Disclaimer: I do not own anything that was created by J. R. R. Tolkien (LotR & Silm) or J. K. Rowling (HP)

Let it be said that the night was cold and chilly, to the point where small wildlife animals didn't dare to make a sound. The moon was hidden with clouds, cloaking every single thing that existed under the moonlight with shadows. The wind was roaring with sounds unheard to those who did not listen to the nature. Animals all cowered at an invisible predators lurking in the cloak of night.

Yet it was not so, inside a certain inn that was emitting warm atmosphere that the very night seemed to lack. There were sounds that were awe-inspiring, every sound coming from the small inn seemed to be dimmed, and put other voices that were used to sing to shame, had someone cared to listen. Maglor's Gap, the inn was called, the name was so famous in every corner of the neighborhood - famous for it's welcoming and warm reputation, allowing even the poor and crippled to have a drink along with the rich and healthy. Maglor's Gap was also famous for the entertainers who always sung and play for people, who were rumored to be relatives of the owner of the Greenwood Company - for it was the Greenwood Company that owned the inn's property. It was also rumored that the entertainers were meant to entertain the Queen herself, so beautiful were the songs that were sung - though every song was different to each other.

Novels written by Tolkien became famous in this particular neighborhood, though. Songs that were sung always inspired (or so it was believed) from Tolkien's books and took place in their events, most particularly during the Age of the Two Trees before the Fall of Noldor had ever happened, it was told.

A small figure appeared so suddenly a few meters away from the inn with a quiet 'pop!' that the animals around him scattered, away from the strange intruder with a stranger method to appear.

It wasn't rare for Filius Flitwick to help his friend to go to the muggleborns to convince them to take their education in the school he was teaching. In fact, he did it for every year, as childish as the reason was, he liked seeing the expression of the muggleborn wizard or witch and their parents as they saw the new and rare aspect of learning of magic that only their children could attend to. Muggleborns, he mused, were always in awe and always were creative with magic. Take his favored student, Lily Evans, for one fine example! Muggleborns have many potentials regarding magic and creativity, which were always needed for the lesson he, Minerva, and Severus taught for more than a decade, had they choose the career of either Charms, Transfiguration, or Potions Mastery.

The Head of House of Ravenclaw looked at the address written in the letter that he hold in his hand once before walking and entering the small inn.

"What can I help you?" A man asked him pleasantly. A strange man, who Flitwick noticed to be the bartender. He had gray eyes and long, braided dark hair, and he had a lean and tall body. Very graceful too. Flitwick wondered what about the bartender that had made him felt strange around him. He was known as Dan, if the name pinned on his clothes were true. He briefly wondered why muggles have to show their names on their clothes at times.

"Pray tell, where can I find Mr. Makalaurion?" He asked.

Dan paused, as if trying to remember that name within his mind. "Ah, you must mean our best performer!" He exclaimed. "He is playing his music along with his son over there, you see?" Dan pointed to a corner, who must've created the divine sounds, from the looks of it. A man was playing his harp and sang wonderfully, and there was a little boy blowing his flute to create some effects to his father's songs for their captivated audience of various background and status. There was no doubt that Dan must be related to them, though.

The man had messy and long, dark hair - it reached his waist! - and his eyes were almost similar to Dan, yet different all the same! Grey eyes, a few shades darker than Dan's, but something seemed to shine from their depths – like the stars. Pale skin that seemed to be glowing, that almost looked like he had never seen the sun with all the paleness of his skin. His face held some gentleness on it, as he sang his songs. Flitwick didn't mind that the songs were of some foreign language that he had never heard before in his life, but there was something of strange quality in his voice that had made it beautiful and magical in it's own way, much more magical than any voices he had ever heard.

The boy had almost the same features of his father, with the exception of his emerald eyes. Flitwick noticed that he looked like he was no older than 8. He frowned. It didn't seem like there was abuse or neglect in the child's body; in fact he looked healthy and his eyes showed how happy he was in the moment as he blew his flute. He had never heard of any wizards or witches having an illness that would stunt their growth - except for himself, with his goblin ancestry. Why, young Martur should be 11 years old! Was the registration book of Hogwarts mistaken with this child's age for some reason? Or perhaps...

