Inspired by the Poem Erl King [1782] by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe - www. moonfairye library/ erlking. htm
Also inspired by this piece of fanart: It's Mostly Harmless... By HollowTorch hollowtorch. deviantart gallery / # / d2qfxw2
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This should go without saying!
Warning: Some pretty dark undertones, kidnapping, pedophilia, death.
ENDING REWRITTEN! - Looking back on this piece, I was not 100% satisfied with Harry and James's reunion and decided to tweak it just a little.
Erlkoenig
By Saffire Blade
In the far north, where the land was covered in heavy snow, there was a forest. An enchanted forest surrounded by mountains that protected it from the outside world. The only settlement for miles was a small village on the very edge of the forest, known by the name of Hogsmeade. The tiny village was notorious for its fascinating tales and stories of an enchanted forest that were passed down with every generation. It was said the forest was filled with magic and held creatures that only existed in fantasy; beautiful unicorns with fur of virgin white, the snow, dirt grey in comparison to their purity. There was also a tribe of seers, half man, half horse hybrids that roamed the woods and spoke to the stars themselves. They were no enemy to humans, nor their alleys. Yet, there were worse creatures roaming the words than centaurs, such as the werewolves that stalked the night, large trolls with the strength to kill a bear, and even ferocious dragons with the flame of hellfire itself.
However, there was another reason the villagers feared to enter mystical forest, because of the magic that covered the land, forever plaguing them in eternal winter. It was dark magic and the source was not from a mystical stone or sacred tree, or even the forest itself. No, it came in the form of a dark creature, a monster that masqueraded in the form of man. A being they called the Elf-King, the Erlkoenig.
In the very heart of the wood, a cloaked being in billowing black robes stalked the grounds, his dark form melting into the shadows, his deathly pale skin the same colour of trodden snow. From the safety of the trees the cloaked being rode soundlessly on horseback, but not of any horse man had ever seen. Much like its master, the creature was coal black and skeleton like in shape. The creature was a thestral and what made it so unique from any other horse were the two bat-like wings that protruded from its sides, neatly folded around the rider's legs.
The two casually strolled through the forest, basking in the cool breeze of the setting sun when the sound of a snapping twig cut threw the silence. The man's thin lip curled into a sneer and he tugged on the thestral's reigns. The creature came to a sudden halt and the dark figure listened intently to the sound of heavy hooves coming his way. Behind them, down the dirt path he could make out a chestnut brown horse trotting towards them. Snapping the reigns ever so quietly he and his steed stepped back into the cover of the trees and silently watched.
The stallion came closer and on its back was a dark haired man, wrapped in thick fur and leather. He had a handsome face with mischievous brown eyes hidden behind round spectacles. His hair upon closer inspection was untameable and stuck up in every direction. The cloaked man did not take too kindly to a son of Adam trespassing in his domain and would have punished the human for his insolence, if not for the small boy who sat in front, gently petting the horse's black mane.
The second human was no older than eleven and there was no doubt he was the son of the rider. He too was wrapped in warm fur to protect his small frame from the bitter cold and resembled his father in everyway. They shared the same light tan, facial structure, messy hair and even the same round spectacles. The only trait that tore them apart were the eyes. Where the man's were a boring brown, the child's sparkled emerald green, filled with child-like wonder and nativity. The shadowed being could not turn away, as if held by a powerful curse. The child had captivated him with his warmth and purity. Overcome with such foreign emotions, he lost himself in thought.
Who's riding so late where winds blow wild
It is the father grasping his child;
He holds the boy embraced in his arm,
He clasps him snugly, he keeps him warm.
The traveller in question was a businessman by the name of James Potter. He came from the far south, from a small settlement called Godric's Hollow and had business at the abandoned castle, Hogwarts. The castle was said to belong to four of the greatest minds on the planet, they built the castle and turned it into a beacon of progress and hope. Years later, the castle had long since been abandoned and the small wilderness surrounding the castle seemed to evolve and grow into what was now called the Forbidden Forest. No one dared to approach the castle. Rumours spread that is was cursed and a place of sorcery. James didn't believe in such stories and neither did his client, Albus Dumbledore who wished to rebuild the aged fortress and turn it into a school.
