Little Whinging

Harry roughly used the back of her hand to scrub at her tender eyes, willing the tears away, little hands trembling as she folded the paper and tried to glue it to the mess she had lumped on her lap. She sat out front of a little cottage, to the side of a little offshoot of grass, a cottage filled with cats and smelled of cabbage, Arabella Figg, the grouchy woman, lurking somewhere inside the crooked building.

Little Whinging, in honour of the Chinese New Year, was putting on a water-lantern festival. It had been the talk of the village, and subsequently, the school. In class, the teachers had told fables and tales that excited and exuberated the children, allowing everyone to make their own paper lanterns for the festival. In truth, Harry had not cared for the thing, not in the beginning. Then miss Hathaway had sat her down after spotting her pile of untouched paper and told her the festival and lanterns were a tradition. An honour to lost loved ones, lights to guide them home and to send messages you could no longer tell them. Harriel Potter had began cutting, gluing and painting as soon as the words had stopped tumbling from her teacher's lips.

Harry didn't care much for tradition, nor craft work, but this was her chance. She had no memory of her mother and father, she had never spoken to them or heard their lullaby's, and she only had a singular photo of her mother and father, standing by a stream, beaming a grin as Lily cradled a baby Harry to her chest, James with an arm wrapped around the pair. However, she did often watch the other children when the bells rang and home time descended upon them. They would rush out the doors, gamboling to their parents, smiles bright and warm. She would watch as they told them about their day, told them they loved them, asked them what they were having for tea, giving hugs and kisses and each day, Harry felt the loss of her own parents all over again. There would be no bright smiles for her, no hugs and kisses, no I love you's.

And so, she put everything she had into her paper lantern, writing a small message, the only important one, on a scrap of paper she would hide between the flaps of the lantern when she set it off for its journey. Only, now, she would never get the chance to. Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon had bought Dudley a lantern, the blubbering boy wanting to participate yet not make a lantern himself, and all had seemed fine. Then, on the evening of the festival, they had dropped her off at Arabella's cottage, just a façade so the neighbours wouldn't talk about them leaving her at home by herself, and told her to be a good girl. She, of course, had tried to argue, plead for them to take her, but apparently, because she had not finished her chores, there would be no festival for her this year.

Harry knew they only used that excuse because Mrs Figg was present, watching from her window with beady eyes. No. They didn't take her because they didn't want to be seen with her, not in public, and so, as always, Harry was left behind. Forgotten. And in one last act of degradation, as they clambered into their car to drive off despite Harry still arguing her case on the doorstep of Mrs Figg's cottage, before Dudley left, he snatched her lantern from her, threw it to the floor and stomped all over it. By the time she had picked up the tatters of her lantern, they were gone.

Harry had refused to go inside the cottage, instead choosing to stay out in the front yard, and Mrs Figg's had refused to come out and bring her in. Instead, Harry found her hideaway in a corner of the shrubbery and set to work fixing her lantern. This was not the end. Harry couldn't let it be. This was her chance. Her one chance to say what she had never been able to say and no meaty Dudley, cowardly Dursleys or hawkeyed Figgs would stop her. She had a candle in her pocket, she could fix her lantern and then, well, all she would have to do was sneak into the backyard and out the back gate and into the small wood that surrounded Arabella's cabbage-y, cat ridden cottage. There she would find a brook or small river and away her lantern would go. At least, that was how she believed things would go in her childish, innocent ignorance. A bright smile lit up her face as she held out her lantern, turning it from side to side, tears finally reseeding.

It was bent, mud stained from Dudley's trainer, and still had a tiny hole in it's side but it was still good. A bit like Harry herself, in truth. You could still see the stars and rainbow she had painted on its face, and although the coloured paper was crinkled with pieces of tape jutting out, the gold and red colours she had chosen still shone brightly. Wearily, she slowly glanced over her shoulder to the window Mrs Figg had been watching her from, her short, cropped curls shadowing her eyes. Luckily, the floppy hat aunt Petunia forced upon her head each day to hide her ears gave her just enough coverage to make it seem like she wasn't looking. Empty.

From the small whistling Harry could hear coming from the house, Mrs Figg was in the kitchen boiling the kettle for a cup of tea. With the sun sinking and her prison guard not present, now was her time to make a dash for it. Yet, a soft heat radiating from her arm stalled her little legs from running as they were about to do. Placing her lantern by her side, she rolled up the baggy sleeve of her top, the item so large it nearly blanketed her form, hanging off her shoulder and trailing to her knees. Luckily, Dudley's denim shorts were thick enough to keep the chill at bay, and although she needed a belt to keep them from slipping from her hips, they were long enough to cap off at her calves. Glancing at her arm, she took in the words appearing.

