Alright amici, I'm starting this collection because I've got way too many HP crossover ideas floating around my brain and no time to actually properly write them down. So I'll post bits and pieces here so you can enjoy them and so I can hopefully get them to stop distracting me from what I'm supposed to be working on. Which may or may not backfire on me, but a girl can hope.
This is Harry Potter crossed with Lord of the Rings. No pairings decided yet, since it is just an idea and I've only half a clue where I want this to go.
This is one of the best dreams Harry has ever had.
Everything is so pretty. The trees and the waterfalls and the flowers… Aunt Petunia could only wish to have a garden half as pretty as this. And the house! Though, with how big it is Harry isn't sure it can be called a house. But everything is so graceful, sweeping lines and curves and little leaves carved into everything that makes it seem like they brought the trees outside into the inside.
The place is completely empty, so Harry is free to explore. She does so eagerly, switching between awe at her surroundings and glee at being able to wander wherever she wants. There's no one to tell her off, no one to sneer at her presence and lock her in her cupboard-
"Mae govannen, tithen pen."
Harry squeaks, spinning around so fast she stumbles against the wall. Hands reach out to steady her, large and strong and Harry flinches back as Uncle Vernon flashes before her eyes. Already unbalanced, Harry trips and falls, landing hard on her rear.
She ignores the dull ache, glancing up into grey eyes that do not belong to Uncle Vernon. No, it's a tall, dark haired teen and Harry stares. He's dressed like a character from the fantasy books she read while hiding in the school library, the only place Dudley avoids like the plague and safe from Harry Hunting. The boy is wearing a grey shirt under a dark red tunic, long enough that Harry can only make out dark boots, and a belt around his waist.
The boy says something. The words sound like music to her ears, and Harry cannot understand it at all. But it brings her attention back to the fact that he's there, and Harry's not supposed to be seen. She scrambles to her feet, hunching in on herself. "I'm sorry! I didn't know you were here and I can leave! I didn't mean to -"
She's not looking at the boy, which is stupid stupid stupid, so she doesn't see the boy reach out. She feels his hand come down on her head though, and Harry flinches. But the boy simply rests his hand on her head. It's… comforting? "It is fine, little one." He says, and at the lack of anger in his voice Harry risks a look up at his face. "I am at fault for startling you. My apologies."
Now that they are closer, Harry realizes that the boy is tall. Really tall. She only comes up to his waist! But that gives her the perfect view of the object belted to the boy's waist.
"Is that a sword?" Harry blurts out, unable to help herself. She flushes, because duh, it's a sword. The shape is pretty obvious and the boy's dressed like a prince so of course he has a sword! She ducks her head, waiting for him to yell at her for asking stupid questions.
There are no sneering words though, but a quiet sound and takes Harry a second to realize that the boy is laughing. It's not even mocking, but a soft, warm chuckle that has Harry staring at the boy even as he smiles at her and crouches so he's closer to her height. "It is," he says, and his voice is gentler than Harry has ever heard directed at her. "Do you want to see it?"
Her eyes widen. "Can I?" She asks, not daring to hope. The handle - the hilt, she remembers from her books - looks pretty, which means the sword has to be really nice and no one would ever let her near something so valuable. Not when everyone thinks Harry is a troublemaker and worry that she might steal or break it. It doesn't matter that Harry would never do such a thing. Dudley has, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always blame it on Harry.
But the boy unbuckles the weapon from his hip, sitting down in front of Harry so he can better hold it and Harry is reminded that this is a dream. The Dursleys aren't here. They can't tell tales or drive away anyone who might be her friend.
The sword is plain. No gold decoration or gems embedded in the hilt like in the stories. Simple steel and plain black leather wrapped around the grip. Somehow, the simplicity makes it much more brilliant. Harry runs her fingers down the cold metal.
"Here." The boy says, slowly and gently taking her hand and guiding it until her fingers are wrapped around the hilt. Harry gapes as he helps her hold the sword, scooting behind her so he can easier reach around her, his hands secure around hers so she doesn't drop the long blade. It's a good thing, because the sword is heavier than Harry expects, and even with him helping it wobbles in her hands.
Harry manages to hold it for maybe half a minute before her arms tire, and she lets the boy help her lower it to the floor with a slight ting of metal on stone. He easily picks it up and sheathes it in a single smooth motion despite remaining seated and Harry wants to be able to do that someday.
Then he inclines his head, one hand on his chest, and Harry realizes that he's bowing to her. Sort of. "I am Estel, son of Gilraen and Ward of Lord Elrond." He says.
"I'm Harry Potter." Harry replies. She curtsies, though it's clumsy and she's wearing Dudley's old shorts and t-shirt instead of a gown. She tries to think of her parents' names. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never mentioned them, but Harry thinks she saw them written down on her school paperwork once… Ah! "Daughter of Lily and James Potter, Ward of Petunia and Vernon Dursley. Are you a prince?" He doesn't have a last name, and if he's being raised by a lord, he has to be noble according to her books.
Estel smiles. "I am not, Lady Hariell. Lord Elrond was generous enough to take my mother and I in after the death of my father."
Oh. "Are you a knight then?" She asks. "And I'm not a Lady!" Aunt Petunia always rants about how Harry's dad was a good-for-nothing drunk and her mum a simpering idiot for marrying him.
"I have not yet earned such an honor." Estel tells her. "I have only seen sixteen summers, and am yet to be considered a full warrior." Harry blinked, face screwing up in concentration as she puzzles out his words. Estel talked weird.
"I'm six." She replies, proud and not bothering to hide it from her new friend. She's old enough to go to school, which means she's a big kid now! "I started school in September."
"You are to be a scholar then?" Estel asks, interested and Harry is giddy at the attention. "Or are you studying the noble art of healing?"
Harry hasn't thought about what she wants to be when she grows up. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always say she'll grow up to be as useless as her parents. No one's ever offered another possibility and Harry finds herself itching to prove her aunt and uncle wrong. But she's stumped for an answer to Estel's question. Sure, being a doctor or whatever a scholar is - a historian? - would stick it to the Dursleys, especially because Harry knows Dudley will never manage anything like that with his stupidity. But Harry doesn't know for sure if that's what she wants to do. "I don't know." Harry admits with a pout. "We're learning our letters and numbers, and some history and geography and science. I like reading though." She's good at it too. The school librarian is the only adult at school that likes her, and she's always giving Harry new books to read since Harry finishes them so fast. Ms. Eyre even helps her when she stumbles across something she doesn't understand, and even taught Harry to look up words in the dictionary when she's too busy to help.
"Shall I show you the library then?" Estel asks, and Harry lights up. She hasn't found the library yet. Her expression must be answer enough, because Estel chuckles and rises to his feet, buckling his sword to his belt again. He holds out a hand, and Harry hesitates. He doesn't withdraw it though, so she grabs hold and stares in awe when Estel gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "This way, Lady Hariell."
Unfortunately, halfway down the hall there is a sharp rapping sound and Harry has a moment of panic before she jerks herself awake in time to hear Aunt Petunia screeching at her to wake up.
Harry feels a swell of disappointment. It was a nice dream. Maybe if she's lucky she'll have it again?
As always, please review on your way out. I don't know how popular this will be, but if demand is high enough I'll move it to my active WIPs once Deep Blue Sea is finished.