"I'm afraid that you'll have to wait until it's time for their breaks until you can speak with them." Dan said, seemingly not noticing Flitwick's assessment to the small boy performer. "This isn't the first time people go to look for him, you know? Those businessmen come and go, as he always refuses their offer to be a superstar - whatever it means. He sure as hell won't appreciate to be launched up to the moon while singing and having to leave his son alone, I am sure. You must know that he is absolutely terrifying whenever his son is used by them, and the last time I heard, the company of the businessman who did that was demolished in a night and all of his relatives cut off their ties with him during the day, leaving the poor bastard wrecked." Dan said, almost as if imagining good times. It had left Flitwick rather unnerved with the story, actually.

"Oh that," Another person had said; Flitwick had taken one look to the stranger and immediately assess him as Dan's brother. Twins, perhaps – Flitwick shot a glance to Dan just to make sure. "That's the most painless way, old Maglor told us." He nodded to Flitwick as a greeting. "Anyways, good sir – may I ask why is it that you want to look for him?" He asked. "Businessmen usually – at least – called us before they came, after that incident. They wish of no repeat for that incident."

"It has something to do with the schooling of his son, I'm afraid." Flitwick said calmly. "It has nothing to do about businesses as you good men have suggested."

"Is it safe to say that you are part of their family?" Flitwick asked curiously, "I couldn't help but notice the similarities between the four of you."

Their exchanged glance had not left Flitwick's notice. "You can say that old Maglor is much older than he looks, sir." The twin of whom Flitwick didn't know his name said. "Because of that, you can safely say that he is something among the lines of grandparents to us." He said dryly.

Flitwick, who didn't know anything about muggle literature that he didn't know the underlining of the unnamed twin's tone about it being the truth, had raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Dan looked at the direction of the father-son pair of musicians' direction before ushering Flitwick and his brother to go to a room before Flitwick got to ask more about it. "Come, let us leave and get ourselves a private room so that we could talk more. The night is still young – however, I believe that we can make an exception to close our small inn early this night. Martur's schooling is crucial, yet it needs the opinion of the student-to-be child and his father, I'd wager."

As the door closed behind Flitwick and the unnamed man, Flitwick thought that he heard Dan shouting above the noises about closing the inn early and putting someone called Butterbur being in charge of escorting them out from the inn.

The Dan-lookalike hummed. "Where is my manners, I'm sure you already know Dan, what's with his name tag making his name obvious. Call me Ro. We're twins, as you can see." He then stared at the smaller man. "You are?"

Flitwick was about to open his mouth to answer when the door behind them opened to allow the very performers he saw singing and playing instruments earlier to enter. Ro had said earlier that he looked much more older than his face suggested, he found that fact to be unnerving – should he believed what he said. He didn't. Maglor's face looked no older than a muggle in his mid-twenties, or if he had some magic flowing in his veins, he might as well be a mid-forties wizard. Yet he didn't believe that either – he should be a muggle, one way or another. If he was a wizard, then it would be no need for him to go to the inn they seemed to call home to introduce their youngest to the wizarding world. And the twins looked like they just reached adulthood. Their parents must've married in an early period of their lives.

He then spoke of the wizarding world to his spectators, and of the school of magic that he taught, as the Head of Ravenclaw and the Charms Professor.

He never knew that the family he was talking to knew of the wizarding world long before he was born. The Eldar was never one to forget things so easily, so long their memories were. Not to mention that they always used Potions that was supplied by a certain Sindarin King of Mirkwood, who actually had his own Potions Mastery centuries ago under a different name.

He never knew that young Martur had been invited to schools of half-way around the world, as his very existence had caught the eye of many foreign schools aside from Hogwarts. But he didn't need to know that. All he has to know was that a young boy called Martur Makalaurion was invited to Hogwarts, the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry as one of the muggle-borns who need guidance when they entered the new and foreign wizarding world.

