Harry Potter and the High Elves
By: Katerinaki
Published: May 22, 2015
Beta'ed: No
Notes:Thank you to those who continue on with this story. For my Harry fans, I hope you enjoy this bit. And for my Hermione fans, she at last begins to get some answers. Please leave your comments in a review. I would love to know what you liked and what you didn't care for.
Please Note! The elves in this story are inspired by Tolkien's elves and use the elvish dialect Quenya, created for the Lord of the Rings book. However this is not a true Crossover, but an Alternate Universe. At no point will any Tolkien character or realm appear in this story.
Chapter 10:
The sun had risen, and still Harry stayed in the meadow where he'd found himself the night before. It was peaceful and quiet, and perfect for Harry to focus on the memories that his father had imprinted in his mind when he was still an infant.
After the encounter with his James' memory, it was like a hidden wall had been knocked down in Harry's mind. All sorts of information came flooding to his attention; information he hadn't even known was in his mind, much less locked away by his father. It was all there. Eldarin words no longer seemed so foreign and the script he'd struggled with under Nyarmo's patient tutoring was as familiar as the letters of his own name. At first the flood of information had hurt and Harry's head ached like someone was trying to stuff too many things into his skull at once. He started fidgeting, but that fidgeting soon turned into full out pacing. And when pacing wasn't enough, he picked up a branch from beneath the trees at the edge of the meadow and began practicing his sword-play. At first he performed the basic sequences Ornon and Alassë had taught him in their training sessions. He lunged and parried faster each time, adding more flourishes and difficult combinations until Harry paused, panting heavily and realized he'd performed a sequence he'd only seen Alassë accomplish once without faltering. Grinning as confidence bloomed in his heart, he turned and executed the sequence again, just as perfectly as the first time.
More and more memories came to him, of history, magic, etiquette, everything that would be necessary to the Tar-Eldatur. With each new wave of understanding, Harry's head felt like it was both squeezed in a clamp and stretched like a latex balloon about to pop. The only way to ease the pressure was to swing harder and step faster and work out all of his energy until he was panting and his legs were like jelly, barely able to keep him upright. When he finally collapsed on the ground, his arms out wide, he was dizzy and giddy and laughing like he belonged in the loony bin.
"What has you so excited?"
Harry jumped at the unexpected voice and it took him an extra second to realize that he'd been spoken to in Eldarin and had understood it as easily as he did English and Parseltongue. He spun in the direction of the voice, but didn't see anyone.
"Who's there?" he called back, the Eldarin words flowing off his tongue with the same lyrical quality that he'd heard from Sailano and Nyarmo. Harry marveled at the sound and wondered how the words had felt so clunky just a day ago. Eldarin was beautiful, and not at all like English.
"Nobody of importance," the voice replied, almost sounding bored. "Who are you?"
"Nobody of importance," Harry retorted as he moved towards the trees where he thought the voice was coming from. He was almost to the tree line when a young, male eldar fell from the canopy, landing without a sound right in front of him. Harry jumped back automatically and the young eldar smirked.
"Good. If you're nobody of importance, then nobody will miss you for a few hours."
Harry was taken aback by the eldar's abrupt candor and he bristled at his attitude. But he was also curious. The eldar wore a brown and green tunic with a bow slung over his shoulder and his long blonde hair was bound in a simple plait. When he shifted, the shadows moved over his tunic and hid him even though he stood plainly before Harry.
"Who are you?" Harry asked.
The eldar surveyed Harry's simple clothing that was caked with dirty and stuck to his back with sweat. His eyes missed nothing from Harry's toes to the tip of his head and pointed ears and Harry couldn't help but shift his weight, uncomfortable with such a close level of scrutiny from someone whose name he didn't even know.
Either he must've decided that Harry seemed trustworthy, or perhaps he came to the conclusion that Harry truly wasn't of any importance.
"I'm Hrávon."
"Har—Haldanár." Harry would have put out his hand for a handshake, but he knew now that was not the way to greet a fellow eldar. Instead he inclined his head slightly, both a gesture of good-faith and respect for one he'd never met before. Hrávon mimicked Harry's nod out of protocol.
