Author's Notes:

Thanks for those who have put this story in their communities, story alerts, and favourite stories lists! And thank you, especially, to those who have reviewed: Lina03, Tara-Yo, Jenni, SakuraWolf11, Vanime18431, deerang88, pixy, blackinky, Obscure Stranger, AmethystSiri, and Walter Dash. You are all awesome! You have lifted my spirit in many occasions by your reviews, and many of you have stuck with me since the prologue of this story. Thank you very much.

Once again, the capital W in "Wizard" means that it is an Istar, a disguised Maia (Thanks for Lala for the correction on the 'r'!) like Gandalf, a messenger sent by the Powers to aid Middle-earth in its struggles against Sauron; "wizard" would refer to Harry. Oh, and all dialogues here are in Westron unless indicated, and mind-speech are in… Well, it breaks any linguistic boundaries, I would guess.

Some people kept mentioning about the Powers in relation to Harry's mysterious arrival in Middle-earth and his identity. Umm, well, they (and the Maiar) will play a role in this story, but it might not be what you have expected so far, and certainly not about his arrival or identity. They are as ignorant as Harry and the others in those matters. They are not all-knowing, after all; that is the notion I caught while reading the Silmarillion (somewhat between the lines).

Thanks on your votes on where Harry should go. I indeed already had a place in mind, but nonetheless I would like to acknowledge your efforts in convincing me about the options. You will see how things go… I welcome guesses and suggestions, still. They are fun, in the least, and who knows if some of them will spark inspiration in me?

I understand that there may be several things in this chapter which are not self-sufficient in the way of references. I welcome questions about them and will try my best to answer them. I also introduce two original characters here. Please tell me if they – or particularly the original female character – look dangerously close to being a Mary-Sue or Gary-Stue. I have tried not to make them so, but… well… it is a rather subjective opinion.

Last but not least, I would like to suggest a bit of additional reading to whoever curious about the kind of music present right on the start of this chapter and wanting to delf deeper into it. The work is my own, but it was posted months ago. The title is We Speak through Music; you could look it up in my profile. And no, it is not a promotion for a boost in read or review count (or both). I am a curious person myself and usually search for related works done by an author if I am interested in something. I thought perhaps I had a kindred spirit or two in that regard…

- Rey

Chapter 3

The composition of melodies tumbled down like tiny waterfalls and tickling caresses of breeze. It embraced, spun and bounced. It danced, ran and hopped. It was as fresh as spring, as lively as summer, and as solemn as autumn. It wafted through Harry's – still new – sensitive ears and travelled sweetly into his lethargic brain; calming him, clencing him… waking him up.

He blinked, and blinked again. It was dark and cool in here; not particularly damp, but filled with a pleasant woody smell.

And wine? Yes, the sharp fragrance of it was unmistakable. He had been used to it by now, having had to endure countless victory parties centring on him defeating Voldemort. The children partied on butterbeer, the lower echelons in the Wizarding society tossed on Firewhisky, but their upper class, who could drown in their Galleons, swam in aged wine. Given the special occasion, however, the last was more than expected. The number of aged wine bottles and kegs being finally uncorked rivalled that of the usual butterbeer downed by the ravenous children, for once.

On that memory, his lips curled up into a bittersweet smile. He would have given almost whatever to escape those tideous parties over a month ago. But now he missed them more than ever – the normality of it all, the situations he knew and understood. Human nature, he supposed, was as fickle as Neazles.

Or Elven nature?

He blinked more rapidly. More recent memories began to catch up on him, including what he had experienced before going to sleep in… the cellar? Ah, so it was why he had been accompanied by the incessant aroma of wood and wine.

He sat up with difficulty. The eerie music drew to a gentle, fading closure. Someone with large but bent physique stepped into the darkened room and crouched before him.

No, not large, but Harry had become very small. It was still hard for him to assimilate himself with his new body and identity, despite the month he had spent in this form.

