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

Martur poked at his breakfast. It did look and smell appetizing, but he really didn't feel to eat. There was a factor of which he woke up late during midnight thanks to his nightmares, and woke up early in the morning without any hopes for him to sleep. So he traced the way to the Great Hall that he and other Ravenclaws used the night before and he saw that there were only the teachers and only few students in the Great Hall. There was also another factor that he was missing the presences of the few adults that he completely trusted. In actuality, he knew no one in Hogwarts aside from professor Flitwick, and even then, he wasn't sure if he was to trust the small professor. He vaguely aware that he hummed a note that his father always used recently, last he saw him, that was, as he played with his food.

"Nice voice you have." A voice started him out of his small daydream that his humming stopped abruptly. It was an older female Ravenclaw. He realized that he didn't know her name.

"Thank you." Martur said softly, only now noticing his food had become cold and not even half of it was eaten. His bright green eyes then focused the older girl. She was smiling, as though in triumph. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing." She said. "I suppose I only want to know who the resident songbird of Ravenclaw is."

Martur blushed at the praise. While he often sang in front of people, he always directed the praises those people gave him to his father. "Att- my father taught me." He said, covering slip in Quenya by using a word that people would understand. No one would understand him if he kept on saying atto instead of father, but it was difficult to do so since he spoke using that language every day with his atto and his teacher.

If she had noticed his slip, she mentioned none of it. "I'm Penelope Clearwater, 4th Year. Nice to meet you, little one." She introduced herself.

"Martur Makalaurion." Martur muttered, looking everywhere but her face, his pale skin slowly gained more colors. He was just that shy, without knowing anyone in his House and little interaction experience of children his age or older.

"Ah, you're one of the duo musicians in Maglor's Gap?" She asked.

Martur blinked slowly, then he scanned at her face trying to remember if he had seen her face in one of his many performances in his home. "Yes I am, how do you know?" He asked slowly.

"My mother often tells me of a marvelous little singer there, whenever she went to her Saturday hang-outs with her friends." Penelope beamed. "It's quite difficult to remember a Lord of the Ring-ish name like yours, but it's rather distinctive. Imagine my surprise when you're also magical!" She exclaimed. "Mother will never believe this, I suppose. Perhaps you should sing to me sometimes so that I can see how your voice charmed my mother?"

Martur blushed even more. "It's always my father who sings, I'm the one who always uses instruments. 'Twas probably my father's voice that had charmed her rather than mine."

"Nonsense!" Penelope said. "I heard your voice a few minutes ago, and your voice is so sweet. Mother's descriptions of you never will do the justice." She then smiled mischievously. "Maybe then, I'll help you in some of your lessons and give you some advices so that you won't lose your way inside this gigantic castle."

Forest green eyes met sea blue, he asked, "Truly?"

"Truly."

He couldn't believe his luck. He just made a friend. Suddenly Ravenclaw didn't seem as intimidating, with someone to guide him in the foreign school of magic. Even if that someone wasn't of his year.

A figure watched over Hogwarts from her very own Forbidden Forest.

Contrary to many beliefs, not all of the Elves had left Middle-Earth, especially those who were born there – similar to Thranduil. In fact, Melwen never really heard the so-called song of the seas that had the Noldor, and many people of Elrond and Galadriel to leave towards the sea; she never understood of it even if she had asked Lord Maglor to tell her from time to time what it's like. He was the only one out of all of the Elves of First Age remaining in Middle-Earth to listen to the voice of sea, yet he did not sail. She wouldn't know of Elrond's twin sons, but she knew that Lord Maglor did, as he often gazed to the sea before he had gotten himself a son when she and her companions visited him.

Now it had been years since she last saw him and his son, preferring to be in her home of Eryn Lasgalen, once known as Greenwood the Great – then Mirkwood, and finally the Forbidden Forest, even if the Forbidden Forest was just a small part of her formerly kingdom. Not to mention that with mortals populating the world with great speed, it felt much more safer in her haven rather than dwelling with the mortals such as her King in his politics, Lord Maglor with his songs, or the twin sons of Lord Elrond who would either accompany their grandfather that wasn't in blood or in Imladris; of which borders had diminished greatly such as Eryn Lasgalen.