"Haldanár," Hrávon repeated. "You're new here, and you speak the human language better than anyone born in an eldar town. Where'd you come from?"
"Er—England."
"Part of a travelling clan?"
Harry shrugged, not really sure what Hrávon meant.
"I was too, until some wizards caught up to us. Now I'm here."
"Er…wizards. Right."
"Haven't had any run-ins with them, have you?"
"Can't say I have recently." It wasn't a lie. He'd been away from Hogwarts for some time already.
"Well watch out for them. They like to attack at night, and they're ruthless. If you go out into the human world, keep your bow strung." Hrávon patted the full quiver of arrows at his back.
"I'll remember that. So, do you know how to get back to the town?"
Hrávon snorted. "Wouldn't be much of a good scout if I didn't, would I? But how did you get out here if you don't know your way back?"
Harry shrugged. "It's a long story. Anyways, I was just practicing." He waved the branch in his hand and then felt stupid compared to the bow Hrávon carried.
Hrávon eyed the branch with amusement. "I can see that. I never really cared for the sword. But you looked pretty good."
"Thanks. It's quiet up here. Peaceful. It helps me concentrate better."
Hrávon snorted. "You mean you don't like Ornon breathing down your neck and telling you how worthless you are?"
"Only on Tuesdays," Harry replied.
Hrávon let out a raucous guffaw and it reminded Harry of Sirius' barking laugh. He'd only heard it a few times before but the memory brought a pang of homesickness to Harry's gut.
"I like you, kid," Hrávon declared, slinging an arm over Harry's shoulder. "Why don't we make a deal? You walk with me and help me flush out some supper, and I'll lead you back to Métimalondë. We'll both be back well before sundown."
Harry felt guilty, knowing that he really should try to return straight away. He'd left Nyarmo in the middle of the lesson. It had been wholly by accident, but still. Roimon and Sailano were probably looking for him, thinking the worst; that he'd disappeared like his father before him.
But Hrávon was different. He was the first eldar that Harry had met that hadn't treated him with deference or disdain.
"What do I do?" Harry asked.
Hrávon raised an eyebrow. "You've never been hunting before?"
"No," Harry admitted sheepishly.
Hrávon grinned. "Don't worry, I'll show you. Here." He put a rock in Harry's hand as he drew an arrow from his quiver. He gestured to a thicket just inside the trees. "See that bush over there? Hit it."
Uncertainly, Harry hefted the rock and chucked it at the base of the bush. In an instant a flock of gray birds took off. Hrávon's bowstring twanged three times and three birds fell dead with arrows through their heads. Harry's head shot around and he gaped at Hrávon as the eldar removed a game bag from his belt and collected his kills.
"You're fast," Harry stammered at last.
"Three is slow for me," Hrávon replied. "But there's still plenty more. Come on, I think I saw some fresh scat along the game trail back there. We might be able to catch up with it."
Harry wrinkled his nose. "Gross," he muttered, but he jogged to catch up to Hrávon anyways, a smile breaking across his face.
"How did you know there were birds in that bush?" he asked.
"Because I'm a scout," Hrávon replied with amusement. "Tracking, hunting, foraging, skulking, that's all I do."
"Can you teach me?"
Hrávon paused and for the first time he seemed confused. "Why would you want to learn any of that? Judging by your sword-play you're training to be a guardian, right? Guardians don't need to worry about any of that stuff."
Harry didn't want to correct him. Instead he just shrugged. "Maybe it will come in handy?"
Hrávon laughed. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll teach you. Here's your first lesson. Tell me how fresh that poop is." He pointed to a small pile of dung just ahead along an almost invisible trail Harry hadn't seen until then.
"Er, how do I do that?"
Hrávon grinned. "You feel it. If it's still steaming, the deer isn't too far away."
"That's disgusting."
"You wanted to learn about tracking."
