AN: Hello all! Oh, dear, I never imagined that I'd be typing up author's notes so often. But you keep asking questions that I can't help but want to answer!

How can they not have noticed yet? So many of you seem baffled that they all still think Harry is a boy. I really don't know why this is so hard to believe. Middle Earth is living in the equivalent of the fourteenth century; they live in patriarchal societies where the men are the ones that do battle, travel away from their families, and are expected to know how to take care of themselves. Harry is as different from a Middle Earthian woman as she can be without actually being a boy. She doesn't conform to their idea of a woman. There is no reason to suspect she isn't a boy.

How hard is it to notice curves/breasts? Maybe I didn't take time to properly describe her clothing, but Harry's not exactly wearing anything form-fitting. Underwear, underclothes, trousers, travelling robes, and an over-cloak; all of the visible clothing being bulky and gender neutral. I could wear all that and be thought a man, and I'm a c-cup and have obvious hips. And remember, they're not looking for those telling female traits.

What's up with the tent? Originally, I only made it a part of the story since I don't believe any woman would knowingly let herself be dragged off into another world without making completely sure she'd have a place to sleep and keep clean; it's one of those girl things. However, the tent will have a more important use later on in the story, just like Harry's gender will be used in a sub-plot as well.


Chapter Eight: The Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

Only a week had passed by since the Fellowship entered Lothlorien city and Harry was forced evaluate what she'd told Haldir earlier on the stairs. Hedwig had still not shown up.

Harry had grudgingly concluded that Lothlorien must have magical warding of some sort around it, considering that Galadriel was, in fact, a witch. Harry had to have been stupid to think that mind-reading was her only magical talent. The word 'witch' implied magic user after all. But it frustrated Harry that she didn't know what magical talents the queen did have, or what sort of warding resided about the city.

She was assured on one thing, though, and that was that Hedwig would never leave her. She imagined the owl had just found a nice tree outside the city gates and would find her when she stepped outside of Lothlorien boundaries. In the meantime, she hoped her feathered friend was perturbing the gate wardens.

In the week that had passed, Harry had entertained the elves who had delivered their clothes with transfigurations and charms to pay for the outfit she decided she wanted to keep. She considered wearing her jumper as it was chilly, but ultimately decided against it, as muggle clothes just didn't agree with a wizard's hat. She left off the jumper and instead wrapped a thicker cloak around her shoulders.

Harry had spent the last week walking about with Merry and Pippin, sometimes passing Legolas and Gimli on the way. Occasionally, the two groups would conjoin and explore the city together. This proved to be a good idea as Legolas was an elf and was familiar with the elvish language and customs. If they should happen upon any elves who spoke only Sindarin ("The primary elvish language," as Legolas had explained) he would translate any undecipherable sentences, and start up conversations where the hobbits and Harry seemed to be the focal point.

The elves in Lothlorien had never seen hobbits, it seemed, and they were equally curious of Harry, who, as the rumours went, was a wizard. Harry had wondered, cheeks red as people stared, how the entire city had come to know that about her, and only when a picture of Haldir's smirking face flashed through her mind did she give up wondering.

She was considering punching him in that pretty mouth the next time she saw him.

After breakfast that day, Merry and Pippin each grabbed a hand of Harry's and pulled her up from her regular lounging spot by the tree where she was often found reading or conjuring illusions for their entertainment. The rest of the Fellowship – besides Gimli and Legolas who'd already left on their daily outing – looked on with amusement.

Harry felt it was her right to complain. "Oh, come on! We're not going today. We agreed yesterday that we'd go next week!"

"That was before we knew Legolas was going to be there. He's one of the best archers in Middle Earth, you know!" said Pippin, fervently pulling her arm.

"No, I didn't," Harry said dully, then groaned because the two hobbits were already tugging her onwards. She appreciated sports, but archery was nothing like Quidditch. "Well, so what if he's one of the best? I can see him shoot arrows any old time, why does it have to be now?"

"We'll see him best all those other elves, that's why," answered Merry. The hobbits had gotten her five meters away from the tree now.

Harry tried the stall tactic. "Well, what if he gets beaten? You're just setting yourself up for a disappointment."

At this, Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn all snorted.

"He's not going to lose, Harry, so onwards, we'll go! Why are you so opposed to seeing the archery range?" asked Merry.

Because it was full of arrogant, stuck up elf warriors, who, in Harry's mind, were what warden's were, and Harry had never liked them. Instead, all she said was, "How 'bout some second breakfast?"

The entire remaining Fellowship chuckled at that.

Pippin, however, shook his head. "It's too early for second breakfast," he said, and Harry gaped in surprise.

"Er, a between meal snack?" She was grasping at straws now.

"We will all go," Aragorn suggested, after observing Pippin become interested in Harry's offer. Harry glared at him. "'Twill be refreshing to see a competition of archery again. I have not witnessed one since before I toured the lands as a Ranger."

Harry didn't bother to ask what a Ranger was, but she assumed it was someone who didn't have a lot of free time on their hands.

So Harry was forced to go to the archery range because the rest of the Company were going too. Talk about peer pressure.

It took them half an hour to find it. Amidst the gigantic trees – that all looked alike – and the passing elves – whom all looked alike – they lost their way a couple of times, until they realised that the passing elves were more than likely walking to the archery range for the competition anyway, and followed them. Also, having the elvish translated by Aragorn – who told them the elves were going to the archery range – helped a lot.

When they arrived at the glade, they discovered that the competition was already underway, with ten candidates admitted to the semi-finals. Legolas, predictably, was one of them.

An assortment of male and female elves were gathered behind and to the sides of the remaining archers. The Company walked to where Gimli was standing along the side. He'd placed an intimidating hand on the butt of his axe, his stance resembled that of a wasp protecting its hive. That is, if wasps wore armor, stood on their hind legs, and carried axes.

He relaxed his hand when he saw that the Fellowship had surrounded him. "You've come just in time, too," he said. "The lad is about to shoot."

The 'lad,' looking serene and not in the least perturbed at the surrounding spectators, lifted his bow, took aim, and released. This all happened in the space of a split second. Everyone in the clearing watched as the arrow sailed, and sailed, and sailed – the target really was exceptionally far away – until it hit what Harry assumed was the bull's eye, if the cheering and clapping of the elves, and Legolas' nod of acknowledgment gave any indication.

