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: Thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed this story.

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Chapter 14: Wizard Meets Boy

If any elf had thought to peak in amongst the trees, especially the trees at the back of the garden, they would have spotted Harry squeezed into a hollow, knees gently touching his chest and little hands gripping a small green snake as if frightened it might escape him, even in sleep. It was Mirdhel who found him a little later and carried him all the way to his room. Harry woke up just as the elf tucked him into bed; his long hair swung into his face, tickling his nose.

"When's Legolas coming back?" Harry asked, curling the ends of the strands about his fingers.

"Soon," said Mirdhel.

"When soon?" Harry mumbled, yawning.

Mirdhel flattened an extra sheet over Harry and tucked that in, too. "I know not, but know this:" He leaned forward and smiled. "Legolas would never stay away from you if he can help it."

"Oh," said Harry, eyelids dropping. "That's nice to know. Where's Draeden?"

"Curled about your wrist, as always," Mirdhel answered. He gave one last pat to Harry's blanket, kissed Harry's brow, and gently left the room.

The next couple of days passed very quickly.

When not practising magic – or trying to – Harry played, and ran, and worked a little in the kitchen, sweeping the excess crumbs out from under the feet of cooking elves with his small broom, or else learning how to properly knead dough. However much he tried, and pounded, and rolled, and slapped the fat mould about it still would never change much — except to make his fingers all sticky. Harry liked to rip off sticky globs and pop them in his mouth. Dough reminded him of Dudley's bubblegum and Harry, who'd never ever got to try any, liked to pretend he was blowing bubbles with it, even though the closest thing he could manage was to stick out the whole thing and make believe it was a bubble. The first time he did this Harry got scolded by the Head Cook, who quickly snatched it off his tongue and told him it wasn't healthy to chew on raw dough. Harry then secreted leftover bits in his pocket to keep for afters when the kitchen-elves were left far behind in their kitchen and Harry had walked far away into his garden. The dough was tasteless — even Draedan thought so! — but it was fun to pretend.

When he wasn't chewing dough or working in the kitchen Harry could be found harvesting berries. The king's favourite fruit was berries — his favourite food hot gooseberry pie — and Harry was charged with taking care of these. He worked quite hard and got a thorn stuck in the tip of his finger, but Harry thought the process worth it; he got to snack as he worked and gardening had never been as much fun in Privet Drive. Later Mirdhel took care of his cut while Harry sat on his lap and stuffed his face full of an extra helping of whatever dessert had been made for supper that day.

The gooseberries looked especially juicy, though sometimes Harry had to stand on a stool to pluck them from very high up. The Mirkwood gardens had small, plump soft ones and Harry's fingers were stained red by the end of the day — not that his tongue minded. He also loved carrying his little basket to the kitchens (Draedan almost becoming sick with the swaying) and helping the elves place the fruit into the jars and pouring over them the caramelised sugar — his tongue liked the taste of this, too. "Both sweet and tart," the Head Cook said to him once, grinning. "Much like little boys, perhaps." Harry had responded by asking what "tart" meant, much to the scattered laughter of the surrounding elves and the red ears of the Head Cook.

Harry also got tasked with helping Calaglin in the archery forest — Harry had found out after listening in on a conversation between Mirdhel and another elf that Calaglin had been ordered to stay behind by King Thranduil because he was still in disgrace. He wasn't to be trusted with such important duties any longer and his position as Chief of the Guards had been given to some other elf for the time being – one who rode with the king and Legolas at this very moment. Calaglin, Harry thought, looked rather miserable as he went about his assigned duty; he would dip his cloth into the tub of beeswax and polish the quivers with the air of someone about to die. Harry did his best to cheer him up, but as he didn't know how elves who were in disgrace could be cheered up, he was afraid he didn't do very well.