Harry and Hrávon did eventually track down a doe and Hrávon put a clean arrow through her head. Along the way Harry learned about every sign they came across, from tracks to rubs, and even how to identify sources of food and water. After Hrávon's initial reluctance, he seemed happy to pass on his knowledge to Harry and despite all of the information he'd gained that morning, Harry's mind soaked up the new lessons. It was almost too soon when the two of them emerged from the woods and Harry spotted Métimalondë down by the harbor below. The sun was setting once more and they'd spent the day together. Hrávon's game bag was full and he'd slung the doe over his shoulder to take to the butcher.
"I suppose this is where we part ways, guardian," Hrávon said.
"I'm not a guardian," Harry replied. He'd been saying the same thing for the last two hours, but Hrávon didn't seem to believe him.
"Sure. If you want to do this again, I go hunting every four days or so. Meet me in the meadow."
Harry thought back to their route and figured he could probably find his way back. "Alright," he nodded.
"Ornon is a prick, by the way. Don't pay attention to him. I never do and I'm doing just fine."
Harry grinned. "I'll keep that in mind. Goodbye, Hrávon."
"Until next time, Haldanár."
Harry waited until Hrávon was around the corner and out of sight before he began to make his way through the neighborhood to Sailano's home. Along the way he saw other eldar and he smiled and nodded to them, murmuring a simple greeting in Eldarin. To his surprise, they returned the greeting genially, and a few asked after his health. When he came back to Sailano's street he saw Veryë out, playing with a ball. She spotted him immediately and ran up, tugging on his sleeve.
"Are you the Tar-Eldatur?" she asked simply.
The first reply that came to Harry's mind was "No." But then he thought of his encounter with his father and the words he remembered from Carastar, "The Eldar is the Tar-Eldatur". He didn't know what it meant any more than James had, but he had the feeling that when he did, that is when he would truly be Tar-Eldatur.
He smiled down at the little girl. "Not yet," he replied gently.
Veryë looked up at him with wide blue eyes and she seemed to understand. She held up the ball in her hands.
"Will you play with me?"
Harry grinned, taking the ball. "For a little bit, and then I have to go home."
"My name is Veryë."
"Haldanár."
"You will be a good Tar-Eldatur, Haldanár."
And so they played catch and tag and little Veryë's delighted squeals echoed through the streets, attracting on-lookers and a few who asked to play too. It was to this scene that Sailano and Roimon returned, having been scouring the city all day looking for Harry. They found him in a group of people, laughing as he and a few other eldar chased little Veryë around in circles as the little one squealed and clutched a ball in her hands.
Roimon moved to break into the game but Sailano stopped him.
"But my Lord," Roimon protested.
"He is in no danger," Sailano assured the guardian. He watched and laughed with the crowd as Harry finally caught the little girl and hoisted her up onto his shoulders to parade around the street victorious. The crowd cheered before it slowly began to disperse and Harry lowered Veryë to the ground again. It was then that Roimon and Sailano stepped forward. Harry spotted them and the smile fell from his face. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head.
"Ánillo avatyarë, Heru Sailano," Harry said. "I was overcome."
Sailano reached forward and took the hand from Harry's chest, a sign of forgiveness. "You have returned. My heart sings to see you safe once more."
Veryë reached up to tug on Sailano's overcoat. Sailano knelt down to face her, looking very serious for what she was about to say.
"Haldanár will be a good Tar-Eldatur," Veryë declared.
Harry smiled, as did Sailano.
"Yes, I think you're right," Sailano agreed.
Coming out of a pensieve was like breaking the surface of the ocean after a long, deep dive into its cold depths. Hermione took a greedy breath, grabbing the sides of the table until she recovered her head. Harry hadn't mentioned how a pensieve could draw you into the memory and make you forget that it wasn't your reality.
"Easy," Sirius said, taking her arm to steady her.
"I'm alright," Hermione assured him. Her breathing was returning to normal and her sense of balance evened out enough for Hermione to stand upright again. "You have very poignant memories."
Sirius shrugged. "They were all I had for a while," he said softly. "I found myself grasping to them, especially the ones about James. Those were always the strongest at keeping the cold away."