"Good day, Olórin," he greeted the disguised Maia softly in Valarin, his way of thanking the Wizard. After all, the old man had given him the knowledge of the language – and much more. It was intended to be used, right?

A sharp intake of breath was his immediate answer, then,

"Please do not use my name and language here, little one. I am homesick enough as is."

Harry cringed. He knew what it felt like, and he had just subjected his new friend to more torture in that area. "Sorry," he mumbled in Westron. He did not try to wiggle free when the old man picked him up, body and quilt, although he usually did, unused to the treatment. But his curious mind and sharp wit were still in tact; and, apparently, not quite apologetic. "Why did you sing me that, then? It was your special music, was it not, the one you sing without even opening your mouth?" He looked up into calm light-blue eyes with genuine interest and puzzlement.

"It was," the Wizard confirmed. "But do not expect me to do it again any time soon. It took a toll on me, so unless anyone is in a dire need of it, I shall not do it again; not in Middle-earth, at any rate."

"Then why did you sing it to me?" humbled, Harry murmured. He wound his miniscule arms around the Wizard's neck, as far as they would go, underneath the said Wizard's scraggly beard and hair, then lay his head on his upper arm. He had found earlier that the adults loved such gestures coming from him, so, in compensation, he would give Gandalf just that.

"Yesterday's exchange rattled you, did it not?" Gandalf smiled. "It did me, but I had a way out of it. Sleep is almost always a good solution for everything, little one, but it cannot solve this particular problem. You need some reflection until you are able to come to terms with what you have gained or witnessed in such situation… and you did not do it yesterday."

Harry smiled sheepishly, ruefully. "I forgot that. I guess now I am more a child than I am willing to admit," he said slowly, carefully, dredging up his memories for the knowledge on the languages Gandalf had given him.

"Well, you are," the Wizard said matter-of-factly, the beginning of a smile twitching his mustache. "No one will ever chide you for behaving like one, you know."

Neither was willing to get up and welcome the day, knowing that questions from the ever-inquisitive hobbits would soon barrage them. But at length Gandalf exhaled slowly and stood up, Harry in his arms. "Now let us go. Breakfast does not wait for us."

The damp echo of their laughter rang for a while in the cellar.

Sadly, their merriment did not last long. After breakfast (which they ate thankfully alone), they returned to the cellar, and Gandalf confronted Harry about bringing him to the safest Elven settlement closest from the Shire – where Harry was staying now. But Frodo had wormed his way into Harry's heart, and for that achievement – which very few people could manage – he would fight to remain in this place. It took Gandalf much persuation for him to open his mind to the possible consequences and consider them, and for a while they were at odds with each other.

In the end, however, Harry conceded to the Wizard's point. Frodo and the other hobbits were in jeopardy if word of his existence reached the wrong ears. Besides, he needed to know more about the Elves, whose race he now belonged to. Gandalf had admitted that he did not know everything there was to know about the Elves, and Harry had discerned the truth in his words. He even suggested that they should depart that very day, and Gandalf saw no objection to it. – His presence had been noted by Bilbo's and Frodo's young guests, and words travelled fast on hobbit tongues.

Nevertheless, as the hour of the half-prepared trip came nearer and nearer, he found himself curious – if not excited – about the prospect of meeting the Elves. He had reached an agreement with Gandalf that they would travel to Rivendell instead of the Grey Havens, although the Grey Havens lay closer to the Shire. Harry inwardly wished to know more about the Wizard along the journey, whilst Gandalf… The Wizard had his own reason about not choosing the Grey Havens, and refused to tell Harry about it – which suited him just well, for now.

Ah. And he thought he was free here from such fear and caution. How would he act on Gandalf's oft-repeated advice to try to be a child again, then?

Was he being bitter?

– Yes, sadly.