The villagers of Hogsmeade had advised James to take the long route, going around the mountains and avoid the forest at all costs. The traveller, while grateful for their concerns, could not afford to take the safe route, the blizzard had slowed down his trip enough already and if he did not pick up the pace he wouldn't make it on time to meet his client. The villigers continued to persuade him but once it became clear their persistence was only equal to James's stubbornness, they gave him one final warning. For his own safety and safety of his child, never stray from the path.
With a frantic breath, James's eyes darted to the dirt path that had long since been covered in snow and frozen leaves. He made sure to keep his steed in line with the manmade grooves of the track and never once strayed towards the hollow trees. Yet, as the sun continued to set, a light fog swished across the path, enveloping the ankle's of the horse. Every now and then James' hand would twitch towards the knife, hidden within his leather boot. Even the sound of the piercing wind between the dead branches put James on edge. His eyes darted down the child wrapped in his arms and a smile spread across his face.
The small child, Harry Potter, seemed oblivious to the dangers and was happily taking in wonders of the snow covered trees and high mountains tops. In contrast to the villagers, Harry was not repulsed by their tales but engrossed in the legends of giant spiders that lived underneath the forest, in a spiderweb of tunnel, waiting to spring out to drag travellers back to their nest and suck them dry. Or the beautiful Veela, demons with female faces who would enchant the heart's of men and lure them away from the safety of the path to have their way with them, then devour them.
Harry heard the sound of wings beating and quickly snapped his head to the right, hoping to catch sight of a real life dragon. However, he was quickly disappointed when all he was a low branch and resting upon it was a bird perched on its nest. Harry pouted at the chirping bird and turned his head away, when something else caught his stare. Standing directly underneath the branch Harry was captured by pure black eyes, like a vast tunnel that drew him in, enveloping Harry. A think whisp of mist escaped Harry's parting lips and he let out a terrified scream.
"My son, why cover your face in such fear?"
"You see the elf-king, father? He's near!
The king of the elves with crown and train!"
"My son, the mist is on the plain."
Tugging on the reigns, James brought the horse to a stop and turned to the spot that caused his son to recoil. The mist was growing thicker with every passing minute and unless they reached the castle by sunset, James would not be able to navigate them through forest. And it was much too dangerous to stop and rest for the night. Above all else the villagers warned him to not stop, never stop. Keeping calm, James scanned where his son was looking only seconds ago and searched for anything that resembled a man. He spotted nothing through the darkness of the trees and with a content sigh, stoked his son's back reassuringly and pressed on. When the horse jerked with movement, Harry released his hold over his father's coat and turned back towards the trees. He felt his blood run cold.
Hidden amongst the shadows was a man with deathly pale skin, a venomous smirk and empty black eyes that turned his heart to ice. Harry tried to look away but the intensity of those soulless eyes drew him. Memories of his time back in the village came tumbling back and he was reminded of the inn he and his father stayed. The stories told from the mouths of drunken men. One of them engrossed Harry above else and it was the story of an elf, the king of the forbidden forest. The Dark elf brought a curse upon the village, plaguing them with an endless season of winter. Harry had heard of many types of elves, from small fairies to tall, fair humans. They were always described as being beautiful and wise creatures that could swoon humans with but a whisper. As such, Harry imagined a dark elf would look something like his Godfather, Sirius black. A heandsome man with long black, hair, marble skin and eyes that twinkled like stars amongst the night sky. This creature standing before Harry was nothing like he had imagined.
Riding upon a foul looking horse with hellfire eyes was a being shrouded in black. He was not handsome by any means, his skin deathly pale and underneath his cloak was a body was much too thin, with a wiry frame and spider like fingers. His shoulder length, greasy black hair, fell down to his shoulder, covering his face like a curtain, except for his long hooked nose, far too big for his thin face. Much like the rest of him, the man's eyes were colourless with only two black coals for pupils. The sight of the being repulsed young Harry but when the figure opened his mouth, much like the legends told, his words spun like the finest of silk.
'Sweet lad, o come and join me, do!
Such pretty games I will play with you;
On the shore gay flowers their colour unfold,
My mother has many garments of gold.'
Harry felt a heavy fog cloud his vision and was suddenly entranced by the voice of elf before him. How he wanted to reach to run his fingers through his inky hair and let his haunting stare, devour him. The horse bucked ever so slightly and Harry broke free from the elf's control. The spell keeping him paralysed was undone and Harry turned away from the elf's sinful gaze, shutting his eyes tightly. The elder Potter did not react though, almost oblivious to the scene unfolding before him. He did he hear the elf speak, nor the sound of a second pair of hooves trotting along beside them, with the occasional flap of bony wings. It seemed James could not even see the elf catching up with them, and when he was trotting right beside them, a mere foot away, James still did not notice.
