T.A. 2463, August

Harry slid a bishop across the board. "Check."

His oldest enemy and now casual acquaintance took a long drag on his pipe, smoke blowing from his nostrils. The dapper-looking young gentleman was exactly what you might expect an up-and-coming actor in the 40s to look like; his dark-brown hair was slicked back nearly over his pale head, and he was dressed in a tweed three-piece suit, tailored to fit his lithe frame. Aside from his unusual fashion in Middle-Earth, the only thing that might belie his nature as something more than an attractive gentleman were the intense red eyes.

"You've gotten better," Tom commented casually as he decided to block the bishop with a knight.

"I've been playing more often recently," Harry agreed. "There are a few people I know who are always up for a game now, instead of just Ron and Fleur occasionally."

"Yes, you've told me about a few of them. Why did you choose to bring me out now, and here?"

"You always ask that. Don't you believe me when I say I miss you?"

"Oh, for certain. It says a lot about you that you miss a former genocidal Dark Lord who attempted to kill you at birth," Tom said dryly. "You and I both know it's not true. Now, tell me, why have I been awoken?"

"You're right, I don't miss you much. Most of the time I forget to bring you out every month as we agree anyway," Harry nodded. "As for why? Well, you're about to witness the moment that evil corrupts a formerly unambitious soul."

"Oh, how exciting. I do always love watching minds and souls being poisoned by evil," Tom said with mock giddiness. "You do understand that if you so wished, you could take the Ring right here and now, saving the rest of the world several hundred years of trouble in fighting off Sauron?"

"I could, but I'm not that selfless," Harry opened up one of his rooks by sliding a pawn forward. "If I were a Good Samaritan then I would've gotten rid of the Ring a few hundred years ago already. I'm sure Lady Galadriel knows that I intend to treat the deaths of elves, Men and dwarves against dragons, Balrogs and orc armies as personal entertainment."

"And she is in no position to accuse you of anything since she has been doing nothing for longer than you have."

"Precisely. Masters of procrastination, those elves are. I'm rather impressed by them."

"You're a terrible human being, you must surely understand?"

"I've come to terms with that long ago. Also, pot, meet kettle."

"Oh, I wasn't shaming you. If anything, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"As if I'd style myself after you. Your sense of fashion was terrible and you had a literal snake-face. You cannot get more stereotypically villain than that. Your snake-lisp also didn't earn you any points in the intimidation department."

Tom sighed. "You have no right to lecture me. You had the trenchcoat-and-sunglasses phase, do you not remember? And you were mistaken in the United States for a Columbine apologist."

"Oh, shut up. I don't want to hear it from someone who basically invented school massacres in the Magical world."

"You covered the world in nuclear fire, Harry."

"So? It's not like I aimed them specifically at the schools."

Tom sighed and shook his head in exasperation, as there was a faint splash from the nearby lake, as if someone had fallen into it. There was some shouting, splashing, and other sorts of adventure-y noises. Harry and his chess opponent ignored them, basking in the sunlight and enjoying their game.

"Where is your wife, by the way?"

"She's having tea parties with the elves, I'm sure. She likes tea a lot for someone who's not even English."

"Speaking of tea," Tom said, a fine china teacup and saucer appearing in his hands and filling with amber liquid, "I'm shocked and horrified that you chose not to offer it to me."

"I didn't choose not to offer it to you. It honestly slipped my mind, considering I've gone for so long without even considering basic amenities for an imprisoned Dark Lord," Harry retorted, pulling a bottle of ginger beer from nothingness. "But now that you mention it, I do apologize. It was unbecoming of me."

"You are always unbecoming. Alas, I accept your apology," Tom said graciously, raising his cup in Harry's direction before taking a delicate sip.

"You know, I think I like this place," Harry said, glancing around. The hamlet that lay on the banks of a small creek that diverted and eventually rejoined the River Anduin was similar to the Shire in climate; warm, but not hot, winters mild, populated by Men and occasional Hobbits towards the outskirts. The creeks were rich with aquatic life. The terrain was, unlike the Shire, flat, occasionally divided by ponds and creeks, but otherwise open, rich in nutrients; this lead to wide farms by the riverbanks where golden wheat grew like forests. The abundance of food attracted folk to the town a mile from the farmlands, leading to a population boom.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And I think we can stay for a while longer, if you want," Harry said. "Because I do remember that serving girl making big doe eyes at you. I was wondering if you were interested."

