Ron was - he was not being too helpful right now.
Katie screamed as the fiery whip snagged her ankle; she could smell burning flesh, and she spun her elf-made sword to try and slice at the thick cord. The Balrog managed to fling her several dozen yards through the air, and she landed painfully on the hot soil, the air being driven from her lungs. She hacked violently at the whip with the sword before she could be thrown away again. It thankfully snapped, leaving her unbound, although her ankle was still smoldering and in utter agony right now. Katie froze her entire left foot in response; the sensation of the ice melting and turning into steam, burning whatever else was exposed of her skin, was painful. She screamed again, her eyes watering, but continued to pour more magic onto the surface of her leg.
She stood up, leaning heavily on her right, as she watched Ron roar, charge, and be swatted away again by the Balrog. But the Balrog was definitely having to exert more effort than before. His curse meant that, the more Ron fought, the less precise his control over his magic was - but usually, that didn't actually stop his magic from acting on its own initiative. And his magic recognized just how great a threat the Balrog was, because it was helping Ron in its own way. Ron was growing larger, stronger as he fought the massive fire demon, and his magic was creating 'scales' made of bone on the surface of his skin, preventing him from being directly burned and also helping him tank the Balrog's strikes.
It wasn't enough.
The demon roared, loudly enough that it made even Ron stumble, and struck with his sword. Ron blocked it with his polearm, and Katie winced as her ears were assaulted by a jarring clash that surely would've broken Ron's arms had they not been reinforced by his magic. Katie slammed her staff into the ground, and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply despite how badly the heat burned her lungs. She reached deep, deeper into the earth, searching for a source of water. It was being burned up even now, by the heat of the magma that the Balrog had brought up during its ascent, but it was there. She leaned on her staff and pulled.
At first, teardrops of water begun pulling from the surface of the planet, shivering and being tugged into the air by Katie's power. As a minute passed, during which Ron bravely took a beatdown from the Balrog to distract it, Katie began drawing deeply, so deep that it began a positive feedback loop and the water began rising up on its own. It was a bizarre sight, not unlike rain falling upward, localized and torrential at the same time. It began to swirl around her, creating a storm, and lightning flashed in her vicinity as her magic crackled with power. The Balrog took notice, and began to take slow, heavy movements in her direction.
A water giant rose up to meet it.
A vaguely humanoid torso, without a lower body, flexed its aquatic muscles and opened its maw to release a roar that sounded like thunder, audible even over the roaring of the swirling water, the howling wind. Katie ground her teeth, clenching all the muscles in her body to keep pumping oxygen into her brain, keep herself from fainting. Her water giant began to freeze, turning into a statue of cursed ice, the lesser-known counterpart of fiendfyre.
The Balrog struck and, to her relief, her golem held.
At the same time, Katie felt like someone had driven a railway spike into her brain; she gasped, too breathless to even scream, and hung onto her staff for dear life. The golem's shattered arm dissolved and reformed; it struck at the fire demon with its other hand, crashing into the Balrog's jaw with a destructive uppercut. If the Balrog had normal physiology, that single strike would have snapped its neck, but it was a construct of fire and shadow; it looked back down at the marginally smaller water golem and roared.
The cord of the flaming whip wrapped around the golem's wrist, and the Balrog heaved, sending the golem off-balance, and the Balrog cut down with its sword on the outstretched arm. It bit deep, almost going the entire way through. The golem attempted to use its undamaged hand to catch the Balrog's sword, perhaps twist it out of its grasp - bad idea. The fingers vaporized almost instantly, and Katie was left pummeling at the demon with its now fingerless hand, trying to hurt it. It was hurting, Katie could tell - but nowhere near what she would have wanted it to be. The Balrog hacked at the arm again, and the golem's arm burned through, leaving it to drop on the volcanic earth.
The Balrog swung its whip, with a large chunk of ice attached to the end, like a sling, and smashed it into the body of the golem. Katie smiled grimly as the ice was simply reabsorbed into the construct; the Balrog faltered a little in mild surprise as the regained ice was transferred entirely into the right arm of the golem, resulting in a bloated, heavily reinforced arm. The Balrog could not dodge the right hook that came at it; it struck true, hard enough that the demon was thrown several dozen feet, flying through the air for a brief moment. The ice monster opened its maw again, and roared.