Harry stared up at his father with a look of pure terror. How could he not hear such sinful words escape the mouth of the demon stalking them? Even through the rising mist and darkening sky, the elf stood just out of reach of the shadows. He could have easily melted into the trees if he wished, and yet he did not. He wanted to be seen, he wanted to be seen by Harry.
"My father, my father, and can you not hear
The promise the elf-king breathes in my ear?"
"Be calm, stay calm, my child, lie low:
In withered leaves the night-winds blow."
James once again scanned the surrounding path for the slightest movement of an animal or even the tiniest whistle of a falling leaf. For the briefest of moments his eyes stared directly into the black depth of the elf before looking above his head, continuing his futile search. Harry was not the only one on edge though; the horse was suddenly panicking and tugging on the reigns, trying to jump to the left side of the path and no matter how hard James pulled them back to the centre of the path, the horse fought back.
Harry began to hyperventilate, how could his father not see the menacing man moving in on them, like a wolf after a stray sheep? His father seemed to have given up on calming the horse and decided to increase their pace, compromising with the stallion. The thestral only moved faster, almost floating along the snow, never actually touching it. Keeping in step with James, the elf, without a care, released his grip on the thestral's reigns and lifted his left hand, reaching out and ever so delicately to brush Harry's cheek with his frozen fingers.
'Will you, sweet lad, come along with me?
My daughters shall care for you tenderly;
In the night my daughters their revelry keep,
They'll rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.'
Harry flinched from the touch and turned away. The simple caress caused him to shiver and seek the warmth of his father's chest. In that brief second of contact, all the heat in Harry's body had left him and his lips had turned blue.
This did not go unnoticed by James though, who too suddenly felt a bitter cold in the air. He gazed down at his son and struggling to remove his glove. He placed the back of his sweaty palm against his son's forehead and Harry let out a moan, leaning closwer, wanting to absorb all of his father's warmth and strength. Suddenly worried, James tore off his coat and wrapped it snugly around his son and held him tightly. The sun was almost close to setting and the sudden drop in temperature had taken its toll on Harry.
The boy continued to shiver and even with his face turned towards his father's chest, Harry's eyes never left the amused twinkle in the elf's eye. His smile had turned into a lustful grin and he watched with great satisfaction as Harry sort comfort from the chill. In contrast, the elf withdrew his hand and Harry took quick note on how a sudden flush colour spread along the finger tips. Lovingly, the elf nuzzled his own palm and the warmth he had stolen.
Harry suddenly understood the tale now, the Elf-King possessed no heat or any source of life. His touch was deadly and in his mere presence, the warm of the land had been sucked dry, freezing lakes over and zapping the plants of their strength and very essence.
"My father, my father, o can you not trace
The elf-king's daughters in that gloomy place?"
"My son, my son, I see it clear
How grey the ancient willows appear."
Surely his son was delirious, James thought to himself. The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains and the mist was now at eye level. Their journey had taken far longer than it should have. Mentally, James cursed himself for not leaving his son in the care of his godfather, Sirius and dear friend, Remus. But no, after the death of his wife, James could not dare to part with his son, the only remains of his beloved Lily. He selfishly took the child on his journey and Harry was all too happy to come along, to be his father's apprentice and travel the world.
Just then, James saw it, tall spires peaking over the forest. It was the castle. Hope restored, James snapped on the reigns and the horse jumped over the dirt path and sprinted towards the ever growing castle, the villages warning all but forgotten. He was unaware of the terror erupting from Harry, the heavy beat of wings and the shadow that swept over them.
'I love you, your comeliness charms me, my boy!
And if you're not willing, my force I'll employ.'
"Now father, now father, he's seizing my arm.
Elf-king has done me a cruel harm."
Harry began to thrash in his father's arms, his arm outreached as if iron claws had dug into him. His entire frame felt like it had been forcefully dunked into a frozen lake none too kindly. Harry's core temperature dropped too rapidly for it to be natural, the colour drained from his flushed face and his lungs felt like they were being crushed. The sun had finally bid goodbye and night graced the quiet land. Harry slumped against his father's chest and through glazed eyes he released a gasp of air and a long wisp of fog escaped his chapped lips.