Tom shrugged, but didn't dismiss it outright. It wasn't as if the serving girl was unattractive - just the opposite, actually. She wasn't much compared to Tom, naturally, but then again, not many people were. "I can't say I dislike her. I'm not interested in sexual relationships, however. Not after you… convinced me, otherwise."

"Please, these are the Middle-Ages. I doubt you'd score anything before you got married," Harry said. "Although… people probably get married after two months in places like these. Unless they had an arranged marriage, in which case the courting period is even shorter."

"I also don't think people will be impressed by someone of my stature," Tom said, glancing at his perfectly shaped and polished nails as an example. "I have clearly not done a single day of manual labor in my life, and it shows."

"Yeah, you let the other grunts do it."

"The only way to do manual labor." Harry and Tom disagreed on many things, but this wasn't one of them.

"So, what say you? I was planning to stay for a few more weeks, just to see how it goes, and extend the stay if you wanted. Otherwise, I thought I might go visit Mirkwood again."

"I'm indifferent. If you were planning to stay regardless, then perhaps I will indulge myself in a bit of romance, to try and warm my cold, dead heart," Tom said. "Otherwise, I have no complaints with your current plan."

"Need me to put you back in the locket? You sure your pampered feet won't get sore after hiking?"

"Harry, I grew up in an orphanage during the Second World War, where rationing was extreme," Tom said. "I was still less malnourished than you were during your stay with the Dursleys."

Harry got a wistful look on his face. "I wonder what Dudley is doing nowadays. Actually, never mind, I don't want to know."

Tom snorted. "The utter imbecile you share your genes with is likely complaining about the state of the economy and the underlying causes of it, which include immigrants, universal healthcare, and the European Union."

"I doubt it. Dudley wouldn't know what those words mean."

Tom chuckled. "You're right. He's probably content throwing darts at a photograph of you on the wall, then."

"Yeah, that's more like it."

Harry and Tom focused on the growing sounds of conflict in the distance. It sounded like two amateurs to fighting trying to beat each other up; sounds of slapping, grunting and shouts of 'mine, mine, mine!' echoed through the plains. Tom's already unnatural eyes morphed into something similar to that of a reptile, with vertical slits, and they narrowed in the direction of the two halflings struggling with each other for the Ring.

"I can see the corruption," Tom commented, standing up and smoothing his pants. "It's very interesting magic working on the pitiful creature. Would you mind if I take a closer look?"

Harry's posture and expression did not change, but the air was suddenly tight, bursting with magical energy. "I would mind, actually. Sit back down, please."

Tom smiled, but not in a particularly kind way. It did not reach the intense red eyes. "But I am overcome with a need to study the magic. I think if I study it, I'll finally be free of your chains."

"And we can't have that now, can we?" Harry asked. "Sit down."

Tom lunged in the direction of the Ring.

Harry thrust his palm out towards Tom, and a wave of raw power pushed down on Tom like the effects of gravity, forcing him down onto the ground even as the ground around him began to sink with the weight of it. The air around Harry hummed with power, like static electricity waiting to be released with a touch, and Harry wore no expression as he clasped his hands behind his back and watched his enslaved Dark Lord.

"You won't be getting your hands on that Ring," Harry said, even as he raised his own Occlumency barriers to full in hopes of resisting the Ring. "You will not be free. When I am dead, you will lose the last person capable of undoing the binds I have created between you and Slytherin's locket. You will remain in eternal torture; that's the whole point."

"A shame," Tom drawled as the pressure relieved and allowed him to stand up. He brushed casually at his dusty tweed outfit and it was once again clean and sharp.

"Not particularly. You were perhaps the vilest Voldemort I had the displeasure to encounter. I do not enjoy lobotomizing people, Tom, but after witnessing some of your more… sexual sadisms, especially those performed on children, I can't say I regret doing it." Harry's eyes narrowed. "I don't care if I myself burned down most of your old memories and personality. You won't be allowed close to any power that might unleash you again. I will guarantee you that."