A tightly condensed hurricane, a beam of hail and wind packed into a diameter of about a single foot, burst from the golem's mouth and drilled into the recovering Balrog. The Balrog's roar of pain was music to Katie's ears; though the golem became smaller with every second the beam attack continued, she didn't let up, letting the demon suffer. The Balrog raised its arm in front of its face in a futile attempt to buffer their face from the onslaught.
Of course, the sensation of triumph couldn't last forever - neither could her magic. Her ice golem soon crumbled, no longer having the substance to keep it standing, having used it all up in the attack. The Balrog warily returned to its feet, and snorted in Katie's direction. It seemed assured of its victory. It might as well be. Katie had thrown everything in her arsenal at the beast and it was hurt, but certainly not dead enough to prevent it from killing her.
Ron charged at the Balrog, now ten feet tall, almost half that of the Balrog's height. He had assumed a monstrous form; he'd grown an additional two 'legs' out of nearby gravel and fused it to his lower body, taking the shape of some sort of cross between a troll and a centaur. His arms had been reinforced with muscle fibers thick as suspension cables, and his armored knuckles struck the Balrog with immense physical power. This merely inconvenienced the Balrog, which was mostly immune to physical damage. Ron howled as the Balrog released a burst of superheated air from the surface of its skin, or whatever constituted it.
Katie limped forward, the pain of her ruined leg fresh in her mind with each step she took. She thrust her staff at the beast, sending out lances of light, striking the Balrog at its knees; it roared in pain and annoyance, and stumbled slightly at the damage. Katie was nearing the end of her power, though. She and Ron had been fighting for… what, almost half an hour, now? She was ancient, but she wasn't powerful, not really. Things that Harry could shrug off with ease were capable of killing her, and opponents that even Fleur could defeat easily were a challenge.
Ron's beast form attacked wildly at the Balrog, growing ever larger. The Balrog was being pushed back. Was it possible for them to win, still? She knew that Ron's magic must be reaching the bottom of its reserves, as well, but perhaps they could overwhelm the creature in one last push? She ground her teeth, ignoring the rhythmic pounding inside her head as if someone were taking a sledgehammer to it; she began pooling her magic, almost everything she had, squeezing in just enough that she wouldn't burn out permanently.
"Ron!" Katie screamed.
Ron glanced in her direction; he saw the blinding light that had accumulated at the tip of her staff, and ducked. Katie hurled the light like a javelin at the beast. Fast as lightning and just as loud, the light pierced straight through the heart of the Balrog. It roaed in indignance, pain, and possibly a hint of fear; it stumbled back, hurt, and Katie crowed triumphantly.
Then it swung its massive sword, bisecting Ron from the head down.
A final fuck-you to the warlocks, then. As the beast toppled, Katie watched Ron fall to the ground, slowly as if the world was underwater. The pain of her leg was distant as Katie forced herself forward, reaching towards him. The one she'd spent almost four thousand years with, and never once felt unsatisfied. Her husband, her best friend, her everything.
"Heal!" She screamed. "Wake up, you dumb idiot! You fucking moron! Wake up!"
Magic rolled off of her in waves, pulses, strong enough to shake the earth. Katie screamed, uncaring of anything that might happen, as long as Ron woke up again. As long as he became whole again. The intense pain running through her entire body, as if her blood had become replaced with shards of glass, didn't stop her. Nothing would stop her. She poured everything she had into healing him. No matter what.
After what could possibly be a second, or maybe a hundred years, she felt the last of her energy leave her body, and she closed her eyes.
T.A. 2465, January
Galadriel was in the Void.
Her mind wandered, and her most recent point of interest was Amon Lanc. A name that didn't fit too well, considering there was a crater in place of a hill. In a sense, they'd accomplished what they'd gone there for. Dol Gulder was well and truly destroyed, the last wisps of evil scoured from Mirkwood, burned away in the heat of the mighty duel.
Even an entire season later, Amon Lanc could not be seen in the Void. The magic that still lingered there was great enough that it distorted her senses should she approach; the first time she'd tried, she'd ended up with a psychic nosebleed and had to be dragged out of her trance by Lord Celeborn. Since then, she'd taken to observe the area from a distance.