Harry was perhaps too little to understand why Calaglin was so miserable — centuries of maintaining the same position only to be demoted because of a moment of sleepy drunkenness would make any elf miserable. Not that Harry understood this concept. He only knew that his current guardian was sad because he'd fallen asleep when he wasn't supposed to, and the dwarves had escaped right under his nose. Of course, this was enough proof for Harry about why Calaglin was feeling so guilty, and he reached over and patted the elf once on his head, like Mr Legolas and Mirdhel did to him.

Calagalin was so surprised by this that he actually gaped. "What was that for?" he asked Harry, still gaping.

"You looked sad," said Harry.

Calaglin said, "I did?" as though he didn't quite believe Harry.

Harry nodded.

"Then thank you, pen dithen," said Calaglin. He looked oddly at Harry, but there was a small smile on his face. He cupped Harry's face with a gentle hand. "What say we leave these for now and go to lunch?"

Harry smiled. "I'd like that. The cook told me we're having soup today."

"Ah, my favourite dish." They both stood, shaking off the fallen leaves from the backs of their thighs. They'd brought no blankets with them as the grass was much, much squishier and more comfortable.

"Draedan!" Harry called.

"What?" an irritable voice said right next to him.

Harry looked down. Right beside his foot was Draedan, curled up amongst the blades of grass. Harry had thought he'd gone off somewhere. "There you are. We're going now."

"Oh, can't you leave me here?" Draedan intoned wearily. "It iss much warmer in the ssun than in that 'Hall' place."

Harry felt as though he'd swallowed a toad. That had hurt."I-If you want."

Draedan grumped. "I certainly want!"

Just make sure you're camouflaged," Harry told him tentatively, hoping he'd got the word right. "I don't want you to end up in ssome bird's stomach."

Draedan sniffed. "I," he drawled, head lifted, "am too ssmart to end up in there."

"Just make sure," Harry urged him. Even though Draeden was acting snobbishly, the thought of his little friend being eaten, gobbled up like an afternoon sweet, sent chills into his stomach and he almost changed his mind and picked Draedan up, but he thought his snake wouldn't like that, given his current mood. Draedan had almost drowned once, and Harry had been all but inconsolable for days. Just thinking about Draedan dying again — being eaten by some nasty great bird, or whatever — was enough to send a flutter of those same chills through his stomach again. "Make really, really sure," Harry emphasised once more.

"Yess, yess."

Harry turned to Calaglin. "I'm ready," he said

Calaglin, who had been listening to that fascinating exchange in the hopes that he would understand some of it, snapped out of his stupor and took Harry's hand in his. They then walked back to the hall for a late lunch, meeting Mirdhel, Glandur and Faelwen coming up on their way from the garden.

There were many hushed whispers in the hall that day, and many sad faces, but no one would tell Harry what was going on when he asked, except that they would all be feasting that night in the forest – something Harry always looked forward to!

The elves, on the other hand, did not tell Harry on purpose, for the news was both most grim but also joyous. It would not do to burden such a young soul – especially if that soul knew none of the elves that had passed.

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The elf-host marched ever onward under the trees in Mirkwood, though they were not dreaded as the hobbit remembered them, the elves knowing the right paths to take so that they did not once become lost (though Bilbo quite forgot). Spring was fresh in the air, hence the Elvenking commissioned a few elves to gather him some spring flowers to put about his crown, in replace of the red berries he had worn earlier – he was a true Woodland King, loving of nature (the sea, the stars, the land) and all things green and growing. But he was a free-thinking spirit also and loving of jewels and treasure.

But he loved the Wood with much more enthusiasm – so, too, did his elves – that Bilbo could not, in all sense, have such uncharitable thoughts on it. Especially as the elves sang so merrily:

"Our hearts are so longing

For the trees in the clearing!

The elf-halls are strong-in

The deep woods unseeing!

O! Fa-la-la-lilly!

Keep hold of your filly!

"Our hearts are thus longing

For the feasts ever-merry!

Our noses are aching

To smell the wild-berries!

O! Tri-li-li-lolly

This song is so jolly!

