A/N: Wow, the reviews have been really polarized! Not just the last chapter but for a while now. I've had people ask for it to stay Gen., while a person's PM me, asking for Harry x Fellowship harem. Praise for not falling into the cliché of using Legolas as the potential love-interest, and pleads to use him 'cuz he's supah sexeh. People reminding me that Harry has to go home eventually, and others saying they want her to stay in Middle Earth permanently. It's a good thing I've already got the story fully planned else I'd be stuck without knowing how to continue.

Thanks for the love, guys, even if it does get overwhelming.

To the people who keep going all "ARGH! When's Harry's gender going to come out? Draw it out any longer and it'll become pointless!" I have a sub-plot planned that requires her gender coming out as a main point, so CALM THE FUCK DOWN. One time when you first review I'm cool with, but don't badger me about it every time. I think I've mentioned this before, it's going to happen at a specific point in time for maximum effect; I can't go revealing it willy-nilly or else the plot will be ruined.

If you want the kind of story that has no twists, no surprises, and everything laid out from the beginning, you don't want a story, you want a crappy movie trailer that gives so much away, you don't need to even see the movie anymore.

(End exasperation)

Here's the chapter twelve, another quick update. Don't get spoiled though, I do get caught in other stuff.

In the confusion of the collided spells simultaneously throwing their recipients backwards, Gimli found himself leaping — something that dwarves did not do if they could help it — from the high mound of rock along with the others as it shook and threatened to fall in on itself.

He fell on his buttocks — hard. He rolled over, and saw the elf land next to him on his two graceful legs, the likes of which Gimli had come to seriously abhor throughout the length of their trek. Walking on snow; running swift-footed on a rope that hung tautly over swirling waters; climbing stone like an unnatural beast. In this last attempt to sabotage dwarvish pride, the elf had leapt from the tower to look down on Gimli's sprawled form.

But never had the dwarf been so glad that Legolas was an elf. For Legolas now took up Gimli's arm and, displaying all the strength and skill and speed that his elvish heritage had no doubt bequeathed him, he hastened Gimli forward — lifting him bodily from the ground — before diving behind a large buttressed tree where Aragorn and Boromir had already taken shelter.

Behind him, Gimli could hear the mound of rock crumble at last. Feel the air and shards of stone strike the tree of which they all hid behind.

At last there was naught but silence in Fangorn, as there was always tend to be.

Aragorn sighed and straightened up from his spot against the tree. "We must find Harry and Saruman. Wither they went I know not, but I thought I saw Harry go yonder." He stepped from behind the tree and pointed.

They followed his actions and saw that the direction in which Aragorn was pointing now lay behind the depressed, crumbled mound.

"Gimli and I will go and seek Harry," said Legolas, looking into Aragorn's eyes. "I will pray to Elbereth that he be unharmed."

Aragorn nodded. "Boromir and I will find Saruman. If his wizard rod is still within in his grasp, the most we can hope is that he be wandering the land of dreams, whether they come to him or not."

"Aye," Boromir agreed. "Would that the power both wizards displayed is never again seen with mine waking eyes, and I shall be happy. But I know before this war is over I shall see more and not enough of it than I desire of it."

Aragorn placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder in comfort, nodded at Gimli and Legolas, and then the two men walked back whence they had all come from behind the tree, in search of Saruman.

"It is only you and me, my dwarvish friend," Legolas smiled, looking down at Gimli.

"Aye," Gimli agreed. Though something was put upon him. He had a vague sense of discontent and he liked it not. But the weather was pleasant and the task that loomed ahead of them encompassed their thoughts and Gimli's feeling of discontentment soon faded from his mind.

They dithered around aimlessly for a few yards that stretched from the crumbled mound. Legolas peered into the forest with his elf-eyes in hopes to spot a glimpse of a pale arm or a pointed wizard's hat, but none could he see.

"We will have to go deeper. The bushes and branches bar my sight. I cannot spot even a small bristle from his broom-end."

Gimli was not certain, but he thought Legolas spat something out of his mouth in that moment.

The dwarf grunted. "First we go to find the hobbits, and now we go to find the wizard. Before the end of this journey is come, we will go to find ourselves!"

Legolas laughed.

They walked into the fleshier parts of Fangorn, and nothing could they see but more Fangorn. Gimli had the urge to throw his axe in frustration. Already it had been too long since Harry had been lost to them, and the thought that he — just a boy — might be lying injured and alone on the cold forest floor with who knows what manner creatures about did not comfort them.

"How long have we been searching?" Gimli finally growled to Legolas.

"The better part of an hour," Legolas replied grimly.