Elves who had decided not to dwell among mortals chose to be watchers of the Ages of Mortals, such as her. Yet she was also always fascinated with mortals, with their ways differ and ever so quickly advancing. To think that a few decades ago they managed to create flying metal ships that would soar like ships would to water – and land on the Moon too! Lord Maglor had often told stories to many people, even if he wasn't aware of what he was doing at times. Such great and perhaps random, his skill on escaping reality by his songs. Tilion, a Maia of the Vala Oromë, it was told, was chosen amongst other Maiar to steer Isil – the Moon, of which was actually a vessel created by Vala Aulë to hold the radiance of the last flower of Telperion, the silver tree. Perhaps they might go to Gil-Estel; one thing they call as the planet Venus – and speak of an ancient half-elven Eärendil, who was steering his ship that they have come to know as Venus.

And of course, of the magic of mortals.

During the Ages of which Sauron had been biding his time to lash upon the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth, mortals had acquired many knowledge upon magic from the Elves and Istari themselves. Now they had advanced, though Melwen wondered why a community of them who lived and learned – or living and learning currently – had become stagnant. They still wore robes, structures of their buildings had not changed since the ancient days. Nothing had really changed, and their numbers were gradually getting little and little as the passage of time flowed thanks to their inter-marriage, and their minds getting more and more narrow; banning spells that were harmless, only harmful if the spells were used by people with dark purposes and discriminating creatures that weren't human. Melwen must admit that she was disgusted by that custom of theirs. It seemed as if it was a very, very long time that Man once lived side-by-side along with the Dwarves, Elves, and Hobbits.

Hogwarts, the school of mortal Istari was also too stagnant, for Melwen's point of view. And that was saying something, seeing that Elves themselves were far more stagnant than mortals. Melwen was always in the opinion of mortal's fëa burn as brightly as Fëanor's – father of Lord Maglor – fëa (or it was told), though short their lives were.

Now the school harbored the son of Lord Maglor – little one she hadn't seen ever since his healing-induced sleep when he was just found by Lord Maglor. Young Martur probably hadn't known anything about her, his self-appointed silent protector.

Well.

She had always been fond of children, mortal or no. She remembered how Princeling Legolas had been in her care at times, when her Queen and King were unavailable to their son and heir. Little Estel too, when she was merely visiting her sister in Imladris, before she went to the West. Young Martur had been no different, though she wasn't really fond of spoiled and conceited children of mortals that called themselves as 'purebloods'. Even Legolas hadn't been like that. And he was a prince. He acted like every Sindar Elfling she knew of; proven by repeatedly falling from trees he liked to climb.

Once she had heard from her King, she had appointed herself to watch over her King's godson, in his stead. Perhaps soon she should notify the youngling that he wasn't alone in the big mass of mortals. One might find it disconcerting to be shipped off to a foreign place without anything familiar.

"Any news?" One of her companions, Beriadan had asked impatiently.

"The numbers of the spiders are growing again, and the centaurs and unicorns are in unrest." Melwen murmured, as she watched children walking to and fro from the windows of the castle in a great distance. "The mortal Istari children had no knowledge upon the darkness that walked among them while it seemed to me that some of the adults knew of it."

Beriadan scoffed. "Let the mortals on their own. We had our problems to deal with."

"Is it because of son of Maglor going to Hogwarts, Beriadan, that you become this bitter to Hogwarts?" Melwen questioned him. Beriadan was ere young; he was born during the Fifth Age, yet just as any elflings in Arda had hung upon their histories after the Third Age (those who were born after the Third Age had always complained that they had missed great battles and such, that they would rather read histories about the past and play as one of the people that were mentioned in said history), Beriadan had come to detest mortals as he watched how much devastation upon the land that the Edain had brought. Lord Maglor had also been a victim, though in thought rather than physically. He was immediately detested upon once Beriadan had learned of how much destruction that he and his brothers brought to Arda because of an oath that happened thousands of years ago, before neither Sun nor Moon had risen. Kinslayer to his own kin. To an extent, the hatred also reached out to his son as well, just because the child bore the blood of a sinner in his veins.