"O! Where is your pony?

Fell you from its perch!

It's gone on a journey,

Left you in the lurch!

O! Tra-la-la-lolly

The hobbit's not jolly!

Ha-ha!"

Bilbo grumbled and dusted off his bottom as the elves (and even Gandalf!) all laughed at his tumble. Was it his fault ponies hated mice, or whatever that animal had been? But an elf had already caught the lively creature as it had romped through the mass and was marching him back.

The Elvenking, still chuckling, waved at the elf. "Thanks be to Idrhelion, or the hobbit would have walked the rest of the way."

The elf grinned and disappeared into the crowd, the gloom of the dark forest making it very difficult to see for Bilbo, though the elves all glowed with an inner light. They all then started singing once more, and Bilbo could not help but be enthused by their good humour and high spirits, so that he forgot his earlier upset.

In this way they went on, the King's voice the loudest of all; sometimes the poems were full of such beauty that Bilbo could almost see the magnificently cavernous halls, the drop of morning dew on a new-born bud, the veins in a leaf, the iris in a bird's eye (the elves had very good eyesight). Yet sometimes the songs became very mischievous indeed, but merry all the same. Even Bilbo had a go, though he would never be as good or as polished – still, the elves welcomed his attempt, even praised it, and Bilbo would forgive them for not knowing what a hobbit-hole was.

With singing still rising about them, Legolas turned to Bilbo. "I should like to ask, Master Baggins, to speak of your dealings with Harry, for if it could help us glean any knowledge of where he and his cousin have come from, it would be most helpful."

"Why I remember, certainly," replied Bilbo. "They had shown up so unexpectedly – two children alone in the woods! – and were dressed very strangely, with the most unusual jewellery –"

"You speak of Harry's 'ga-lah-ssees', as he calls them," put in Legolas.

"If that is what the round, steel things over his eyes are called," nodded Bilbo. "In any case, he spoke briefly of a place called 'Little Whinging' – his street, I gathered – and of a large and very old city called 'London'. He seemed most distressed when I recognised neither of these, particularly the last one. Perhaps you do?" he added hopefully.

Legolas, Gandalf and Thranduil shared a look over the hobbit's head.

"And his cousin," Gandalf put in, noting the others' pursed lips. "Has he magic also?"

"That is the odd part," said Legolas, cocking his head. "He was but a child of man. Yet tis clear that Harry is not. Though it is my understanding that Harry was raised by his Aunt and Uncle."

"Even more intriguing . . ." Gandalf muttered, taking a draw from his pipe. "And very odd, to be sure. But what can he do that is so wizardly? You have said he has magic, but you have not told me how."

"He can speak to beasts – at least serpents. 'Draeden', he calls the little green garden snake he found – and his wounds after the beating from his cousin disappeared too quickly for mere natural healing," said King Thranduil. "As did his cousin, for that matter."

" Vanished!" exclaimed an elf from behind them.

"Into thin air!" said another.

Gandalf's brows rose as he mumbled softly. "Vanished? Or, perhaps, banished? But to where?"

"He can speak all of the Elvish tongues, though it's clear he had never met elves before," added Legolas. "He can also speak the Common Tongue, though his own language sounds nowhere near it."

Gandalf frowned in thought, for at one time he, too, spoke all the tongues of the land, when first he came upon the shores of Arda.

"He carried with him a little wizard's staff also– or what we believe to be, for it burned all but the little Istar himself, even I!" the king said. "I have since placed it in the treasury. I would think you should like to examine it at your leisure, Gandalf."

"I certainly shall! Though Legolas mentioned earlier that the child's magic acts more on desire than whim – perhaps the staff is merely, well . . . a staff. And the boy simply did not want you to touch it! Or, it could be a wizard's staff. This mystery of Harry Potter seems only to throw up more questions in my mind, than answers. I do not even know if I will be of any help, for I have never heard of these places Bilbo mentioned either, and I have travelled very long and far as many a year passed from winter into spring. I have much to think on!"