"I do not believe that," was all Gimli said.

The elf smiled. "Indeed, it does not seem that way. But . . ." Legolas halted in mid-speak. He tilted his head on its side so that his fair hair shone brightly in the small patch of afternoon sun that seeped through the canopy. "Do you hear that? It sounds very like —"

". . . many times must I tell you?" a grumpy voice was grumbling. A very familiar voice. "I am fine, Boromir. The spell did naught but take breath from me. And you need not look as though I am the only one to have arisen from the dead. Recall if you will, Glorfindel?"

Seconds later a haggard looking figure in white — attached on either side of him, an astonished Boromir and Aragorn — stumbled from around a moulded tree to stand in front of Gimli and Legolas.

"Elbereth," Legolas breathed and sank down on one knee. Gimli followed suit.

"How can this be?" Gimli asked, certain his eyes were playing devil's tricks.

"As I have hastily explained to Aragorn and Boromir already, and in much fractured speech, I died and I was brought back until my task is done. I am now Gandalf the White. Now get up." He sounded very bothered. "We have another wizard to find. If I am not mistaken, the combined spells have done more damage to him than they did me as he was thrown from the mound and across a large amount of trees, whereas I was already on the ground and have taken not as many bruises." He shuffled along in front of them.

"Ai!" Legolas cried out suddenly, causing the rest to stop and look at him. "He has a broken ankle!"

"All the more reason for us to hurry and find him," Gandalf said, hastening even more quickly along.

"We have tried," Gimli said. "We have not found a speck of anything. It is like he has vanished. Or else he has flown."

Gandalf wasn't listening. "I sense something," he mumbled, looking this way and that. "Some strange residue. It is magical in nature. It feels very like Harry." He froze suddenly and lifted his staff. "Hmm . . . I think . . . Yes, it's this way."

"I hope you are not going to say that you followed your nose, Gandalf. For I will not believe that," said Gimli, clutching his axe tightly.

Gandalf sighed exasperatedly. "You are surely worse than Peregrine Took, son of Gloin, when you want to be."

"And proud of it!" Gimli spat back. "Honourable folk are hobbits. They run not from danger but charge into its fray. I have often thought that hobbits could be descendent from dwarves."

"Indeed," Gandalf said, but he did not appear to be listening.

Gimli grumbled to himself.

"Ahh!" Gandalf exclaimed after they had all walked a little more. "Look here." He reached up to a branch that hung over his head and pulled something from it.

"It is his cloak!" Boromir said, snatching it from Gandalf's grasp.

The wizard expelled an irritated breath.

"Alas that the wizard is not in it," Boromir continued, looking solemn.

Legolas lay a hand on his shoulder.

Gandalf moved forward, his face curious. He bent to the ground and then straightened. When he turned they saw a black pointed hat, now crooked, held in his hands.

"What means this?" Aragorn said.

Gandalf shook his head looking perplexed. "I know not. Unless Harry has decided to frolic nude in this accursed forest, I cannot hope to know what these empty clothes mean."

"And look there!" Legolas exclaimed, pointing above them. On the topmost branches of the canopy, between sparkling beams of light, there hung Harry's robes; looking travel-stained, but none the worse for wear.

"Legolas, if you will?" Gandalf said.

The elf leaped onto the lowest branch of the nearest tree — which was easily six times Gimli's length when measured from the ground — then climbed the rest of the tree in all his effortless grace. When he reached the top, he danced along the branches from tree to tree until he finally came upon the black robes. He unhooked them and let them float down. Gandalf caught them with the end of his staff.

In the middle of untangling the robes from his staff Gandalf paused. "What's this?" He reached a hand into the robe and pulled out —

"That is his crate!" Boromir said before anyone could comment.

"This is most odd," Gandalf mumbled before placing the crate back into the robes. "These are his things but there is no Harry around to claim them."

In the course of the next few minutes they found yet more things. Shoes (wherein Gimli, with his dwarvish curiosity of forging things, spent a while examining the metal buckles between the laces and wondering how such a craft was achieved); very short stockings of a most unusual shade and picturing (they all drew back in shock when the ducklings on the stockings started quacking); his "glasses" as Harry was wont to call them (nothing unusual happened there); and they also found a pair of somethings that Gandalf mistook for hats lurking in between the leaves. They was green, as were the leaves, so they had been hard to see at first, but upon feeling them and seeing the way they shone in the sunlight they could not see how Gandalf could have mistaken them for hats.

In the end, it was Legolas who worked out that they were some obscure form of undergarment. The finely stitched cloth with leg holes they took for a sort of loin-cloth, but the other thing was beyond them.