Speaking about Lord Maglor, it never ceased to amaze her how his legend and history were popular in the few elven domains nowadays, now that Lord Maglor had finally found a place to settle and raise his son. From what she known from the messages her King had sent her and brief meeting with Lord Maglor himself, Lord Maglor had been apparently, turning into an urban legend of healer that was traveling near the coasts of many countries and he gave his blood in order to save a dying mortal, which was Martur.

A flash of disdain crossed over his fair face. It was the only answer she needed. "'Tis fine to just tell King Thranduil of how you hate anything related with Maglor." She murmured, "no one is forcing you to do anything."

"Nay, it is why I must watch over that spawn of kinslayer and those mortals!" He snarled.

"You are still young, Beriadan." She sighed. "Martur is not his father, and our kin had given Arda to their care completely, had they not? Oaths had been forbidden in our realms with the example of the oath of Maglor had driven him and his brothers to murder our kin. Though I am saddened at how low mortals had become; nothing more than tyrants rather than noble kings like they were used to be. Caring to nature – those kings, rather than destroying many things they have come across like Edain nowadays.

"Yet there still exists, mortals with golden hearts, though rare they were." She gazed towards Hogwarts with a distant look on her eyes as Beriadan watched her sullenly. "There is still hope for mankind."

"Do you not remember of those self-proclaimed Dark Lords, Melwen? What can you say for them?"

She heaved a heavy sigh. "Then may Eru have mercy on their fëar, and the Valar not cast them to the Void, for it is they who will judge, and not us who were susceptible to death and our fear created as children, unlike them; the Creator and His world's guardians."

She then watched the school, as Beriadan walked away. Something was happening inside the school, as the trees that were near the school were protesting. Perhaps she would use her long-unused skill of stalking, that she might be able to know what's going on instead of watching from afar. It never sits well with her at how there were deaths inside a school because of creatures that were hidden inside a school. And perhaps, kill those creatures like she did to the spiders in the forest.

Transfiguration was his – and his fellow Ravenclaw's – first lesson, along with the Gryffindors, taught by the Gryffindor's Head of House.

As he arrived to the class, he wondered why there was no professor around and why there was a black cat sitting on the desk. Perhaps it was the teacher's familiar? He shrugged and brought his book bag to the front of the classroom, where he just might found more details from the teacher if she were doing something, so that he might do his transfiguration better than it's supposed to. It wasn't really the time for the lesson to start yet; he was perhaps the earliest to come for his insight of asking Penelope where the Transfiguration class was held. He figured that he would have some reading while waiting, so he took out a book of poems that his father wrote just for him and try to understand the riddles behind it.

Minutes pass, and many of the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors shuffled in. But Martur did not see Ron, the boy he briefly talked during his journey to Hogwarts. Just before the lesson (supposed to) started, he had appeared with two other Gryffindors in tow, panting and cursing. Martur only looked up from his book and leaved his book, turning his full attention to the front of the class. It was a school of mortal Maia, so the teacher might appear anytime – and perhaps with smoke around her?

She did appear, and she was the cat sitting on the desk. Who knew they can turn into animals too? She almost took points from Ron, Mr. Finnegan, and Mr. Thomas – Ron's new friends – had it not because they were also new students that it was understandable for them to lose their way in their first days in the massive castle called school. She certainly looked disapproving, what's with that stern glare and disapproving frown in her thin lips towards three of her Lions.

The lesson started with them trying to turn a matchstick to a needle. Not an easy feat to be sure; while magic came to him easier in voice – he was sure he had heard the incarnation right; his atto had taught him many things, including how to hear things right – it was the motion of the wand that seemed to be more important than the voice. Perhaps he was too careful to flick his own wand that his matchstick was silver and not pointy like a needle in his fifth try, and be an actual needle during his eighth. He was hardly one of the first students to be given points, so the professor told him to try to change it back to a matchstick.

It was History of Magic next, and he wondered what kind of teacher that would teach him. He loved history of his family dearly enough, although it was full of tragedy: the life his atto had lead long before mortals had created technology and Hogwarts was even founded. Though if it was history in mortals' point of view, many histories were forgotten, and of mortals in early Greece had dubbed his family as part of the gods of Olympus. Histories were just unique that way.