Tom glared coolly at Harry, before dissolving on his own will. Harry snapped shut Slytherin's locket. He stood there in silence for a few minutes, before coming to a decision and, with one final glance at the putrid magic coming from the other side of the pond, he turned in the direction of Mirkwood and began to hike.

Luthirien was an elf-maiden of Mirkwood. She was a fairly young maiden, only a little over four hundred years old. She was of the so-called 'Last Generation' of elves, and that was a frightening thought. She was on a walk, on the outskirts of Mirkwood. It was an act that both her family and the Mirkwood guards disapproved of, but it was sometimes necessary. To clear her mind, to listen to the breeze and trees, to heard the calling of birds. She had not been disturbed on her long walks, and she wasn't going to stop soon.

She hummed under her breath, an old lullaby that her mother often sang. It was stuck in her head and she hoped that letting it out would remove it from her mind. She stepped with natural elfin grace over a snaking tree root that would have tripped her if not for her agility.

"Caw."

Luthirien looked upwards to find a raven - could it even be called a raven? It was certainly large for a raven, perhaps at least twice as much as any raven Luthirien had seen before. She'd even call it the size of a large hawk. It twisted its head to the side to stare at Luthirien with eyes full of an unnatural intelligence. It took little steps down the tree into lower branches.

Luthirien's breath hitched as the raven approached, ever so slowly. Ravens were not known for their good reputation, but what could it do? The way it was hopping down the tree branches was rather adorable. She hesitantly held out a hand, fingers clenched in case the raven thought it might make for a tasty snack. And with the size of him, Luthirien had no doubt that beak could take her fingers off if it wanted.

It hopped forward and bumped its head against her knuckles. Luthirien smiled.

And that was how Luthirien made a new friend on her walk. She picked up the raven - and goodness, wasn't it heavy! - and spoke to it as she walked. She asked it its name - "caw," the raven replied - and Luthirien introduced herself in return. She happily regaled the raven about her family, about her mother and father and her older sister Fenlas and about the little brown cat that visited their house sometimes in search of food. The raven kept butting its head at her chest, snuggling into her bosom, and it was all she could do not to squee and accidentally scare off the bird.

"So, Caw," Luthirien said with a smile. "Would you prefer to stay in the trees? Or would you like to join us in Mirkwood?"

"Mirkwood," the raven said in a high-pitched voice. Luthirien blinked. "Mirkwood?" It repeated, as if uncertain, cocking its head.

"Mirkwood," Luthirien nodded, smiling. What an intelligent bird!

She pulled the bird close to her breasts and decided to return to the settlement. She passed a few of the guards who gave her and her avian friend strange looks. She hummed happily and continued on. She reached the edge of the settlement and the raven suddenly looked up at her.

"Thandy," it said. "Thandy?"

"Thandy?" Luthirien cocked her head. "Is that your name?"

The bird shook its head sideways in a cute manner. "Thandy," it insisted. "King Thandy."

"King Thranduil?" Luthirien gaped in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"King Thandy," the bird nodded in confimation. "King Thandy."

"I - I will take you to him," Luthirien said, too bewildered to do anything else. She petted the bird absently as it tried to nest itself back between her breasts. This bird was a lot smarter than it let on - perhaps it'd been King Thranduil's pet sometime in the past? She'd never seen the King with the bird, but, well, everyone had hobbies, she supposed.

"Halt," one guard said. "What is your business with the King?"

In response, Luthirien held out the bird. The guards stared at her as if she were crazy. "Go on," Luthirien urged the bird.

The bird remained silent. The little shit.

"Are you alright, miss?" The other guard asked in mild concern.

"Yes, yes, of course," Luthirien said, blushing. "It's just that… this bird knew King Thranduil's name, even if it couldn't pronounce it properly. I was so shocked… I was wondering if it was important."

"What do you mean?"

"Thandy," the bird supplied helpfully. "King Thandy."

"O-kay," the first guard said slowly. "I don't think this is so big a deal that we'd bother the King for it."

