Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Hobbit. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews. You lot make my day.

Enjoy the chapter.

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Chapter Nine: The Ghost in the Halls

The shocking disappearance of Dudley only affected Harry for a few days. By the time he convinced himself that Dudley was fine, that Harry hadn't sent him to a horrid place instead of back to Privet Drive, Mr Legolas had returned to his guard in the forest and wouldn't be back for at least another couple of days.

Harry hadn't been at all pleased to say goodbye, especially as Mr Legolas had only just come back from another patrol, but he reminded his brain that he was acting exactly like a clinging baby and that was that. Mr Legolas had had duties before Harry had come to stay in Mirkwood and would likely have duties long after Harry left. Not that I will, Harry had thought desperately. At least I hope I won't. Harry's existence among the elves was the happiest he could ever remember being. He allowed he may have been happy with his parents, but that had been ages ago and he couldn't be bothered straining his brain trying to remember.

Rescuing the dwarves had also been a hopeless endeavour, for two reasons: The most worrying of which being that Harry just felt horrible trying to do so. The elves were all so nice to him, smiling at him as he walked down the corridors and offering him sweet meats when he stopped by the kitchen to see if they had any chocolate, playing hide-and-seek with him after asking Harry to explain the rules (he could never find them very fast and often had to peek between his fingers to see where they would hide), singing to him, sewing him clothes, and a whole host of other things that made Harry feel very warm and welcome and sometimes annoyed. He felt that last bit because they never seemed to want to leave him alone, like he was someone special or something. And of course there was Mirdhel and Mr Legolas, whom Harry liked very much.

And that was the problem: Mirdhel and Mr Legolas. Just thinking about going down to rescue the dwarves made Harry feel super awful, as though he'd betrayed his new friends. But then he would remember that the dwarves were his friends too, that they had rescued Harry from the dangerous forest, and he would become very confused and feel very helpless.

Harry's imagination didn't help things along either. More and more often he would find himself thinking how horrid a place the dungeons must be — full of rats and rotting and other nasty stuff. When he thought of his friends down there, in the horrid dark, he became quite petrified and an added layer of guilt would pile onto the previous layer until Harry's soul felt tired and he just wanted to go to sleep and think about all his problems in the morning.

And that wasn't even his only problem. It was how to get to the dungeons that was really stumping Harry now. He knew where they were, but as he made his way down the dark stone stairs the day after Mr Legolas left, he almost bumped into two guards (one of whom was very familiar) and had to think up a quick excuse about how he'd become lost and could they please point him to the gardens again?

Luckily they'd believed him (although the familiar elf threw him a slightly suspicious look, which Harry did his best to counter by staring innocently upwards) and was sent away with only a small warning not to wander down into the dungeons again.

Another week past. Mr Legolas came and went with the wind and Harry would spend more time with him than with anyone else on those days. At first he thought he oughtn't to because surely Mr Legolas had other important things to be doing and more important people to be visiting? But he felt better about it all upon thinking that it hadn't been his idea to spend a lot of time with Mr Legolas, that it had been the elf's, and Harry was taught archery and lots of other great stuff that seemed kind of stupid sometimes because, well, when would he ever need to use a bow and arrow? But it wasn't stupid because Mr Legolas was teaching him. He was a good teacher. Better than his old school teacher.

Harry was to be found in Mirdhel's garden on the days when Mr Legolas was away. It was funny, he'd never liked gardening before, but he rather enjoyed it with Mirdhel. Why that was, Harry didn't know. Perhaps the reason was because he didn't have Aunt Petunia breathing down his neck, or Uncle Vernon threatening to lock him in his cupboard, or Dudley attempting some solo Harry Hunting, and plenty of water and food whenever he wished. Perhaps it was simply Mirdhel who, sometimes, Harry would fall asleep on when he got too tired.

Mirdhel never seemed to mind, though.

The day after Mr Legolas left again Harry was once more in the garden with his other favourite elf.

"Oh. When?" he asked.

Mirdhel reached for a weed and pulled, frowning thoughtfully. "I would say some time in winter. It is spring now, and a time for feasts and celebrating and making merry. Learning will come later, when there is little do except sit in the Halls and ride out the cold."

Harry was puzzled by this. "But I thought elves don't feel cold like m – humans."

Mirdhel shot him smile. "We do not, but the animals do. And they are rarely out and about in the snow. What should we hunt when there is nothing to hunt? Better for us to stay inside."