While the people of the Eldar had known of the magical world for many centuries, the aspect of visiting the said world somehow never appealed to them. Wizards, in general, had made them think of Maia of years long before the ancestors of the wizards nowadays knew of were born. And if the history of the Headmaster of Hogwarts of which Flitwick bestowed upon them after seeing the oh-so many titles he has any indication, this Albus Dumbledore had defeated the man who – perhaps – probably helped the creation of Adolf Hitler's personality as the history knew it; of which really did made them think of the War of Wrath – with Dumbledore personating as a mortal version of Eonwë, and this Grindelwald as the dark force, Morgoth.

It had been a war between the higher power, back then.

Or perhaps, in the twin's case, made them think of a world full of old mortals that were like Sauron, or Saruman, or Gandalf – with staffs to either help them to walk or direct their magic to do whatever they wanted to do whenever they had great purpose to do so. It was one amongst a few things that the twins didn't want to think again. Five extremely powerful Maiar from Valinor during the Second Age had been enough. Not to forget their maternal grandmother who was often known as the people of Rohan as a powerful witch. It would be scary to have a place with many witches like her in the first place.

Or in Martur's case, it had made him think of the stories of Merlin whenever he went into the public library to read about some things like fantasies and mathematics. Not that he knew that it wasn't that different from the age of Merlin, in the Britain Wizarding world. He chose to go to Hogwarts, in the end; it was the nearest magical school to the place he called home. However, half of his mind was into Beauxbatons and a quarter of it was into that school in Japan. What's the name again? Mahouto-something?

Not that they spoke of anything relevant to wizards or Maiar in general in front of Flitwick when he picked Martur and his father to Diagon Alley, however.

"How fares you in this great day, Professor?" Martur asked, when the small professor had made his presence known in front of the small inn he had taken residence along with his father and his twin uncles. His small frame was almost shivering with excitement, and his tone of voice had indicated that he was somewhat-eager to see this wizardry shopping place that Professor Flitwick called Diagon Alley. The child idly wondered if there was another wizardry shopping place called Vertic Alley or Horizont Alley when the small professor had mentioned Diagon Alley in passing.

If Flitwick wondered of his different speech than other people, he either ignored it or didn't mention it.

"I'm fine, thank you." Flitwick chirped. He was obviously pleased with Martur's politeness, as many children of whom he taught never really asked him that particular question, and many of the staff never asked. "How about you, Mr. Makalaurion?"

Martur's smile was a sight to see. Flitwick found himself wanting to see the child to smile more. "I am fine, professor. I find myself curious of Diagon Alley, you might say. I believe atto is the same way as I am."

There was one of the many words that Flitwick wondered about during his meeting with the family last night. Some words that sounded foreign, but graceful. Young Makalaurion seemed to use that word to describe his father.

"Please, do come in. It will be most disgraceful for us to make you wait in front of our small abode, out of all things." Martur said, inviting the small professor to the house/inn. "At the very least, have a tea, and perhaps, a proper tour in Maglor's Gap before we set out to the shopping site."

Flitwick inclined his head. "Well then!" He then entered.

Martur lead him past the big room directly behind the door where Flitwick was sure it was where he talked with the boy's family last night. Flitwick noticed for the first time how different the inn felt compared to last night – it was calm, though still as homey. The walls of the room was decorated with paintings – full of war with creatures that looked so similar to dragons or werewolves (or, much more alarmingly, creatures that were disturbingly familiar to goblins, though these creatures were bigger and much more uglier than goblins), and occasionally, beautiful woods and cities – so different instead of the bare room that was needed for many people to come over and watch the performances of Martur and his father.

Martur took notice that Flitwick was observing the paintings of the room when he lead them across into the door that would lead into the living room. "Uncle Thranduil – my godfather – gave it to us after he recovered that piece from a tablet long time ago, since he knew how much our family hold the value of a history that people calls fairytale. You know, that piece," Martur pointed to the nearest painting to him, which was his left – showing the picture of two forces; one of people and the other was of what the Ministry now claimed as Dark Creatures, "is called as Dagor Nirnaeth Arnoediad, happened in the First Age. The High King of that time was slain in battle against the army of Morgoth, under the guidance of his oath-taker cousin. Sad history, it is."