Then he seemed to stare into the distance, ignoring the others, and puffing away on his pipe.

Nothing more was said for the present, though Bilbo thought he could have used a pipe right at this very moment, and was most annoyed at himself for having lost his earlier.

They crossed eventually over a small streamlet and it was here that Bilbo spotted light in the distance. Just as this happened, the waves of a mourning song, a lament for the fallen, greeted them from high up in the trees.

"O friends, whom side by side,

fought and slew in the great battle

under the shadow of the mountain.

Brothers from all good peoples,

What made you fall to the earth so cold?

More voices, now rising from their own party, blended in with those fading out from the trees.

"No more will your eyes stay open!

The thread of life is cut

Elf, man, dwarf and all free peoples,

You shall never again hear the songs of the land

Nor feel the good in the green of the world.

Gandalf had translated for him, though Bilbo understood the odd word here and there and when he looked up as the last note faded in mournful sorrow it was to the sight of his three closest companions heads, too, bowed in respect, along with the rest of the elves'. He was even more surprised to note that he himself had been weeping.

"It is so terribly sad," said Bilbo, thinking of poor Fili, Kili and Thorin. "Had those goblins not come, no one need have died."

"Death is a part of life, and so expected and accepted. But for the elves – who are long-lived and who hardly know death – it is especially difficult," said Gandalf. "They will never see their kin again, until they sail. And that, for some, could be many a long year!"

'How sad', Bilbo thought again, though he supposed there was some comfort to be had in the elves' plight.

They soon reached the clearing where king Thranduil's elves sat in wait with a feast appetising as any Bilbo had seen, for the king had sent scouts on ahead with news of the victory and of the fallen, so that the wood waited for them in sadness and in gladness. Three wild boars, two deer, pheasants, capons and many chickens sat roasting over several open fires – and it was this light Bilbo had spotted earlier, though now he could smell it also, and his stomach rumbled in expectation. Elves danced in the glade, some sang, still more jumped up from their seats to greet their kin, all in sorrow, yet they were merry also, for the wood would be green for ever a long while yet, now that the evil was driven back.

The elves had carved long white benches and tables from fallen evergreen trees – for they would never cut one down – and these they moved about whenever they pleased for their merrymaking, and decorated anew with woodland berries, flowers, vines and leaves so that the entire placement seemed made as if from the forest itself. On these tables groaned many dishes (sweet as well as savoury, green as well as colourful, juicy as well as glistening) and Bilbo had just spotted a poppy seed cake with his name on it, when a young elf, fair and bright of face, stepped forward to greet them.

"Well met, my lords," he said softly but cheerfully as they dismounted, elves immediately coming to take away their packs and steeds to better doings and offering bows and greetings to their lords and to the wizard, whom they had known for many years – and also to Bilbo, to be polite. "It does my heart good to see you, Mithrandir!"

"Mirdhel!" said Gandalf delightedly, clapping a hand on the elf's shoulder. "The last we met you were much smaller."

"Indeed," said Legolas, turning amused eyes on the two. "And more mischievous. Did he not steal your staff, Gandalf? And then hide it in a talan so that you couldn't find it?"

Mirdhel sputtered at this, but Gandalf laughed jovially. "Only because he did not want me to leave!"

This placated Mirdhel, though he was still a mite red about the ears.

"Ah, but I do miss the doings of little elflings," Gandalf mused. "That they can be so silly at heart, but so innocent all the same still baffles me."

"Yes, much like Harry," added Mirdhel proudly. "I presume that is why you're here, Gandalf?"

"Indeed. Mister Baggins and I had not planned to come this way at all, though I find the mystery surrounding this boy to be most intriguing, if not alarming, given the circumstances in which he was found," said Gandalf.