Another reason she could not approach the area in the Void - the ripples their battle created had been large enough that it attracted the attention of certain Ancient Things that lingered in the non-physical realms, and the Void That Lay Between. Galadriel was powerful, a great sorceress who was one of the few who could match Sauron in strength and skill - and she would not survive an encounter with those Things. Even the Valar, even the Corruptor himself, must be wary when he enters the Realms and the Void, for beings as powerful as he could still be swallowed by beasts larger than planets and with a neverending pit of hunger. Eru was one such being that had come from the Realms Beyond, and Eru had been powerful enough to create the world in which Galadriel resided through song.
She wondered how Harry was faring in the Void.
To the best of her understanding, the warlock had abandoned his physical vessel, the body, to escape into the Void before he could be utterly destroyed in the fight against the Dark Lord. Sauron had apparently had much the same idea. Due to the nature of the Things in the Void, the two of them had reached an agreement that, if they were to continue their fight within the Void, it would attract something much, much older and greater than they and the two of them would be destroyed. They had retreated from each other, for now. Surely, Sauron and Harry were doing the exact same things - hiding themselves away in the void, and crafting themselves new physical vessels for their souls to reside in.
Fleur had, for the two months since she learned of Harry's situation, practically locked herself in one of Galadriel's guest rooms and worked nonstop on Harry's new body. Galadriel herself had had to drag her out to attend meals and even bathe, for servants of Lothlorien feared Fleur's wrath at being interrupted too much to do so. But Galadriel could understand. She would waste no amount of time if she were to retrieve her dear Lord Celeborn or her daughter Celebrian from the kind of situation that Harry was in right now.
But logically, it was better to interrupt Fleur. Her lifestyle was unhealthy, and it would be detrimental to the both of them, much less helpful, if she did not step back and relax every now and then. Thus, Galadriel was approaching Fleur's quarters in what felt to her had become some sort of routine.
She knocked, and stepped inside. Fleur knew that only herself or Lord Celeborn ever entered her quarters, and did not protest. Nor did she acknowledge Galadriel's entrance. Parchment was strewn around the room, in what was once organized piles (now overflowing from their respective positions simply due to how much paper was in the room), and what Fleur had referred to as 'arithmancy tables' could be seen in various spots of the quarters, each showing various results of different calculations.
"I was never any fucking good at Arithmancy," Fleur snarled, her fingers briefly flashing into talons, before she regained her cool. "Even now Harry has to explain a lot of the details to me."
"You'll get there," Galadriel said softly, standing behind the chair in which Fleur sat, and placing her hands upon her shoulders. She squeezed briefly; Celebrian, though she'd never admit it, enjoyed this simple gesture even during her rebellious phases. Galadriel could feel Fleur's taut, exhausted muscles relax slightly under her fingers.
"I just," Fleur's breath hitched. "I can't deal with this. For the first time in my memory, three out of four are incapacitated. Harry's literally a spirit, Ron and Katie are in a fucking coma. And of all of us that could still be well, it's me. The least capable person out of all of us."
"You're not incapable," Galadriel said firmly. "Look at what you have created in the Grey Mountains, with barely any help from your husband, if your drunken rants are any indication."
Fleur snorted, before settling back into melancholy. "I want them back. I don't… I don't feel safe without them."
"You may have known them much longer than you have known me," Galadriel said, squeezing again. "But you must understand that we have still known each other long enough to trade all our secrets, and I will not allow any measure of harm befell you."
Fleur remained silent.
"You are like my daughter, Fleur. You have studied under me, and I have learned things from you, as well. As far as I am concerned, you are part of my family, and I will protect my family with my life."
"You really mean that?" Fleur asked, her voice slightly higher-pitched than normal.
"Truly."
"Thank you, Galadriel."
Galadriel smiled softly, not that Fleur could see it, since she was too busy looking down at her feet. She leaned down and enveloped Fleur into a hug; something she hadn't much opportunity to do since Celebrian left her nest. Fleur's grip on Galadriel's arm was a little tight, but that was alright. She needed this right now more than Galadriel needed to be comfortable.
"You must rest," she chastised. "You are working yourself too hard. If I recall correctly - which I do - you mentioned Harry had raised similar concerns. Go to bed, and sleep. I shall wake you tomorrow at nine."
"Eight," Fleur countered. Galadriel released her, and moved to the front of her, her expression completely neutral except for a single eyebrow raised. Fleur shifted awkwardly under her judging gaze. Oh, good - she had been afraid that she'd lost her maternal instincts.
"Nine," Galadriel repeated, slower than was necessary. "I shall wake you then, and no earlier. Now go to sleep."