As he arrived, he had noticed that the teacher was nothing more than a fëa of a mortal, similar to the ghosts of each Houses. Mr. Binns, he had introduced himself as, with a monotone voice. Then the ghost successfully achieved the impossible by lulling him to sleep because of the monotonous voice and somehow making the supposedly-exciting history into an extremely boring one. Martur, one who loved to pursue history, was upset and resolved to try to be awake next time in this class.

The next day, it had been Charms that was taught by Professor Flitwick, his Head of House. He taught them how to levitate a feather as an exercise of magic. Charms, he discovered, required more focus whereas Transfiguration required more visualization. Words were often acted somewhat similar to a password, as did wand motions that the object he was supposed to charm would move if he spoke the right pronunciation (which he got hang of rather quickly; his atto taught him to sing in various languages – though he didn't understand the meanings yet – and the language he used for the spells in Hogwarts were Latin; and he always sing in Latin, in other occasions that singing in his house as musician duo with his atto!) and wand motion. Professor Flitwick had made it to be a valid point in his class. 'Swish and Flick!' he often said in that one lesson period.

There were also many kinds of lessons; Herbology that was taught by Professor Sprout (still theories about plants rather than planting them like he always did with his godfather when he was in the vicinity), Astrology by Professor Sinistra (he must say he might stay up there and watch the star until the light of the Sun appeared and cover them with Her light), Potions by Professor Snape (the smell was rather complex inside the class, but the teacher was very much strict, not the same as the Gryffindors had described to their First Years – but maybe it was from another perspective), Defense Against Dark Arts or known as DADA by Professor Quirrel (but he fainted straight away because of the sharp smell of garlic that attacked his senses as he stepped into the class; the elven blood in him had amplified his senses greatly, so he had one of his classmates to teach him – though it was futile since Anthony Goldstein and other Ravenclaws had said that the teacher was useless).

DADA was the class that had introduced him to the Infirmary of Hogwarts to the first time, and he immediately hated the too-sterile scent of the place; he was very much used to walk on muddy earth with naked feet, dance under the rain, and such dirty things that he was sure other boys that were small as him would do.

… He found that he dearly missed the familiar presences of his father or uncles.

They looked on towards the Ravenclaw table. Something about the smallest student made them think of someone… Maybe later they'll send a mail to their eldest brother via Hogwarts owl.

But before that, they had to made sure what they were seeing was actually real. And try not to put him into their pranks for a moment.

For there was a small version of Makalaurë sitting right in front of their faces, complete with the mannerism of Makalaurë's that they had often heard from their oldest brothers when they reminisced of when they were young, of which picture they had seen once a long time ago in their parents' room.

Hogwarts was rubbish. Just like his mom told him about his drunk of an aunt had went to. No wonder her aunt became a drunkard like her good-for-nothing husband and useless son! (Though to be honest, he often heard of such words from his father and he didn't really understand what those big words mean. But he did know that they meant bad.)

The professors were stupid, just like the teachers of his old school. They didn't teach anything; since he knew everything! It was probably the reason why the wiz-thing society had become so technology-less! How could they live without TV and such things anyways? If he was to throw a tantrum for TV, it would make him look stupid 'coz smart people don't do tantrum: they demand. But the last time he demanded for a game boy, that cat-professor of his House – whatever it means anyways – had given him detention with that- that- that lowly servant by scrubbing a toothbrush to the walls like that punishment his parents gave to the freak! How dare they do such a thing to him! The one who had actually protected them from that one freak child during that one night long time ago! He was better than all of them; they should see. How he was more powerful than them (though compared to Crabbe and Goyle, his scores were worse in the first weeks of Hogwarts since not only he didn't do his job and assignment, he didn't know when to shut his mouth).

Hmm. Maybe it'll be better for him to help this stupid wiz-thing world one more time like he did last time with his freak of a cousin! That ought to teach the inhabitants of this stupid school about life once you get away from it. So now he only needed to find a perfect student, forgetting the fact that he was a student too.

Student… Student… Oh, he knew! How genius was he! He remembered a small child with a long name into the Ravenclaws. The smallest one would be the best student material, from what he remembered from his freak of a cousin. That freak of a cousin of his (he forgot the name. Is it Hardy? Homer? Whatever) must be living a great life because of his life lessons to him, so now it shall be the smallest student of this rubbish school. The smallest teacher wouldn't do, 'coz he was too old to learn new tricks – like a dog. He often learned from Aunt Marge that old dogs couldn't learn new tricks.