Harriel, listen to me, when you see a blue light, follow it to the-

Harry stopped reading, forcibly cramming her sleeve back down over her arm. Thranduil, or Tandy as she had come to call him, was her best friend. He made her laugh, smile and he told the best stories, but as she cast one last look at the darkening sky, she had no time for such things that night. She would write back in the morning. Glancing behind her one last time to make sure the coast was clear, Harry made a break for it, keeping to the bushes and shrubbery Mrs Figg had littered around her front and back yard. She had nearly made it, opening the very back gate to the woods, slipping through and closing it, when she turned around to face the woods. Mrs Figg was standing before her, mug of tea in hand, eyeing Harry up and down with disapproval. Harry jolted, nearly dropping her lantern, though she managed to save it from the floor at the last second.

"You're light on your feet, I'll give you that, but it will take a lot more than that to get one over me young lady."

Harry shuffled on her spot, staring down at her feet resolutely.

"I just wanted to set my lantern off…"

Harry could hear the old woman sigh, and instead of dragging her back to the cottage by the scruff of her shirt like she had expected, Arabella Figg crouched down until she was eye level with Harry, giving the young child no other option but to gaze back.

"Why is the lantern so important Harriel? It's just paper."

Harry scowled, temper rising at the dismissive tone Arabella had used. She wouldn't understand, no one did. They all had parents and families and warm homes. Harry may not like Arabella's cabbage hovel, or the multiple cats she treated like family, but the woman clearly did and people like that never understood the barrenness of not having any of those things. It was lonely, it was cold, it was lifeless and Harry would give anything to have what others took for granted each day.

"It's not just paper! They go to our loved ones! The ones we can't see anymore, and I wanted to tell my mum and dad I-."

Harry stubbornly refused to finish her sentence. There was no point, Mrs Figg wouldn't understand. Something feathery subdued the harsh lines of Arabella's withered face, her fingers tightening around her mug until they bled bone white. If Harry was older and wiser, she would have been able to tell it was pity that painted itself across Mrs Figg's face. Arabella glanced around herself then, as if she was expecting someone to jump out and reprimand her for what she was about to do. Harry knew that fear all to well. Yet, as she settled herself and turned once more to face Harry dead on, there was a mischievous glint Harry had never seen before taking up home in her eyes.

"It's for your parents? Your father?"

Harry nodded vigorously, spotting an emerging ally she had never expected. The bobble of her hat shook, and the woollen ear flaps and tassels whipped her face, but it did not stop the grin from appearing. Mrs Figg leant in conspiratorially close, whispering to Harry as she eyed the forest around them.

"Follow this pathway until you get to a willow tree. Go right and you'll find a stream, there's a little stone bridge crossing it. Find the bridge and the tree that sits beside it's entrance. Cross the bridge, remember that Harriel, cross the bridge… You'll both have a safe journey from there."

Harry was too excited at the prospect of being allowed to let her lantern float and that there was, in fact, a stream within these small woods, that she missed Arabella's use of 'both'.

"You're letting me go?"

Arabella came to a stand, towering above her, the last rays of sunlight bouncing off her grey hair and glinting it silver and white. She didn't look bird-like then, she looked old and wise and a little sad as she smiled down upon Harry.

"Who am I to stand in the way? However, come back Harry. Promise me you will eventually come back."

Harry became confused, and as was habit for her, began to shuffle on the spot once more.

"You're not coming with me?"

Arabella gently shook her head, placing a calm hand behind Harry's back as she began to lead her down the trail and deeper into the woods, still keeping a weary eye out for their surroundings. The trees were just becoming dense when Mrs Figg stopped, pulling Harry to a halt too.

"Where you're going, I cannot follow. Now, chin up and promise me young lady, or you can march yourself back to my home."

Perhaps Mrs Figg couldn't swim and that was why she could not go to the stream? Either way, with the stars beginning to pin prick the sky, Harry only had a few hours left of the festival and so only a few hours to send her lantern to her parents.

"I promise."

Arabella bent down one last time, pulling her into a hug and if Harry's hearing wasn't as good as it was, she would have missed what she had said.

"Have a safe journey home."

Arabella pulled back and with the same hand she had used to lead Harry down the path, she gave her a gentle nudge into the woods. Harry stopped for a moment, a strange sense of bubbling tickling the bottom of her belly as she gazed behind her, seeing Arabella and the cottage in the distance. The wind picked up, rustling her lantern and with the sound came the avalanche of determination. Smiling and giving a quick wave, Harry took off into the woods to find the stream with a stone bridge, casting not a single look backwards.