"Then what are we going to eat if we can't hunt?" asked Harry curiously.

"There is plenty to eat," said Mirdhel, sweeping his arm about. "What are we doing here?"

Harry sat on his knees beside the elf and leaned forward onto his hands. He'd noticed a while ago now that elves didn't have refrigerators. "You mean we can eat vegetables?" he asked curiously.

"Among other things," Mridhel said. "We have chickens and pigs and pickled fruit and vegetables. A whole host of dishes can be made with this. That is not to say, of course, that we shall be left without venison. No, we can still hunt, just not as often."

"Does that mean Mr Legolas still has to stay on the outskirts in winter?"

"When he is needed, yes."

"Oh."

Mirdhel looked up at him and smiled. "You are fond him."

Harry nodded shyly.

"He likes you too," said Mirdhel. "As do I. As do all elves in Mirkwood." He reached forward and brushed the back of his hand against Harry's cheek. "Never think otherwise, Galenmir."

Mirdhel and Mr Legolas always called him that now. "I don't. Not anymore anyway."

"I should hope not."

Harry gazed at the elf. Mirdhel had quite long hair, all the way down his back, which he tied up in a knot on top of his head when gardening. His fingers were long and strong and he was the kindest elf in Mirkwood and Harry wanted to be just like him when he grew up. "Would you like some help, Mirdhel?"

"It is kind of you to offer, pen dithen, but these weeds are a little too strong for such slender arms as yours." As if to demonstrate this Mirdhel grasped an especially fat weed and tried pulling it. When that didn't work he lifted a spade and dug it out, then wiped a gloved hand over his brow. Somehow he'd managed not to smear dirt on it. "Now, where is that sack? Ah, would you be so kind — not that way, Galenmir, who put it inside out?"

It was exactly a day later, another ordinary day with helping Mirdhel and playing in the garden, when Harry first found Draedan. He'd been hiding in the grass and Harry had sat on him. He'd sat on him because the grass was cushiony thick, came up to his ankles, and was favourable for a late afternoon nap. Harry hadn't been able to resist bunkering down beneath the shady leaves of a giant oak. While Mirdhel and three other elves were busy watering, weeding, and planting Harry snuck away to that spot and had just sat down when there was a little groan of pain.

He'd shot up so fast that it felt like Dudley was chasing him again.

Then Harry had whirled, eyes searching desperately for the owner of the small voice, but finding nothing. It was then that the thought had come: Had Harry, in fact, sat on an invisible person? Magic existed, after all. Who was to say that invisible people didn't exist as well? But no, it hadn't been an invisible person, rather a tiny green garden snake, and Harry (after first apologising then asking whether it would like to live with him) had named him Draedan in elvish, which means small dragon.

Harry, in his seven-year-old naivety, never thought to question just how he could understand Draedan and make himself understood back. He'd rationalised that, since he could speak elvish and Mr Baggins's language without having to learn it, why not snake language too? It all seemed perfectly logical to him. He never noticed the curious stares he received from some elves that caught him whispering into his cupped palms on occasions, nor did he think to realise that perhaps Mirdhel had noticed. He had only thought to realise when Mirdhel confronted him about it that very same night in the eating hall.

"To whom are you speaking, Harry?"

Harry had just been talking into his wrist, which Draedan was curled around, asking the snake if it would like something to eat. "Draedan," said Harry, spooning some soup into his mouth.

For a second Mirdhel looked bewildered. "You have a dragon under you sleeve, pen dithen?"

"No," said Harry.

"Ah, I thought not."

"Draedan's a snake."

There was a loud clatter. Mirdhel had dropped his spoon, spattering soup on the table. "A snake?! You have a snake under your sleeve!"

"Yes," Harry frowned. Mirdhel was acting quite odd.

"Where did you find it?"

Harry blinked once. His friend sounded very frantic. "I sat on him in the garden. I didn't mean to. He was disguised, you see, the same colour as the grass, and I said was sorry straight away. Would you like to see him? I'll ask him to come out. He doesn't come out unless I tell him to. He's very shy. That's why he hides in the grass all the time."

Mirdhel looked less shocked now and more curious. "Why is he not there now?"

"Because he's my friend. He doesn't want to go back where he's all alone. Besides, it's warmer under my sleeve."

"I should like to see him if I can, Harry."

"Oh, right." Harry bent down and hissed into his wrist. "Draedan, Mirdhel wantss to meet you. He'ss my other friend. Remember I told you about friends? Don't worry, he won't hurt you. I promise to put you back sstraight away."