"Asshole," the bird chirped. The guards stared at it incredulously. Luthirien could feel her face burning hotter and pulled the bird back to her chest before it could embarrass her further.

"Well, it ain't wrong," the second guard muttered. "It's definitely smarter than it looks. Maybe it's a messenger bird?"

"Maybe," the first guard grunted. "Would explain why it's so big. Might need to travel long distances."

"Who was it sent from?" The second guard asked. Then it looked the bird in the eye, and spoke; "who sent you?"

"Gandalf," the bird chirped. Luthirien didn't know who that was, but judging by the way the guards exchanged looks with one another, and let her pass, it must have been someone important. She found herself in the throne room, on the far side King Thranduil sitting in a throne from carved oak and his advisors speaking with him in hushed tones on a long table before the throne.

"Yes?" One of the advisors noticed her entrance.

"Um," Luthirien stammered. "I met this bird at the outskirts of Mirkwood, and… I was talking to it. I know," she added quickly at the looks she was given, "but it's very smart. It very specifically mentioned you, King Thranduil, and when I was speaking with the guards outside, it said it had a message from Gandalf."

The advisors and the King shared looks much like the ones shared outside by the guards. "Very well," King Thranduil spoke softly. "What is the message?"

"Thandy, you need a bath," the bird chirped. The advisors around the King in question went very, very still. Luthirien dropped the bird in shock, with the bird squawking in surprise and annoyance. King Thranduil was staring at the bird like it was something he'd never seen before.

"Luthirien taught me," the bird continued. Luthirien gasped audibly as the advisors stood up and began shouting in outrage. She felt tears stinging at her eyes, an intense feeling of hatred for the bird. It took her a moment to notice that the King had simply sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

"Be silent." At once, the advisors stopped. "Harry, what is your business?"

In front of her very eyes, the bird warped; grew into a humanoid figure made of shadow, and solidified into a rather tall and handsome Man with striking green eyes. He directed a mischievous smirk and wink in Luthirien's direction. Her jaw dropped onto the floor. Then he turned to King Thranduil and spoke.

"Have a few things I wanna talk about. Meanwhile, is your daughter around? I'm sure she's been missing me."

"She most assuredly has not missed you, Harry."

"Please. Her boyfriend was a total bore anyway."

Luthirien returned to her senses and felt anger bubbling up in her gut. "You were touching my chest the whole time!"

'Harry' glanced at her. "Yeah. You should be proud of them."

Luthirien did not hear the rest of what he had to say. She's already fled the hall in outrage.

"Why must you do this?" Thranduil sighed. The sorcerer was ten years early for his visit! Thranduil did not have the time necessary to prepare to deal with this infuriating sorcerer so early. "Go apologize to her."

"I'll make it up to her." Harry's eyebrows waggled.

"Not in that way, you utter fool," Thranduil snapped. Then sighed again. He was allowed to, if he was dealing with Harry. "You understand that her older sister is Fenlas, yes?"

Harry paused. "Shit," he said.

"Indeed." Thranduil allowed himself a grim smile at the mental image of Fenlas, one of Harry's oldest flings, chasing Harry around with a broomstick. "But you said you had business. State it."

"Top-secret information, Thandy-pants," Harry said, wagging his finger. "Tell the nerds to get outta here and we'll talk."

The advisors looked close to mutiny, but Thranduil could only sigh and nod at them. Like Luthirien, they left in a huff, offended by the Man's lack of propriety and tact. Harry parked his backside on Legolas' throne, cracking his knuckles.

"Well?" Thranduil asked.

Harry leaned in. "I see dead people," he whispered.

Thranduil wanted to strike him.

"Fine, fine. I mean, I wasn't lying - I'm here to tell you that a Necromancer has taken up residence on the south of your forest."

Thranduil sat up straighter. Now that was news. "Truly? Do you know where?"

"Dol Guldur, I think it's called," Harry said with a shrug. "I could smell it - dead people don't bathe that often, you see. But I decided I would consult you before I burned the southern half of the forest down."

"Yes, that was a wise decision on your part," Thranduil said flatly. "Have you told anyone else?"