Bilbo approached the child he and his nephew had been hosting in the study some time late in the afternoon. Harí had gained his permission to use his study, and he was curious about what a toddler would do in a place like that. Practising runes? Reading? Drawing? Daydreaming? – Ah, but those were not the doings of a wee tod, were they? But perhaps Elven children were superior in this matter…

He did not expect that the Elfling would use his study as a bedroom.

The said Elfling was sprawled on the clean, empty desk, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, his head pillowed by a leather tome. He seemed to be in a restless sleep. The stick he always carried was by his side, positioned as if a weapon ready to be used to defend himself.

Bilbo sighed sadly. He wished everything had not turned out this way. Frodo would indeed need another constant companion for after he had left, and this little boy needed someone to loosen him up as well. The thought weighed heavily on his conscience, just like Gandalf's criptic pronouncement when the Wizard had stated that he would bring Harí away tonight, that the little one needed a good second childhood. – How would Harí enjoy his second chance at childhood if the situation never permitted him to do so?

"Poor, poor dear," he murmured as he step away and closed the door gently behind him.

Thus, he failed to see the 'poor dear' stirring and smiling wanly at the earthen ceiling.

Harry had faked his slumber. It was not because he hated the old hobbit, though. He did not quite know why, but he always felt tense and uneasy around Bilbo. It was as if Bilbo were evil, or that the hobbit brought something evil with him anywhere he went. An absurd notion, one that Gandalf and himself had been puzzling with no visible outcome during what he dubbed "sharing session" early in their first meeting yesterday.

He had been reading, in fact, when the hobbit had decided to check on him. The leather tome on which his head had rested was one of the numerous books he had brought from his own world; or rather, his own time, if Gandalf's theory that he had been deposited in a younger version of the earth he had known was to be believed. Fortunately for him, he had charmed his written possessions illegible to anyone other than himself or people he approved of, prior to his trip to this place – this version of the world he had known.

He did not want to risk the valuable information falling to the wrong hands, but he had to keep studying in order to prepare for anything ahead. They, after all, were in a war. He was used to living in such an environment, although that did not make him like it any. He knew, by personal experience, that wars never spared the innocent and weak only because they were so.

After Bilbo had visited him, though, he forwent reading and chose to explore Bag End instead, trying to remember everything about it to last him the time he was staying with the Elves. Gandalf had promised to deliver him back here to spend the summer with the hobbits, but three months were a long time to spend away from Frodo.

Night was approaching before he knew it, and it was time to bid his hosts farewell.

"Are you ready, little one?" Gandalf asked when Harry emerged from the cellar, towing his trunk (which towered over him) with a hand and gripping the Elder Wand with the other.

"I'm never ready, but let's just go," Harry mumbled. His grip on the Elder Wand tightened briefly, subconsciously seeking solace and protection from it. Bilbo and Frodo were arriving at the vestibule with packages in their arms, and the sight of them made him realise what he had to sacrifice in order for everyone to be safe. At this moment, he hated his fate more than ever.

Frodo knelt to his height and embraced him first. Harry returned it full-force, only relinquishing the hobbit when Frodo choked. "Sorry!" he squeaked at the blue-faced hobbit, whose laugh turned into a series of painful coughs. A wave of his wand restored the hobbit's lungs and ribs to normal, but now Frodo was a little wary of him. Still, it did not prevent the four of them to laugh at the misjudgement of strength he had committed. (But Harry stopped first, as he realised that he had just performed his first ever spell in Middle-earth, and it was a complicated one too. – He could have killed Frodo!)

"Be good and well, my lad. Give my greetings to Elrond as well. I ought to tell you all my adventure at another time," Bilbo said, with a sad smile, after their laughter had subsided fully. He knelt and gave Harry his own tight hug and murmured, "We shall miss you dearly."