Willow Wood.

Harriel huddled within herself, cradling her lantern as close to her chest as she dared. Now that the sun had set, the shadows cast by the trees were looming, black masses that moved and slithered across the floor. The stars had gone into hiding, tree tops and clouds rolling in and eating the sparse light they produced. The path had become winding, thin and difficult to spot, and Harry was sure she had stumbled from it a while past, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not find the pathway again. The more Harry ventured into the woods, the darker the world became and so, Harry became lost… Lost and terribly afraid.

Perhaps she was not as brave as she had thought she was. Perhaps she had not fully thought out her plan. Perhaps the shadows were really hiding the monsters, all tooth and claw, that little Harry's mind pictured. But if there was one thing Harry was, it was determined. She had set out to float her lantern and so, she would carry on until her noble quest was complete. So, she carried on, step by step by step, waiting and searching for the bridge that Mrs Figg's described.

However, with every half hour that passed, her feet becoming sore and legs cramping their distress, she was becoming worried that there was, in fact, no bridge at all. Dudley had played the same trick on her before, just a year past, and while she had not expected Mrs Figg to do the same, Harry was beginning to understand that adults lied most of the time. Especially to her. Dudley had peeped out the living room window, smiled so brightly it caught Harry's attention and then proceeded to say he saw aunt Lily and uncle James across the road. Of course Harry had ran out, excited, only to nearly be struck by a car driving down the very same road when she paused in the middle of it, looking for her parents.

In the end, aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon had made a show of telling Dudley off in front of the policemen and couple who had nearly squished Harry, but when they left, the truth came out with heavy fists and a long haul locked in her cupboard. So, if adults lied to each other, they sure as likely lied to her, and that included Mrs Figg.

Harry sighed, coming to a stop, looking down at her lantern, fingers delving in and plucking out the note she had hidden deep inside. Maybe it was time to turn back and leave, what good would her lantern do anyway? Could it even float? Yet, as she flicked open the note and gazed at her crooked writing of I love you, Harry couldn't bring herself to turn around. She had never gotten to say those words to her parents, how would they know if she had never said it, never told them?

Did they, wherever it was lost loved ones went, see her? Did they watch over her like the man with the white collar and black shirt, who came to school sometimes, said? Did they think she was a good girl? Or had they forgotten about her? Did they think she was naughty and a freak like aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon? Is that why they left her behind, left to rot in the hands of the Dursleys? Is that why, wherever they went, they had not taken her with them? Maybe if she got the note to them, maybe if they knew, they would come back from this 'heaven' place and take her with them. Maybe she could have a family. Maybe she could have a home. So no, she could not turn back.

"Just a bit further."

Harriel, still scared of the shadows and the wind whistling through the branches, valiantly carried on. The hero's in quests never turned back, even when they were scared and alone, and neither would she. She didn't know how much further she went, nor did she know how much time had passed, but the moon became fat and swollen in the sky, dusting silver light through small openings between the tree tops. She had just fallen over for the fourth time, tired and aching, twigs digging harshly into the soft skin of her knees when something caught her attention.

It looked like a firefly, rounded and ballooned, darting between the trees up ahead, zagging back and fourth between two stumps. It was blue, light and soft, but glowed with a fierceness of a hospital lamp. Harry scrambled to a stand. Making sure she still had her lantern, she began to back away from the dancing light. However, it darted closer, playfully spinning in a circle before it went back the other way, back to where it had originally appeared, only to repeat the cycle all over again… It was trying to get her to follow, Harry was sure of it. Testing the light out, Harry took a lone step forward and was rewarded with a joyful buzz and vibrating jig.

"Who are you?"

It did not answer, it only danced further between the trees, daring Harry to follow its path. Harry shook her head, plucking up her ear flaps tassel to chew on, a nervous habit she had accidently acquired. Yes, she was young and perhaps a bit foolhardy, she had after all ventured into a wood alone during night time, but even she knew at such a tender age that perhaps following a strange, unknown light was not the best thing to do. She backed away before turning tail and bolting in the other direction. Yet, the woodland had a different plan for her it seemed as a mighty wind brushed past her, so strong it made her stumble backwards, ripping her hat completely off her head, forcing her to grapple with a tree trunk to stay upright. The same could not be said for her lantern as it was knocked free from her hand, the wind carrying it the way the light was still dancing in. Even more strangely, Harry could swear she heard a voice ripple along with the wind, ghosting to her ear.

"Harriel… Come home… Come… Home… Home… Come…"

"Mum? Dad?"