Bilbo and Mirdhel bowed low (the elf trying to compensate for the hobbit's height, or lack of, and Bilbo out of good manners), saying over the top of each other ". . . very much honoured . . . well met . . . so we have found our Burglar at last! . . . (much to Bilbo's embarrassment)" until the elf straightened once again. "Saruman said a good deal of the same thing in his missive, Gandalf. Since the king and Legolas were not here to accept it, I took it upon myself to do so."

"It is your right, as our next of kin and my súyon. Just as it is your right to open the magic gates in my and Legolas' stead while we are absent," said Thranduil, but Gandalf turned surprised brows his way.

"I wonder that you had writ to Saruman. The last I spoke to him, very recently as a matter of fact, he told me he would not be leaving Orthanc for some time. Though for something as mysterious as Harry Potter I do not doubt he is already on his way."

"Oh yes, he should arrive any day," Mirdhel nodded, noting that the king was suddenly finding everything but the grey wizard very interesting.

"Hmm," said Gandalf.

"Well!" said the king in response. "Had I known where you were at the time, I would have called upon you! You, who had attended our merrymaking and been to our wood many a time and seen many a sapling grow to a mighty tree! Wanderer indeed!"

"Peace, peace, my friend!" said Gandalf, laughing and placing a hand on the king's shoulder. "I take no never-mind. Indeed, two wizard heads are better than one, I do not doubt. No, I don't mind at all, and neither should you place any burden on yourself for this bit of royal – or elvish – mischief. Saruman is the head of my order and the wisest of us all – with he here, and I too, we shall sort it as best we can. Now, where is the child?"

Mirdhel led them all passed the tables to the farthest part of the glade, where half a dozen elves sat quietly, telling stories, singing for the fallen and sharing mead. It was here that they saw, held in an elleth's arms, a bundle of something small and sleeping.

The elves greeted their Lords respectfully, even cheerfully, all remembering Gandalf with fondness, inclining heads or placing their hands upon their hearts; but there was not much class distinction in elvish culture, as the hobbit had observed in Rivendell and as Gandalf had explained, so no one stood to greet them, except for the elleth, who then placed the snuffling bundle into Legolas's arms, smiled after a quiet "Hannon le, Wilwarin" from the Prince, and moved back to her seat by the fire.

"This is the child, then?" said Gandalf, moving in for a closer look. He observed the black hair, the sweet, slightly squashed little face and the jewellery about his eyes. "He sleeps as men do."

"I noted that also," said Legolas, not looking up from the bundle. "How has he fared, Mirdhel?"

"Very well, Legolas, though he is most disappointed in himself. He has been trying very hard to gain control of his magic, but nothing has come of it."

"He has been practising then," said the king, laying a hand against the child's hair. "That is good to hear."

"Hmm," said Gandalf. "Do not disturb him yet. Let him sleep. I shall speak with him in the morning."

"Very well." Legolas and Mirdhel bade their farewells for the night and took seats by the fire with Harry placed on the grass between them, some nearby elves offering them plates of food, while the king, the wizard and the hobbit headed to the foot of the largest table where sat the king's throne.

"What is it, Gandalf?" asked Bilbo, after they were seated. "You suddenly look very serious."

Gandalf smiled down at the hobbit to reassure him, but Bilbo was more discerning than even he knew. The wizard would have to curb his curiosity until the morning, though it would be very difficult indeed, for there was something very odd about this child, to his feeling. He sensed no evil, but there was much power, a strange power. Moreover, he did not like to think of what would happen to the boy if his talents should be uncovered by the more unsavoury masses – or at least one unsavoury mass, who had once again made his presence known.

But it was not the boy's power which unsettled him.

What was it about the child? It was a feeling akin to one he had felt before, but in a different place, when he had still been Olórin, and when he had still more knowledge to work with . . . And what that implied he did not like to think, though he would have to. More questions than answers indeed!

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TRANSLATIONS:

Pen dithen: little one

Súyon: son of my sister

Elleth: female-elf

Hannon le: thank you

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