She wondered how Legolas could have seen the target from where he was standing. It was simply impossible! Unless, like walking on a tightrope without any reflection whatsoever, elves had better eyesight too? It wouldn't surprise Harry. But it did make her think on why this was so Why was there an apparently perfect race? Or, maybe she should have thought instead, why there was a race that displayed such perfect physical attributes while the metaphysical left much to be desired?

But that isn't fair, said a small voice that sounded a lot like Hermione. Legolas was alright and Galadriel seemed nice, if a bit intrusive. She couldn't judge an entire race based on the few she had met.

Then Hagrid's words from fourth year came to the fore front."Yer get weirdos in every bunch!"

Harry decided to agree with the voices.

"Let's move closer to the target," suggested Frodo. "I should like to see what they're actually aiming at."

Everyone agreed, and they shuffled along until they almost reached the other side of the field. The target, they found, was a bunch of compressed circles painted in a spiral on a flat board and nailed to a tree, with the largest as big as a plate and the smallest the size of a thimble. Legolas' arrow protruded directly from the thimble-sized circle.

Aragorn, noticing Harry's gaping expression, chuckled. "Tis an elvish archery contest, Harry. No man would win, should he enter."

"I can see that."

Then the rest of the elves had their go, too, only one of them just brushing the barrier of the smallest circle. After that, it was time for the finals, with only three contenders left.

An elf that was in charge of the target moved it a few meters further back. The Fellowship moved with it.

The first elf took aim and fired, his arrow landing directly in the middle of the target. There was much cheering from the surrounding elves at this. The second elf was Legolas, who didn't need nearly as much time to aim as the first elf had, and his arrow splintered the first elf's arrow as it landed. This produced even more cheering and clapping.

The last elf, however, was another story. Harry wouldn't have been interested in him at all, besides the fact that he could win the competition if he beat Legolas. Harry didn't think he was at all special, or that he would have anything to do with Harry at all, but of course, the universe, it didn't matter which, lived to contradict her.

It took a lot to make an elf drunk – half a barrel of mulled mead to be precise – and when the once-in-an-elvish-lifetime-event occurred, it was very unfortunate on the poor elf. Narien, currently being the third contender in the finals of an informal elvish archery competition, was drunk. Since early that morning in fact. The where and why was irrelevant as was how he managed to make it all the way to the finals – luck was involved, or pure coincidence – but suffice to say, that luck all but deserted him, and he wouldn't even be able to hit the side of an Oliphant if it stood but three feet away.

Drunk elves and archery competitions shouldn't mix, really, as Harry found out.

Narien loaded his bow. He took extra care in doing so, though nobody in the vicinity seemed to think anything was amiss. Even if elves got drunk, they hardly looked it, after all.

Narien took aim. This, however, produced some murmurs throughout the assorted hangers-on because the elf seemed to have aimed at an angle slightly away from the target, and the audience knew, because they had that excellent sight of theirs.

The elf in question, however, seemed unconcerned, so his audience assumed he knew what he was doing. But that assumption was quickly laid to rest when Narien let loose the arrow without changing angles. This caused considerable surprise and shocked exclamations, but not nearly as much shocked and surprised as what Harry and the Fellowship would do when the arrow reached the other end.

The Company knew that the last elf had taken aim, but they hadn't seen when he'd fired the arrow, so when the missile suddenly appeared in Harry's hat, whipping it from her head and continuing to travel onwards – with the hat still dangling on the stem, and imbedding itself in a nearby tree – they were quite surprised. But none more so than Harry. She had only felt a momentary relief at not being shot, and that relief had quickly turned to terror when she realised that her hat was no longer on her head, as it was supposed to be.

"He did that on bloody purpose!" was all Harry could say, slipping into English in her outrage, before sprinting towards her pinned hat, ripping the arrow out of the tree, and stuffing the hat on her head. She could only hope that Galadriel hadn't tried to pry in those couple of minutes she'd been without her hat or she'd certainly catch it from the Sorting Hat when she got home.

On the other end of the field, Narien promptly passed out.

"A couple inches lower and you would have been – !"

"I know, Pippin," said Harry, for what felt the thousandth time.

"Alright, no need to get snarly!"

"I'm not getting snarly, it's just, how could this have happened? I thought elves were supposed to be experts at shooting arrows!"

The Fellowship, including Legolas and Gimli, had returned to their tree to discuss the morning's events – after Legolas went through all of the congratulations first, of course, and that alone took about half an hour. This was also where Harry discovered that Legolas must have been royalty by the way the elves who were offering their compliments seemed to be channeling jack-in-the-boxes', and had the tendency of saying, "Your highness," after every sentence. Or so Aragorn translated.

Harry knew she shouldn't be so grumpy, especially at Pippin, but she felt on edge from what had happened. Not the part where she'd almost been dead, but the part where Galadriel might have taken the opportunity to poke around, and now she kept expecting the Lady to pop up and invite for her a chat.

Legolas leaned forward, looking conspiratorially serious. The Fellowship leaned in closer in order to hear better. "Laer told me that Narien, the elf who shot Harry's hat, was drunk."

"What!" Harry squawked.

"Tis true," Legolas continued, seeming to enjoy the Fellowship's stunned reactions. "Last night there was merry-making in the woods, a little further away from the city, but still within its boundaries. There was much pleasure and drink to be had. It appears that Narien had too much."

"What's merry-making?" asked Harry.

Incredibly, Aragorn and Legolas both looked uncomfortable at this, exchanging glances and fidgeting slightly where they sat.

"Tis an elvish pastime," Legolas finally said, trying to avoid Harry's gaze.

Harry blinked slowly. Merry-making? Making happy? Surely it was just a group of idiots partying, Surely he couldn't mean . . . ? But what if he did? What if elves regularly went out and . . . She couldn't force herself to think of what Legolas could have been implying. In the woods? In a group? No, she didn't want to think about it.

"Yeah, so," Harry said, forcing her thoughts to safer subjects, "how did he make it so far into the competition if he was drunk?"

Legolas lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "I know not."

"So it's just one of those things?" Harry said.

"What things do you speak of?" Legolas looked puzzled.

"I mean, one of those things, you know, you can't explain it, it just sort of happens, like lightening striking in the same place twice, or something."

"Ah, I see now," said Legolas, inclining his head. "You use a very strange dialect, Harry."

Harry reddened at this, especially when she saw that everyone seemed to agree. "Everyone talks like this where I come from," she muttered in her own defence.

"It must be very interesting where you come from," said Boromir.

Harry nodded, though privately, she thought that this was Boromir's polite way of saying she was loony. "It is," Harry told them. "You won't believe some of the things – er . . ." she trailed off because suddenly everyone seemed very interested. " – well, it's just a lot different from Middle Earth."