Fleur went to sleep, as she was told to do. Galadriel didn't wake her until eleven.
T.A 2465, March
Gandalf knocked.
"Come in," a gruff voice said, and he entered.
Ron was sitting upright in his bed, in the process of leaving a bookmark in something he was reading, and setting it aside. Katherine was in a bed next to his, her eyes closed. She had yet to awake from the confrontation against a Balrog. A Balrog… a demon of the ancient world. It was a miracle that the two of them had even survived, much less won.
"Good to see you awake," Gandalf said, sitting down on one of the chairs. "If only the same could be said of dear Katherine."
Ron grunted. "Good to see you awake, too. Heard the battle on your end was intense."
"Truly. If Harry had not been there…"
"I would complain to that prick that he basically got me killed for a few minutes," Ron said. "But then it turns out he fought some hard enough that he tore his body apart at the molecular level. I'm not sure I can blame him for wanting to kill someone who could do that to you."
"Hm," Gandalf said, pulling out his pipe. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"How have you not gotten cancer yet?" Ron asked, but nonetheless he flicked his wrist in the direction of the window, opening it.
Gandalf, not to be outdone, lit his pipe with his finger and puffed contentedly, leaning back into his chair. Ron opened up his book again - no, it wasn't a book, it was a sheaf of papers, now that Gandalf looked closely. From what he could see, it was covered in diagrams and complex calculations. Gandalf found himself leaning in, curious, and Ron adjusted the papers so it was easier for him to see.
"Arithmancy calculations," Ron said. "I can never get over how neat Fleur's handwriting is. That's what you get for growing up in an upper-class family with tutors specifically for penmanship, I suppose. She's trying to build a new body for Harry, and after what happened, she's not content letting him have a normal, easily destroyed human body again."
Gandalf nodded slowly. He was learned, and he knew many things, but he'd never seen much use for complicated numbers; the equations presented to him baffled him. Many lines were crossed out, and the handwriting appeared to become more and more frustrated as they went on. Ron was using green ink to correct any errors that he'd found, or add in his own observations alongside Fleur's. His handwriting was noticeably less orderly than that of Fleur.
"Truth be told, I'm not exactly the best at arithmancy either," Ron admitted. "Katie would be a lot more helpful, and Harry was probably the most naturally talented at mathematics out of all of us. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm nowhere near as intelligent as the other three are - I'm a soldier at heart, not a researcher."
"Still far beyond what I know," Gandalf commented, eyebrows furrowing.
"Advanced mathematics usually isn't present in pre-industrial societies due to a lack of calculating machines, like computers," Ron shrugged. "I wouldn't have expected it of you or anyone else in this world."
"I would still be interested in learning it," Gandalf mused.
"I won't stop you if you are. Hold on, I'm sure there's something in the Wardrobe that will help." Ron's gaze went unfocused for a moment, before he reached into air with his right arm and plucked out a mathematics textbook. It was designed for middle-schoolers, it seemed, with introductions to algebra and trigonometry being the main components. "Here. It'll explain it much better than I ever could."
"Why, thank you," Gandalf said, managing to catch the book in his lap as Ron tossed it. He opened it, and he blinked; neat little rows of perfectly written letters, accompanied by precise diagrams. He couldn't read it, but it was still amazing. How long would one have needed to spend on this book to write it so coherently?
"Wait, let me cast a translation charm on that." Another flick of his wrist, and the writing became legible - to Gandalf's eyes, the letters now flickered between Sindarin and the foreign alphabet.
"How long did they take to write this?" Gandalf asked, amazed. It had… four hundred pages, for Valars' sakes!
"Dunno," Ron shrugged. "But they didn't write it by hand, if that's what you're asking. They used a device called a printing press. Which I'm sure the Wardrobe also has details on."
"A printing press," Gandalf said slowly. It was fairly obvious what this device did; a press, like the seal on a ring pressing into wax, likely copying identical letters onto multiple different sheets of parchment. An interesting concept and, if it became sophisticated enough, greatly increasing the rate of publishing. There were also several historical tomes and scrolls that needed to be re-written, for the originals were rotting - the printing press could greatly decrease the amount of history and knowledge that disappeared over time.
"Yeah, I can tell you're interested. Here." He reached out again and plucked out this time what appeared to be a set of instructions for building and operating such a device. "Those are for your free time, which I know that you have plenty of."