His eyes searched over the table of the Ravenclaws while he was eating, unaware that most students get away from him because of his manners of eating – rivaled only by a Ron Weasley; one of his new lackeys – and found his target. There! That girl with Slytherin-colored eyes and messy long hair who was receiving something that was covered with some blue cloth lined with silver in the fashion of leaves from crows right now. Made him think of that stupid Germione, but at least that girl looked like she liked to be taught and didn't show-off like Germione – teacher's pet she was – during the lessons Gryffindors had with the Ravenclaws. And of course; the girl was the smallest kid among all kids in Hogwarts added as a bonus.

Oh, she wouldn't know how lucky she was to have such a generous teacher like him who would teach her about life!

It was later on the evening that he caught her cradling something like a baby, walking towards some place that he didn't really care where. Wasn't he lucky to encounter her alone? Now's his chance!

"Now, now, what do I have here?" He asked, his grin widening at the sight of her freezing in her place. "A girl walking all alone, inside a scary and dark school with no one to accompany her to her destination? Now that could be fixed." And when he got close to her, he pushed her strong enough to make her fall. The thing she cradled fell, and the sound it made was as though it was damaged.

"No!" She cried, seemingly to be pained as the item parted from her grasp.

He never noticed how the 'girl' mover 'her' lips as though in prayer, and ran after 'her' as 'she' ran – and took the fallen item of 'hers'; how soundless 'her' footsteps were. Luckily for 'her', 'her' movements were swift thanks to the elven blood running in 'her' veins and the few training that 'her' teacher had given 'her'.

It was the hour for him to do the patrol. Up until this hour, he still wondered to himself if the Headmaster was actually delusional himself that he brought that Thing inside a school with many inhabitants, most of which were students.

Perhaps it was lucky that he had actually finished working on those dunderheads' abysmal essays. Not only were they difficult to read, but most of them were filled with rubbish, especially the new Gryffindors like that Weasley, Dursley, and Longbottom. Not to mention that every Friday he must endure their foolishness in brewing potions! By Merlin, he wondered – and angered – at how Longbottom managed to melt his cauldron or how Dursley was an absolute dunderhead by making his potion to almost have poisonous fumes that would undoubtedly kill the whole class. Somehow.

Dursley. What an unpleasant name. How he loath the name after the Headmaster had told him that Harry Potter was in the care of the Dursleys through his mother's side. So Petunia had married that walrus she often brought home – before Lily and him had severed their bond of friendship through his idiotic action by calling her a 'mudblood'? Well, good for her, the unpleasant giraffe and the obnoxious walrus fit for each other. Probably Potter was in their care, but he wondered for some brief moments as of why the Headmaster didn't seem to worry about Potter's whereabouts when he didn't appear here to torment him with his spoiled presence?

He was never close to any of his Slytherins – aside from Draco: his godson and his source of rumors going around in Hogwarts from the students' point of views – but he took pride of them; that they were as cunning and sly as he wanted them to be. Except for Crabbe and Goyle. Merlin knew that they were products of too much intermarriage in their families that he was sure that they would be even more dunderheads than their sires. He didn't really mind the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs; smarts and hard works were much better than Gryffindor's recklessness that would get them killed. And they wondered why Slytherins lived longer than Gryffindors…

Ah, now here's the sound of someone running in the fourth floor. Probably a student – and better yet, it was probably a Gryffindor. Gryffindors always did what they liked to do.

As he stood tall like a statue, he watched as two children ran from the corner, one he wasn't able to discern their expression due to their long hair, the other was – oh, of course it was Dursley! As if being a dunderhead wasn't enough, it seemed to him that he was most likely bullying the kid in front of him. And he caught the dunderhead several times already; bullying brats of every House.

"What are you dunderheads doing?" His voice snapped like a whip, and the children froze. From a closer inspection on the long-haired child, it was Mr. Makalaurion. From the sounds of it, he was sobbing. From the looks of it, yes, he was crying. Perhaps in terror, not that he can blame the brat. Every small kid would probably be afraid of bullies. One of his own Snake had cried in terror after she came from similar bullying by Dursley.