"Not really. I haven't told Fleur because I wanted an excuse to visit Galadriel again."

Thranduil sincerely hoped that Lady Galadriel didn't reciprocate the idiot's attention. He was a plague upon elfkind. And mankind. And even dwarves. Harry was a pest to just about all life, if he was honest.

"This is not good news. I will notify my allies of this development."

"Except Galadriel."

"Except Lady Galadriel," Thranduil agreed tiredly. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

"Yeah, you're a bit boring because you've gotten used to me. Any idea where Legolas is? I want to fuck with him."

Legolas was, in fact, at the arena, working on his swordsmanship under Haldir's tutelage. Harry cast muffling charms and disillusionment charms on himself before he approached. The elves had damn good hearing, as he'd learned from experience. Furthermore, the stealth charms would also drastically reduce his chances of being ambushed and gutted by Fenlas, the most feisty elf this side of Tauriel.

Legolas was very good at archery, but apparently Haldir felt that his swordsmanship could use the practice. And it was clear to see the gap in skill between them. Haldir's movements flowed naturally like a river, from one form to another, perfectly efficient with no wasted movements, his defenses offensive and his offenses simultaneously defensive. Legolas was fast, strong, and agile, as all elves seemed to be, but his style was still brutish, relying on strength behind his blows and relying on his admittedly impressive speed.

Harry's finger twitched. Legolas tripped over his own feet and faceplanted. Harry bit down hard on his knuckles to keep himself from violently laughing - not even muffling charms were perfect, after all, and there's no reason to attract attention.

Haldir had no such complications and guffawed heartily as Legolas crawled up, face burning in embarrassment and irritation.

"What was that?" Haldir laughed. "And earlier you were telling me how unfair it was that you'd been barred from patrols!"

"I don't know what happened," Legolas said, his face flushed. But obviously, he couldn't explain that a sorcerer had made him trip without looking like an utter fool.

"You don't know what happened because you don't have the experience," Haldir said in a grave tone. Eventually he couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing again. "By Valar, I wish your father had been around to see that."

"I was around to see it," Thranduil's soft voice cut across the arena, and Haldir redoubled in his laughter while Legolas turned bright red. "Although I do believe him that it was not his fault necessarily."

"What?" And Haldir was suddenly alert, his eyes scanning the clearing. Gone was the jovial, sarcastic personality, replaced with the cold, calculating general and bodyguard.

"At ease, Haldir," Thranduil reassured. "It just so happens that I was visited by a… frustrating warlock earlier regarding sensitive matters. He soon got bored and decided to, and I quote, 'fuck with Legolas', unquote."

Legolas groaned. "But he's not due for another ten years."

"Like I said, sensitive matters that needed reporting. Also, Legolas, he can likely hear you."

Harry's finger twitched again and Legolas promptly slapped himself in the face. Haldir snorted, although his face was the very image of innocence when Legolas turned to glare at him. Even Thranduil was struggling to keep the smile from his face. Harry was basically a walking, talking schadenfreude once you thought about it.

"Come on out, Harry," Legolas sighed.

"No can do," Harry replied, cancelling only the muffling charm. "I need to hide from Fenlas."

"What did you do?" As one of Fenlas' closest friends, Legolas understood full well what happened to your health when you upset her.

"I may have snuggled up to her younger sister."

"Yes, you're not getting my help out of that one."

"But that's okay!" Harry stepped out from the bushes and the three elves did a double take; a fairly impressive imitation of Tauriel stood, one hand on her hip, her lips twisted into a half-smirk that the real Tauriel would never do. "I'm pretty good at hiding, if I do say so myself. God knows I've hidden from Fleur enough times."

"What sensitive matters brought you here?" Legolas asked, his eyes searching for his father's. They met, and Thranduil nodded, giving permission.

"Well, there's a necromancer in the south of your forest," Harry said, gesturing southwards. "Whom I suspect might be Sauron, but who knows."

"S-?" Legolas cut himself off, his eyes widening. "The Enemy?" He hissed in askance.

"Aren't too many adept necromancers in this day and age if you exclude Sauron or his top generals."