After saying that, Harry wondered why she was so defensive at keeping everything to herself when she had told them not long ago that she didn't want to keep any secrets from them. No harm would come if she told them about muggle things, or just things in general that could be found in the wizarding world, surely? It wasn't like the Statute of Secrecy applied in an alternate reality, did it?

"How different?" asked Pippin.

"Well, let's see," said Harry, warming up to the idea, and pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them. "To begin with, you have to know that there are two main communities that exist in my world. My people call them the Wizarding World and the Muggle World. The Wizarding World is full of magic users and magical creatures, and things like that, whereas the Muggle World is full of what you call the Race of Men here. Nobody in the Muggle World knows about wizards or any magical creatures; they're kept unaware."

This caused exceptional surprise with his companions.

"Why is this so?" asked Boromir, sounding a tad defensive.

"I was told it's because they'd want a magic solution to all their problems," explained Harry, remembering what Hagrid had told her. "But I think it has more to do with the fact that what led to the separation of Muggles and Magicals was the persecution of Magicals. I don't doubt that the Muggle World and the Wizarding World co-existed thousands of years back, but just before we went into hiding, muggles burned us at the stake, calling us abominations and evil."

Boromir looked shocked and also a bit sheepish at provoking such a topic. He winced at Harry apologetically but Harry waved it off graciously. "It's fine, considering the fact that everyone more or less co-exists peacefully here, it's no wonder you would be offended hearing the race of Men in my world are kept unaware.

"In any case, I'm not sure if it would be the same now but we're really just too different. We have evolved differently. The Wizarding World uses magic for simply everything; we literally cannot exist without it. Our entire system would collapse if we were deprived of our magic. But the Muggle World has created technology to help them live their daily lives, they have no real need for magic."

At the bewildered expressions she was getting, Harry assumed they didn't know what technology was.

"An example of technology would be . . . um, computers. They look like boxes, at least some do, and you can write on them, and store libraries of books and other information, and if another person has their own computer, you can talk through them to people on the other side of the world . . ."

They weren't believing it.

"It sounds like sorcery!" said Gimli.

"I suppose you'd think it so, if you've never seen it before."

"What other things can be found in the muggle world?" asked Pippin.

"Well, there buildings, too."

"Buildings?" said the hobbits together, their tone disbelieving.

"What's so special about buildings?" asked Merry.

"Muggle buildings can be as tall as a mountain."

"As tall as mountains? I'd like to see that," said Sam. "What else is there?"

"Well, there are airplanes, which are like giant birds made of metal that travel around the world and carry hundreds of people in them – " Harry ignored the stunned expressions. "Then there are cars, a sort of horseless carriage that can travel faster than an elf can run. Um, oh, they've got these weapons that can destroy entire countries with the push of a button. They're called nuclear bombs."

There was a lot of sputtering at this. "Entire countries? Sauron would rejoice should he know of such a weapon!" cried Aragorn.

"Yes, well, we're lucky he doesn't."

"What about the world of Wizards? Tell us about the creatures there. We already know you don't have hobbits, but you do have elves," said Pippin.

Harry wished Pippin hadn't said anything because Legolas sat up at his words.

"There is an Elven race in your world?" he asked. "Why did you not mention this before?"

"Oh they're not like you, Legolas," said Pippin, before Harry could open his mouth. "They're like hobbits, aren't they, Harry?"

Harry was suddenly unhappy being the focus of everyone's attention. "Er, they're not exactly like hobbits, though the height is similar," she said, hemming and hawing. Everyone seemed to be waiting for her to continue. "Alright then, um, they'relittlewithpointyearsandlivetoservewizards," She said. "Now, who wants to know about, er, giants?"

There was laughter. "No one heard anything, Harry," said Merry. "You ran your words together."

"Yeah, I meant to do that," Harry mumbled. Too late, she forgot Legolas could hear. Harry watched him now, frowning in puzzlement. "Fine then, but I ask that you don't become too offended when you hear what house-elves are like."

Everyone seemed even more interested at this, and they leaned in closer. Harry took a deep breath.

"The official name for elves in the Wizarding World is House-Elves, and they're called house-elves because they live in wizarding houses. I want to point out right from the start that they look and behave nothing like the elves here; they are as similar as a horse is to a horse-fly, really the only thing in common is the name, alright?" She paused to make sure everyone had nodded their heads in acknowledgment.

"House-elves are . . . " How to put this as gently as possible? "Indentured servants, only they love serving their masters. Or maybe guardians of the home is more accurate description. Their lives are tied to the family they serve. I don't know much about them beyond the fact that they love their wizards and some die of despair if they are sent away to be 'free'."

Harry cleared her throat before blithely changing the subject. "So, who wants to know about giants?"

Silence greeted her.

"Servants?" Legolas finally said.

Harry took another breath. "Look, elves in my world are nothing likes elves in Middle Earth. You wouldn't be able to pick them out in a crowd if I was to show you a group of assorted magical creatures because they are as like you as a cat is to a catfish. The fact that the word 'elf' is part of their name is pure coincidence."

Legoals nodded, slowly. "I see."

Harry let his eyes flit to each member of the Fellowship. Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam looked melancholy – a lot like Legolas – Boromir, Merry, and Gimli seemed contemplative, and Pippin who was munching on a piece of cheese, didn't appear to be bothered by what Harry had revealed, and surprisingly, seemed to be the only one who looked understanding of Harry's explanation.

"Look, I'm not explaining this properly. The only thing I can think of that properly explain the bond between a house-elf and the family they serve would be like if I turned Hedwig from an owl into a humanoid creature with increased intelligence.

"Hedwig follows be everywhere and happily obeys me. She is happy to obey and is very loyal because she knows I care for her and take responsibility for her, and the bond between us feeds her magic that keeps her stronger and more intelligent than a normal owl. We are both benefiting from the bond.

"That's not to say people do not abuse their animal companions or house-elves because they do – I have a friend named Dobby – he's a house-elf – that I helped escape from a horrible man and Dobby was quite happy to be free of him, but I have seen that they are at their happiest when tending to a 'master.'

"I think serving under a master is part of their nature since Dobby immediately went to look for work at the school I go to, where hundreds house-elves live, even though he said he was happy to be free. The satisfaction that work gives them is their sustenance in place of food – I've never seen a house-elf eat, that's why I think they're actually spirits taking physical form – and without it, the idleness of freedom literally kills them."