Draedan grumbled but uncurled himself, allowing Harry to pluck him out. When Harry held him up for Mirdhel to see, the elf was staring with a tilted head and inquisitive eyes.

"What is it, Mirdhel?"

Mirdhel blinked a little, eyes flitting up to Harry's. "You truly are magic. I have only ever known Istari to comminute as completely as you do with animals."

"I'm not a wizard," Harry laughed. "I'm a boy."

"Yes, but what kind of boy: Elven or mortal or maia?" Mirdhel waved a hand. "Never mind. As long as Draedan does not hurt you, and I do not think he will as he is only a garden snake, than I am fine with you keeping him."

Harry didn't trouble to mention that he would have kept Draedan anyway. He really liked Mirdhel and didn't want to hurt his feelings. In fact, sometimes, he got that same feeling around Mirdhel that he felt around Mr Legolas — as though Harry had met him before.

And that was comforting.

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It occurred to Harry the next day — as he passed the cave that went down to the dungeons — that Draedan was simply perfect for spying. He was small, thin, made no noise and had a really good sense of smell. He could also slither through cracks and around light elvish feet without being seen. The only problem Harry had was making himself understood. Sometimes Draedan just wouldn't get it when Harry said words like "bed" or "kitchen" or "dungeons" or "dwarves". Instead, Harry would have to say "place of rest", "the great stomach that food is stored in", "cold, smelly place", and "short, smelly two-footers".

Draedan was a lazy snake and wasn't particularly inclined to scout out the dungeons for Harry, especially when there was a possibility that he might get trod on. But Harry promised him a mouse.

He stopped by the kitchens for something to eat after making sure his snake had completely slithered under the door crack. Harry would be meeting him later in his "place of rest".

Harry entered the busy kitchen where a dozen or so elves were preparing lunch. It was a large, noisy familiar place and smelled faintly of metal and warmth and that, to Harry, meant comfort. Elves were walking back and forth, adding stuff to all the various dishes. A girl elf stood by the window fanning herself with a piece of bread, before looking down and realising her mistake. Another elf was testing out the soup on the stove and in the corner, sitting on a short stool, an elf squeezed an upside chicken between his legs and was plucking it dry. For some reason Harry's mind flashed back to when Aunt Petunia almost scissored him bald.

"Oh, what have we here?" said the head cook, who had a darker shade of blond hair than Mirdhel. He wiped his hands on a cloth hanging from his belt, crouched down before Harry, and smiled. "What can I help you with today?"

Harry mock-sighed. "I guess you still don't have any chocolate."

The elf pretended to think. "I am afraid not. But chocolate is a sweet, as you told me, and we are baking something extra special for supper tonight."

"Is it a cake?" asked Harry. He would give anything to try cake.

"I cannot tell you that," laughed the cook. Harry wondered whether all elves had laughs like spring rain.

"Why not?" Harry asked curiously.

"Let me think," said the cook, tapping his chin. "It would hardly be a surprise, would it, if I told you beforehand?"

"I guess not."

"And where is your snake today?" The elf looked down at Harry's hand. "Curled about your wrist or off making mischief?"

Harry gaped. Off making mischief! "How did you know about Draedan?"

"Elves love to gossip, I am sure," the cook answered, throwing Harry a pretty grin.

"Oh." Well, that was just fine.

A hand disappeared into the cook's apron and produced a red apple. "Here. This should hold you until lunch."

"Thank you, sir."

The cook ruffled his hair, which Harry hated. "Take care of yourself, little one, and come back tomorrow."

"I will," Harry promised, closing the doors behind him. He bit into his apple and, satisfied with the crunch, made off to his room.

He was just stepping into the corridor that led to his bedroom when he bumped into something, dropped his apple, and fell down.

"Oomph!"

Harry froze, then scrambled onto his knees. That had not been him. He had not made that sound. "Who's there?"

The corridor echoed with quiet.

"Hello? I know you're there, I felt you!" said Harry, becoming angry. "You can't pretend anymore."

He heard nothing for five seconds until a shuffling sound came from right in front of him. The kind of sound people make when they're getting up off the floor.

Harry didn't waste anytime. He leapt and, sure enough, captured something squirmy, something alive. Something that was squeaking a lot. "No, no, get off!" said the squirmy thing and Harry was so shocked that he sat back, not realising his mistake until later.

