, he left. It was for them as well as it was for him. He could not hurt them – punish them – for their betrayal because they have yet to betrayed him.

Sometimes, Harry was disgusted by how forgiving he was – or perhaps it was because he had long given up caring for any but himself?

But he went off topic. He thought back to those who could've had the balls to kidnap him within the safety of his home-made wards. When he came up with more than a hundred names, he scowled and pushed it to the back of his mind, though unforgotten, just not in priority. He would find out who was the cause of his misery on a later date, but for now, he needed to find some grub and to hydrate himself.

He picked up a branch near his feet and placed it upon his palm. His Magic was still recovering, but a simple Point-Me charm won't do him harm. Maybe.

"Point me, nearest water source." Water first, food later.

… And shelter afterwards. Hopefully before nightfall.

[1] The cover image is how I picture Harry to be, as well as his new skin tone. And no, I did not draw that. The only thing I excel at is drawing stick figures.

Ok so… I couldn't get this idea out of my mind after I have read the Legend of the Sun Knight by the brilliant Taiwanese novelist Yuwo. Aldrizzt the Dark Elf gave me this sudden bout of inspiration, so to thank him, I'll recommend the novel and manhua LSK to you lot!

Signing off,
U.R.