It was warm, soft, lilting and sounded just like home if home had a voice. It was... It was exactly how she pictured her mothers voice, when she would pretend her mother was singing her to sleep. The voice stopped but it's echo carried far and wide, ringing in Harry's head. However, she spotted her lantern turning the corner, disappearing from view, and in her singular tunnel vision that only young children can have, she dashed after her lantern, and in so, the dancing light too.

Lothlorien

Thranduil closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nostrils as he dutifully tried to collect his composure. The halls of Caras Galadhon were as glorious and brilliant as they always were, but little peace or tranquility could be found amongst it's inhabitants that night. From his seat around the spherical table, Thranduil had the perfect view down to the land below, or more specifically, the bridge that crossed a small river. The pristine bridge had a sweeping archway carved from white ash encapsulating its curving bend across the tinkling river. It looked delicate, thin, planks and joints knotted together in elegant twists. Its dainty structure hid well its power and use. For the bridge did not simply cross the river below, it also crossed worlds if lady Galadriel and lord Elrond were to be believed. Yet, he was here, debating with those around him instead of trying to cross the bridge and find Harriel.

"And the best we can accomplish is to call? No. This will not do. We go through the gateway and we find her. We have already waisted many weeks standing idle."

Elrond looked equally as tired as Thranduil after the Greenwood king spoke up. The two lords had always been cordial, but friendly could not be labelled between them. The two were vastly different, their life views opposites, for them to see the same ending to a situation. Elrond planned, Thranduil acted and never before had these two traits clashed as harshly as they did when they were trying to figure out a way in bringing Harriel to them.

"It seems I will have to repeat myself frequently this night. We cannot go through Thranduil. Only my daughter was able to cross the boarders freely. We can only leave the call and hope she hears us and follows the light like you have told her. Time flows differently in the other world. What passes for centuries here is mere weeks in London. We must give her time."

Elrond, flanked by his twin sons, levelled Thranduil with an exasperated glare. However, Elrond's own vexation seemed to spark that of his sons, and theirs of others.

"But what if she does not have Liliel's abilities? What if she cannot cross like her mother? I do not wish to take sides here, but Thranduil has a point we cannot over look. We need to find a route through should the call fail."

"Do you have to always be so sombre Elrohir? Can you not for once just believe and have faith?"

"If that believing leads to failure, no, I cannot Elladan."

The twins broke off into their own conversation, or bickering in reality, as the table they inhabited broke down to petty snipes and grandiose self-planning. Arwen began to argue for time, like Elrond, yet would not fully commit to not having a back up plan, though she did not come forth with any alternatives. Lady Galadriel and Elladan sided completely with Elrond, believing all they could do was hope and wait.

Celeborn, as unlikely as it seemed, sided with Thranduil, considering they had already sent the call out for weeks now and seeing no results, believed it was time to move onto other tactics. Legolas, in an act not so shocking, sided with Thranduil too, however, his plan was more… Plain. He thought they should all simply try and cross, never mind Thranduil had tried upon his arrival and had been thrown completely off the bridge by a fearsome blast of frigid wind. His theory was if they all tried at the same time, perhaps one would make it across. Thranduil… Well Thranduil was just tired of sitting here doing nothing but talking of everything. The arguing voices reached a new crescendo when Tauriel, a newly appointed guard who he and Legolas had brought with them with a small company, tried to fissure into the discussion.

"My lords and ladies…"

It did nothing to quieten the voices, and even Thranduil was too swept up in arguing his point that he did not take notice of her wandering from her post at his side, behind his chair, to gape out at the sky the tree hall allowed view too. Nonetheless, her next shout did silence the hall completely.

"Quiet! Look!"

Up from the spiralling stairs off to the side of the open veranda that lead to the forest floor, on the tail of a soft breeze came floating up and in a… Paper lantern. It danced, it twirled and eventually, to the surprise of the rooms inhabitants, it landed softly in the middle of the table. It was crudely made, but bright in its presence of gold and crimson. It too was dented, twigs sticking out of a little hole in the side, oak leaves stuck to its rim as if it was wearing a crown, a muddy foot print stomped on its side, hiding half of the stars painted on its face, but the rainbow was still very much visible… Rainbow!

Thranduil jolted as he stood, snatching up the lantern and rolling it between his hands, watching as a slip of paper fell free from one of its slits. Picking that up too, he unfolded the small scrap and gazed down at the writing.

I love you

Harriel's writing, there was no doubt there. The same pointy consonants and wonky vowels. He dropped the lantern but kept a hold of the note, making way for the spiralling staircase, voice rushed and uneven.

