Harry Potter and the Heir to Gondor
A Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings fusion by Andrew J. Talon
Disclaimer: This is a fanbased parody work of prose. Please support the official release.
Author's Note: I love Lord of the Rings because it has aged like fine wine. And Harry Potter I'm at best mixed on, as it has aged like milk. But it just keeps pulling me back in, just as I thought I was out. So here's something random I cooked up.
Madame Pomfrey was nearly beside herself as she came to check on the fainted Dumbledore. Harry tried to get out of bed and help, but a stern look from the nurse witch made him slide back. She helped Dumbledore up, and the elderly wizard soon regained consciousness.
"Are you all right, Headmaster?" Pomfrey asked.
"Yes, yes, quite, quite," Dumbledore managed, taking deep breaths, "just a bit of shock. I'll be fine, I'll be fine."
"Are you certain?" Pomfrey pressed. "This is the first time you've ever collapsed! Have you been getting enough sleep? Eating enough?"
"I assure you, I am quite fine," Dumbledore insisted, holding his hands up. "Please, Madame Pomfrey, I must speak with Harry about some important matters."
"More important than your health, sir?" Pomfrey demanded.
"I really am fine!" Dumbledore said, a bit impatient. "Please, Madame Pomfrey? If I faint again, I will be right here."
Pomfrey huffed, but she did depart and went back to the others in the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore sighed, and sat back down on the bed. He looked at Harry intently.
"Ahem... I'm sorry Harry," Dumbledore apologized, "but first, tell me... Have you ever heard of Middle Earth?"
Harry blinked.
"... There's a Middle Earth?" He asked.
Dumbledore frowned deeply, and shook his head.
"Your guardians have much to answer for," he muttered. He fixed Harry with a deep, intense look."This is not the first age of magic, Harry. Oh no. Over six thousand years ago, there were kingdoms of men, elves, dwarves, orcs and other beings that lived in Europe. On lands that at the time were raised above the sea, but would sink beneath the waves long ago."
"Oh," Harry murmured, leaning forward. He tightened his grip on the sword, as Dumbledore spun his tale.
"One of the greatest of Men's kingdoms was Gondor. And that sword is the weapon of one of the greatest kings of Gondor, who reunited the splintered kingdoms of Man after ages of war with darkness that would make Voldemort look like a willow wisp," Dumbledore spoke.
Harry found this part very trouble.
"Does this make me related to them...?"
Dumbledore smiled.
"Yes. Only a direct descendant of the King of Gondor would be accepted by Anduril. Its name means 'Flame of the West'. It means that far back in your family line was King Elassar, also known as Aragorn son of Arathorn, and Queen Arwen Udomial the Evenstar. A great man and a great woman who brought Middle Earth into a golden age after terrible darkness."
Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling.
"For there to be a direct descendant after all this time... You are full of endless surprises, Harry."
"So," Harry managed, "does that mean I'm inheriting a kingdom?"
"Fortunately, no Harry," Dumbledore said, "Gondor has been gone for thousands of years. And I think you have much on your plate as it is, without becoming a king."
"I-I guess that's fair," Harry admitted, feeling relieved.
"But you are heir to a legacy of deep and terrible magic," Dumbledore spoke. "The magic of the Middle Earth, of that far away time, is powerful. Ancient tomes of that magic have led to incredible advances in our abilities to cast and craft spells. But it is also incredibly dangerous-Such power can be easily misused."
"So-So what do I do?" Harry asked urgently.
Dumbledore looked intently into Harry's eyes.
"Harry? I must ask you a favor," he said.
"What?"
"Keep this sword on you at all times," Dumbledore stated, "never let it out of your sight. And never let anyone else wield it. If someone who is not of your bloodline draws it, Anduril will kill them. Instantly."
Harry nodded urgently. Dumbledore smiled warmly.
"As for your heritage? I recommend an author named John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. He was a Squib who translated the Red Book of Westmarch and many other ancient Middle Earth tomes. I think Miss Granger will be the perfect person to ask for help in your studies."
"I-I will," Harry said with a smile, "now that she's going to be cured."
The magical world just seemed full of endless surprises. He was the heir to a long lost kingdom of magic? Harry tightened his grip on his sword.