Gandalf scoffed. "I am a busy wizard, Master Ron. I shan't abide by such insults."
Ron snorted. "You're a real comedian, aren't you?"
"This…" Gandalf murmured to himself, skimming through the papers. "This would be very useful, the problem of acquiring parchment besides. Ancient tomes brought back to life, village children learning to read…" He looked up. "Would you permit me to share this with a few of my peers?"
"A few," Ron frowned. "Define, 'a few'."
"Lord Elrond, most naturally. He would be fascinated. And Saruman, the head of my order."
Gandalf did not miss the way Ron's lips thinned ever so slightly at the mention of the last name. "I'd thank you not to cut down the greenery in excessive volumes," he finally said.
"Of course. While a luxury, it likely will not have that great of an impact beyond those who can and wish to read - and those are few," Gandalf reassured.
"Alright, then," Ron shrugged. "Have fun."
There was a silence as Ron returned to staring intently at the papers in front of him. Gandalf sat, uncertain whether he was being dismissed or not. He finally decided to speak.
"What happens from now?"
Ron's eyes flickered to him and back. "What do you mean by that?"
"What will you do?" Gandalf revised his question. "The two of you have fought a Balrog, and returned alive. I assume the two of you will not be returning to the Dark Lands anytime soon. So, what will you do?"
Ron was silent for a long moment, before giving a mirthless chuckle. "Oh, Gandalf, we returned alive; but at what cost?"
Gandalf frowned.
"Katie burned up," Ron explained, taking his silence as permission to continue. "She used up more magic than she was capable of doing, in healing me. I was dead for a couple of minutes, so the fact that I've 'returned alive' is already somewhat questionable. Now, Katie is a squib."
"I'm unfamiliar with that term."
"It's generally agreed in our community to be someone who comes from entirely magical parents, but do not have any noticeable magic of their own," Ron said. "They cannot use spells, use magical potions, or make full use of magical artefacts. That last point is especially important in this case, because the four of us are anchored to a form of immortality through our connection to a magical artefact."
"And all this time I had thought you were much like the elves and the Istar," Gandalf said. "What is your secret, then? The abstinence from pipeweed?" He added sarcastically. Ron smirked.
"I'm not saying anything. A friend you might be, but they are what kept us living for the past two-thousand years or so," Ron said. "I'm not going to just hand this information out to everyone. All you need to know is that it connects directly to our magical pools, drawing ever so slightly from it to keep our bodies in a pristine state. That's also why we heal very quickly even without our intervention."
"And Katie no longer has magic."
"Only as much as the average person. Definitely not enough to fuel the artefact," Ron confirmed. "She will age slowly - but she will age, and eventually, she will die. The Balrog killed her, Gandalf. Just as surely as it killed me - it's just taking very, very long to see the effects of it."
"I see," Gandalf faltered.
"And yes, Fleur, Harry and I have worked out a plan between the three of us. As much as I wish that this had all simply never happened, I will not live without Katie. I'd rather die at her side." Ron smiled darkly. "I offered to transfer my magic to Harry, once he regains a body, using a certain blood ritual of our invention."
Gandalf tried his hardest to give no outward expression at the words, 'blood ritual'. He knew that Ron was watching intently for any reaction that he might give. After all, blood rituals were what Sauron had apparently been performing as the Necromancer, to increase his magical and physical might to what they had been before his downfall in the Second Age. Gandalf knew that this was under different circumstances - the biggest one being a willing participant - but it still made his skin crawl at the thought of it.
"If that is what you truly desire," Gandalf said.
"Not really, but I can't transfer magic to someone that doesn't actually have a magical pool anymore," Ron shrugged. "It would be somewhat like performing the kiss of life on someone who has punctured lungs. It just all flows back out, eventually, and becomes a lose-lose situation."
Gandalf nodded slowly. "How long do you expect to live, then?" He asked bluntly.
"Maybe as much as the average witch or wizard back home, considering the highly magical nature of this world," Ron said, frowning. "Two hundred years? If I live healthy. Which I totally won't, fuck that, I'm dying and I deserve to laze about as much as I want."
Gandalf barked out a startled laugh. "Giving up so easily?"
"I'm not giving up. I'm going to die soon, and it's as certain for me as it is for others. I wonder if I'll be carried to Mandos' Hall, or if I'll go Hell to be judged?" Ron wondered. "I've never really been one for philosophy. I'll suppose I have to join the club, now."