Legolas looked somewhat mollified so Harry figured a change of subject would get him into a better mood. She grinned teasingly. "Who wants to know about giants?"

Pippin took up the bait. "What are giants?"

Harry jumped straight into the description. "They're like trolls – well like the trolls back home, I'm not exactly an expert on the trolls here – except smarter – they can talk, you know – and bigger too, averaging around twenty to twenty-five feet tall, and resembles the race of Men in their looks. I'm not sure if you measure height in feet here, so think of an enormous brute of a man that's at least five times taller and wider, and you have a Giant."

Frodo shuddered. Sam looked on in horror. Pippin stopped munching as Harry enthusiastically continued.

"Groups of them have been known to fight each other to the death and they're very casual about violence. It goes without saying that their population is relatively small. They're also hard to take down since they are resistant to most magic, tough I'm not sure how they fare against non-magical weapons."

"I should not like to meet a giant, then," said Merry, taking the remaining bit of cheese out of Pippin's slack grasp and stuffing it in his mouth.

Everyone offered mumblings of agreement.

"They live in the mountains, mostly," Harry told them. "And I haven't heard much on Giant attacks unless they were being incited to war by outside forces. Of course, we're rather leery of them in general so I don't actually know much about their natural temperaments.

"I can't speak for the entire race, but my friend Hagrid is a half-giant and he's the kindest man I've ever met who has a real soft spot for animals. He works at the school I go to as well, and during my first year, he found a dragon egg that we got to watch hatch. We even took care of it for a few weeks before sending it to a better location for a growing, fire-breathing lizard. Dragons are – "

"Dragons!" everyone cried, when they finally accepted that Harry had actually said 'Dragon.'

Harry was momentarily taken aback at the passion in their voices. She had thought she would have to explain what dragons were, but evidently Middle Earth had them too.

"Yeah," Harry said. "You have them here too? We have all sorts of different breeds –"

"Harry Potter?" came a voice behind Harry's back. Harry stiffened before turning her head. Never once since arriving in Middle Earth had she told anyone her last name. An elf wearing silvery, floor length robes was standing behind her, looking down with a single raised eyebrow.

Harry scrambled to her feet, feeling more than a little defensive and wary. "Yes?"

"You are to accompany me to the Lady Galadriel. She would like a word."

Harry forced her throat not to gulp. "Now?"

The elf inclined his head, as if puzzled by Harry's query. "Yes. Now."

Harry finally forced down that gulp. It looked like Galadriel had managed to see something.

Soft, dappled sunlight gleamed from the treetops a mile high, twisting, turning, and sometimes overlooking its chosen path to bounce off a stray branch or leaf, eventually finding itself on the forest floor. Sometimes a fat tree branch would catch an obscure ray, preventing it from ever reaching the ground. The aforementioned branch would then light up in filmy sliver, so that it appeared as if it were shimmering. This, then, would result in the entire tree flaring in the ethereal image, like a ghostly specter out on the moors. Every tree in Lothlorien had that effect.

Every.

Single.

Freaking.

Tree.

It was a wonder the elves had not all gone mad at such uniformed perfection all the time. Where was the spice of life that uncertainty and uniqueness could bring? It was all so perfect, so completed. There was nothing left to do with it because it was finished. It was amazing that boredom had not claimed more of their lives.

It all rather reminded Harry of fairy magic. It was funny what simple things people notice when they try to get their minds off unpleasant situations. At least now Harry knew how elves achieved the 'glowing' effect on almost all inanimate objects – besides themselves.

It was a pity Harry's mood didn't feel as welcoming or peaceful as her surrounding environment.

She was not stupid by any means, she liked to think that she had a good head on her shoulders, but she wasn't she as smart as someone like Hermione. Harry would be the second to admit that she could be a bit thick at times – Hermione, loveable swot she was, coming in first – but even she was surprised at how stupid she'd been this time around; and it shocked her to the bone, because when fighting for survival and acceptance, Harry usually and instinctively paid attention to the smaller matters around her. Smaller matters might soon turn into bigger matters later on, as she had found out the hard way.

She'd called herself thousands of different kinds of a brainless bitch for not remembering to replace the sticking charm on her hat.

She'd also asked herself why this had happened. Why did she kept forgetting the little things, the little spells that make a wizard's life just that much easier?

Harry thought about it, and realised she'd forgotten to use magic in other situations as well, where it could have benefited. Like her Firebolt; she could have thought to use that to fly down to Gandalf when he'd fallen into that pit, or at least to bring his body back to the Fellowship for a proper burial. She could have used the disillusionment charm or her invisibility cloak to cover herself, her broom, and Gandalf as they flew back out of the pit, so the orcs wouldn't see.

She could have used her Firebolt for a different matter entirely. She could have taken Frodo up on it and flew them away to Mount Doom where the hobbit could have chucked the ring into the lava . . . 'There, the danger is over and we can all go home,' they would say. It would have only taken a couple of hours.

No, that wouldn't have worked, Harry told had a task and helping Frodo with it might not be it. But despite that, Harry knew there were instances that she wouldn't have even thought to use magic if it weren't for outside interference. When Aragorn and Frodo had been stuck on the other side of the crumbling road in the Mines of Moria, it had been Legolas who'd shouted for Harry to use a spell; it had been he who had reminded Harry she was a wizard – a fact Harry had temporarily forgotten.

And she knew why all this occurred. Why she had simply appeared to have forgotten most fundamental spells and ideas; it was her reluctance to show magic in front of the Fellowship and the elves that had done it. Her fear of being ostracized as she had been all last year by her fellow classmates; people she had called friends. It was her fear of a new world, her fear that her new friends would hate her because she was different. All this mingled together produced a thicker Harry than the one who'd first entered this world. And she hated herself for it.

And now, because of all this, Lady Galadriel had been able to see into her mind, and would question her on it. It was the worst sort of luck.

Now, as Harry trudged up the staircase to the home of the king and queen of Loth lorien, the regal looking messenger elf gliding in front of her, she told herself to think positively. After all, what could Galadriel have seen in the minute her hat was pinned to the tree? She might not have even been scrying; her attention might have been elsewhere.

Maybe it was for another reason? Maybe it was because of the 'from another world' thing? The last time they'd spoken, Galadriel had told the king that Harry had been badgered enough. That could imply that the Lady had wanted to talk more to her, but had refrained from it because Harry was exhausted. It might mean that she wanted to speak to Harry now about whatever she couldn't before. Maybe that was it!