"Very unusual indeed," Legolas added, holding the one that baffled them up to the light. The strange garment appeared almost as a harness, though what the two bowl-like cushions were for, they could not guess.

Gimli took the thing from Legolas' hand and held it up to the elf's body. Shaking his head, he then slipped his legs through the straps and hooked it around his waist like a belt. It stretched mightily to fit his girth. "A contraption to carry hidden weapons perhaps?"

In the end, they decided odd clothing were the least of their troubles, so they put it out of their minds.

"I have no doubt there are more items of Harry's tossed about that we have overlooked," Gandalf commented once they had placed all of Harry's belongings together, "but we cannot search for them now. Already we are running late and must journey swiftly across the Entwash and to the Golden Hall of Meduseld — or as swiftly as our steeds dare take us. And yes, Boromir, that means we must abandon our search for Harry."

There was uproar.

"Be calm! Have you all forgotten that the boy is a wizard? If he is, as I assume, unconscious, we cannot wait until he awakens and comes looking for us. He has a flying broomstick, and no doubt other wizardly methods of finding his way." Gandalf paused to draw a breath. "We will leave his belongings here. He will want to clothe himself when he awakens. Let us be off."

Not wanting to anger an already irate wizard, and finding the situation hopeless, they set off to venture out of the depths of Fangorn, hoping, in their hearts, that the lost one in their company would soon come forth.

When Harry's eyes opened, she was nearly blinded by the brightness of the room she was in. Quickly shutting her eyes again against the searing light, she cracked an eye to ease herself into the lighting. Blinking a bit she took stock of what she saw.

White sheets, white walls, white furniture and pastel still-life portraits. As if blinding her into healing faster just to escape, the room was offensively bright except for a small patch of shadow in the corner where a chair sat. From her position on the bed, Harry could see that it was not vacant. The edge of a violet silken robe hung over black, polished, gold-buckled boots, and Harry knew who the person was without having to ask.

"I'm back, aren't I?"

It wasn't really so much as a question than an observation. Harry knew that she was back. Such a room was far too modern for ye olde Middle Earth. A hazy memory of the voices she heard from the last time she had woken passed through her mind. Ron and Hermione, Fred and George, Ginny and Mrs Weasely — and someone called Healer Puttergill.

She was in St Mungos.

Once more Harry perused the room. It looked bare of any essentials, except for the aforementioned still-lives and a vase filled with flowers that stood on the table by her bed. The room also held a distinctly hospitalised smell that reminded Harry of the infirmary at Hogwarts. It was not a smell that she had come to associate with a muggle hospital — the sterile scent of chemicals — but a smell that could be found only in a wizarding hospital. There was simply no smell at all in a wizarding hospital. Magic, she supposed, took care of any curious potion scents that would otherwise have filtered and clogged the lungs of sensitive patients.

Dumbledore answered, "Yes. Though I sense that this is somehow not a good thing."

He leaned forward now so that the gold twinkle from the edge of his half-moon glasses caught the light first, then the rest of his body followed. He looked so much like Gandalf in that instance, with his thinly veiled concern, that Harry had to repress a blur of tears that threatened to fall.

Harry shook her head. "Not really," was all she said. Her voice trembled slightly, and Dumbledore noticed.

"You must tell me everything, Harry, and perhaps I can help you."

"You can't help me, Professor — unless you somehow know how to send me back."

Harry did not know when she had decided that she didn't want to leave Middle Earth, but here she was, wishing she had never left. It seemed to her that she had not decided at all, but that it had already been decided for her before she had even awakened.

A knot of something hot churned through her stomach as she realised that she already missed Middle Earth so much because the pressures of this reality were once more at the forefront. She hadn't had to be Harry Potter there. She hadn't had to worry about Voldemort, or the prophecy, or . . . or Sirius. There was no need to worry about anything except the next day's adventure, or when to have a bath. There was no Ministry or Daily Prophet in Middle Earth either. Despite all the responsibilities Harry had here, back in plain Earth, she still desperately wished to go to that curious dimension that seemed to have no end in its surprises.

With the Fellowship, she had not been the main character in the story of the Ring of Power and the journey to destroy it. The responsibility had not been hers. She had not been expected to lead the people and defeat the Great Evil. Now that she was back in her original dimension, she had to take center stage again.

Dumbledore spoke now, looking curious, "You wish to go back? Haven't you completed the mission you were supposed to? I don't understand. You could not have come back otherwise."

Harry was silent. She knew Dumbledore was waiting for an explanation, and that she had to provide one. It was just hurting excruciatingly since she had no idea how to go back. Could she go back? She didn't even want to linger on the thought if she truly couldn't. But it would help in the long run, and she had to tell Dumbledore as he was the only living soul who knew that Harry had gone in the first place.