The father shudders, his ride is wild,
In his arms he's holding the groaning child,
Reaches the court with toil and dread. -
The child he held in his arms was dead.
James reached the castle too late, his son was stone cold by the time he escaped the binds of the Forbidden Forest and raced into the open gates. Greeting him was Dumbledore with an ever playful twinkle in his eyes, but once his gaze fell upon James's tearstained face and the still form of the child, the twinkle vanished. His companion, Madam Pomphrey was a trained nurse but even she could do nothing, had the boy been brought to her only minutes before she may have saved him.
James was not sure which fate was crueller, forced to sit by his wife and slowly watch her waste away or to have his son slip between his very fingers in a matter of seconds. Lily had died from an incurable illness, her strength gradually leaving her with every day they failed to find a cure. He lied through his teeth, telling her she would live to see her son grow up, to watch him have kids of his own. She was in constant pain and eventually something as simple as keeping her eyes open drained her of strength. It was ironic how the only source of comfort James could find was that she died peacefully in her sleep.
And now, his only child. Harry, the last ray of hope he had left in the world had been snatched out of his arms. He was far too young to even know of the pains of the world and before he could even truly begin to value the gift of life, Harry had died, cold, in pain and utterly terrified.
James went back to Godric's Hollow and with grave faces, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were there to comfort him. They tried their best to help but in the end there was nothing they could do to ease his suffering. Each year on the day of the anniversary of Harry's death, James returned to Hogsmeade and stared out at the Forbidden forest, the resting place of his son.
Six years had past and even though James would never truly heal, the pain was easier carry with each passing day. He had become a well known face by the villagers, they comforted him, treated him like another resident, as if he were their neighbour. His son's tale had become another story for the villager's to gossip about. Some said Harry had been taken by the ghost of a woman who lost her own child and sort for a replacement. Others thought it was goblins who wished to sell the child for gold. Fairies who wanted a child sacrifice to prevent the resurrection of a snake called a Basilisk, the list went on. They never said anything to James's face but he was more than aware that Harry's untimely death had become another side traction for bored travellers. It made him sick.
James took off his glasses and wiped off the condensation, it was getting late. With a heavy sigh, James rested the wire rimmed spectacles back on his nose, when he caught something out of the corner of his eyes. Turning back to the edge of the forest, James saw a shadow move. It could have easily been a stray animal moving closer to the village to steal some scraps of food, but James wasn't too sure. Not even bothering with his horse or supplies, James pulled up the collar of his coat and made his way down the snow bank.
He only paused once just before the edge of the forest, his mind telling him to turn back, but his heart demanding he press on. His heart won out and without any regrets, James stepped over the passage and into darkness of the wood. He walked in a straight line, not sure where he was or where he was going; only that he needed to keep moving. His feet had gone numb from the snow shovelling into his boots and the stray branches of the tree snagging at his coat with every step. And yet, every time he even remotely considered turning back he saw that shadow again. If flit before his eyes and disappeared before James got a good look at it. It was there, beckoning James to continue.
The moon was high in the sky and James was chilled to the bone. He finally entered a clearing and in a random spot, in the very heart of the forest, a circle of trees surrounded a lone. The clearing seemed timeless, as if undisturbed by man for centuries. James thought about stepping past the circle but the smooth and sparkling snow made him think otherwise. The place was silent and peaceful under the blue light of the full moon. A great weight was lifted from James' shoulders and he took in a cold breath and savoured it.
Feeling he had overstayed his welcomed, James quietly turned around to leave this secret patch of paradise in peace, when a gust of wind ran through his hair. Whispering in his ear, almost like a laugh. Turning back, James expected to find the clearing untouched but was frozen still at the sight of a cloaked man with dark hair hanging over his face, sitting on the snow covered rock. The man appeared human enough, but James could sense the dark magic expelling from him. His cloak wasn't even a cloak but made up entirely of moving shadows that swirled around his form. He sat there with his head hung low, hiding his face of all expression. If the man knew of James's prescence, he ignored him.