Harry had almost convinced herself of that theory as she reached the end of her trek up the staircase, until she spotted the heads of the rulers of Loth lorien sitting in two pearl-coloured thrones that appeared nearly as bright as they were. Their imminent presence, doubled by they vision they presented on their thrones, caused her to stumble stupidly over the last step, so that she ended up almost face-down at the feet of the messenger.

The elf in question looked down on her with eyebrows raised, before turning to the king and queen and formally introducing Harry, then walking back down the stairs.

Harry was, by now, scarlet.

Gingerly picking herself up in case she done herself actual harm, Harry walked the last few meters until she stood directly in front of the king and queen. Remembering what the messenger elf had done, she bowed and straightened, trying, without success, to avoid their weighty gazes.

"You, erm, summoned me, Your Majesties?" Harry said, not being able to take the penetrating silence anymore.

There was a long pause before the queen answered. "It does me well to see you, Harry Potter," she began, gesturing for Harry to sit on one of the many chairs on the chamber-like platform. Harry didn't know what to make of this statement, but she sat down anyway on the chair almost directly adjacent to the queen's, so that she ended up sitting sideways in the chair while looking at Lady Galadriel.

"A-and you as well." Harry tried for a polite statement. Her scar from Umbridge's detentions prickled and she couldn't help but scratch at it, though she was trying not to fidget.

Galadriel smiled slightly. Or she might not have been smiling at all; it was difficult to tell what that expressionless face might reveal. Somehow, Harry felt like the queen was was though, and this feeling calmed her down slightly, so that she stopped scratching the back of her hand nervously.

"You have any inkling as to why I have requested to see you?"

Harry wasn't sure if that was a question or not, but she answered like it was. "Possibly. That is, unless you just wanted a bit of a chat . . ."

That almost smile again.

She tried once more. "Er . . . then, you saw into my mind and discovered things . . ."

"That would be nearly correct, Harry Potter," she said, nodding elegantly. "Your hat revealed a great many things, yet concealed none. I was beginning to wonder when you would deem it wise to speak with me. Did it not occur to you that it might be my duty to inform you of the path you must walk whilst you reside in Middle Earth?"

"What?" said Harry after a pause. The implications of that had her mind in a jumble. If Galadriel had d just said what Harry thought she'd just said . . . Harry cleared her throat uncertainly. "Excuse me . . . Your Majesty . . . but – I mean, are you trying to say that, well, you actually penetrated the defensive barriers that were around my hat? But – I mean, before the Sorting Hat left, it told me that no one and nothing would be able to access my thoughts . . . and, well, you're kind of saying you did . . . and that really wasn't supposed to happen," she finished lamely.

The king made a noise then. It was a sort of half snort, half cough, that barely lasted half a second. Harry marvelled that any elf could make a sound that was usually so crude seem as commonplace as breathing.

The queen said simply, "Yes."

"Right, I thought so," said Harry after a long silence, when everything she'd heard so far since arriving at the dais sank in. "Right, so that means that – that you knew all along, then? You could've gone into my mind and broken through the barrier at anytime . . ." the queen smiled fully this time, " . . . and of course you could, this is your world after all, and I'm a stupid idiot for taking the words of a hat at face value."

"I am not an intrusive elf," was all the queen said to that.

Harry felt deeply embarrassed as she really how ridiculous she had been to have put so much faith in magic, for all the she had been avoided using it, that she was willing to believe whatever a hat had said was true. What would a hat know about Middle Earth magic, after all? Sorting Hat though it was? What would Dumbledore know? He'd never been to Middle Earth. How would they know if their brand of magic was stronger than Gandalf's, or Galadriel's?

Didn't her experience with anything magical in Middle Earth – such as the holly trees and Gandalf – teach her that her magic reacted wrongly when exposed to them . . . ? No, that wasn't right – her magic hadn't worked at all! It had not made a dent in the enchantments she'd encounters; what had made her think it would in this instance?

The Hat had, that's what! She didn't even think to question it, and all because it was something familiar from her world that had momentarily taken away the feeling of lonesomeness in an unknown land. The Sorting Hat had only observed Gandalf's magic through Harry's own memories, it didn't have any firsthand experience. You can't base an opinion on word-of-mouth!

She was such a moron! It was only through Galadriel's grace that she hadn't read her mind, not Dumbledore's or the Hat's so called 'gift.'

Harry finally recognised that Galadriel had only waited for an opportunity when Harry would temporarily take off the hat, so the Lady could tell Harry that without forcefully plundering her head. Galadriel was only being kind; she was only respecting Harry's privacy.

She was such as idiot; as was the Sorting Hat, and yes, even Dumbledore. Of course Harry realised that Dumbledore had only wanted to help her, and that, perhaps, her hat would offer some protection from the lure of the Ring, but it wouldn't completely shield her, it just wasn't strong enough. Then again, what with the way her magic responded to unfamiliar magical objects in Middle Earth, she had to re-evaluate her thoughts. Perhaps her hat wouldn't protect her from the Ring at all?

"Mayhaps," said the queen.

Harry's responding grin was chagrined and nearly a grimace. She'd just gotten her proof, hadn't she? Galadriel had managed to access her thoughts while she was still wearing the hat.

"Perhaps you should remove it?" the queen suggested, and Harry acquiesced, plucking the hat off her head and fluffing her hair. Immediately, she felt a cool breeze on her head and she nearly sighed in relief at how wonderful it felt. Without the stuffy, barrier of the hat to stop it, her head could finally breathe.

The king spoke, eyes icy blue, "What should we do with this young wizard now, Galadriel?" Harry tensed, forgetting the pleasant breeze. "Lying to the leaders of the high elves is crime worthy of the punishment of treason."

"I have not!" cried Harry, partly to explain, partly in terror, and mostly in anger at the accusation, which wasn't true. "Not once have I spoken a single false word while I've been here!"

"You do not believe withholding the truth is deception enough?"

"What business is it of yours if I wanted to keep my private thoughts exactly that: private? I didn't exactly sneak in here, did I? I would accept your accusation of withholding information if you had bothered to ask me anything to begin with, but you didn't. What's wrong with actual conversation?

"And you couldn't accuse me of withholding anything even if you did ask, since I don't know anything! I was tossed into this world by some higher Power without the slightest idea where I was going. I know nothing of this world beyond the scant little Gandalf as told me. "

"Indeed," the king drawled, sliding out of his chair and coming to loom over Harry, who couldn't help but lean back slightly at the elf's compelling presence. "It matters not whether you told lies outright, or concealed the truth or were simply ignorant of it all; it all unravels to the same ending: Do we trust you now? These are black times, and an unknown entity that deems fit to detain knowledge from the rulers of this land is not to be trusted."