"It's probably best that I tell you everything, Professor . . . from the beginning I mean," she said.

"That would be best," Dumbledore agreed, and his eyes were sympathetic and understanding.

So Harry did.

She told Dumbledore of arriving in an entirely magical world called Middle-Earth, of finding the Fellowship and discovering the variety of races. Of feeling so overwhelmed at first and so stupidly embarrassed at every turn. Of feeling like she would be abandoned if they ever had any cause to fear her magic.

The holly trees.

The giant squid.

Explaining how it felt to lose Gandalf to that huge demon snake thing – finally realising what that deep resounding "NOOOO!" had been when the Balrog had fallen.

Meeting the elves and Galadriel; discovering her mission through the mirror, and finally the acceptance of her own magic within Middle Earth.

Saving Boromir from the orcs — thus fulfilling her mission — and breaking her ankle along the way.

Having to fly everywhere to get anywhere.

Tracking Merry and Pippin.

Fangorn. Saruman. The backlash of the two spells. And finally, waking up in St Mungos and realising . . .

"That is quite a story, Harry," said Dumbledore in the end. At some point during the telling, he had stood up to pace the length of Harry's bed, pausing to stare when a death — or an almost death — or a kidnapping occurred. Now he sat back in his chair with a loud sigh. "Quite a story . . ." he repeated, staring at the floor.

When Dumbledore next lifted his head, Harry was shocked to see a tear make its lonely way down a wrinkled cheek.

"Professor — " Harry began in concern, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"I am so very sorry that you had to go through all of that, my dear girl. You have had enough pain and hardship in your life without adding to it, and that this phenomenon should happen, should take you right after you had lost Sirius . . . forgive me. I feel responsible."

"No, Professor," Harry protested, stunned at the distress her normally unruffled headmaster was displaying. "It's not like you asked it to choose me."

"No," Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "I did something much worse."

"What?" Harry asked,not understanding his guilt.

"I left you alone," he explained, sounding so old and tired. "I left a young girl of fifteen to find her own way in a completely alien dimension with only an old hat whose magic would not last more than a day to keep her company. Who does that, my dear?"

Harry did not answer the weary question. She was feeling more than a little alarmed at the despondency she could almost taste in the air between them.

"I stand in loco parentis while you live at Hogwarts, yet we both know our relationship is more than that of student and teacher," Dumbledore continued. "It remained unspoken between us until now. Sending you, someone I care very much for, letting you travel to this Middle Earth by yourself — it was not a wise action on my part. Even though I told myself at the time that I had done and provided all I could have for you in this thing's pursuit of you."

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed. She had been listening diligently to the headmaster, feeling prideful in all the right places and annoyed in others. "You did do all you could. Professor." She attempted to bolster his mood by adding, "You even brought the Sorting Hat to me! Crossing time and space, and — and different worlds! And you had no choice but to leave me alone. You told me yourself that if anyone tried to rescue me, they'd die. Besides, you didn't really leave me alone. Hedwig came — " Harry froze abruptly. "Hedwig . . . Professor?"

Dumbledore's head bowed. "I am truly sorry, Harry, but Hedwig did not come back with you."

The lump in Harry's throat became ever more painful. "You know, I didn't think she would," she admitted. She cleared her throat to rid it of the lump. "How exactly did I get here?"

Dumbledore did not waste time explaining. "I suspect that this Saruman person's spell, combined with your own, had absolutely no bearing on your returning home, other than that it knocked you unconscious and gave you quite a nasty bump on the head. In your comatose state you must have dreamed of Hogwarts, and thus you came to be there."

"I landed on Hogwarts grounds?"

"Not only that, but you landed in the very spot from where you left . . . and at the exact same time."

Harry's eyes snapped up. She had noticed the pause that Dumbledore had taken before concluding his sentence. "What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that it was as if you had not left at all. You simply blinked out of this world in one second, and blinked back into it in the next — minus your clothes and glasses, sporting what appears to be a spontaneous growth of hair and a very becoming tan. Not to mention an extra bump on the head, a broken ankle, and a few heavily bruised ribs. You will find everything is quite well healed now."

When Harry realised her mouth was open, she closed it again with a dull thud. "You mean no time passed at all? I'm still fifteen?" A touch of hysteria entered her tone. "I-I didn't arrive with anything on?"

Oh, Merlin, how many people had seen her naked?

Did that mean that to anyone else, she had had suddenly aged like three months in a second?

Why had she come back without any clothes or her glasses?