"Dagor Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Mr. Makalaurion?" Flitwick echoed, tasting the foreign words in his tongue. The language felt more ancient than the language he always used for his spells, and his magic felt wanting to try to use it, almost as if his magic knew more of the language instead of Latin, seeing the strange language as an old friend.

"You know, from the Silmaril-" Martur said, before he formed a strange face expression. "You know what, never mind. Do Maiar," Ah, there was a word that Martur used to describe wizards, "read the literature of non-magical folks?"

"I don't think most of us do, Mr. Makalaurion." Flitwick answered apologetically.

"Ah, shame." Martur said, shaking his head. "People seem to forget the history as the next generation come by, preferring to think of them as stories. The Word of Ilúvatar is also one of the casualties of the forgetfulness of people."

There were many other paintings of which Flitwick remembered then, but never known the meaning of each, other than the so-called Dagor Nirnaeth Arnoediad or the strange Ilúvatar name that was claimed as forgotten by little Martur. Not even then, he understood what the meaning of the strange name was, nor why was it that many of the paintings held the mood of melancholy. He didn't understand of how rich the history within the adults of the house aside from him, even branching into each of them knowing several people in the history that were famous personally, such as King Arthur and Merlin. Both of which reminded the twins to their foster brother and a certain wizard that were within the Fellowship of the Ring.

For Flitwick, Martur's first impression to him was, 'this child will get along so well with the Xenophilius's child, I'm so sure.'

"Welcome, gentlemen, to Diagon Alley." Flitwick said, watching the curiosity that expressed itself in the face of his soon-to be student. A childish curiosity that Flitwick himself would never be bored of, even after seeing it for many times. Those emerald eyes lit up like jewels they were, almost as if the owner was given a great gift for his birthday.

"Atto! Atto! Look at that! Or-" Martur gushed as his father, almost dragging him if it was not for Maglor's stern expression – though amusement was present in his eyes – and words not to do such when they arrived.

"Martur." Maglor said.

"Oh, right." The child smiled sheepishly at his father.

"Shall we continue then?" Flitwick asked.

"Of course." His father said, smoothly. His scarred hand was gripped by his son's much smaller hands, as they all ventured towards their first destination: Gringotts.

Maglor stiffened at the first sight of Gringotts; his mind filled him with goblins that served under Morgoth and Sauron during the First Age and beyond, haunting deep inside the mountains where Dwarves dwell. Destruction and death followed them as they gleefully cut down their foes, which always happened to be Dwarves, and kept the Dwarves' gold to themselves greedily.

Yet, the two goblins that guarded the wizarding bank didn't repulse under Sun's rays in disgust, as all of the goblins and others of the Dark Forces did of old. They didn't even look like the goblins of old, and looked much similar to a cross between a periando and goblins – with periando's small and stocky stature and the unpleasantness of goblins of old. They didn't attack the closest mortal Maiar to them, though. Good. Maglor didn't bring his sword for such occasion as shopping, after all. Shopping in modern world would require him not to bring such weaponry as it would cause everyone in vicinity to panic and arrest him.

"Goblins?" Maglor asked, his voice was cautious, though his posture seemed casual.

"Oh, of course! Goblins manage our bank, Maglor." Flitwick used his given name, as Maglor had insisted. "Be respectful to them, and they will be respectful to you. Although I can't say much as the whole goblin country, sad to say." It was then both father and son realized why the small professor was, well, small, the size of goblins, really, and his hands almost looked like claws that the goblins possessed in some occasion. One of Flitwick's parents must have a goblin ancestry.

The fact that Flitwick greeted the goblin guards with such familiarity and warmth only solidify what they had just come to realize.