It was overwhelming… But holding onto the sword helped. He felt a bit calmer, just having it near. Almost like he could hear a song being played. A familiar song, deep in his heart.
The rest of the year passed by in a blur for Harry and his friends.
Hermione had been freed, and learning about the sword had led to frantic research and reading: All of the works by Professor Tolkien. Ron hadn't enjoyed that much, but to Harry, it was almost... Familiar.
He had a connection to long lost, ancient magic. A lost world before the modern day history.
He was no doubt going to be even more famous, and that just gave him a headache. Yet it almost felt like he was learning more about who he was. He had family-Very distant, long dead family, but superior to the Dursleys in every way.
Still, Hermione and Ron were ever steadfast and supportive. Hermione was already promising to start learning Westron and the Elvish tongues, while Ron said he would help however Harry needed.
And there was a benefit to having to carry the sword around at all times: Draco didn't dare open his fat trap. Amazing how polite people could be when you were armed.
Admittedly, all wizards were technically armed all the time. A wand could be deadly. But using it as a general tool made most wizards not see it in that way.
A sword of legend that had let Harry slay a thousand year old Basilisk, however? That was different.
Still, there was a part of Harry almost yearning for the boredom of the Dursley home. Isolation from how much crazier his life had become.
After the trip on the Hogwarts Express and final goodbyes to his friends, Harry stepped out of Platform 9 and 3/4, and headed for the main hall of King's Cross Station. He scanned for the familiar forms of the Dursleys.
He didn't see the rotund forms of Vernon or Dudley, nor the tall, spindly form of Petunia. He felt the Weasleys and Grangers lingering nearby, and He looked over at them in a bit of helplessness.
Ginny, as she had been doing since he saved her, hid her blushing face behind whatever was nearest-Her brother Percy. Mrs. Weasley frowned in worry. Ron shrugged. Hermione and her parents shared concerned looks.
"Hello Harry."
Harry turned around. His eyes widened.
The voice was softer, warm, and lyrical. The woman who had spoken was taller than before, with smooth skin, curves and long, beautiful brown hair. She was a beautiful woman, many eyes staring at her from all over the station.
In fact she would have been positively radiant if not for the horrid puce dress and black frilly jacket she wore.
It took Harry a moment to identify the voice. It was sweet, sublime, but... Familiar. As were the clothes.
His eyes widened in disbelief. He felt his stomach twist at the realization.
"Aunt Petunia?!'
The woman smiled a bit sardonically, and nodded.
"Let's get to the car-"
"Hey! Wait a second!" Ron shouted, walking over and standing next to Harry protectively, "how do we know you're really his aunt?! I've seen his aunt-She's a stick figured, horse faced Bat!"
"Ronald Weasley!" Molly Weasley scolded, though she too looked at the woman suspiciously.
"But she is, Mum!" Ron insisted. The Twins and Percy moved to back Harry up, as Hermione did the same.
"It might be nice to have some ID," Mr. Granger suggested, arching an eyebrow. "Though magic would make that easy to conjure."
"You're right, it would," Petunia said. She sucked in a deep breath.
"You could ask me something only I would know, but an imposter might have learned that via magic," Petunia said.
"That's right," Ron said, "she could have taken Polyjuice and done other things!"
"Yes, she could have," Hermione added, giving Ron a slight glare. Ron winced.
Petunia nodded.
"So, there's only one real way to prove it, " Petunia said, " Harry? The sword."
"What sword?" Hermione asked. Petunia smiled wryly.
"Mrs. Weasley," Petunia said, " can you cast a concealing spell around us? Something to keep attention off us?"
Molly Weasley complied, a Charm weaving around them. Petunia nodded. Harry's eyes almost goggled out of his head-Aunt Petunia?! NOT recoiling at magic?
"Please bring out Anduril," Petunia said.
Harry frowned. He then opened his truck, never minding Hedwig's indignant squawk, and pulled out the sword. Petunia nodded.
"If I am an imposter, the sword will kill me instantly as soon as I draw it," Petunia explained, "isn't that what Dumbledore told you, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry admitted. Petunia reached out, took hold of Anduril's hilt, and pulled the blade free. "Hey wait-!"