"Don't speak his name, not if he is as close as you say he is," Thranduil barked. Then more quietly: "you did well to bring us this information. How long ago did you confirm this?"

Harry shrugged. "I was traveling along the River Anduin. I felt dark magic at work along the southern portion of the forest. I decided not to investigate too closely in case I alerted whomever was living there. I haven't confirmed the identity of the necromancer, but it feels rather obvious."

The three elves were silent for a moment.

"What do you know about necromancy?" Haldir asked. "Since you are the foremost expert on magic between the four of us."

"Mh. I know a little. Drabbled in some of the less harmful death magics before." Legolas recoiled slightly at that, but Harry raised his palm. "Nothing major. See, for the most part, necromancy is split into two major categories. The first is puppeting corpses. You use formerly living bodies and infuse them with magic, which firstly prevents them from decaying, and secondly, gives you metaphorical strings to puppet them. Since the bodies don't decay, it retains the strength the corpse's living counterpart had. Fairly easy magic, not even all that evil beyond desecrating corpses, and if you find the corpse of a giant or a troll, then quite useful as an obedient bodyguard that can't feel pain."

"Second is the less pleasant side of necromancy; dragging back souls from the afterlife into the world. This gives your corpses a form of tortured sentience. If it doesn't drive the souls completely insane, it will make them desperate to kill you or whatever command they've been given so they can return to where they belong. If you're skilled enough in this, you can probably stitch souls together, mixing memories and skills and talents, as well as multiplying their magical power - with enough souls together, the now-single entity could probably cast magic on its own."

"And… there is a third category which is very difficult to do. Rarely seen outside of really nasty and very stupid characters, like Voldemort or Herpo the Foul - not that you'd know of them. Sacrificial magic - using the death and suffering of others to enhance your own half-life. Extend your lifespan, increase your magical power, augment your body, that sort of thing. More often known as blood magic, because it requires blood to be spilled as part of that sacrifice. Often used in sacrificial rituals to gods, but some shady folk have turned it into rituals with themselves, not nonexistent gods, at the center - and this has warped them into something dark and frustratingly difficult to put down."

Thranduil spoke. "And I suppose you felt the second and third parts at work?"

"Yeah, they're quite distinctive."

"How do you fight necromancy?" Haldir asked, curious.

"Plenty of ways. If it's just corpses, you could probably use a lot of fire and be done with it. If it's souls, then you need to seal them away or destroy them - Dementors would be ideal…" he muttered under his breath, then continued. "But it's not impossible. If it's rituals, though, then you have no choice except to destroy the dude who's empowering himself. Oh, and you can always fight necromancy with more necromancy!"

"No, thank you," Legolas muttered.

"Yeah, there's a lot of stigma against it. Fleur threw a fit when I created Fields of Dead," Harry sighed. "It was such a useful spell, too - mostly harmless, sometimes even protective! See, the idea was to use ancestral spirits in defense of a location, and ancestral spirits are always going to be protective of their offspring… it's good for everyone. I never understood why it was getting so much hate."

"Could it have something to do with the fact that you do things without explaining to others first?" Haldir asked.

"Counterpoint, I reported the necromancer to Thranduil before blowing up the entire continent," Harry argued. "Anyway. If you ladies are satisfied, I think I will make my way to Lothlorien so I can see the beautiful Lady Galadriel."

"Contact me again when you agree upon a course of action with Lady Galadriel," Thranduil said, and Harry saluted him.

"Will do, sir. Well, I'll be off now."

With a small, anticlimactic pop, Harry disappeared. Thranduil sighed. For centuries, there had been rumors of a necromancer in Amon Lanc - but merely that, rumors. Though darkness was prevalent in the south of Mirkwood, Dol Guldur had thought to be a symptom and not the source. Nobody had confirmed that the Necromancer was indeed Sauron - and Harry had not confirmed it, either - but if anyone knew about necromancy, it would be Harry. His magical knowledge was unmatched even by the likes of Lady Galadriel or the Istari.

"Haldir," Thranduil called, and the dependable elf stood at attention. "I want increase patrols on the southern flank of our kingdom. Also, if there are any new recruits, make sure they are whipped into shape. We might see a war coming against the darkness if the White Council decides to attack."