Gandalf smiled, sadly. "Regardless of where you will go, I'm sure you'll be admitted to paradise."
"Oh, no. Certainly not." Ron returned a more bitter, twisted smile in response. "See, Katie was always the kind one. The one that loved teaching and helping wherever she went. I was less caring - well, Harry too, but regardless. Do you know how many people have died as a result of my actions?" Gandalf shook his head. "Tell me, how many people live in Gondor?"
"I don't know the exact figures, obviously," Gandalf frowned.
"Obviously," Ron mocked. Gandalf glared at him and Ron smirked.
"But by the last tax collectors' count, it would total to around four-hundred-thousand."
"Huh. More than I was expecting. Anyway. I used to rule the most powerful nation in the world, as an elected official. I didn't even manipulate the bureaucrats with my magic. I got there through convincing arguments and centuries of speech practice," Ron said, sounding somewhat proud of his achievement. "This country, at the time, had over two-hundred-million people living in it. If I had to guess, I'd say it was about the size of Eriador." He made a so-so gesture with his hand. "The world had around six billion people living in it. As a consequence of my and Harry's actions, all of them burned in nuclear fire."
Gandalf blinked, unable to comprehend the massive numbers.
"Oh. You don't really… get it. Never mind," Ron shrugged. "The point is, if we both die, will I be separated from her?" He gestured to the comatose Katie. "She would undoubtedly go to Paradise, while I will undoubtedly be placed in some sort of punishment realm. Do Heaven and Hell exist? Or will we just be destroyed, become nothingness, turned into fuel for the stars? If it does turn out that I simply disappear with nothing to remember me… is that still better than being separated from her to atone for my sins?"
Gandalf didn't really have anything to say. What could he even say, in response to that?
"Something I've been thinking about, ever since I made my decision to die."
"I understand. It must be hard."
"Not really. I'm going to die regardless. All that's left is a curiosity of where I might end up, is all."
But it was hard, Gandalf could tell. The possibility of being eternally separated from her would hurt him significantly worse than death itself. He could say nothing to try and comfort him - for what would he even say?
"I shall visit you again," Gandalf said, standing up. "Thank you for these, Ron."
He was making to leave the room before Ron cleared his throat, and he looked back. Ron held out a cloth-wrapped bundle to him, and Gandalf approached, curious. He picked it out of Ron's hands, and unwrapped a corner of the cloth to see a flash of steel. Not of dwarven or elven make, but nonetheless crafted by skilled hands.
"I think I'd like to thank you," Ron said. "For being a friend."
"Friends don't need to thank each other," Gandalf argued.
Ron raised an eyebrow. "It's something I rarely use anymore, Gandalf, and I think you'll get more use out of it than I will. An investment, then, in your monster-hunting endeavors."
"I don't usually go monster-hunting, as you put it…"
"Oh, shut up and take it," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Now get the hell out of my room."
Gandalf chuckled and left the room. Unable to hold in his curiosity until he reached his own chambers, he removed the cloth entirely and found a longsword forged entirely out of silver. Gandalf's practised eyes could see the ribbons of magic weaving in and out of the sword, making it indestructible and incredibly lethal. An incredible boon… and to think that those who were not dwarves or elves could craft such a thing!
He noticed a set of characters engraved into one side of the blade. It was, again, written in foreign characters, but he could understand it, sort of. An ancient enchantment, different to that likely temporary spell Ron had placed on the book.
"Gryffindor," Gandalf murmured.
T.A. 2497, June
Harry dropped his spoon.
"Fuck," he enunciated clearly, then bent over to pick up the spoon.
"Still struggling?" Fleur asked.
Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I guess? I feel like I've got the hang of this, but there are a few slips here and there."
"Do you feel comfortable?" Fleur pressed. "No pains, no aches?"
"I keep telling you I'm fine. It's been two months," Harry said. "It's a decent enough time to be acclimatized to the body. Not as if I need to attend physical therapy, either, since these muscles are strong enough to armwrestle strongmen."
"I'm just worried about you," Fleur said sheepishly.
"I know."
"You spent over forty years as a bodiless soul, Harry. I had almost been afraid that you might even forget how to use a body."
"And let Voldemort one-up me? Like hell," he snorted. "Then again, he did spend most of his time possessing small critters and animals… at least until he decided that the number of cars hitting him was unnatural." He snorted again. "That was more fun that I expected it to be."