Harry bit back the first retort that settled on her tongue, which went something along the lines of a sarcastic, "Why should I trust you?" Instead she settled with using logic, something Hermione would be proud of.

"You can trust me," she explained slowly, almost but not quite, speaking like she would to a child, "because the queen can see into my mind now and judge me." She looked the king straight in the eye, and while she couldn't withhold her wince, she didn't back down. "And I've no doubt she's been doing just that. If I was evil, she would have told you already, and you'd be in the middle of a merry chase to capture me as I escape."

Harry pulled a face. "As I'm still here, and we're having this conversation, and I've yet to be forced to fly away, I can only conclude that you know all of this already. You must have already known that I have a mission to complete – a mission given to me by your Valar – and she's the only one who can help me."

The elven king stared at Harry for an unsmilingly long time – during which the Wizarding World's saviour discreetly fiddled with the wand in her robe pocket – until finally he said, "Well spoken, Harry Potter!"

"W-what?" said Harry, now completely confused. She had expected . . . well, she wasn't sure what she had expected but something other than appreciation, that was certain.

The king threw her a bemused look. "So unlike any I have encountered before you," He told Harry, walking back at a leisurely place and lowering himself back on his throne. So, he had been trying to intimidate her into submission! How rude! "So bold. So steadfast to your convictions. You dismiss the laws of courtesy that deem that should show deference to those older than you and those with power over you, as if you were dismissing a lone ant that happened upon your path."

He waved an elegant hand at Harry. "You resemble an elf in that regard. We hold nature and the natural instincts of a person in more esteem than common rules, even if, and especially when, you might think otherwise." The king's narrowing gaze was so penetrating then, that Harry momentarily thought he was channeling Galadriel.

Realizing what the king was saying, she became uncomfortable. It was true she had previously thought most elves were snobby. But it was hardly without evidence!

"I'm sorry for withholding information," was what Harry told him, looking momentarily down at her shoes, channeling the Twins in that she wasn't at all sorry, but understood that this wasn't the time to act unrepentant.

The king inclined his head, which suggested he'd accepted Harry's apology.

"And . . . I'd be honoured if you would help me, My Lady," Harry continued, turning to address the queen. Galadriel offered Harry the same gesture the king had given a few seconds before, an amused smile playing on her lips.

Harry let out a small sigh of relief as the tenseness in her neck – the one she hadn't acknowledged until now – dispersed.

"So . . ." said Harry, drawing out the 'O'. "I . . . I have to look into a mirror?" Her tone was slightly bewildered, suggesting that she might not have bought what Galadriel was trying to sell.

"Indeed," the queen answered, gesturing once again to the large basin. "Have I not said so?" she added not unkindly, as Harry went pink. She nodded quickly to dispel her embarrassment and let her eyes rove around the clearing.

They stood, just the two of them, in the middle of a sort of large hole in the middle of a hill. The boundaries were made out of raised earth and a single wooden staircase stretched a distance from the top of the knoll to the bottom. On the other side of the place where they stood was a tiny waterfall that trickled into a small pond, encased with rock. In the middle of all this was a large basin which sat on top of a pedestal.

Harry stood in front of the basin, while Galadriel observed from behind. The queen had already poured some water from the pond into the basin, and had told Harry that she should expect to see some images from her past, present, and future. Harry didn't so much care about her past and present – she'd already experienced one and was currently living the other – it was the future she was more interested in, as that would help her discover her mission.

Or, so Galadriel believed.

Either way, Harry hoped the queen was right, as she had been getting quite irritated at not having a purpose besides being irritated all the time. She took a deep breath, glanced once up at Galadriel – she offered an encouraging nod – then leaned over the basin.

At first, there was nothing there but her own reflection staring up at her with a slight dotty look Luna often wore, which she hastily amended to resemble a more serious countenance. Absently, she noticed that her hair had gotten a bit longer and the locks that usually stood up in spikes and corkscrew curls were now less spiky and more wavy. When on earth had that happened?

She'd never had cause to cut her hair before because – well, it had never grown before! Long hair would only encourage Dudley's group of bullies to pull on it. It took Parvati complaining how she never wore her hair long for her to suspect that it was her magic that had stopped her hair from growing. She really had no patience for long hair, so her hair never grew, because she couldn't be bothered cutting it; she'd had no desire to. But now . . . she supposed Middle Earth was tampering with her magic again. She shouldn't have been surprised, really.

Shimmer.

Harry blinked. She had almost missed it. The mirror had . . . shimmered? It shimmered again, the water seeming to ripple in a tremble of silver. An image appeared. A tall, long-nosed, red-haired boy. Ron! He was playing chess at the Burrow with . . . Hermione?

Was she looking at the present?

Another image shivered into existence. This one was of Fred and George dolling out sweets in front of a shop in Diagon Alley. Another one came rapidly, of Ginny lying on her front, in her bed, and scribbling on a piece of parchment.

More images appeared then, one after the other. Sirius falling through the Veil at the Department of Mysteries; Gandalf falling into the dark abyss of Moria; Hedwig attacking Orophin; Boromir speaking with Aragorn . . . The image focused on Boromir for a while, flashing through images she didn't recognize before –

Harry jumped back in horror, a cry of alarm on her lips, stumbling backwards over the couple of steps that led up to the basin. She dared not look into the mirror again.

Unfortunately, this action was not enough to dispel the terrible image from her thoughts. It had been Boromir. Boromir lying with mouth open, eyes closed, clutching a sword to his chest, and quite clearly dead! There had been blood on his clothes! And hadn't there been arrows? Considering that she had spoken to Boromir not even an hour ago, this image had obviously showed the future.

Tears prickling her eyes, Harry looked up at Galadriel. The lady was staring at her with an understanding that Harry knew, no matter how many years she might live, she would never be able to express. "W-why?" she stumbled over her wording again. "Why did the mirror show me that – those things?" She did not quite manage to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"Is it not obvious, Harry Potter?" Galadriel spoke in a low, husky tone that did not sound in the least patronizing. "The Son of the Steward of Gondor . . . he is the reason you have been brought to this world. He is your task."

"What?" That was absurd. A person couldn't be a task!

'Why ever not?' Harry started as Galadriel's voice suddenly came from inside her head. "It will be your duty to protect him from now on," she continued, this time aloud. "The mirror does not lie."

