Harry Potter and the High Elves

By: Katerinaki

Published: May 29, 2015

Beta'ed: No

Notes:I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I would love some feedback. What worked, what didn't? What was OOC? There's a bunch going on here that is meant to set up other things. As always thank you for reading and your continued support of this story.

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 11:

"Roimon?"

"Yes, Tárnya?"

"What is a travelling clan?"

Roimon frowned and stopped. They were walking through the city towards the training grounds for Harry's first lesson back from his short holiday. Harry stopped to, not expecting such a reaction from his normally stoic guardian.

"Where did you hear that term?"

"Passing in the street," Harry lied. He knew there was no reason he should be lying, but something in his heart wanted to keep his and Hrávon's meeting private. "What is it?"

"They. The Travelling Clans are a group of eldar. When Carastar ruled, they chose instead of living in one of the eldar cities to live among the humans as gypsies, never remaining in one place for long. They often returned for feast days, but mostly they remained away and lived by their own governing. Carastar never seemed to mind, but there were some on the Council who saw their ways as rebellion against the Tar-Eldatur and the Balance."

Harry was confused. "But why? If they just wanted to live as nomads, why did anyone care?"

"Because they put the rest of the eldar at risk. They live and associate closely with humans. They're also known for being wild and rowdy, as well as fickle and unpredictable. When Aicassë fell, Carastar asked the Travelling Clans to return to aid in the city's defenses. But they refused and it is because of them that Aicassë fell."

"But, then they must've survived Voldemort's attack."

"Yes, at first. But Voldemort's followers quickly began to pick them off. Their nomadic lives meant it was harder for the Death Eaters to find them, but easier to dispatch once found."

"Are there any travelling clans left?"

"Some. Many have chosen to give up those ways and return to Métimalondë where our walls can protect them. May I ask, Tárnya, where you heard of them?"

Harry tried to brush the subject away. "Just in passing. Someone was talking about another, saying he was from a travelling clan."

"I urge you to be cautious of eldar from the travelling clans," Roimon said, his voice low and tense. "They are not ones to be trusted, and certainly not ones to have at your back in a battle. They are just as likely to fight as to run."

Roimon painted a bleak picture of the travelling clans, and yet Harry couldn't reconcile it with his own opinions and observations of Hrávon the day before. True, Hrávon had seemed rather erratic at times, but Harry didn't mind and he'd been faithful where it counted, as they chased and caught supper.

Still, Harry nodded. "Thank you for clarifying, Roimon," he said. "We should get going. I don't particularly want to run laps because I was late after missing training the day before."

Roimon chuckled. "I daresay Ornon would have both our heads if that were the case."

They weren't late, but Ornon still wasn't happy about the fact that Harry skipped out on training the day before. To atone for his absence, he had to run an extra two laps today and Harry was still tired, but he did notice that it wasn't the same bone-weary tiredness he'd felt the first day. Slowly, his body was adjusting. He could see some difference, in his arms and back. He had never in his life been fat like Dudley, nor had he had much muscle like Viktor Krum. Mostly he'd been small and thin, but that thinness was beginning to fill out and new muscle rippled just beneath the skin as he hefted his sword and drew his bow. And today, thanks to James' memories, the movements felt natural. He shot an almost perfect score today in his archery practice.

"I suppose even a blind squirrel finds a nut eventually," Alassë commented. But the next set was just as good and by the time they finished with the bow, she'd gone very quiet and kept looking at him out of the corner of her eye, to the point that she almost missed the target herself. After a brief rest they took up their training swords and stepped into a sparring circle.

When Harry first began, the wooden sword had felt awkward in his hands and he'd dropped it more times than he would ever admit. Now the carved hilt felt almost like his wand, smooth and familiar, and his fingers instinctively found their places wrapped round the grip. He settled into his stance with confidence this time, sure that the outcome of this fight would be different from every other before it.

As always, Alassë attacked first, but Harry knew what she was going to do. He couldn't say how, perhaps it was the step of her foot or the angle of her arm, but he brought his sword up with plenty of time to parry the overhead attack. Then he knew that she would try to follow it up with a lower attack, simply because that was the appropriate pattern, and so he blocked that too. As the fight continued, Harry parried and struck with speed and accuracy and an innate knowledge of how attacks and defenses flowed into each other. He still ended up with the tip of Alassë's wooden sword at his throat, but this time she too was panting and she glared at him with suspicion.

"How did you learn that?" she demanded.

Harry pulled himself off the ground, not even bothering to brush his clothes off. He'd just end up down in the dirt again later.

"What are you talking about? I've been training with you."

But Alassë shook her head vehemently. "I never taught you those moves."