Fleur shook her head. "I wish you were more serious when it came to your health."
"What could I even do to prove to you that I am serious?" He threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "I've rested for an entire month, like you told me to, let me get used to the enhanced senses and my self-image and all that stuff, and now I'm practicing making small movements to learn my new motor capabilities. I've done everything you've told me to."
"I know, but…"
"Yes, you're worried. I get it." He stood up, and Fleur let out a small squeak as he grabbed her waist and spun her around. "But I'm fine. I promise. I'm here, and I'm in your grasp again. You don't need to be worried anymore."
Fleur made to protest, but the words died away and she melted into Harry's kiss. So long before she had been able to receive any sort of affection from him. But now he was real again, tangible again, in a new body that she'd created with his, Ron's and Katie's help. A body not unlike a terminator - metal endoskeleton, reinforced with protective runes written in microscopic sizes all over, great volumes of magic constantly flowing to and from the surroundings like a waterfall. Internal organs were operating at more or less peak efficiency, and therefore could be reduced in mass, leaving more space for additional organs, one of which notably produced stem cells that could rapidly be deployed to heal injuries, capable of prioritizing by lethality of the injury thanks to magic.
His body may be artificial, but he was real. After so long… so long.
"Do that again," Fleur breathed, once Harry pulled away. He obliged.
In his new body, he was a little taller than he was before - okay, significantly taller. He was just shy of seven feet tall now, as tall as any of the tallest elves at this point, as tall as Glorfindel, even. The resulting kiss was somewhat awkward, though no less deep and long-lasting. It helped that Harry could hold his breath longer now, too. It was also mildly bizarre seeing Harry's skin without all the scars that he'd accumulated over the years - bizarre, but not unwelcome. Harry expressed some distaste at the fact that he no longer had the scars to prove he was no mere boyband member who spent far too much money on skincare products (his words, not hers) but he did feel rather pleased about the fact that he apparently no longer got sunburn.
The mere power of solar radiation was no match for Fleur's skincare!
"Sorry," he said, genuinely concerned, as Fleur stiffened in his too-hard grip. "Damn. Sorry."
"It's fine," Fleur said.
Fleur would admit that she was simply not equipped to build an entire body from scratch, so she'd enlisted some help. Glorfindel was mystified by the concept of 'DNA' but nonetheless allowed Fleur to remove some from him, with which she'd created a template for Harry's organic bits. The genetic code was near-identical to that of the human, but effectively, the elves' DNA made them nigh-impossible to be sick, as advanced as their immune system was. They had additional gyroscope-like organs at the bases of their skulls that gave them a superior sense of balance, as well as a significantly evolved sense of spatial awareness. Muscle tissue was also somewhat different, with traditional muscle cells being reinforced with some sort of protein wrapped helically around each cell, that tensed quite literally like a spring whenever the muscles did, giving a little bit of extra oomph. Their weightlessness and their immortality was, however, a product of the Valar's magic, and something that Fleur did not have the power to replicate, nor the knowledge.
Still, being as strong as agile was already a significant advantage over that of humans, and one that Harry was exploiting thoroughly in the bedroom.
"You should go spend some time with Galadriel," Harry said, idly twirling Fleur's hair around his finger - she knew that he knew that she hated when he did that, but she suffered for his sake. "You've barely spoken to her since I woke up. Besides, I need Glorfindel to help me hone my combat skills again."
"I suppose I should," Fleur agreed. "Now stay safe, okay? I don't want to see a single scratch on you after your decide that sparring with real swords might be a good idea."
"You're treating me like the Duke of Marlborough's fine china tea set," Harry grumbled. "Go talk to your girlfriend."
"And don't you encourage Glorfindel. He should really know better for someone who's lived as long as he has."
"Maybe I'll get myself impaled just to see you scream at him."
"Don't, or I'll hurt you even worse," Fleur snarled. "I made you, I can destroy you just as easily."
Harry smirked, giving her a two-fingered salute as he headed in the direction of the barracks. Fleur sighed. Infuriating prick… and love of her life.
A/N: Not my favorite chapter, I'll admit, but one that was probably necessary. Before you ask, yes, I planned Ron and Katie's deaths since the beginning of this story. I think I'm happier with them dying of old age though, rather than being killed by the Balrog itself.