"He'll hardly thank me for it! I'm sure it'll gall him something horrible to have to be watched over by me. He thinks I'm just some little kid!"

"Surely, that is not true. Who would turn up their nose at a known Istar?"

"He still treats me like I'm one of the hobbits," Harry insisted stubbornly. "And even if he didn't, I can't be with him all the time. What if we're ambushed at some point and he's killed when my back is turned?"

"Such a situation you must endeavor to avoid, then."

"So, assuming I'll be able to save him, what then?" Harry said, not sure if she was panicking or not, but determined to get all her questions out in the open while she could still of them. But surely she couldn't be responsible for someone's life like that?

Galadriel walked ever so beautifully over toward the trembling young wizard, so that they were barely a foot apart. Harry stared into those deep blue eyes, not knowing that her own conveyed the utter hopelessness she was feeling. The queen's eyes softened slightly at the look. "I believe henceforth, if you manage to save him, you will be released from your task and be free to go back to your own world."

Harry hesitated before she asked. "And if I don't save him?"

She stared a goodly length at Harry. "I think, perhaps, it would be best if I explain a few things about Boromir. Come, sit with me."

Harry trailed after her as she went to sit on a knotty, though polished looking piece of tree that resided against the wall of the clearing. It was clearly a medieval version of a park bench, but surprisingly comfortable.

Galadriel looked Harry in the eye again, and began . . .

They talked for at least half an hour. Galadriel told Harry all she could about Boromir, and his current situation. Harry learned things she hadn't bothered to pick up on before, or just didn't care to notice. Boromir, Son of Denethor, had an honourable nature and was currently the scion to the Stewardship of Gondor.(It was here Harry learned that Aragorn, shockingly, was heir to the throne of said country. She'd mentally commanded herself not to act any differently toward the Ranger, as Galadriel said he expected no special recognition.)

Boromir, therefore, had responsibilities, duties, that other men didn't have. Gondor would fall if Sauron triumphed, in fact Gondor would likely fall before that. Boromir, for that reason, shouldered a heavy burden on his shoulders. He felt responsible for his City, responsible to find all the aid that he could get for his City.

Enter the Ring.

Harry was astonished, and not a little dismayed to discover that the Ring was getting to Boromir. That it had, in fact, almost consumed him completely, and that it would not be long before he tried to steal it from Frodo. Harry must therefore always stay by Boromir's side, helping him, perhaps giving him subtle advice, and above all – making sure he didn't die!

Harry had dutifully promised all this to Galadriel, not just because it would get her home if she saved Boromir's life, but also for the simple fact that Harry knew Boromir. He was one of the Fellowship, and was a good person. Plus, the fact that Harry's Gryffindor ideals couldn't let her abandon someone to die, especially someone she had traveled in the wilderness with, fought Dark Creatures with, and, occasionally, had to bewitch so she could relieve herself. If Harry could get passed that embarrassing barrier, as she had with most of the Fellowship, then that person was worthy of saving, as far as she was concerned.

After her talk with Galadriel, Harry made her way back to the Fellowship and the hollow in their comfortable tree. She'd had to abandon them mid-speech, and was now looking forward on continuing the discussion about dragons. She had already promised herself to tell them about her experience with the Hungarian Horntail.

Harry would not hold anything back now. Not her knowledge from another world, nor her magic – she had made this promise to herself before but now, it was not only for her sake that she kept it. They had seen her use it before, she had known them for almost two months now and in that time, she had seen the kind of people they were and they had seen the kind of person she was. They shouldn't be scared of her magic. In fact, Harry was positive they weren't now, especially after her talk with Galadriel and Celeborn.

And if they showed discomfort by her everyday, seemingly never-ending supply of magic, she would continue to use it until they were comfortable. She would fling magic about even more freely than she had at the Dursley's that summer because she no longer had to be afraid.

Harry spotted the Fellowship now, lounging under their tree, having lunch. Some elves must have brought it over while she was with Galadriel.

Pippin noticed her first and waved her over. "We've saved some for you, Harry. And look, they've finally brought us wine!"

Harry grinned as she walked up the short slope that rested just before the picnic spread-out, and then plonked down next to Pippin, helping herself to some stew. "No thanks," she told the hobbit, who'd went to pour some of the alcohol into Harry's goblet. "I'm not old enough to drink yet."

Everyone seemed to think this was terribly funny. Poor Merry even choked on his own pipe smoke.

"What?" Harry asked, managing to express bafflement, amusement, and annoyance all at once. She had just gotten the feeling that she was the butt of some private joke, and the fact that she had no clue as to what it was made her a bit nervous.

"Not old enough?" said Pippin, amongst heavy chortling. He laughed so hard, some wine flew up his nose and he rubbed it a bit before continuing. "There's no need to be modest now, is there? We know the ways of wizards."

"Whuh?" was the inelegant sound that came out of Harry's mouth. Though, that could have been because she'd just spooned in a mouthful of stew and could not do much else with her tongue, let alone talk.

"There's no need to be bashful, Harry," said Frodo, looking at Harry with smiling eyes. Harry was taken aback by that, as well as the mischief in his smile, all of which still didn't help her understand what in Merlin's name they were on about.

Merry continued, "Gandalf told Aragorn before he fell, Harry. You don't have to pretend to keep us comfortable. We don't mind. Go on, have some wine!"

Harry concluded that this particular hobbit must be stark raving bonkers.

"Umm . . . what exactly did Gandalf tell you?" queried Harry after swallowing her first bit of stew, even as she accepted the wine this time around. It was surprisingly good, maybe she should drink wine more often.

"Well," said Pippin slowly, lighting up a newly produced pipe, and giving it a few experimental puffs.

"We know all the immortal races are older than they appear to be. Just look at Legolas over there."

Harry proceeded to choke on the second bite of stew she had put in her mouth when she took a breath to speak too soon. She was helped to swallow by Sam, who pounded on her back with both fists. Harry discovered then that hobbits were quite strong, and could be known to bruise on occasion.

"I'm fine Sam, but, uh, thanks anyway," Harry rasped out. She took another sip of wine to soothe her throat. "Erm, Pippin, why would you think I'm immortal? I'm not an elf."

"But you are a wizard," Aragorn insisted.

"Wizards are immortal," added Legolas, but he had cocked his head and was scrutinizing Harry, "at least in Middle Earth. You mean to tell us you're not?"