"It's Harry's. She's here."

He heard the multiple footfalls behind him, but he spared no glance. Yet, when he came in view of the bottom of the staircase, he ceased all movement, breathing included. The elves behind him were forced into the same action, though they fell silent too once they saw what he saw.

Down at the bottom of the stairs, trying intrepidly to climb the steps that were too big for them, tracing the track the lantern had carved, was a tiny elven child. At first, he believed it to be a boy, with ebony curls, rambunctious and spiralling, cropped short in uneven, jarring slices. As if the child had been pinned and the hair hastily cut away before It could struggle free. The clothes too, although foreign, felt masculine. A tunic, too large, thin, dirty and hanging of the child's shoulders reached down and nearly covered their half breeches, strange white shoes, flimsy and with a hole in the toe, decorating their feet. The child was incredibly thin too, making its clothes look all the more bigger on its small frame. If that was all you saw, you would have believed the poor child to be a human orphan, left in the forest to defend itself. Nevertheless, its ears, peeking out proudly from the cropped curls and the slight glowing sheen its skin gave off, a glow all elves exuded, gave its true parentage away. Subconsciously, Thranduil took a step forward and closer, the muted noise of his boot landing alerting the child to their presence. Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto his.

He had never met Liliel, had not known of her existence until a few months back, for she had been believed dead long ago. Yet, he had known Celebrian, Elrond's wife and Liliel's mother and those eyes… Brilliantly intense in their vibrancy of shocking green had been renowned amongst all elves for rivalling the brilliance of the silmarils, were now housed in the face of a small child. A small child with inky black hair, like Elrond's own tresses, and a sweeping nose that hinted of Arwen's feline grace, with the impish, upturned lips of the twins, all dampened by the childhood softness that the incredibly young child held. And yet, his gaze was drawn to the scar splitting across her forehead, jagged and red, a bruise blossoming on the shoulder that the baggy shirt slipped free, half formed in the shape of a hand print, another bruise maturing on the edge of her jaw… She could have been no older than six…

"Harriel?"

She flinched, dropped back from the stairs and sprinted in the opposite direction... Thranduil gave chase.

Questions and Answers:

Will there be another fic where Harry grows up in the wizarding world?

As you can likely tell, the option of Harry going to middle earth won out. That being said, I will eventually get to writing a companion piece to this fic that will be a 'what if she stayed in the wizarding world'. The other fic will be a lot more angsty than this one. So, really, both options are happening, it will just take me a while to get around to the other one as I want to focus on this fic for now. So, if you are one of the readers who wanted that option, just hold on tight.

Will Harry eventually go back to the Wizarding world?

I don't want to give too much away, but yes, she will go back. It is unavoidable. Harry is still a horcrux and that is something that will need a resolution to that she can only gain from going back to the wizarding world. However, I'm heavily messing with canon here. Let's just say Voldemort is not all he seems, and that there is a deeper reason for him gunning after Lily and James, instead of that vague prophecy, and that there is a connection between Voldemort, Sauron and why exactly there is a bridge between the two worlds in the first place. That's all I'm willing to say without giving away the plot XD.

Will Thranduil be a parental figure? Will she grow up with him?

No. That would just be uncomfortable for when they do eventually get together. I'll be honest, it's a fine line I'm treading but I'm not crossing that one. Don't worry too much, Thranduil will be around, he's not going to disappear, after all, he's going to be, apart from Harry, the main P.O.V person in this fic, but he will know that Harry will need to grow up with her family and he will have his own things to deal with. He does, after all, rule a realm, and Harry has some shenanigans lined up just for him XD. Potter luck will play a heavy hand in this fic!

What about Sirius? Is he going to stay in Azkaban?

It will be a long while yet before Sirius even enters the equation, and I really can't give too much away. I can only say he doesn't stay rotting in Azkaban and plays an instrumental role in Harry's venture back into the wizarding world. But, and I can't emphasize this enough, this is a long, long, long while away yet.

If any question has been missed, it is either because they will outright spoil the plot if answered or the answer is coming soon, so hold onto your hats folks!

THANK YOU ALL, honestly, with each new chapter, the support and involvement from the readers grows and it makes me want to hug you all, as well as surprising the hell out of me. When I wrote chapter one, all I had was a funny little idea swimming around my head, (mainly I just wanted a rainbow painted on Thranduil's head XD) yet you all helped me develop that idea and made me think of a whole plot to go along with it. So thank you, really! I hope you're all enjoying this fic as much as I am writing it!

Remember, leave a review! They keep the brain pondering! And until next time, stay Beautiful!~ AlwaysEatTheRude21