James felt his knees go weak and staggered back, tripping over a fallen branch and landing on his back. He heard that silent laugh again, only this time it was now a chuckle, mocking him. James pushed himself up into a sitting position and glared up at the dark figure and opened his mouth to demand an explanation, when something very unusual happened. The shadows took on a more physical shape and actually resembled a cloak. It dropped heavily over the creature's skinny shoulders, matching his oily hair. The figure finally looked up and James felt his lung tighten at the sight of the man, made up entirely of shadows. His entire body was black and smooth, all except his white eyes, an empty void that drew James in.
Breaking eye contact, the bulky cloak wrapped around the figures frame and James cold make out an unnatural bump. Suddenly cautious, James rose to his feet and reached behind him for his revolver. The figure had no mouth but by the gleam in its eyes, James could have sworn it was grinning at him, menacing with twisted delight. The bump seperated from the cloak and a second, smaller shadow fell into the lap of the first. The figure, in shape resmembled a teenager, no older than seventeen with a dangly frame and spiky black hair. Overcome with curiosity, James moved in closer, squinting his eyes to try and distinguish the two shadows apart. The smaller shadow lifted its limp head and leant heavily against the taller shadow. It's eyes fluttered open and James choked back a sob.
Hazel green eyes.
It did not seem possible, it couldn't be possible, but James recognized those eyes, forever burnt into his skull the day his wife died. The last time he had seen those emerald eyes was the day he cradled the body of his eleven year olf son, exactly six years ago. James had watched as they placed the tiny body into the casket and lowered it into the dirt. Harry Potter was dead. And yet the proof was right in front of him, a teenager with the same messy hair that Lily could never brush into place, the same skinny figure and knobbly knees. James could even just make out a gleam of light from the forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt, the same shape as the scar Harry bore from an accident when he was only five. It was him, the Harry he should of had, but was taken from him.
The dark elf wrapped his arm around the waist and shoulders of the boy in his lap and nuzzled the back of his neck, almost lovingly. The boy shivered at the contact, but not out of any pleasure, but as if it were freezing. He blinked his hollow green eye and finally turned his head towards James. The father felt his heart sore when their eyes met, only to fall when the boy titled his head in a curious manner, as if trying to put a name to a face. The boy did not recognise him and with a confused gesture turned towards the man whose lap he sat on. The dark elf gave James a dismissive gesture, as if he too did not know who the man was, but his shining eyes betrayed him. Letting go of the boy's shoulder he gently cupped his face and leant forward, their faces touching, mimicking that of a kiss.
Something in James' snapped. He ran towards them and pulled out his revolver, firing two clean shots. There was no fear if one of the bullets would falter and hit Harry, both hit their target, one in the elf's shoulder, the other his temple. The bullets passed right through him and both the elf and child burst into a thick fog and instantly vanished. James' heart missed a beat and his head snapped side to side, trying to make out either Harry or the elf.
From behind, James's own shadow began to ripple and from the surface of snow a hand shot out and clawed its way up. A sudden cold seeped into James' very core and he spun around, catching sight of an oily head and shoulders materializing from the ground. James fired but the bullets only passed through and made several holes in the snow. Almost like a new born, once his shoulders were free the rest of the elf's body slipped through easily and climbed up. Along with him, the elf dragged a black coated Harry. Though out of bullets, James kept his gun level and aimed over Harry's head, inbetween the white eyes of the elf.
The elf wagged his finger in a dissaproving manner and with a another twinkle of his eye, their forms began to change. Almost like water, the blackness ran down their body, being washed away into the puddle that was James's shadow. The elf's face and hands turned stone white and his eyes turned into two black coals. James could now make out the wrinkles around his grinning mouth, his crooked teeth and large nose. His hair and body in contrast did not change in colour but now James could make out the folds and texture of his scratchy robes.
The colours continued to run down and spread over the smaller shadow. Harry's hair changed in texture and James could make out the slightest hint of dark brown locks. The empty green eyes filled with black pupils and surrounding white. Spectacles materialized onto the bridge of his nose and his clothes quickly followed. Harry was dressed in the exact brown fur and leather he had died in, only larger to accomidate for his much larger frame. Harry had aged greatly since the last time James saw his son and would have cried with joy at the sight of him, alive and well if not for the fact he might as well have stayed dead. Harry's skin was deathly pale, no longer tanned and vibrant from endless hours of playing in the sun. His lips were a deathly blue and his entire frame shivered with cold. His clothes looked stff and frozen and even his glasses had frozen over. It was the eyes though that confirmed James' fears. They were dead, hollow, empty, lifeless. They stared right through James, showing no hint of emotion or recollection. A corpse.