"Did you know then, when he healed you?"
"No, definitely not. There are so few that know about the Eldar, and I grew up in a Dark family. If there are any books in this library about the Firstborn, it's because I put them there. They are very firmly of the Light."
"When did you find out then?"
Sirius frowned. "I'll have to show you that memory. It's definitely not one I can talk about."
He stepped around the table and scooped up the first pensieve memory, returning it to his temple. As the silver liquid was absorbed back into Sirius' mind, he seemed to relax and a small smile came across his face as he obviously relived a cherished memory. It only lasted a moment though as the next second he was drawing the next memory from his mind and his expression strained as new wisps of silver attached themselves to his wand point. They floated across the expanse before settling in the pensieve. Sirius swirled the surface carefully, bringing the new memory to the front.
"Just keep a few things in mind. My animagus form is a dog, because like a dog I can be very loyal, but I can also be very determined. James and Remus would call it stubborn. When I was younger, I also had a big mouth. James was right not to trust me with his secret right away. This memory is coming after years of wheedling and off-handed comments. I'm surprised Remus wasn't suspicious too. Or maybe he was and James already confided in him, I don't know. Just remember that, okay?"
Hermione looked at the memory uncertainly. What was she going to see, if Sirius felt compelled to already be offering excuses?
"Alright," she agreed. She once more squared herself to the pensieve, being sure to place herself in a comfortable, solid stance, before she took a deep breath and plunged back into the pensieve.
She stood in the Great Hall of Hogwarts and it was noontime. The hall was buzzing with activity and at first Hermione thought she had returned to school and she'd look over to the Gryffindor table to see Harry and Ron at a game of Wizard's chess rather than studying as they ought to be. But she didn't see her two best friends. Rather, just at the end of the table she saw his spitting image, sitting across from a younger version of the Sirius Black she'd just left behind and Remus Lupin with fewer scars and less gray hair.
Judging by their appearance, she'd say she was observing their fourth or fifth year. Remus was diligently working on some sort of essay while James and Sirius sat across from each other and Pettigrew on their other side. It was clear that there was some sort of disagreement between the two of them. James was purposefully ignoring Sirius, while Sirius kept shooting expectant looks James' way. Either Remus was completely oblivious, or he was choosing to focus on his own work instead. He looked drawn, with deep circles under his eyes and a weariness to his posture. As he shifted, he stiffened, obviously pained by some unseen injury. Hermione had known Lupin long enough to recognize the signs following a transformation. It must've happened just the night before.
"Are you sure you're alright, Moony?" James asked, concerned for his friend.
"I'm fine," Remus assured them, though Hermione could plainly see neither of the other Marauders believed him.
"James could heal that," Sirius suggested, looking pointedly at James. "Couldn't you Jamesy? You're good at all sorts of spells. You know he once healed my head when I fell out of a tree?"
"I think you've mentioned that before," James replied tersely. Everything about his tone was a warning, but Sirius seemed determined to continue.
"He didn't even need a wand," Sirius added, and this drew Remus' attention.
"You can do wandless magic?" he asked curiously.
"Not really," James shrugged. "My mum taught me a basic healing charm when I was little."
"That can heal a concussion?" Sirius asked, smirking.
"Padfoot," James growled.
"Yes Prongs?" Sirius asked innocently.
"Can I talk to you a moment?" He didn't wait for Sirius to reply, but stood and strode from the Great Hall.
Sirius sighed heavily. "His Lordship summons," he said, leaving a rather confused Remus and Pettigrew.
Hermione followed James and Sirius out of the Great Hall and onto the grounds. James was walking quickly, ignoring all of the other students while Sirius seemed to be taking his good old time, waving and winking at every girl he passed along the way. When they finally came to stop again, they were once more at the tree just inside the Forbidden Forest where Hermione had first seen a glimpse of James' secret.