"I'm not," said Harry simply. "I mean, we do live longer than ordinary people because of the magic in our blood, maybe two hundred fifty years for the common wizard," Harry added, thinking back to the veritably ancient wizard examiners that came to test the fifth years on their OWLS. They had spoken of having done the same to Dumbledore, and if Dumbledore, as Harry knew, was one hundred and fifty years old, then the examiners must be at least twice that.

Harry unsheathed her wand to the curiosity of the rest of the Fellowship and charmed her wine to be un-ending; there was no point in drinking all their precious alcohol when she could just stretch out what she already had. Gimli especially looked awed that her cup was still full even after several hearty gulps.

"Some of us live longer, of course," Harry continued, winking as she charmed Gimli's cup as well. "I once received a birthday party invitation from a fellow in his five hundreds, and one of my teachers studied under a gentleman that was six hundred sixty-five before he died. But we're not immortal and I'm hardly much older than I look; I hadn't even turned sixteen yet when I arrived," Harry told them, then took another bite of her stew once she was sure it was safe to do so.

"Not yet sixteen years? You're yet a babe!" Pippin exclaimed, looking Harry over with keener eyes than before. Harry shifted uncomfortably at the re-assessing looks she received. She held her cup closer to her body since she wouldn't put it past some of the more responsible ones – Aragorn and Legolas, most likely – to take her drink from her now that they knew she really was not old enough to drink.

"We've had a child with us this entire time?" Boromir muttered under his breath. He looked put out. "Couldn't be more than twelve summers or there about, if we're judging by looks."

"I don't know how long I've been here but I'm sure I've reached sixteen already," Harry frowned. There was no need for him to exaggerate so much. She was short and skinny, yes, but she didn't think she looked prepubescent. "I'm hardly a baby, wizards of my kind come of age at seventeen."

"Why so early? That's almost the same as the race of Men here," Merry interjected.

"I'm not sure exactly why, though were used to live among the muggles long ago, so that might be the reason." A thought occurred to her. "'Early'? What do you mean early? When did you come of age?"

"Hobbits come of age at thirty-three," Sam was the first to answer.

"Thirty-three?" the wizard echoed incredulously. "How long do you live for you to be considered a child until then? How old are all of you?"

"Hobbits usually live around one hundred years," Merry said, getting nods from the others. "Which is why you, long-lived being you are, are the odd one here. With the way you mother us, one would think we were the children here."

"Do you mean to tell me you're all older than thirty-three? You barely look older than I am!"

"I beg your pardon," Pippin retorted, adopting a look of mock severity. "That is no way to speak to your elders, young wizard. The only baby face among us is Frodo," – this prompted a "Here, now!" from said hobbit – "and even he looks distinguishably older than you."

Harry lifted her nose in the air, imitating the look Haldir regularly gave her. "No need to get snarly just because I'm young and good-looking and you're not."

Pippin made a scoffing sound but left it at that.

No one said anything for a while after that, distracted as they were by their meal, until Aragorn finally spoke. "How is it you have such powerful magic, and be so young? How can a mortal body sustain so much power?"

Harry didn't know the proper answer to that and for the millionth time wished Hermione or someone else intelligent was there with her because she was sure Hermione would have started rattling off a complicated theory on physical limitations or wizarding physiology and such.

Alas, her friend wasn't here, so Harry made due. "I suppose it has to do with our innate magical core that actively maintains our health. Every wizard where I'm from is born with one –a core, I mean – and it only grows stronger as we age because the magical core is a natural part of our bodies, like any limb."

She paused that Aragorns thoughtful expression. "Should I assume it's not the same here?"

"I know not if the Istari of this world would describe their powers in such a way. You simply made it sound rather mundane."

Harry hummed and continued. "With our magic healing our bodies and protecting us from illness, added on top of it growing stronger as we age, we're more durable and last longer than our non-magical counterparts."

"You make it sound as if your power has a mind of it's own," Frodo said. "You say it heals you and keeps you from harm without you actively guiding it?"

"It is sentient to a degree," Harry confirmed. "When at rest, my magic will respond to my instincts to fight for life. It keeps my healthy and whole as long it can, since natural instinct make me want to live as long as I can."

"Well, boy-o!" Gimli growled suddenly, making the hobbits and Harry jump. His cheeks looked flushed. Oh, dear, maybe she shouldn't have charmed his wine un-ending after all. "I for one, am glad you are not immortal. Enough of them prancing about as it is! Of course, I mean no offense, Master Elf. For you, I make an exception." Gimli waved his newly lit pipe in Legolas' direction. The elf smirked back, clearly amused.

The topic soon turned to other things as Pippin discovered a mushroom in Harry's bowl and became offended because he hadn't known there were mushrooms in the stew to begin with. But that turned out to be a one off, as Pippin found out when he tried to dig for more in the pot. Harry was obliged, out of pity at the sorrowful little face, to give him hers, then watched as he and Merry fought over it.

Now that everyone's attention was on other things, Harry could freely examine the one silent spectator of the group. Boromir, Harry noticed, was looking particularly peaky today, and Harry had a nasty feeling she knew why as she observed the Gondorian glance discreetly at Frodo every now and then.

Harry suddenly felt a deep respect for Boromir. For all the stories she had heard of the Ring, and how powerful it was, Boromir had to have a strong will to resist it, especially when the Ring was manipulating him by using his love of Gondor and the duty he had to his country. And it was clearly giving it all it had, but Boromir still hadn't cracked yet. Such strength of character was admirable especially when stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The deep rush of loathing Harry experienced toward the Ring at that moment was enough to alarm her. She'd never felt such hatred beyond Voldemort. Such strong emotion was better left boxed up in the Ring's presence.

"What does the Lady speak of, Harry?" Aragorn's voice brought Harry's attention back to the proceedings and away from Boromir. Aragorn's question brought to mind Harry's promise to herself about not excluding the Fellowship anymore. She hated the fact that she would have to break that promise now. She couldn't exactly tell them that she had a mission in Middle Earth, or that the mission was Boromir.

"We just talked about how I was faring in Middle Earth, and how I can help improve my stay," she settled on. After all, it was the truth, though largely glossed over.

Aragorn seemed satisfied with that, and Pippin, having, at last, won the mushroom tug-of-war with Merry, turned to Harry and reminded her, with a mouthful of fungus, that she had yet to finish telling them about the dragons.

Harry, laughing, obliged.


AN: Tell me what pairings your want! Honestly, I might just keep it Gen. if I don't use the pairing I'm already considering but it'll be nice to know what ya'll think.