The revolver in James' hand slipped and was cushioned by the snow. James quaked under Harry's empty stare and felt old wounds open as he grieved for his son. The elf was completely forgotten, standing behind Harry stoically, his eyes betraying no emotion as he observed the family reunion. Harry's frozen limp hand twitched with forgotten life and slowly reached out for his shell-shocked father. Not out of love or longing, only a child like curiosity. It cupped James' unshaven face but the man felt nothing. There was no weight, no human texture or warmth, just a cold gust of air. James stared into the oblivious eyes of his son and with his own shaking hand, let it hover over where it should have met flesh. Harry tilted his head again and stared at the hand with an intense stare, as if he were trying to work out a problem with an obvious solution. James leant in further, offering his warmth, eyes begging Harry to remember. Confused by the sudden display of desperation and love, Harry's eyes narrowed and he thought harder. He blinked and suddenly those green eyes exploded with life. They filled with hot tears and flowed down his face, melting the once frost covered flesh. He tugged against the elf's hold, desperately reaching out and shouting his father's name, but no sound escaped his parted lips.
The Elf-King grew impatient and swept down on the boy, wrapping his bony arms around Harry's waist. Snaking a hand around Harry's wrist, spider like fingers tore the appendage out of James's reach. James let out a cry and clawed at the hand, trying to release its hold over Harry, but there was nothing solid to touch. Tears continued to flow down Harry's face as he struggled in his captor's hold. The elf sneered digustingly and took a step back, dragging the child with him. James tried to follow but with one bitter glare from the elf, his boots froze over, pinning him to the ground. Harry's struggles grew more frantic as he kicked out, silently screaming for his father's aid. Another foul sneer and the elf's grip over Harry tightened, sucking the newly required warmth out of him. Harry let out a shaking breath and and his skin froze over, turning deathly blue. He sagged against the elf and allowed himself to be dragged away.
James cursed loudly and thought against the invisble hold over his frozen legs. He could only watch as the elf cradled his son, their fingers now linked together as he led the child away into the cover of the trees. As they drew back, their forms were enveloped by a dark cloud and the elf allowed himself to be envelopped by shadows, his human features fading away once more. James fought with the straps of his boots but it was too late, standing in the shadow of the trees, black spider like strands spread from the Elf-King and ran up Harry's body, slowly turning him back into a lifeless shadow. Harry had long since stopped struggling and now walked by his captor's side, casting one final look at his father as his eyes faded back to irredescant green and he too faded into the shadows of the trees and vanished once more.
James' legs gave out and he fell to his hands and knees. Tears fell freely from his flushed face and he cursed the demon for taking his son away. There was not a single piece of evidence that the two had even been there, not a single pair of footprints but his own. James Potter welcomed death that night, he sat there, waiting for the cold to seep into his system and shut down his vital organs, but the bitter cold while uncomfortable did not take his life. Lying on his side, too cold to move, James waited for one of the many creatures the villagers talked constantly about to kill him instead. He impatiently waited for one of them to jump out from the bushes and devour him, to drag him to the lake and drown him they must. No creature found him that night; no such animal graced him with its presence, not even a small robin.
The very same night a search party was led by Sirius and Remus and after all night of searching, they found their fallen friend early morning, half buried by the snow. His cheeks covered in streams of ice, his body was stiff and cold, but despite that his chest continued to raise and fall to the beat of his slowing heart. The two wrapped their friend in many layers of blankets and brought him back to the village. It was a miracle, James had survived. No doctor could describe it, James should have fallen into eternal sleep and yet he was alive and still conscious despite exhaustion. No one knew how or why but James lived see another day. The village deemed it a miracle, a rare spot of light that had shined down on their community. For once they had a happy tale to tell travellers that past through.
James Potter however was not celebrating; he knew exactly why he did not die that night, why the cold did not drain the last of his fading life. In exchange for his only child, the Elf-King bestowed upon James a wonderful, if not rather cruel gift. As long as he was in the Forbidden Forest, as long as he stood in the Elf-King's territory, no creature would harm him; the cold would not kill him.
The Erlkoenig let James Potter live in his son's place…
Der Erlkonig
Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.
"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."
"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?"
"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."
"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehen?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?"
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."
"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!"
Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.
[ 1782, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe]
translation by Edwin Zeydel, 1955