"Because you dreamed yourself here," Dumbledore answered, obviously interpreting the expression on Harry's face. "The manifestation of your physical self within your mind offered nothing other than what you were naturally born with — your own self, and nothing else. Not even your wand or your belongings came with you."

"B-but . . . why is it — I mean, when I traveled to Middle Earth, that didn't happen the first time. I had all my stuff, and my clothes."

"Ah," Dumbledore lean forward in his chair. "That happened because you were already chosen to begin with. Do you understand, my dear You were not supposed to come back, just as anyone who is chosen by this phenomenon is not supposed to come back. Merlin did not come back when he was chosen. I suspect he either died, or hadn't completed his mission."

"So it just dumps you in any world where someone needs saving and doesn't bother taking you back out again?" The anger in Harry's voice was very apparent. Stupid, selfish universe!

Dumbledore nodded, tiredly. "You must understand, while you might believe you were needed to play a seemingly insignificant role in the course of major events, you were needed all the same to do it because out of all worlds, only you could have saved this Boromir from certain death. And I do not just mean only you were powerful enough to. Circumstances, and the way we cope with them, play a part also."

Dumbledore paused. "Understand that the fact that you were able to leave means that the Powers that Be no longer require you to participate more than you already have. Your mission has been fulfilled, though you had been expected to stay. You have your own world now, where you are needed, and in a position that plays a much, much, larger part, and we both know what that is.

"But," Dumbledore continued before Harry could think to say anything, "I once told you it is our choices that shape who we are, and what sort people we will become. I believe that the fate of our world, Voldemort's fate, can wait while until you choose to decide what time is best to leave your friends in Middle Earth."

Harry could hardly dare to believe it. "Are you saying I can go back? That it's actually possible?"

Dumbledore beamed. "As long as an item of yours, something that represents you utterly — such as your wand — is left in Middle Earth you can journey back and forth between the worlds at any time you choose. You need not worry about the difficulties of journeying back to Earth because you were born here and your very presence is set into the fabric of this world, into the very particles and elements that make up all living things. Besides, it is not as if any time would pass here while you're gone." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he said: "Only don't stay so long that you become an old woman. You still have your NEWT years to finish, my dear."

Harry grinned along with Dumbledore until she realised something. "Professor, does that mean my wand, and Hedwig, and my belongings, will always be stuck there?"

The light in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed slightly. "Well —" he began.

"But then, how . . .?" Harry interrupted.

"While you were sleeping I approached Mr Olivander with a tail feather from Fawkes — his first this season as a matter of fact. I asked him to reproduce the exact same wand. It has never been done before, as Olivander, and all wand-makers for that matter, take pride in all their creations being entirely unique, but he has agreed to pursue my request."

"So I'm going to have two wands? One in Middle Earth and one here?"

"Only until you learn to keep any and all external objects you desire to have when you travel, by utilising your subconscious mind." Harry's face must have shown incomprehension because Dumbledore explained: "In other words, you must teach yourself how to keep the clothes on your back and your wand in your pocket —"

"But that means my stuff . . . and Hedwig! I can get them back!"

"Exactly, if you had —"

"Thank you, Professor!" Impulsively, Harry leaned forward and embraced her headmaster, but only for the tiniest of a second, before releasing him. "Sorry, sir." Her cheeks were red from embarrassment, but she couldn't stop the relieved grin from burgeoning on her face.

Dumbledore only laughed delightedly. "It's quite alright, Harry. Youth is at times unpredictable and spontaneous. And I don't know if you have realised this, but when you learn to travel between the worlds — properly I mean — you can also take someone with you. I have no doubt your friends will support you. Miss Granger especially will not give up an opportunity to learn about various different cultures.

"However," Dumbledore added, his eyes flicking over Harry's own, "You will not be journeying there now. You will take time to recover from your ordeal, and then, when you feel the time is right, we will be going to Middle Earth."

"Okay," Harry nodded. "Hang on . . ." Her eyes moved sharply over Dumbledore's face. "'We'?"

"Did I not say I should never have let you journey there by yourself, even if I could not stop the sequence of events from taking place?" Dumbledore replied. "Now that you can journey there anytime you choose, I can follow you . . . and I need not worry about dying in a vortex or —"

"Lightening bolt," Harry supplied.

"Exactly."

"But, Professor," Harry said. "How can you travel to Middle Earth if you don't have any bit of yourself there to begin with?"

"Very good, Harry." Dumbledore chuckled, weaving his fingers together as they rested on his lap. "Well you see I don't, but Fawkes does. If you remember, I once told you that your wand contains a feather from Fawkes. He and I also share a connection. Despite what some might think, I am more Fawkes' pet than he mine. He is my protector, you can say. He will carry me along."