"Now, what did you wa—"
Sirius didn't get the words out. In a flash James spun and pinned him up against the tree. Hermione saw a flash of fear in Sirius' eyes as he instinctively grabbed James' hands that were holding up him against the tree trunk. He had good reason to fear too. James' eyes burned with a fire and his face was contorted in anger.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" James demanded through gritted teeth. "I asked you to keep it a secret, and you go off spouting to Moony and Wormtail and everybody in bloody Gryffindor!"
By now Sirius had recovered himself. He grabbed James' hands and shoved the other boy off. He pushed with all his might, but Hermione got the feeling that James let him push him away.
"What secret?" Sirius demanded. "You have some big, hidden thing, but you won't tell any of us about it. Moony bloody told us!"
"We figured it out," James replied.
"Do you want me to start following you so I can find out for myself? Because I will. I thought we were brothers." Sirius held up his palm where Hermione could clearly see a silvery-white scar across his life-line. She knew that James bore a similar one. They had performed a blood bonding.
"Brothers tell each other everything," Sirius declared. He stared at James, palm in the air and dared him to refuse him. He stood there, beneath the tree where he'd first learned something was different about his closest friend, and desperately prayed that he wouldn't be rebuked.
James' eyes only left the line on Sirius' palm to look at the identical one on his own. Hermione knew Harry well enough to guess the thoughts that were running through his father's mind. James and Harry shared a strong sense of family, and a yearning for it, and if the father was anything like the son, Hermione knew James would not risk losing his brother.
"Alright," he agreed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "But you have to swear."
"I won't tell," Sirius was already declaring.
"No," James said. "That's not good enough. You have to swear an oath that what I tell you, you will never speak of to another soul. It's not just about me."
Sirius was obviously even more confused, but his loyalty and curiosity would win out. He took out his wand as did James and together they clasped hands.
"I swear on my oath as a wizard and on the magic within my blood that I will not speak a word of what James Potter confides in me this day. So I declare, so mote it be."
There was a brilliant flash of light that arched from their wands and spiraled around their clasped hands before sinking into their skin. Hermione knew enough about wizard oaths to recognize one when she saw it. She also understood now why Sirius could not speak of the Eldar, but could show her. The wording of the oath was rather vague, but it obviously satisfied James. He muttered "Muffliato" and the two of them sat down at the base of the tree.
If Hermione had been trying to eavesdrop on their conversation at the time, she would've only heard a ringing in her ears and their speech would've been impossible to make out. But she wasn't eavesdropping in the traditional sense. This was Sirius' memory, and so she heard every word like she was sitting right next to James.
"What do you want to know?" James asked.
"How did you heal me without using a wand?"
"Healing is a common skill in my family. And anyone can do wandless magic. It's instinctual. You have to want some result badly enough. That's how kids can do accidental magic without wands."
Sirius frowned. "My…mother made sure I knew everything there was to know about all of the Pureblood houses. The Potters aren't known for healing. Transfiguration, maybe, but not healing."
James sighed heavily, his fingers running through the grass at his feet. "I'm not a Potter by birth."
Sirius' eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Had his mother been there she would've spat something about how Blacks don't gawk like common Mud-bloods, or some other such nonsense.
"What do you mean? You were adopted?"
"Sort of," James replied. "Charlus and Dorea were too old to have kids and they needed an heir. I needed a family. They blood-adopted me when I was nine."
"So are you an orphan? Where's your family?"
"My father is very much alive, but he doesn't live in England. He lives in Aicassë."
Sirius shook his head. "I don't understand. Start from the beginning. Who are you?"
James pulled himself upright and Hermione was surprised in the change in him. He sat cross-legged in the grass but he didn't look like a fifteen year-old boy anymore. She could easily see the charisma and regal bearing of one who was raised to rule. When he passed his hand over his face and his features softened until he looked just as Harry had when Sailano broke the glamour.
"My name when I was born was Yalmëtur. My father is Carastar Builder, the Tar-Eldatur, the King, of the Minnónar, which are most commonly referred to as 'High Elves'."
Sirius attempted to speak a number of times as the silence stretched between them. When at last he did, Hermione couldn't help but notice how similar his reaction was to Ron's.
"You're a bloody elf?"