She held it before her, unharmed. Harry again felt his jaw drop.
"It seems," said Aunt Petunia, "that we have a great deal to discuss, Harry."
The ride back to Privet Drive was quiet. Eerily quiet. Aunt Petunia didn't say a word as she drove, Harry sitting in the front seat. He kept staring at her, still not convinced this wasn't some kind of dream or trick.
Yes, she had unsheathed the sword without harming herself... But she'd been a negative, terrible influence for his entire life. To see her now, fair and beautiful and... Kind?
Harry had to keep pinching himself as they drove along. Eventually, they pulled into the driveway at Number 4 Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon's car was nowhere to be seen. Petunia slid out of the car, and walked to the front door. Harry followed, carrying his luggage along.
"Set that down by the stair, we need to talk," Petunia ordered, firm but gentle. Harry complied, closing and locking the door behind him. He followed his aunt into the living room. She sat down in her prissy and frilly easy chair, and Harry took a seat on the pink and black couch facing her across the coffee table. Petunia took a deep breath, as though preparing herself to take a plunge off a cliff.
"Harry... There is a lot you needed to know. That you deserved to know, growing up. I didn't tell you because I was..." She closed her eyes, but pushed herself to continue, "because I was jealous of your mother, Lily."
"Jealous?" Harry asked, blinking.
"Lily and I were the best of friends growing up," Petunia continued, calmly but a touch of sadness in her voice, "and our parents instructed us in the same knowledge that had been passed down for... Oh... Hundreds of years. To safeguard the relics of Gondor. We took an oath to that effect, to always protect them and to defend the heir of Gondor. We were even trained in some of those ancient arts. We were friends with another boy in our neighborhood, who came from a magical family. He understood how important it was."
Petunia paused, then resumed.
"One day, Lily and our friend got their Hogwarts letters... And I didn't."
Petunia was silent for a moment, collecting herself. The alien notion to comfort his aunt arose in Harry's heart, but he didn't dare move. It felt like this was a spell, a spell he didn't want to break.
"Professor McGonnagal came to personally meet with our parents," Petunia went on, "and I asked her... I begged her to go too. I had magic too. The magic of the Men of Gondor. The magic of the Eldar. It was in my veins."
"So... So why didn't she let you?" Harry asked softly.
Petunia looked down. A few tears fell from her eyes as she stared at her hands. She looked back up.
"Because the people we were guarding this knowledge from were Wizards," Petunia explained. Harry's jaw dropped.
"You knew-?!"
"We didn't really understand the full implications of things growing up, but our parents told us what had happened when Wizards got their hands on the knowledge we carried," Petunia stated, a bit more bitter. That Harry was more familiar with.
"Like what?" Harry pressed.
"In 535 AD," Petunia replied, "some wizards got a hold of the plans for a Ring of Power. They crafted it, sacrificing hundreds of people-Wizards and non-wizards-to power it. It was called Hurya-the Ring of Storms. It brought about a global freeze, causing a winter so severe millions died across the northern hemisphere."
She pointed to Anduril, safely tucked away in Harry's trunk.
"King Arthur Pengdragon, our ancestor, wielded Anduril then," she said, "and his Knights of the Round Table and Merlin himself stopped these wizards, and saved the world. But at a terrible cost."
Harry's jaw fell once again.
"We're... Descended from King Arthur?" He managed. Petunia nodded, deadly serious.
"Naturally, he gets left out of the Wizarding version of the story," Petunia growled. She shook her head, her face turning red with anger.
"They're jealous, inbred, stupid beasts, Harry. They wield their power like spoiled brats and lord over the rest of us. Our family has been defending humanity from their greed and arrogance! We have lost lives while they play with the powers of the Valar like toys! And I was denied the chance to be with my sister and best friend because of that arrogance! Lily tried to learn how to combine our magic with theirs, and all she got for it was killed! Betrayed by her friends!"
Petunia took quick, deep breaths, pulling herself back. Harry stared intently at her, as she regained her calm.
"... Is that why you took it out on me?" Harry asked quietly.
Petunia closed her eyes, and slowly nodded.
"Yes," she admitted.
"So... Why change now?" Harry further pressed. Petunia looked down at the table.