Dumbledore chortled at Harry's bewildered expression. "Phoenixes are very intelligent, very remarkable, and very inconceivable birds. They have secrets that the human mind cannot hope to grasp, and vice versa. They can apparate, as you know. In this instance Fawkes will apparate to Middle Earth, following his own essence through your wand . . . And he will be taking me along."

"Right," Harry agreed, a bit distracted by the mechanics of it all.

"However, I believe it is prudent to warn you —" Harry's head snapped up from the bedcovers she had been staring at "— that we will be arriving in Middle Earth sans clothes, for lack of a better term. No matter how remarkable Phoenix's are they are still only birds. Fawkes will not be able to envisage us with our clothes on; he has not the power for that."

"But I do?" Harry asked, feeling bewildered. Then she thought of something. "Hang on . . . that means you won't have your wand with you!"

"No," Dumbledore said jovially, unbothered.

Harry stared. "Er . . . isn't that a bad thing?"

"I can do a bit of wandless magic, as you know."

"But that won't help!" Harry burst out, sitting up in the bed. "There are all sorts of nasty things there. Like orcs and trolls . . . and demon Balrogs—"

"Calm down, child." Dumbledore held up his hands. "If we venture into any dire circumstances I can always apparate. You don't need a wand for that. Or, I can simply use your wand. Similarly, I can use your wand to conjure some robes for us when we arrive."

"Oh." Harry leaned back on her pillows. Dumbledore had made it sound all so simple, as though travelling between worlds was as easy as getting up in the morning. "Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, but I will wait expectantly for another," he answered, folding his fingers together.

"Well, I just want to know . . . how did you know all that? I mean about using my wand's essence to travel back to Middle Earth?"

"Simply," Dumbledore answered, unthreading his fingers and leaning forward once more, "because every single person or creature — be they magical or muggle; every single plant or mountain or element; every single house or television, or any miniscule thing that exists, is part of an integrated series of roots, if you will, that connect together everything on this planet, this galaxy, and this universe. We are all part of a collective root system made up of the same material — stars; or rather star dust. A result, I am told, that stemmed from the supernova explosion that triggered the Big Bang and created the known universe. I'm sure you know all about that from muggle school?"

Harry nodded, astonished by what she was hearing.

"Very good," said Dumbledore, pausing to collect his thoughts. "Now, considering that you are part of this root system, and that you are connected to everything, it is simple logic to work out that you can use the connection you have to this earth, this galaxy, and this universe, to find your way back into its sphere. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Harry said, biting her lip. "And does that work both ways? Is that why I'll be able to travel back to Middle Earth? Or is it only because my essence is in my wand?"

"Exactly! Your wand carries your essence, and even more important, it carries your magical essence which gives it a boost, if you like. Your wand is still connected to this universe and because of that you — and I — can travel to Middle Earth."

"Is that how you were able to get the Sorting Hat to me? By using the connection it has to every Hogwarts student that it reads?"

Dumbledore looked pleased by her conclusion. "Yes, I did."

"And it didn't have a lot of magic to keep itself there because it doesn't really have a magical essence, or a lot of any essence for that matter. Even after everything it's still only a hat?" Harry guessed.

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent deduction."

"Well, I wish I'd known about this magical essence thing while I was still in Middle Earth, then I wouldn't have had to worry about how I was going to get back home without leaving my stuff," Harry said, exasperated.

"Yes, well, the Sorting Hat would have told you, but you did not put it on until very late . . ."

Harry grinned sheepishly as Dumbledore gave her a raised-eyebrow look.

". . . at first we thought it was Death Eaters or something because Lupin told us you were acting really weird, like you were bewitched—"

"But then Dumbledore told us a falling tree branch hit you in the storm. Oh, Harry, it was frightening when we heard! And you had a concussion! I'm surprised Madam Pomfrey didn't notice it actually. She's usually a lot more diligent with her work."

Ron and Hermione looked at her with gentle and relieved gazes as she lay before them in the Weasley's lounge, covered — at Mrs Weasley's instance — with a warm blanket that reached up to her neck.

"Well, I'm better now," Harry told them. "Although I could do with a bit more of that fudge."

Ron jumped up to get it at once. Harry knew she was being terribly advantage-taking, but it had been so long since she had tasted anything but lembas bread and water — unless she counted the rabbit and those maggot-berries, which she didn't — and Mrs Weasley's cooking was always so nice. It made her think of lovely warm kitchens and homey smells. . .