Once more Harry didn't know why he didn't want to tell Alassë the truth of James' memories. Perhaps it was his own pride, or a desire to keep his last remaining connection to his father private. Whatever it was forced the lie from Harry's lips.

"I don't know, I just made it up I guess," he retorted. "I stopped thinking about everything and just did it."

It was a stupid excuse and Alassë could see right through it, Harry was sure. But to his surprise she didn't call him on it or demand a better explanation.

"Your stance was too deep and your arms were too rigid for that combination," she said at last. "You want to stay on your toes so you can move quickly, and if your arms are loose until the moment of impact, you'll save strength and be able to adjust if your opponent does something unexpected."

Harry was shocked. It was the first time Alassë had offered specific advice that seemed designed to help him. Before she'd always just berate him for his clumsiness or make a snide comment about how he'd never be half the swordsman he needed to be to catch up to the others. He almost asked her to repeat it again, but then thought better of it. In truth, she'd more likely shove her practice sword up his arse than say something that might be considered decent to him again. As they moved back to their starting positions, Harry thought about her suggestions and filed them away. He'd try them of course; he would be a fool to ignore Alassë's advice. They squared off again and at once sprang into action.

Harry tried to stay light on his feet and he tried to keep his body loose, but it was easier said than done. Even with the memories from his father, Harry was on the defensive more times than not. Alassë drove at him hard and Harry tried to keep his feet moving, but he stepped back off-balance and his heel caught on a stone. He fell, but rather than lying flat on the ground, he twisted, rolling with the impact and trying to regain his feet. It was no use though. Alassë had her sword at his throat again the next heartbeat.

"Dead," she declared, smirking.

Growling in annoyance, Harry batted the sword away and rose.

"I tripped."

"Pay attention to your surroundings."

"I know!" Harry snapped.

"Then why don't you do it?"

"I'm trying, alright?"

"Not hard enough. At this rate, we'll be 80 before you can beat me."

Harry muttered an Eldarin insult under his breath, one he knew had come from James.

"I heard that!" Alassë called back as she returned to the start for possibly the hundredth time that day. "Let's go. Again."

"I'm tired," Harry groused.

"Ata!" Again!

Harry's ire grew as he stomped back to the start position and took up his stance again. Once more, like every spar before it, Alassë attacked first, pushing Harry back. He fumed as he frantically parried, trying to keep Alassë at bay. He tried to let his mind clear and let the memories of sword-fighting come to the front but all he could think about was how unfair it all was. How was he supposed to learn anything if all he did was get beat up? How was he to improve if all his partner did was beat him and insult him?

Harry's rage grew and he started attacking more, meeting Alassë strike for strike. Through the red haze that had fallen over his eyes, he vaguely registered that she was surprised by the voracity of his swings, but he didn't ease up. He was done being someone's practice dummy. He wasn't getting anymore bruises. He cut and swiped and the movements came without bidding. Alassë threw in a quick strike but he batted it aside like a Beater with a stray bludger. His feet stepped surely, his strikes held power, but lacked precision, swinging wildly at times in his rage. Alassë capitalized, darting inside his arms to tap him on the ribs and shin.

"Stop!" Harry screamed with a mighty sweep of his sword.

Except this time it was different. Power coursed through his veins. He hadn't noticed it building, but it burned in his arms and in that moment exploded from his sword in a great wave that knocked Alassë and everyone within a twenty foot radius on their backs.

Harry stared at the destruction before him in shock. He'd devastated a row of practice dummies, the splinters hitting the eldar who had been using them. Alassë herself had been thrown some distance and was lying prone with her sword a few feet away. Even Roimon, who had been seated out of the way under a tree had been knocked back and was only just recovering. Harry looked around him and his shock turned to dread and horror. Slowly those around him began to stir. Roimon was the first to reach him.

"Tárnya, are you injured?"

"N-no," Harry stuttered.

"What happened?" Ornon demanded, arriving at the scene with two other eldar. They immediately fanned out and checked on the warriors who had been attacked. Harry could see one who had a large wooden splinter embedded in his shoulder.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Alassë—"

He gestured to the eldar who was unconscious. Ornon hurried to her side, kneeling to check her breathing. Harry was more tentative to approach.

"Is she okay?"

She looked paler than he'd ever seen her and her leg rested at a strange, unnatural angle. Ornon listened to her heart and he seemed at least relieved by what he heard.

"She's alive," he said bitterly. He turned and grabbed Harry by the tunic, pulling him close. "Look at her! Remember this sight."

