Category: Crossover, pre!Hobbit/post!Harry Potter
Subcategory: Oneshot/Drabble series
Prompt: None
Summary: Harry sits down to figure out what the fuck just happened.
Warnings: Things and stuff.
I don't own the Hobbit, nor do I own Harry Potter. I'm just playing in the sandbox and making a big old mess.
000
It was a beautiful place to be sure.
It was also FUCK ASS COLD.
Harry cursed violently as he staggered to his feet, vertigo making the world spin around him so hard that he fell over again, and just spent a good twenty minutes staring up at the sky. Distantly imagining the number of worms, and ants that were currently working into his hair. The sensation of something tickling the edge of his ear threateningly finally had him launching himself upright with a slap to the side of his head, hard enough to knock himself over again.
What. The. Fuck.
Carefully, still startled and confused, he levered himself up into a sitting position, the side of his head throbbing. That... was a lot stronger than he expected. Still. Where the hell was he?
Vision no longer spinning, he look a long, careful look around himself. Distant snow-capped mountains, evergreen pines carpeted the steppes and reached downwards toward him, still distant, the ground soft and thick with moss and grass. It was quite comfortable actually. It felt like he was somewhere in the Netherlands, or Scotland.
The only problem being that he had been in China when he dropped that bomb toting little brat on his ass.
Speaking of...
Shouldn't he be a little... dead... right now?
Or at LEAST charred, and exploded.
He felt fine. And checking himself over – okay, that was...
"Oookay. Apparently I got exploded so hard it blew the age off me, that or I have some kind of brain trauma, oooor..." he trailed off as he pinched his forearm, staring in abject confusion at the smooth pale skin, somewhat hairier than he recalled, and significantly more muscular too. Without the numerous scars he attained in his long, interesting, life either.
He then looked down and gagged in shock.
"D-Dwarf? Am I possessing a Dwarf?!" he squawked, grabbing at the luxuriously long beard and practically yanking it out of the way so he could get a better look at the unfamiliar body. Radin would have his head on a pike if he possessed a Dwarrow! Never mind Radin! Suri, his niece, would do FAR worse things to him if she ever found out!
By Dwarf Standard, damn, this was one VERY good-looking young lad. A little on the thin side, okay, considerably on the thin side when he thought back on Radin himself, and his family, but that was something easily resolved with a few good meals. And Dams were nothing if not eager to mother whatever wandered into their path, this lad probably not only got the side eye from both Dwarrow and Dam, but he also most likely got a lot of already bonded individuals trying to ply him with food. Hell, he wasn't even a Dwarf and he wanted to feed him up.
Small feet with a fine dusting of long hairs on his toes, strong ankles and powerful looking calves, thick muscular thighs, lean narrow hips, a tightly tucked stomach with a trail of wiry black hair extending from his groin up through his belly button to decorate his chest. Dwarves were naturally barrel chested compared to other folk, but as said, this lad was on the thin side, not quite as broad, or as thick around the chest as he perhaps could, or should, have been. Nice shoulders, and muscular arms, he had a beautifully long black beard, reaching down well past his hips, almost the same length as his actual hair which was just as thick and plentiful, and black as his beard. An attractive lad by what he knew of Dwarvish aesthetics – he hadn't seen the boy's face so he couldn't say much on that, he may have been like that singer back in the 2010's, nice body, but dog ugly in the face.
But either way, it definitely wasn't his body. He had never been able to put weight on, no matter how much he ate. He remained thin and wiry his whole life, unlike Teddy who even when he wasn't using his Metamorph talents to look like his Dwarvish friends looked rather a lot like one despite being 6'2" high with a significantly shorter beard.
Much like her mother, Victoire liked a little bit of rough.
He shook the thought off and settled into a crosslegged position.
If he was possessing some poor Dwarvish lad, then he needed to find the boy and bring him out to the forefront of his mind, and then find out what the hell he was doing in the middle of nowhere completely naked.
000
Part two, finished.
These drabbles are going to mostly be in order. Some won't be. But I'll try to be clear on when they are even if they aren't done in order.
As of right now, it is 50 years before the events of the Hobbit. Harry is 95 years old.