Gandalf stowed the packages into the saddle-bags. They contained the replenishment of the Wizard's provisions, Bilbo said, plus some Old Toby weed – to Gandalf's delight. But one of the packages was for Harry only, and Frodo refused to say what it contained. He forbade Harry from looking into it when in company too. Therefore, reverently, he put it into his trunk, before shrinking the said trunk into the size of a matchbox for easier carriage with a tap of a finger on the lock. Bilbo and Frodo were awed at his impromptu magical performance, and, to Harry's annoyance, Gandalf looked fairly intrigued. He had a bad feeling that the Wizard would discuss his brand of magic unceasingly on their way to Rivendell.

The two oddballs exited Bag End alone after one more round of embraces. A sharp whistle from Gandalf brought his dappled mare galloping to them, forsaking the meadow beside Bag End. And, seeing the saddle-bags in the Wizard's arms, she pranced in excitement.

Harry giggled half-heartedly. "She's funny," he commented when Gandalf inquired. The Wizard, meanwhile, was busy tying the saddle-bags securely to her saddle. He only grunted in reply, but Harry could sense that he was smiling in mild amusement anyway.

He became much more serious when Gandalf perched him in the saddle. "I never learnt how to ride," he confessed sheepishly, still in careful, halting Westron.

Gandalf sighed exasperatedly. "Well, you ought to learn, then, but not in this trip. I shall only have to make sure that you do not fall off Lagoryn."

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. Gandalf growled, but his eyes were twinkling. "Behave, lad," he grumbled, then heaved himself up behind Harry. "Now say good-bye to Bag End. You won't see it till summer."

Feeling cheeky, Harry did just that, in a sing-song voice. The action earned him a light cuff on his right ear. It was worth the slight pain, though. The moment of levity lifted his heart from the gloomy atmosphere of farewell with the hobbits, and it seemed to work wonders with Gandalf too. They departed the vicinity with unrestrained smiles on their faces, which stayed until they had exited the Shire, when the half-moon made itself fully known on the eastern horizon.

The rhythmic rocking of Lagoryn the mare lulled Harry into a sense of peaceful security. The arms encircling his midriff and the warm body flushed against him added to that effect. Slumber tantelised him, tugging at his mind, coaxing it to leave the conscious world for a while. The night breeze, damp and chilly, brushed his face unprotected by the hood of his cloak, bringing the scent of woods and creeks and damp earth to his nose. The wonders of an unblemished earth…

Harí drifted into the trance-like state of Elven rest in no time at all. Above him, Gandalf smiled to himself. The little Elf was yet to recognise the *(1)Workings of *(2)Spirits like him. The magics the Men in the child's former world possessed were more to-the-point and swift in gaining result, yes, but they lacked subtlety and power.

The Wizard kept vigil until the *(3)vessel of his friend *(4)Tilion was high up in the sky. Right then, he heard a distant, distinctive laughter from the direction of a particular glen cresting a small hill in Woody End. The source of the laughter was approaching them, to his astonishment, instead of aiming for said glen as he was.

The laughter apparently woke Harí up, for the Elfling stirred and lifted his head from Gandalf's beard-covered chest at the same time.

"Where are we?" came a bleary mumble from the Elfling, as expected. Gandalf hushed him, just as they met with the ones who had been chortling: Elves.

Then,

"Greetings, Sinderáno!" chirped the leader of the company, Gildor Inglorion, in his native language – Quenya. The ellon, *(6)the only member of Finrod's doomed contingent who had survived the encounter with Sauron in the Isle of Werewolves, was particularly cheery tonight. Gandalf suspected that something was afoul. They had been joking about him, perhaps? It was not unheard of, after all, although it irked him to no end.

"Greetings to you too, Gildor, and a merry night for you lot, I see," he replied in amusement tinted with question, in Westron – for Harí's sake. The ellon's gleeful look turned sheepish for half a moment. Hah, the Wizard thought a little grumpily; his suspicion struck true.

"What are you guarding so closely, Mithrandir, if we might know?" an elleth by Gildor's side, Wenlach of Greenwood the Great, piped in in Sindarin. Soon the others' attention zoomed in on the bundle in the Wizard's lap, joining hers. Gandalf groaned inwardly. He would have been willing to trade this undesirable development of the situation with the lot's endless joking about him. He was too tired for a discussion more serious than where they would camp tonight.