Besides, Hermione and Ron wouldn't let her get up to fetch it for herself, so it was only right that they do it for her. Harry had tried explaining that she was perfectly fine, but because Dumbledore had told Mrs Weasley — who had told her whole family — that Harry was still a bit woozy mentally — meaning she was still getting over the ordeal of transferring world and, on top of that, temporarily losing Hedwig— so they had decided to behave as if she still hadn't recovered.

They had all been coddling her since they had bundled her from the hospital that afternoon. It wouldn't have been enough to drive her mad if she hadn't been reveling in it. While the Fellowship was nice and the guys eventually treated her kindly, they weren't the cuddly type. Harry almost laughed out loud at the thought of Gimli in a frilly apron, force feeding her pie while Boromir tried to shove her into a knitted sweater.

Mrs Weasley had taken to mothering her even more than usual, always hovering somewhere in the background. Harry was glad that out of all the other Weasleys, only Ron had been caught up in the frenzy of treating her like an invalid. With Hermione fussing enough for two other people, if even Ginny started worrying, Harry would have imploded.

"Here you go, mate," Ron said, plonking down in the armchair next to Harry with a plate full of treacle fudge in hand. "Fleur's bringing some milk," he added, making Hermione scowl in disapproval. "Oh look, here we are."

The quarter-Veela sauntered into the living room with a pitcher in one hand and a topped glass of milk in the other. She set them down on the little table next to Harry's sofa before straightening up and sighing shortly. Her long, silvery-blonde hair was in a plait today and it swung forward to fall into Harry's lap as she gave the younger girl two small pecks on either cheek.

Something that prevented Harry from feeling off from being back home was Fleur. It had been a pleasant surprise to discover that the other girl was currently living at the Weasley's for the summer. She looked so much like an elf — even appearing to emanate a faint, silvery glow — that Harry's 'Middle Earth sickness' faded in her presence. And the fact that she was Bill's fiancée meant that she would always be around.

"Bonjour, 'Arry," she greeted, stopping briefly to lay a cool hand over Harry's forehead. She tsked. "Much too warm."

"That's because she's covered up in a thick woolly blanket during summer!" Ginny had walked into the room and now stood beside Hermione. Both of them wore unhappy looks at Fleur's presence. Harry could tell by the way the irritation didn't burn as hotly as a freshly formed resentment that this had been a long-standing conflict. Fleur had likely been here since the very beginning of summer.

"And I was just going to say that Harry really shouldn't be eating fudge for breakfast either," said Hermione, backing up Ginny. "It's much too unhealthy, especially as she's just come out of a coma."

Fleur waved a delicately boned hand. "Pish," she said, sounding remarkably English.

"Yeah, Hermione,'pish,'" Ron sniggered. Harry swallowed a snort.

Hermione pursed her lips. Ginny crossed her arms. Fleur flipped her hair, cool as a cucumber. Turn up the tension any higher and they'd need to bring out a mud-wrestling pit for the three to duke it out.

Harry drank her milk and didn't comment. She could sort of understand where Hermione was coming from since Ron had proved to be shallow when it came to attraction, but Harry was sure what Ginny's problem was. Was she upset about not being the prettiest girl in the house anymore?

"Breakfast, everyone!" Mrs Weasley called from the kitchen. "And don't you even think about getting up from that couch, young lady!" she added as Harry threw a leg to the floor. "Ron will be getting your breakfast for you. Won't you, dear?"

"Yes Mum," Ron droned, but he threw Harry a wink.

"But Mum," Ginny added, walking towards the kitchen, "you don't actually expect Harry to eat by herself do you?"

"Well —"

"She'll be all lonely." Here Harry suppressed a disbelieving glance at Ginny. "Either we eat with her — meaning we'll have the bother of moving all the plates and cutlery and whatnot from the kitchen to the lounge — or she eats with us."

Harry had to commend Ginny's ability to deal with Mrs Weasley. Out of all of the Weasley children, Ginny was the only one who could talk circles around her mother, or lie with a perfectly straight face. Fred and George came in a close second.

"Alright, alright," Mrs Weasley gave in. "Harry can eat at the table,"

Harry shot Ginny a reluctantly grateful look and jumped to her feet

They all moved to the kitchen. Bill was already there, looking, as always, very cool and handsome with his dragon-hide clothing and long hair. Fleur immediately made a beeline for the seat next to him and they went about feeding each other for the rest of the meal. Harry saw Mrs Weasley, and especially Hermione and Ginny, make faces at this. Though Mrs Weasley was the only one being politely discreet.

"More, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked, thrusting the pan quarter-filled with egg and bacon under Harry's nose.

"No, thank you," Harry declined, feeling overstuffed.