"Yes, my King," Haldir said, and marched off. Legolas glanced at his father, who continued to stare at the space Harry had occupied until a minute ago.

"Would we win?" Legolas asked curiously.

"I believe we will, but at what cost?" Thranduil asked. "It all depends on how strong the Necromancer's forces are currently, and who aids us in our war. Lady Galadriel has not left her realm since she has founded it, in fear that her kingdom may be invaded in her absence. In that case, would she give us her aid? How many of the Istari would be willing to support us; I could count perhaps on Radagast and Mithrandir's support, but what of the strongest Istar, Saruman?"

"Surely Harry would enjoy dismantling the Necromancer, if the latter is indeed the Enemy as he says," Legolas pointed out. "Harry is not one to let go of potential bragging rights."

Thranduil pulled a face. "You're right. I'm sure he'd come along, especially if Lady Galadriel does - he'd want to show off in front of her."

Legolas snorted. "I imagine Lady Galadriel views Harry as an excitable pup who tries to impress her at every turn."

"A pup the size of a dragon with fangs of steel and eyes that can see within your mind," Thranduil said. "You'd do best not to underestimate him, even if he acts like a fool. While I suspect that he is indeed as carefree as he appears to be, he is also using this as a cloak to hide his true power."

Legolas closed his mouth. "I understand."

"He has enough raw power to make you fall over, make you slap yourself for a prank," Thranduil stressed. "Should he see you on the opposite side of a battlefield? He may use the same amount of power to make you stab yourself in the eye." Legolas shuddered. "Be very wary. His stakes in the survival of Middle-Earth is significantly lower than ours. Should he ever show signs of turning to the darkness, report to myself or Lady Galadriel immediately."

"Yes, father."

"Good. You understand. I shall allow you to accompany Haldir's company on patrols - there will be more of it soon enough. Your extra hands will be needed." Thranduil nodded to his son. "Dismissed, Legolas."

Legolas nodded and walked away. A minute later, gathering his thoughts, Thranduil followed him.

T.A. 2463, October

"Nice to meet you, Sorryman," Harry said pleasantly.

"Saruman," Saruman replied through ground teeth.

"Yes, Soggyman. Now, how are you today?" He turned to Lady Galadriel.

"Well, thank you," Galadriel said politely. "And yourself?"

"Very good," he confirmed. "Very good indeed. I get to see you again, I get to see Superman for the first time, I get to see my old pal Gandalf and I get to watch Glorfindel make a fool of himself again,"

"The only fool we see at these meetings is you ineffectually courting Lady Galadriel," Glorfindel lazily replied.

"Yes, well, at least I'm self-aware." Harry clapped his hands together. "So, good news, everyone! There is a Necromancer in the south of Mirkwood that's starting to become a serious problem!"

"How can that be good news?" Gandalf asked even as Radagast nodded in confirmation.

"Because we get to exercise extreme violence!" Harry said.

"How has someone not tried to kill you in these sorts of meetings yet?" Glorfindel asked.

"Oh, there's no lack of trying, believe me. Personally I think the next person to try will be Scrotuman."

"You're not even trying to make it close to my name anymore," Saruman grumbled.

"How could you accuse me of something like that, Smellyman?"

"Enough, Harry," Gandalf said, and Harry pouted. "Despite your animosity to him, Saruman is a capable and wise individual. You should let him contribute to the discussion instead of making childish insults."

"Thank you, Gandalf," Saruman inclined his head in the gray-robed individual's direction even as Harry muttered under his breath. "Harry, do you know the exact breadth of the Necromancer's operations?"

"I didn't get all up close and personal. Not as if I wanted to," Harry shrugged. "But I could feel it from quite far away, even despite their measures to try and keep themselves hidden, so I'd say quite big. I suspect whoever this fellow is, they're also using rituals to gain strength - or maybe recover strength, who knows."

"Blood rituals," Radagast said, disgusted.

"Indeed," Saruman agreed. "If it is indeed Sauron, then the theory that he may be using rituals to recover his strength would make sense. Using the sacrifice of innocents to fuel his power…"

Harry cleared his throat. "Sacrifice of innocents - that's a bit of a misconception. If anything, the fact that he lives in a part of a forest that nobody likes visiting suggests he has a lack of innocents."