Good Ravenclaw the small boy was, had talent in potions, though almost similar to a porcelain doll that had Draco looking at him interestedly before he realized that Mr. Makalaurion was a boy and not a girl. Long locks on a boy probably tended to make people think that they were girls, if they weren't perspective enough. Filius often boasted about the jewel-eyed and honey-voiced boy (the goblin descent's words) he had in his House, when it came to the teachers to discuss on their students' behaviors and grades.

But now the said Ravenclaw was blabbering in unrecognizable language. He duly noted that he should ask Filius about that later. Since that was the case, he directed his glare to Dursley. His voice was now soft, unlike earlier. "I ask again; what are you doing?"

Dursley was obese. Stupid as he looked – which was no wonder; knowing his parents were a human-like giraffe and human-like walrus. They probably didn't know anything about parenting, that Dursley was even fatter than Crabbe and Goyle. And that was saying something.

"Oh nothing sir – I was just teaching her a lesson." He raised an eyebrow. By now he was sure everyone in Hogwarts knew Mr. Makalaurion was, in fact a male, despite his long hair that was enough to make him look like a girl. He was sure that all of his colleagues had made it clear by calling the long-haired boy, Mr. Makalaurion instead of Ms. Makalaurion. What a dunderhead.

"Teaching Mr. Makalurion what lesson, Mr. Dursley, if his tears indicate anything?" He asked silkily. He would know if what he saw was bullying at once. "Ten points from Gryffindor for pushing fellow student and running in the halls." He decided not to mention anything about Mr. Makalaurion also running in the halls.

"But-!"

"Make that twenty points for talking back at your teacher, and a detention with me starting tomorrow night at seven sharp."

"Hmph!" And so the dunderhead went, after eyeing Mr. Makalaurion dangerously – almost as if he was the one at fault. Mr. Makalaurion was too distraught to take notice.

He looked over to the small boy. "And what seems to be your problem, Mr. Makalaurion, to be crying like a girl that you look like?" He asked with a sneer.

Mr. Makalurion jerked as if he was surprised to be called, though tears were still running on his face. "P-professor Snape," he sniffled, "Dudley- (he noted that Mr. Makalaurion seemed to know Dursley well enough to use his first name and not his last name, and curiously, Dursley didn't know that he was a boy) atto gave me- Haru's harp- damaged-" The brat was speaking incoherently. A moment of listening, and he finally understood the message. This person called Atto sent him a harp called Haru's harp – that might or might not be a special item of the family – and the harp became damaged thanks to Dursley's interference when he was going to Filius' office to ask for protection spells on his harp. Typical.

He pursed his lips as he brought the boy to Filius' office, after he casted a reparo at the harp – which had made Mr. Makalaurion to thank him quite a lot of times. So in this generation, it seemed to him that the Gryffindors were acting up again, but this time Mr. Makalaurion was the target. But he couldn't be so sure since this was probably the first time Gryffindors assaulted a Ravenclaw in this year instead of Slytherins like they always did. However, Mr. Makalaurion was perhaps the smallest and youngest-looking student in Hogwarts of this generation, and thus making him an easy target. If only the brat was a Slytherin, he might be able to protect him, but the boy wasn't a Slytherin; he was a Ravenclaw. Filius, he remembered, was rather close to his Ravens that he probably wouldn't let him to suffer thanks to the Gryffindors like he did when he was a student. The small professor had always been perspective, though he wasn't able to help him back then; if he was to help him who wasn't his Raven, especially Slytherins, since Slytherins were thought to be evil and dark because of the recent Dark Lord, there might be unfairness among the teachers that they would demand for him to resign or quit his teaching position, which wouldn't do at all. He understood it now, since he was a teacher and understood the position better.

Well, if Mr. Makalaurion was targeted by Gryffindors again, he might as well use the excuse that Gryffindors were delusional, reckless children who saw themselves as heroes, and children of other Houses as villains. That was what they always did.

In all honesty, he didn't know why he had this impulse of defending the small Ravenclaw. Perhaps it was something from his strangely familiar green-colored eyes or his small stature…

Something told him that there was more than it meets to the eye within Mr. Makalaurion. For one, both harp and the cloth covering it felt almost as if there was magic inside it? Perhaps his distant ancestor was a powerful wizard and the two were family heirloom? Why did he bring them here in the first place?