Gringotts was an impressive building made of marbles. Majestic, imposing, and proud. The building almost reminded Maglor to the days of old, had it not the fact that it was goblins that had created the building. It had been centuries, hundreds and thousands of years he had seen actual goblins, and yet this version of Magical World goblins had threw him off the loop. It was impossible for goblins of old to create something of their own instead of destroying, after all. Not to mention that they can only create things if someone they respect and actually fear like Morgoth, (according to Elladan and Elrohir) Sauron, or Saruman to direct them. And from the looks of it, it seemed that goblins really did create all of this on their own, yet none of the gold felt tainted.

The economics of Wizarding World were in the hands of goblins.

Maglor resisted pinching his nose. What has the world has coming to? Goblins, for Eru's sake, goblins! Those creatures that were originally Elves before Morgoth got his defiled hands on them to experiment and became yrch – and goblins were of the smaller breed! Goblins!

He was only much more thankful that his son was much more open minded than he. With a person like that, it wasn't really easy to surprise them with the condition of the world nowadays. He had lived for longer than mortals can remember, so it might be difficult for him to accept things so sudden. It was his most often used excuse. Though it was fine for the twins and Thranduil since he was the oldest of the Eldar remaining in Middle-Earth that was now known as Earth, and at least he was learning out of his own free will.

But really, goblins! For a few moments now he had trouble believing the fact. The next thing he might know was that many Uruloki from the First Age still existed. The next few years, he knew he had jinxed himself by thinking of such.

"What can I do for you?" A sharp-edged tone had asked, it was a goblin sitting in a tall desk, writing with a quill, looking as if his time was more important than theirs. It was then Flitwick realized how tall Maglor was. Sometimes lightings and several other factors can create people to look either shorter or taller than their actual height. Maglor was taller compared to other wizards, making Flitwick believe that he was – at least – of American descent – or some people whose height was really tall. He should be almost a head taller than the tallest wizard among the British Magical Society. It was a wonder why his son was so small.

Maglor spoke, with his most polite tone. "I would like to create an account in Gringotts for my son under my name, please, sir goblin."

The goblin grunted. "Name?"

Maglor paused, as if deciding what kind of name he'll use. "Canafinwë Makalaurë."

"May I have a sample of your blood please?" The goblin asked, giving him a knife. Maglor cut himself and let several drops of his blood pour into a small bowl the goblin had provided. Looking at the bright blue glow in the bowl, the goblin seemed to pale, and his eyes widen visibly. "Of course, good sir. It can be arranged." He said, his voice was now respectful – almost bordering into fearing the Fëanorion. "NAGNOK!"

Maglor frowned, as he didn't understand what was happening while he read the expression of the Gringotts Head Goblin, as Flitwick narrowed his eyes in confusion. Never in his life, had he seen such an extreme change of expression on a goblin kin of his – perhaps the last name that Mr. Makalaurion's father had was powerful and influential like the pure-blood wizards at some point? Why Maglor's last name was different than his son's in the first place?

"Yes, Head Goblin sir?" A goblin who was seated not far away on one of the lower desks had immediately answered, his posture was alert.

"Please take Mr. Makalaurë, his son, and Filius to Conference Room number 2."

"Gladly, sir." Nagnok said, and moved towards the trio. "Follow me."

And they were lead deep into the bank.

Conference Room number 2 was spacious, almost as spacious as the main hall of which the three of them met the Head Goblin. As Nagnok left the three of them in the room, they were required to wait for a few moments – of which reasons none of them knew of. And had the thought of the name Fëanor was famous in the wizarding World passed in Maglor's mind, he dismissed of it immediately, knowing that the significance of the name had disappeared from the minds of the mortals. Especially of Dark Forces, seeing that long time ago they lacked the mind to remember such an elven name.

Maglor did not jump when he was suddenly addressed by a goblin that stepped inside the Conference Room, so deep in thought he was.

"Maglor Fëanorian, also known as kinslayer, the Mighty Singer, the High Prince of Noldor, and also, Canafinwë Makalaurë Fëanárion – the second and only surviving son out of seven sons of the legendary Elf who possessed the soul of fire." The goblin sneered, almost as if mocking the tallest within the room. "I, Gringott, welcome you personally to the Gringotts bank that is owned by my family for centuries. It's an honor to have the oldest being in the world as we know in this very room."