"Remember the oath I took?" Petunia asked. Harry's eyes widened.
"Wait, you mean-?"
"It was magically binding," Petunia interrupted. She gave him a wan smile. "Your magical power mixed with Anduril's, when it chose you. I swore an oath to defend and aid the heir of Gondor, whoever that might be. And so, I must fulfill that oath. My blood has activated, and I can't disobey it. No more than your hand can disobey your brain."
Harry felt a stab of horror in his heart. Petunia read his expression, and shook her head.
"Even after the horrible things I've done to you, you dislike me coming to harm? Being enslaved?" Petunia slowly nodded. "You are like your mother, Harry. She was too forgiving. Too kind. But it doesn't matter. I took the oath, and I must fulfil it. And I suppose, in a way, it's my penance."
"I... I guess so," Harry replied, not sure how to respond to that. On one hand, he'd always dreamed of being freed from the Dursleys. In a way, he was-Aunt Petunia was finally talking to him without spite and bitterness. But she was doing it because of a magical oath she'd taken, and that... Didn't sit right with Harry at all.
He didn't know how to reconcile things. But that would have to wait, he had more questions.
"Where's Uncle Vernon? And Dudley?" Harry asked.
Petunia closed her eyes.
"Vernon is staying with his sister for now, and he took Dudley with him," Petunia said softly. "He... Didn't take my change very well. I suppose I can't blame him."
"I... I'm sorry," Harry admitted. Petunia snorted.
"You are too kind, Harry Potter," she scolded, and she sounded more like herself, "it's going to get you killed someday."
Petunia stood up, and walked to the cupboard under the stairs. Harry could see her flinch, just before she opened it-He wondered why.
She then punched through the drywall, and yanked out a slim, round, plastic wrapped package. She walked back to the living room, as she pulled the wrappings off. She revealed a sheathed sword, curved, like a cavalry saber. The scabbard was warm leather, with gold bands to frame it. The hilt was curved, with gold leaf inlaid on the wooden hilt.
Petunia unsheathed the blade in one smooth, practiced motion, and Harry could tell by the runes on the metal that this was an Elven blade.
"This is Hadhafang, the Throng-Cleaver," Petunia explained, "the blade of the House of Elrond. It was wielded by the daughters of that house-Including our matriarch, Arwen Undómiel. I was chosen to safeguard it, until I could pass it down to another suitable master."
She shook her head wryly, as she examined the blade glinting in the light.
"I thought I could just forget about it, but it seems I can't escape destiny, any more than you can," Petunia admitted. She looked at Harry intensely. "You're going to need training. I will provide it. You will meet my standards, if you want to keep yourself and your friends alive. Understand, Harry?"
Harry managed a nod. He stood up.
"I will. I'll do whatever I have to," he promised.
"Be careful with such oaths, Harry," Petunia reminded him gently, "words have great power when it comes to magic. You must respect that."
"I-I will," Harry stuttered. "So uh... How do we begin?"
"Move the furniture out of the way, and let's see how you handle Anduril," Petunia ordered. Harry started.
"But-But if I use it-!"
"It won't harm me, boy," Petunia stated, "or rather... I doubt you'll be able to harm me."
Harry scowled a bit, even as he began pushing furniture out of the way and clearing a section for some physical practice. He had killed a Basilisk, after all. Nevertheless, they soon had enough room, and he stood before his aunt. He drew Anduril, and assumed what he thought was a decent stance. One he had settled into almost naturally when he'd first touched the sword.
His aunt looked him over.
"... Passable, if very amateurish," she said. She held her sword up in a salute. "Try to strike me."
"Er... Aunt Petunia," Harry tried. Petunia glared.
"Harry, I said strike me."
Harry mentally shrugged... And swung the mighty blade at his aunt.
A swish, a flick, a clang, and Anduril was lying on the floor while Hadhafang's point was pointed right at Harry's throat. Harry gulped, as his aunt sighed.
"And we have a great deal of work to do..."
And you thought that it was the Potter side of the family that was related to the line of Isildur. Nope! The Evans side.
As for what Petunia looks like now, imagine Katie McGrath as Morgana Pendragon from the BBC's "Merlin" and there you go. They are both Irish actresses and even look somewhat similar.