The squirmy thing was huffing heavily and Harry could feel its warm breath on his face, tickling his fringe. The next thing he heard were footsteps slapping on the marble floors, getting quieter and further away.

"Why wouldn't somebody wear shoes?" said Harry to himself. The answer seemed close, but he couldn't work it out.

He did know this, though: that whatever he had bumped in to must have been the same thing that had stolen his apple the week before and had probably been on its way to the kitchens to steal more food. Then Harry gasped, eyes flying to his dropped fruit. He sighed. It was not stolen. A little dirty, perhaps, but nothing some water wouldn't wash off. He was used to picking up Dudley's scraps off the floor anyway.

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It was three hours later by the time Draedan finally slithered back, squeezing under Harry's door, up Harry's bed, and onto Harry's face, waking him up by poking out his tongue and tickling Harry's cheek. Now Harry hugged him to his chest, listening.

His heart sank.

There was no way that he could go down into the dungeons without being seen. And even if he managed to, how could he unlock the dwarves' cells? He was only a little boy. He supposed he could steal the keys, but that seemed really wrong, especially as how all the elves had been very nice to him.

What was he going to do?

xxxxx

Harry and Mr Legolas sat in the archery garden, polishing quivers with bees wax. It had taken Harry's little fingers a while to get used to the correct direction in which to polish, but Mr Legolas was patient. A few other elves were shooting arrows at far away targets but they weren't bothering the two sitting off to the side. The day was cool and breezy and the trees provided a lot of lovely shade. Harry could almost fall asleep.

He didn't, though. He needed to ask his friend something; something that had been bothering him for a day.

"Are ghosts real?"

Mr Legolas set down his leather quiver and brush, looked at Harry. "Ghosts?"

"Yes. Are they real and does Mirkwood have any?"

"Ghosts do not exist, Harry, except when people misplace their honour in life in a way so foul that they must therefore pay the crime in death; cursed to exist among the living, yet still shamed." Mr Legolas smiled. "There are no ghosts in my Father's Halls, for what elf could ever shame themselves so completely as to become one?"

Harry nodded. That made sense. Elves were the nicest people in the world.

Mr Legolas shifted so that he faced Harry, arms holding his knees. "That was an odd question, little one, what made you think of it?"

"Just curious," Harry shrugged. He felt awful about lying to his friend, but Mr Legolas had said that there weren't any ghosts in the palace and Harry would look stupid if he told him that he'd bumped in to one. "What about invisible people?"

Mr Legolas seemed amused. "Pardon?"

"Can people become invisible?"

Mr Legolas looked away, licking his lip. "There are said to be certain things in the world, certain objects that can hide a person — our kin in Lothlorien have discovered the ingredient for making cloaks that can disguise a person so thoroughly as to seem part of the landscape. Tis elvish magic, and very old." The elf's hair glittered like golden silver in the dappled sunlight as he brushed it back from his face thoughtfully. "There are also said to be magic rings that hold such power, but they are long lost, disappeared in the ages until not even the oldest of us remember what happened to them."

"So, they're gone forever? No one would be able to find them?"

"I would say not, but anything is possible, pen dithen. What has brought about this barrage of questions? Are you uninterested in our present doings? Is that the problem? Would you prefer doing something else?"

Harry was horrified that he'd given that impression. "No, I don't. Really. I was just interested, that's all. How old are you Mr Legolas?" asked Harry, changing the subject quickly.

"Legolas, Galenmir, remember?" said his friend gently, and gave Harry a side-ways look. "We are more than just strangers now. I am your guardian."

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. He had forgotten.

"As to how old I am . . . nearly three thousand winters have I seen in Middle-Earth and not all of them were cold as they are now."

Harry frowned. That sounded odd. "What do you mean, Mist—Legolas?" Harry would always think of Mr Legolas as Mr Legolas, no matter what he had to call him.

"I mean that Mirkwood was not always as it is now. It was once a place where no evil lingered, but then the necromancer . . ." Mr Legolas looked uncomfortable. "Forgive me, Harry, I should not be telling one so young such things."

"I'm seven!" Harry protested.

Mr Legolas tapped him on the nose. "And a very mature seven, but still not mature enough to listen to this horror. Up you go!"

Harry was picked up and stood on the thick grass. Mr Legolas followed with a light leap. "Wow," said Harry.

"Enough for today!" said Mr Legolas, grasping Harry's hand. "Lunch beckons and I, for one, would like to taste some of the cake that I heard everyone going on about this morning."