Maglor didn't show any outward reaction other than a simple frown. How in Eru's name did the Dark Creature managed to know his name and history – and his father? "I admit that I haven't heard my name in my own native language for many years," despite the wrong pronunciation, "but I had to wonder how is it that you acquire that information?" He asked, his voice was calm, just as usual, yet Martur gripped his father's hand in almost-fear. Flitwick was bewildered at the fast-paced speed of change that was happening.

The goblin grinned a terrible grin. "Círdan the Shipwright had left behind massive information about the Ages of the Sun and Moon alongside the Age of the Two Trees, High Prince. Those forgotten histories, histories that no minds of Men remember – or know of that are true, from what I've seen from the muggle world."

"Shame." Maglor had said, agreeing with the last statement. "Mortals are always forgetful. With mortals, histories become legends and myths – and even fairy tales, as they call them."

"True."

"Yet I wonder now, that why is it that you call upon my name, drawing me in, deeper into a goblin's territory, knowing your ancestor's history with my people?" Maglor asked. His hand was subtly pushing his son behind his tall frame, out of the sight of the two goblin-descent creatures within the room.

"So that we can make a proposition for you, High Prince." Gringott answered without missing a beat. "Many of the gold were of your people, and with them, came the blessings of which even us can't touch after these thousands of years, that we call your blessings as the blessings of the nearest kin to the gods. All of them belong to you, as you are the nearest kin to the last owner of the gold – which are the Eldars, obviously. Also, of the fact that we would like a person to decipher the elven writing of your people. Who else will be better on those jobs other than the son of the creator of those elven characters?"

Maglor seemed to ponder for a moment. "And what do I got out of the job, goblin?"

Gringott glanced at Martur's direction fleetingly with a sneer. "More gold, and protection for your son, High Prince. The goblin protection in the form of accessories that are covered with runes and spells that it is said within the wizard society that no one had successfully breached yet."

There was a tense silence that one may hear a pin drop somewhere within the room. Maglor's face was unreadable. "How can I know that you will be true to your word?"

Gringott was quick to make an oath that would strip him of his magic and position had he not done what he promised to the eldest being on the room, right after that.

Maglor looked satisfied at that. "You have yourself a deal, Mr. Gringott. I shall send you a letter of when I shall start working."

One thing that Maglor didn't particularly like here in Gringotts aside from goblins, it was probably of how his name was still feared and known, almost similar to what had happened once upon a time when he was called as Kinslayer during the First Age alongside his brothers.

Flitwick never before met someone who had met the high standards of the owner of the Gringott's bank that the said owner had to personally ask for the said someone into doing such things that requires other forces than goblin's magic. Usually it was the other way around, what's with Bill Weasley's occupation – he was the one who seeked out the head of the bank right after he graduated from Hogwarts to become a curse breaker, Minerva had told him. To think that the father of the soon-to-be student he has was of an ancient creature that existed before the sun and moon, like within the stories that his father often told him about from the goblin history archives – those of which the goblins name them star-kind in Gobbledegook! Maglor Fëanorion! To think that he only properly remembered that name after they went out from the bank whose goblins he was always familiar with.

Or better yet, to think one of them actually existed after all these years! He was once told that it was estimated that at minimum, those goblin history archives aged for more than the time Hogwarts was built. And to think that – that-! Only those of high position inside Gringotts only know of such information that they actually existed!

It was interesting, and he hoped immensely that today wasn't the last day for him to meet the taller man – no, Eldar.

There were elves in the wizarding world, yes. However, they were not immortal, though they do live for a long time, and they seemed so different than this particular elf. The most known by people in this place was house-elves, which was of course, very different than the Eldar, as the Eldar didn't act like them at all; graceful, and did not see the person or family they bonded with as masters. And they did not live forever just like Maglor did – and perhaps, there were a few others, Flitwick was hoping to meet the others; he suspected that the twins were of the Eldar too.