The small Ravenclaw was perhaps a mystery, but it was not his to solve, as he was Filius' and not his'.

A knock resounded in his office, startling him from his composition – er, work – for his wizarding music lessons. It was fortunate that he had finished grading the essays of the children.

"Come in!" He called. Imagine his surprise when he saw Severus enter. Severus, though young he was, never went so freely to other teacher's office except when it was necessary, very much unlike him and Pomona. "Severus! What brings you-," he trailed off when he saw Martur also walked in. "Martur?" He raised his eyebrow. Severus and Martur? Whatever brought the unlikely teacher-student pair here out of all places?

"Hi professor." Martur greeted with a small voice and a hiccup, cradling a harp like a mother does to their babies. He looked like he was crying…?

Filius looked at Severus bewilderedly. "What happened?" He demanded.

"The Gryffindors, Filius. You know them." Severus vaguely replied, making the small professor to narrow his eyes. The small professor was a man with sharp mind. So if his smallest Raven was brought here by Severus himself, it would probably because the dour professor was defending his smallest Raven from a certain Gryffindor after the said Gryffindor was caught and punished (or going to be punished) accordingly. Gryffindors had always been loathed by Severus, and Filius had no delusions of what happened to his childhood because of them, unlike Minerva and Albus.

"Who?"

Severus looked like he was debating to tell him before Martur's voice interrupted. "It's alright professor. He was given a detention by Professor Snape." He then smiled shyly. "Professor Snape also repaired the harp atto sent me."

Filius raised an eyebrow at the child. "Oh? But your father had made it clear to me that he would like to have the list of the name of the children who likes to push you around." He noted that shy smile Martur gave when he spoke of Severus. Well now, Severus might or might not be seen as a hero figure by his smallest Raven, despite his villain-y looks and probably harsh ways.

Martur face reddened. "Atto would never-!" Understanding seemed to made its way to Severus' mind the instant he said atto right then and there, not that the other two knew it. He just understood who this Atto person was. It was the overprotective father of Mr. Makalaurion's. Young Makalaurion used another language other than English, it seemed.

"It was Dudley Dursley." Severus said flatly, ignoring Martur's stare of horror.

"Ah." Filius then nodded in understanding. Minerva got several complaints from Pomona, himself, and even her own students about Dursley's and bullying ways. She still didn't see it fit to teach him and show him a way of peace and understanding, almost similar to the situation of young Severus and her Marauders. There were even a few of his own students escorted by other professors similar to Martur and Severus before now thanks to Dursley. "What did Mr. Dursley do this time?" He sounded resigned with having his students bullied.

Martur looked highly embarrassed and pleadingly looked at Severus.

The Potion Master looked almost amused, ignoring the boy's plea. "He had mistaken Mr. Makalaurion as a girl, for one."

Filius' eyebrows raised, almost disappearing behind his hair. "I thought by now everyone knows that Martur is a boy?" The look Severus gave him suggested that he too, thought of it. An amused smile appeared in Filius' face. "I suppose I should have seen this in the first place; Martur's father, Maglor, had once told me about him mistaken as a girl several times in his family inn." Martur looked scandalized that his father told the small professor about that. Oh, the boy was surely easy to tease.

"Professor!" His face was completely red.

Filius shot him a smile before turning to Severus. "And what's the next thing after that?"

"Mr. Dursley, it seemed, wanted to teach him a lesson." Severus drawled. With a student who liked to push other students wanting to teach a lesson, 'teach a lesson' would probably meant some kind of beating. Martur was small, and his age was but a toddler's age in the eyes of his father. If young Martur got a beating from Mr. Dursley, he feared for Mr. Dursley family; he still remembered what Dan had said about the businessman who used Martur and then lost everything, and what would happen to a person if he beat Martur?

Filius paled. The family of the person would suffer to the brink of insanity. From the little texts he had read together with his father from the goblin achieves when he was old enough to know what kind of works goblins do, Martur was an heir of a kingdom – and Maglor himself was once a High King when his older brother was caught before he gave the throne to their uncle. And who knew what kind of tortures that could be thought of by immortal beings, especially when the said immortal beings had killed another of their own kin and probably had seen the torture mortals made during his travels?