Hmm. A camp. A merry fire, a gulp or two of miruvor, some two hours of nap, and maybe he would be ready… Yes, he could do with that.

"Ah, but answer me first, my friends: Where are you going? Where are you camping? I would prefer a talk over a warm fire and a cup of miruvor or two; after a good dinner, that is." – Well, he could be just as cheeky as they were, could he not? And why had they not gotten the hint to speak in Westron? Now twice had he replied them in Westron while they had used other languages…

The beautiful sing-song laughter burst out again. Gandalf smirked, his eyes glinting. The sudden tension in the bundle of leather-and-woolen cloak in his arms eased a little bit.

"We were hearing a horse trotting towards our little camp, so we decided to check out who was approaching our hideout," Gildor explained with an unreserved grin he never bestowed to the race of Men – or any stranger Elf, for that matter. (Gandalf cheered to himself. Finally – Westron!)

The Wizard chuckled and shook his head. "And your next destination after this peaceful country, nosy ones? Why so many scouts for this night's inspection too, by the way?" he prodded playfully.

"Elrond's abode," the small group of Elves chorused, followed by yet another bout of laughter – without any apparent reason, but no less merry. They kept up with Lagoryn's trotting pace easily, their feet light and fleet. Some of them burst into a song praising the *(5)Starqueen afterwards, while the others provided its hummed version as a musical background. Two of them had departed back to their camp as soon as Gandalf had agreed to stay the night with them, and now one of the pair returned to lead their unexpected guest to the comforts he had requested.

Inside the cloak and blanket, Harí now relaxed fully. Gandalf smiled to himself. The Elves had managed to cheer up the child without even knowing he was there. He was hopeful of the little one's acceptance of them, thus. And he did hope he was right in his judgement this time.

Footnotes:

*(1) Capital 'W' on "Workings" because it is comparable to the wards and spells witches and wizards in Harry's world performed. I wanted to separate them from other activities which could be gathered into the word "workings." (Credit to Philosopher at Large for the idea.)

*(2) I used Spirits here, and will use it in the next chapters, because I thought that Gandalf would not refer to himself as "Holy One" (the actual meaning of "Ainu," singular of "Ainur"). The word "Spirit" refer to either a Vala/Valië or a Maia, since they are actually from the same race; only one is more powerful than the other. If the word is not capitalised, then it takes the ordinary meaning as given in the context.

*(3) According to the Silmarillion, the moon (Moon) is the last flower of Tolperion the Silver Tree, steered by a Maia, which was launched to the sky as a kind of ship after the destruction of the Two Trees before the First Age. (See The Silmarillion for a full account.)

*(4) Tilion, according to the same source, is the Maia who guided the Moon, since he loved Tolperion – and other silver things – dearly. He was formerly a huntsman of the Vala Oromë.

*(5) Varda, or Elbereth. I was just using the literal translation here. (You could see the word being translated early in The Fellowship of the Ring.) No particular purpose. It just sounded… somehow unique to my ears. Plus, I am trying to keep Gandalf's point of view as free as possible from either Quenya or Sindarin versions on names and terms, seeing that I am confused which dialect to choose for him. (LOL)

*(6) According to The Silmarillion, Finrod and his entourage died in the Island of Werewolves trying to keep Beren from being eaten by Sauron's minions. In my version of things, someone else tailed them, but not too closely, hence his not being captured alongside the (other) Elves and Beren. The said someone was Gildor. – His tale might be told in a later chapter.

Translation: (All are in Sindarin, otherwise noted.)

ellon: male Elf
elleth: female Elf
Mithrandir: Grey Wanderer (literally), a Sindarin version of Gandalf's name
Sinderáno: Quenya: Grey Wanderer (literally), an invention of mine