They quickly went after the shops, to buy for the things Martur, son of Maglor would need in his future days in Hogwarts. Flitwick hoped that he would be in his House, unique and intriguing the child was. Martur had shown some interests in a book of spell crafting in Flourish and Blotts – one subject that shouldn't be taken lightly and it was difficult to create a spell enough – that would require him to pursuit some more knowledge and practice to do what the book was written. Madam Malkin had initially thought that young Martur was a child with a growth spurt that his father needed to buy him new robes before she was told that he would be a new Hogwarts student this year.

Then it came the moment when the three of them stood before an old shop that Flitwick had entered for the first time when he was eleven himself. The Ollivanders Wand Shop was looming in front of them. Gloomy, and the building seemed to be needing quite a lot of repairs ever since the last time Flitwick went there to escort his new students – which was a year ago. It was amazing how the reaction of which the students picked up their new wands could be very destructive at times…

Martur seemed to be calm though, even if he knew of the very time he would receive the tool that would help him to do magic. Very different than other children he always escorted – the muggleborns were always hyperactive, bouncing with nervousness during such time. This one was confident – he did not exaggerate like the last he heard of that Malfoy child from Pomona when she saw him. This one was much more mature, despite his small frame. A perfect student model.

They entered the shop.

The shop was full of long, dusty boxes inside the many shelves, and dust. Untidy and tiny, yet it almost seemed to be giving off mysterious aura about it. It was dark too – thanks to the darkened windows and the flying dusts. It showed that Ollivander never cleaned his shop, to Maglor, making him to frown at the pitiful state of the shop. Had the owner ever cleaned his shop for at least once in a while? Or at least open the window for ventilation – for clean air. Although he must say – the strong scent of wood in the small shop really did remind him of home or the forests. Thranduil might like this shop, if it was not because of that smell. He came to be proud of his Greenwood – that was called as Mirkwood thanks to the Necromancer during the Third Age – and still liked to brag of his old kingdom to his godson, whenever he saw the lovely green emeralds for eyes.

The very air felt cramped with magic, but a different magic than what Maglor had known since the Age of the Two Trees. Maglor would definitely speak of this shop to the twins, as he hoped that they would know if the magic was similar to the Maia that always come to and fro Imladris.

Neither father nor son jumped at a new voice, as they heard footsteps with their superior hearing. "Good evening, gentlemen." For it was, indeed, evening – their shopping took quite a bit of time. "Mr. Flitwick! 10 ¼ inches, hazel with the core of a dragon heartstring. Great for charms. You keep maintaining its pristine condition, I hope?"

Flitwick smiled fondly at the mention of his wand. "Of course, Mr. Ollivander."

Ollivander was an old man, his pale silver eyes seemed ancient and able to pierce their souls. Martur was unnerved by those other-worldly eyes, but his father seemed to be relaxed with such scary fact. His eyes swept into the other two in the room aside from Flitwick. "Now, which one of you shall purchase the wand?"

After the introductions, Martur was given a wand to wave, which made him felt like an idiot and looked ridiculous. When it didn't work, or perhaps – there were several times when the wand became aggressive, Ollivander quickly replaced the wand with another, though he became increasingly happy instead of frustrated for some reason. There were one or two intervals of which a new Hogwarts student entered and got their wands almost immediately.

It repeated until Ollivander ran out of wands.

"Strange, it seems that none of the wands wants to choose you, young Makalaurion. I was so sure the last wand would suit you." Ollivander commented. "I never have such case where I need to craft a wand like this."

Maglor paused in his conversation about the ancient history before the goblin history in the wizarding world was written with Flitwick. "Mr. Ollivander, what are the requirements of an object to be a wand?" He questioned.

Ollivander gestured the three of them to enter the deeper part of his small shop. "A wand core, Mr. Fëanorion, required to be coming from a living magical creature and they will act as the conductor of the magic coming from the wizard's core. It actually depends on what kind of creature the wand core was taken from and the magical core of the person who will be chosen by the wand – especially with the different wood wands." He explained. "Each creature has their own unique personality, which make each wand cores to be different from each other.