"Are you sure, dear? You're looking far too thin!" Mrs Weasley leaned over and plumped the pillow behind Harry's back which she had, against protests, placed there earlier.

"Actually, Mum, I think she looks right good," Ron commented, peering speculatively at Harry. Hermione looked conflicted. "What have those Dursley's been making you do? Work the lawn all day, every day?"

"Something like that," Harry answered, covering the lie with a gulp of milk.

"Well I certainly don't approve of that!" Mrs Weasley said. "Did they refuse to let you have scissors to cut your hair as well? I don't believe I've ever seen your hair so long before. I can't imagine how it could have grown so much in such a short time!"

Harry floundered a bit. "Ah, well . . . you know, I've been thinking that it wouldn't be so everywhere if it was weighed down with more length. Easier to handle when I can actually get a grip on it."

"I like it," Bill said, grinning. "It looks sort of like Sirius' but you know, in a girlish way."

No one said anything to that. Mrs Weasley went pink and began gathering up the dishes with her wand. Harry expected to feel upset, or at the very least guiltily at the first mention of Sirius, but to her surprise, she felt something wonderful blossom in her chest. She suspected strongly that it might be pride. She grinned at Bill in gratitude.

She later wondered if it was normal for a girl to be happy about being called similar in looks to a man.

After breakfast was over, Harry was once more settled on her sofa — this time without the dreadfully warm blanket — with Hermione and Ron taking up the seats nearest her. Ginny had left to help Mrs Weasley with something upstairs, and Fleur and Bill were cuddling up in the backyard with the gnomes.

Although it did not seem dreadfully horrific to her any longer as it had been when Harry had first heard it so many months ago in Dumbledore's office, she still made the decision to tell Ron and Hermione of the prophecy and the part she was supposed to play in it. She would also tell them of her time spent in Middle Earth. Harry was positive they wouldn't believe her at first, but she knew Hermione — who was a stickler for listening to authority — would change her tune after Harry explained to her Dumbledore's involvement. And if Hermione believed her, than so would Ron.

"So what's all this about?" Hermione said in her usual brisk tone. "You wanted it to be just the three of us — and let me tell you now, Ginny is not happy being excluded like this."

"I realise that," Harry said calmly, "but the less people who know, the better."

"Does this have anything to do with those extra lessons Dumbledore's promised you this year?" Ron asked, looking like he was trying not to seem very eager.

"Partly," Harry said, amused.

Before he had departed from the hospital, Dumbledore had told Harry that he would be giving her private lessons in his office during the school year, but only after Harry had finished her business in Middle Earth. Harry wasn't completely sure why it was so important for her to be done with Middle Earth first since it didn't effect what happened here in regular Earth — or Upper Earth as she had been calling it in her head — in any way, but she had acquiesced. Whatever the reason, she still got more practical experience in combat without technically using up any time.

"Well," Ron urged,"Go on then!"

"It's about the prophecy . . ." Ron and Hermione leaned forward, their faces a curious mix of excitement and aprehension. Harry took a deep breath. "It looks like I have to be the one to finish him off; Voldemort, I mean. I don't know the exact mechanics of it but The Dark Tosser made it so I'm the only one who actually do it."

The three gazed solemnly at each other.

"Well," Hermione said finally, looking unusually resigned, "that's that, isn't it?"

"But that's means the Prophet's got it right," was all Ron said when Harry stared at him; but he looked vaguely confused, as though he thought the Daily Prophet couldn't get anything right when it mattered.

"I don't know about the Prophet," Harry told them. "I haven't really been paying that much attention to it." Which was perfectly true.

"What have you been doing holed up at your relatives house then?" Ron asked in puzzlement. "I thought the Order told them to back off? Don't you have any time for yourself?"

"It's not that," Harry said, avoiding his eyes. The moment of truth had come at last. "They left me completely alone this time around so I had plenty of time to keep up. Just didn't care much, you know? Been wrecked over Sirius."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, reaching out to hold the shorter girl's hand.

Harry accepted the hand but also shook her head. "I'm better now, but that's because I was caught up in something else. I wasn't really at the Dursley's much this summer."

"What?" Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. "Where were you then?"

Harry combed through her fringe with her fingers bashfully. "Would you believe me if I said another dimension?"

A/N: I have considered finding a Beta for my inevitable typos (I write in the sickly love-child of American and British English) but I don't like relying on others for such things. What say the public?

To KeiGinya: Yay, someone who understands! I appreciate the OHSHC comparison; I actually hadn't realized how my Harry resembles Haruhi until you mentioned it. I've also never talked to another person that's gender neutral mentally. It's weird how much we're alike; I even got the f(x) reference.