Roimon placed his hand on his sword, stepping closer to intervene, but Ornon held up a hand and he halted, seemingly unsure whether he should protect his Tar-Eldatur, or obey his Herumacil.

Harry's eyes swept Alassë's unconscious body and over the field where other eldar lie injured, some seriously. All because of him.

"This is what happens when you do not control yourself," Ornon spat, not letting up even as tears came to Harry's eyes. "This is what happens when you let your anger rule you. You hurt those you are meant to protect. Alassë may never fight again, thanks to you!" He practically threw Harry away and the only reason Harry didn't fall was because Roimon was there to catch him.

Ornon lay his hand across Alassë's forehead, murmuring soft words in Eldarin.

"Auta! Do not return until you have learned control."

And the Ornon turned his back on Harry and Roimon shepherded him away from the training grounds, leaving his wooden sword lying in the grass.

"I didn't mean to…" Harry looked back but Roimon didn't let him stop.

Harry barely noticed the walk about to Sailano's home; all he could see was Alassë on the ground and the eldar with the splinter in his shoulder, his face full of pain. That was Harry's fault. Narwien met them at the door and one look at Harry had her calling for her father. They brought him inside and sat him down at the table, for which Harry was grateful. He hadn't noticed it at the field, but now away from the chaos his legs struggled to support him and he felt like someone had vanished all the bones in his body. He slumped down into the chair heavily.

Sailano hurried into the kitchen from his office and took in the scene before him coolly before turning to Roimon.

"What happened?" he asked, though his tone was far from the commanding growl Ornon had used.

"The Tar-Eldatur was sparring with his training partner," Roimon said confidently. "Alassë was…not simplifying her attacks. The Tar-Eldatur became angry and frustrated and…" He trailed off, looking down at Harry uncertainly.

"Go on," Sailano urged.

"I believe the Tar-Eldatur drew on his magic offensively during the practice match out of anger."

Sailano's expression hardened and Harry could tell there was something more to the incident. He had performed accidental magic before. There were loads of times when he'd been living with the Dursleys that Dudley had made him angry or scared and his magic had lashed out. Harry thought he was crazy the first time it had happened and his teachers thought he was a liar. It wasn't until Hagrid told him he was a wizard that things began to make sense.

And then he'd been told he was an eldar and the world tumbled back into uncertainty. From the grim expressions on the faces of his hosts and guardian, Harry could tell he'd inadvertently done something very bad. Ornon had been furious and banished him from the training grounds. And Sailano stood before him now, disappointed and worried. Even Roimon seemed uncertain.

"Was anyone injured?"

"Those closest were knocked back, including myself. Alassë took the brunt of the attack. She is being tended to by the healers. Some were injured when practice targets were destroyed. Ornon has banned the Tar-Eldatur from returning until he has demonstrated control."

"Damn it."

Harry's jaw dropped practically to the floor at the human curse that sprang from Sailano's mouth. It was the last thing he was expecting, and he knew he'd done something horrible if it generated that reaction from the typically poised eldar councilmember.

"I'm sorry," Harry said tentatively. "It was an accident. My anger got the better of me."

He looked down at his shoes, guilt aching in his chest. But Sailano waved away his apology.

"No, you don't understand the damage you have done."

Harry's head shot up, confused at the reply. "What do you mean?"

"Not only did you attack a fellow eldar, your own people, but you did so with offensive magic. An excessive amount of offensive magic. You threw a tantrum like a child and you injured your fellow eldar."

"But I didn't mean to—"

"It does not matter! You are the Tar-Eldatur. You must never attack one of your own with magic, especially in your temper. You have power no other eldar could ever dream of, and you turned it against your own people today. You have betrayed their trust. A leader who is not trusted is no leader at all. Do you understand?"

Harry knew he should say yes, but he hated that even with his father's memories, he was still messing things up. He was still getting things wrong, and there was so much he'd yet to learn. Everywhere he turned there was a new rule, a new code that he'd broken in his ignorance.

"No."

Sailano looked shocked at his reply. "What?"

"No," Harry repeated more firmly. "I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. I don't understand all the rules, I don't understand all of the 'power' you say that I have, I can't even defend myself in a practice sword-match. I don't know what not to do or how to act. Nobody has told me, and it's not intuitive. I don't know what I'm even doing here."

Harry sighed heavily. He rarely ever asked for what he was about to ask for. Perhaps it came from his years with the Dursleys. Perhaps it stemmed from his need to keep others safe from the dangers of his life. Or perhaps he had simply promised himself long ago that he would handle things on his own because it was the most reliable way. Whatever the case, it was difficult to pull himself up now and look Sailano in the eye and say the words he hadn't said to an adult in years.

"I need your help."