"There is also a wood wand, which obviously the wood used as the body of the wand, withholding the magical material inside it, and acts to direct the magic that was conducted by the wand into a specific area where you want the certain magic to go to. A wood wand often shows the characteristic of a person and corresponded with dates and months of a Celtic calendar, at times. With those two combined, the magical core will influence the wood to choose the right person as a partner of magic."

Maglor's lips quirked up into a smile. "Then there will be no reason that my hair and the wood of my harp can't be used for this occasion, is there?" He asked.

Ollivander paused, then looked at Maglor with a raised eyebrow. "A wizard's hair and a harp wood? That's unusual, but not unheard of."

"On the contrary belief, Mr. Ollivander, I am no human, much less Maia – or wizards as you call them." Maglor said, amused. "If this Ministry of yours knows of my people's existence, they will undoubtedly call us magical creatures, although my people are undoubtedly older than Men and immortal – such as Men always think of themselves higher than other creatures. Yet, with the goblin's insistence, they did recognize my son and I as a different species entirely from Men, although our species really are close to each other. I am not surprised that you think of me as a wizard, as my people did use magic in a different way than wands. I am what you people call an immortal elf – the Eldar.

"As for the wood, my harp was created by my father who was once known as the greatest smith of his time, using the branches of a silver tree of which flower become what you know as the moon. Telperion was once his name." Maglor smiled. "I need not a harp for my songs, as my voice is said to be more than enough for me to sing the tales of centuries old. I have never used it since a few years ago when I taught my son to use harp the first time; I was using my own handmade harp for my songs. It became my son's though I was planning to tell him in another few years when he's more adept to playing harps.

"I trust that will be satisfactory?"

"But atto!" Martur protested, looking at his father with wide eyes in surprise. "Haru made that for you! Why give it to me when my voice and skill aren't as good as yours?"

Maglor smirked. "You have my blood flowing in your veins, yondo. The newer generation, I've heard, always will surpass the older ones. It works to my brother's line – if your uncles ever told you of the stories about Annatar and your cousin Celebrimbor, that is."

His son spluttered. "But you're the one who are dubbed by everyone until now as the Mighty Singer! It will take me a lifetime of an Eldar to finally rival you, and not surpass you! Celebrimbor only surpasses uncle Curufin and Grandfather in smithy (for me anyways) because he made amends with uncle Curufin's past by not making the same oath as you and my every other uncles did, and also he's the only one between the three of them to not making things worse as it was and actually trying to fix his mistake by creating the Elven Rings of Power!"

It was obvious, really, that Celebrimbor was an idol figure in his son's eyes. It was endearing. Now, if only he was already reborn and in Arda rather than Valinor.

"That's one reason."

"Not that I'm saying that you and my other uncles are wrong that way! But-but-"

Maglor's lips quirked into a genuine smile as he watched his son getting flustered. "It's fine. I know what you're trying to say – the twins and your godfather, had drilled that into my head for centuries now. But really, it depends on how you think of it, yondo. If you put your mind on it, you might find yourself surpassing me in mere centuries."

Ollivander stared at the information given to him (both purposely and what his son had blurted out about the Rings of Power). "Those will be great ingredients for a wand. Providing that the two of them are close enough to Mr. Makalaurion in the prospect of magic, they will be perfect for use for him only, as we are going to create his wand as a custom wand." He said rather weakly.

Maglor might not bring a sword with him, but he always brought a knife for just-in-case situations. He cut a small lock of his hair to Ollivander, and promised that he would go to Ollivander to deliver the harp the next day, and give the payment and take the wand himself the day after that. All while ignoring his son's complaint about using his harp as the wood of his wand.

"All I ask of you son, is to use the wand wisely." Maglor said to his son, once all of them left Diagon Alley. "I trust you won't be using it to pick your nose?" He teased.

"Atto!"

Dagor Nirnaeth Arnoediad = Battle of Tears Unnumbered

Yondo = (Quenya) My son

Atto = (Quenya) Dad

Haru = (Quenya) Grandfather