"Explain."

"I will." Harry stood up and morphed into a beautiful redheaded woman; he? She? Conjured a blackboard behind the table and began to write. She leaned over slightly, accentuating his - her - very shapely behind. "You see, you can actually use any living creature to make sacrifices. Mundane animals don't result in much power, though, not as much as humans. See, ideally you'd use innocents or virgins because they're more pure; results in less corruption of the ritual process. But you could also use a former whore with seven missing teeth; the only problem is that your ritual process wouldn't be 'pure', in layman's terms, and you'd end up becoming all the more corrupted on the other side."

Harry pointed at Glorfindel. "Yes, you have a question?"

"Were you born a maiden who would prefer to take form of a man, or were you born a man who would prefer to take form of a maiden?"

"Glorfindel, I was born a man and I prefer to take form of a man - this is just my 'Sexy Teacher' costume. Please start thinking with the head on your shoulders, and not the other head." Harriet turned back to the blackboard, drawing a few simple diagrams that explained ritual sacrifice, although to most of the table it looked like gibberish. "The only real source of sacrificial lambs that I'd say this necromancer has regular access to, are corrupted life forms… orcs, goblins, so on."

"So the Necromancer would come out ever more corrupted on the other side," Gandalf said slowly.

"Ten points to Gryffindor. But yes, I'd imagine so. The only problem is this." Harry turned to look at them. "Each time Sauron - or whomever it is - becomes more corrupted, they also become more unpredictable. They might become stronger in the same way a troll is stronger than a bull, despite the fact that the bull is less 'corrupted' than the troll. You can't extrapolate Sauron's strength from what it was the last time you guys saw him."

The White Council mulled this over as Harry returned to normal and the blackboard disappeared behind him. For the first time, Galadriel spoke up. "Harry, would you say there is any possibility of my realm being attacked in my absence?"

Harry shrugged. "How would I know? I'm not omniscient, though it might seem like it to all of you. My best guess is yes, if you stay away long enough. It's your influence that effectively casts a giant notice-me-not over your city, so if you chose to leave, then all the nasty things that go bump in the night would be able to detect and attack your city."

"I cannot risk the wellbeing of my people," Galadriel murmured. "Until it can be guaranteed that they will not come to harm, I cannot join any assault on Dol Guldur."

"Then we should not proceed with the assault," Saruman spoke. "Without the power of Lady Galadriel, I suspect we would not be successful."

"You could leave Fleur in charge of keeping your city safe," Harry offered. "She knows what she's doing, and she's done security details before back when we were both Auror commanders."

Galadriel looked uneasy. "I trust Lady Fleur, but…"

"Why not bring Lady Fleur to the assault instead?" Gandalf asked. "Or is there such a large gap between her and Lady Galadriel's power?"

"Galadriel probably has more power and more skill," Harry admitted. "Although Fleur can probably do more things with her magic. Magic where I come from is more than a little different than what it's like over here."

"We should postpone this attack, then," Saruman said. "Sauron has always been much greater in power than the other Maiar - even if he is weakened, should the Necromancer prove to be Sauron, or Valar forbid, something darker and greater, we would not be able to win against it."

"I'm guessing I would be useless in this expedition?" Glorfindel asked.

"You'd be relegated to bodyguard duty," Harry agreed. "Your skill lies in being able to decapitate things, but against a necromancer, you'll likely be going up against things that don't have physical form or things that have no problem getting decapitated."

Glorfindel grunted.

"I will consult with Lady Fleur," Galadriel suddenly spoke up. "I do trust her, though it may not sound like it. I should like to help with the threat of the necromancer if I can - I will attempt to teach Fleur the magicks that defend my people, and I will return to you with an answer at least sometime within the next year."

"Hm," Saruman said, surprised. "Should the White Council meet again in one year? If Lady Galadriel agrees to escort us to attack the Tower of Sorcery, we shall strike at the necromancer." The Council members nodded in agreement. "Very well. Meeting adjourned, then - we shall see each other one year from now."