He hoped not to write any name to the list, but Maglor was a Slytherin in mind and a Ravenclaw in heart, it seemed. Filius just had to give an Oath about that, didn't he? He prayed for Mr. Dursley's family's safety.

He turned to the little High Prince and eyed him for a moment. "You're not hurt, I hope?"

Martur shook his head quickly.

"If you don't mind, I believe I still have some work to do." Severus inclined his head before went out, completely ignoring Martur's shout of thanks towards him.

Which made it to be only Filius and his smallest student in the office. There was a small pause before Filius offered Martur something he probably would love. "Well then, Martur. Since we're here, would you like to help me in composing music I have in mind?"

It got Martur very interested. "What for?"

And they spent their free times composing a song which probably would be heavenly, seeing that it was the son of a great musician of all Ages himself that helped the small professor. Martur's harp also got the protections that the small child wanted, too. It became an evening of great benefit for them both.

Many of the professors got confused the next day, as of why Filius became much more cheerful than usual that he bounced whenever he went, almost like a child on sugar high.

Maglor frowned when his work on translating now was of the texts that came from Gondolin herself. There were several different styles of Quenya, and while his mother language was Quenya, he didn't really understand Tengwar of Gondolin's Quenya and therefore he sent them to Glorfindel – after asking him to help his job on translating some texts to be given to the younger generations. Who would probably thought of them as fiction. But they made a good source for reading, nonetheless.

He often thought that at least it may be preserved by Man in language that they understand, and thought of as myth or even fiction, as Tolkien's works were viewed as – though it was very much generalized history of theirs in Silmarillion – rather than forgotten. Man forgot many things, including how they were found by his cousin Finrod and taught of languages, how they fought together against the Enemy, along with dwarves and hobbits during the Third Age; thousands of years ago.

With the so-many texts that the goblins had, he might estimate that the day he would finish this job would be another hundreds of years, since he had other jobs, like singing and composing. He was not born a scribe, damn it. He was a singer! He wrote musical notations, not translations! Other elves knew him as the Mighty Singer; and to him they would come had they wanted to learn of the Lore of Music.

Ai, Gondolin! He suddenly recalled that his son often spoke to the warrior of how lovely Gondolin would be if the ruins were to be restored as Gondolin before her destruction, though he himself saw not – his son was on a short trip with the Balrog-slayer; he never went to the mountains where her city laid in rest; the place where his cousin Turgon once ruled and where Glorfindel dwelled as a Lord of the House of Golden Flower then and now as the keeper of her ruins, hidden behind the rocks and mountains. With the technology of mortals nowadays, he thought with amazement of how the city managed to be hidden from their views in plain sight.

There was a knock in the window to his office that had roused him from his thoughts and his job of separating different texts for now. Instead of the crebain he always expected (he always exchanging letters with Thranduil and Glorfindel in the topic of his son's education, being the youngest of the elven blood he was), it was an owl bearing a letter tied in its leg. It made him curious.

As he allowed the owl to drink and eat bacon he had provided (initially for the crebain), he read the letter a certain wizard who knew of his identity in days of old sent him.

"To whom I believe shall read this,

In this letter written a name that had appeared in the list you had asked me to write.

Dudley Dursley

- FF"

He raised an eyebrow.

Such a small world! When his son was still traumatized, thinking himself as a lowest of the low servant rather than a child, he kept on mentioning Petunia and Vernon as his relatives. England could be considered as a small place, and as his son recovered, Thranduil had taken it upon himself to look for a couple with those names. The name Dursley came up, and since then, they watched out for people with that last name, and the Dursleys never came upon them. To think that their son Dudley would come and bully the same child without them knowing it!

A strange coincidence, though it was an unpleasant one.

He pursed his lips and wrote a reply. The text he was translating wasn't a dire need for the goblins, and he literally had a lot of times. His time would end during the fore-told end of time itself. They could wait, but his son could not, for time itself was running, turning his son older before he knew it.

Hmm.

Perhaps he should pay Hogwarts a visit. Who knew what things had changed since a thousand of years ago, the time of which Salazar had asked of his blessings of protection to the mortal-made magical school.