"It was really tasty," Harry said, walking faster to keep up with his companion. His head barely reached Mr Legolas's upper leg. "It wasn't chocolate but it had other stuff in it." He leaned in to whisper. "I think the cook made it for me but I didn't want to tell anyone else."

Mr Legolas threw back his head and laughed, so that his hair dangled like a waterfall down his back.

Harry caught some strands on his face, plucked one, and smushed it between his fingers, marvelling at how soft it was. Suddenly, the strands pulled taught and the elf let out an "Ah!"

Mr Legolas had straightened his head again, resulting in Harry pulling his hair. "Sorry," he snickered, unable to help himself.

"Sorry, are you? I think not," was what Harry heard before he was picked up, tossed into the air, and hung upside down over the elf's shoulder.

"Watch out for Draedan!" he screeched, then burst into high-pitched giggles as Mr Legolas tickled him. "No, no, I won't laugh at you anymore I promise. I promise!"

His guardian sighed. "Well, if you promise, then I suppose I must stop." He turned Harry the right way up, embraced him, and deposited him gently on the ground.

Harry breathed deeply, his cheeks red. "My stomach hurts."

There must have been a really horrible expression on his face because Mr Legolas looked suddenly concerned.

"It doesn't really hurt," Harry said quickly before Mr Legolas could think to apologise. "I think I just laughed too hard."

The elf's face cleared. "Ah, good," he said. Then lifted a hand and waved at the archers, who waved back. "You are certain?" he asked again, sounding a little unsure.

Harry nodded firmly. "Yes." That wasn't what was bothering him though, not at all; it was Mr Legolas's closeness. Harry Potter was not used to affection. He was not used to hugging and cuddling and being treated like a child. But all the elves seemed to want to give him at least one hug or pat on the head, and Mirdhel and Mr Legolas always put him on their laps and when Harry would wake up he'd feel very embarrassed and not know why.

He was not a baby! But everyone seemed to be treating him like one. He had to admit that he didn't mind so much with his two favourite elves, but he still felt uncomfortable.

Harry and Mr Legolas waited until the three elves packed up the quivers, climbed a tree, and stored them in a hut amongst the branches. When they joined them on the ground the group moved onward.

"Harry eneth nîn," Harry answered to an inquiry about his name. "And I don't know if I like raspberries or not. I haven't ever tasted them before." He managed not to shy away as the elf laughed delightedly and smoothed back Harry's hair.

"Show us a magic trick, Harry," another asked, pushing in beside the other elf.

Harry almost tripped over a twig, but grabbed onto Mr Legolas's leg at the last moment. His guardian smiled down at him and offered a hand. Harry took it. For a moment he stared, astonished once more at how large Mr Legolas's hand was compared to his own. "I don't know how I do it. I just wish and wish and wish and it happens."

They all blinked.

"I can't wish now, though, because there's nothing I really want to happen. Would you like a leaf? I found it earlier. It's gold and pretty, like your hair." Harry took it out of his pocket and held it up.

"Thank you." The elf, looking a touch bewildered, accepted the delicate leaf.

"I hear you have a snake," said the elf walking next to Mr Legolas. "Might I inquire as to how you found it?"

Harry could not believe it. "Does everyone know I have a snake?" he asked irritably, and sighed. "I sat on him and he spoke to me."

"Spoke to you?!" They all, except Mr Legolas, said.

"Yes. Snake language is much better than any other language 'cause no one else can understand me."

They all muttered to themselves. Harry heard the words Istar and Maia tossed around a few times.

It took the group an extra ten minutes to get back to the main hall. The corridors in the palace were always dark because they were made from caves and had only torchlight on the walls. In fact, everything was made from caves except the garden and stables and archery forest. Yes, Harry loved it in Mirkwood, and hoped he would never have to leave, ever. He hoped the Dursley's never found him in this magical place.

Unless Dudley told them where he was, but his family wouldn't care, and for the first time Harry was grateful for that.

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A/N: The next chapter will be out in two weeks. All chapters thereafter will be updated every two weeks until otherwise stated.

Translations:

Pen dithen: little one

Galenmir: green jewels (in regards to his eye colour, obviously)

Harry eneth nîn: My name is Harry

Istari: wizards (pl.)

Istar: wizard (s.)

Maia: Angel/demi-god (in response to Harry being the child of a "Maia" as the elves seem to think. Wizards in Middle-Earth are also Maiar).

Maiar: (pl.)

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