Harry had never really appreciated everything in his world, as would most others. However, being locked up in a cupboard since he was a child had taught him to appreciate more than most. Freedom, clothes, friends, family, love, they were all very foreign to him when he was young.

He had grown up knowing that he was unwanted, thinking that his parents were drunkards that killed themselves in a car crash, with only vague memories of his mother's scream as she died being the only link he ever had with them. He had only ever lived under a cupboard, did the chores, been the laughing stock of the Dursley.

In one way or another, he hated his miserable life.

And then, there was magic.

It would be redundant to say that magic is magical, but it was to him. It was a realm of new possibilities, new and undiscovered, of unimaginable chances.

For the first time in his life, when Hargid broke down the door and gave Dudley a pig tail on that fateful night, Harry felt loved.

For Ron, magic had been the norm. For Hermione, magic was a new world for her to discover. For Draco, it was a servant for his rise to power.

In such a sense, Harry would say that he had learned to be appreciative.

Harry quickly discovered that trying to explain his story that way would be hopeless to someone that never had anything as basic as sliced bread, he would have to explain things in a more fundamental way.

However, as he slowly explained his world to Elise — his host, he under stood that there are still a lot of things that he had taken for granted. Bakeries were something that Elise had never heard of, road paved with stones were never seen, houses of brown bricks were a thing that they never though to ever have. Such was her unfamiliarity to his world he felt like he was telling a fairy tale.

And he still hadn't reached anything that concern him or magic yet.

He discovered that explaining a whole new world is a task that is extremely difficult to do when the only thing that they have in common are that they are people, as in humans.

How would anyone even start? He started with listing out some of the major countries and their basic histories as much as he can remember, which frankly wasn't much. He gotten most of the countries down — America, England, China, India, Russia, Germany and so on. He talked about their relative locations, their climate diversity and other relative things that give his world a sense of context.

Elise had proved to be a remarkably good listener, if not a bit too enthusiastic to learn about the world that Harry might have came from. The concept of toilets seemed to both fascinate her and repulse her. The idea of books being public was almost incomprehensible to her. She cried, "Books? Free for people to borrow? What — are they worth so little now?"

Harry moved from mundane things to more serious world wide events, such as the industrial revolution. There Harry explained to Elise why and how factories work, and the reason why books are ridiculously cheap. As Elise listened, she looked more and more confounded and amazed.

Harry supposed that most of the inventions were based on real life logic that everyone can understand, such as the idea of mass production would have seem incredibly obvious in hindsight. Elise was lost in the wonders of how the idea of mass production can change the world. Books can be printed, papers are cheap, roads built in weeks — all previously seemingly impossible things.

Elise sent barrages of questions at Harry, asking about the concept of jeans, the idea behind math, the architecture. Harry began to struggle as the questions became harder to answer. He realised that there are a lot of remarkable things about his world that he never thought about. He had absolutely no idea how skyscrapers are built, how a fridge functions, how a car works — yet he tries his best to answer.

"— and that is how plane works," Harry said, "The design of the wings allows the plane to sail over the air as it moves forward,"

"But then —" Elise wanted to rebut, but was interrupted by Harry,

"Stop, stop!" Harry more or less shouted, "I've been prattling none stop about my world for at least three hours now."

"Really?" She narrowed her brown eyes, "How do you know?"

"That would be because I can feel my body waking up, I'm getting all twitchy." Harry said dryly, "And when I wake up, I'll need some basic knowledge of how your world works,"

"Hmm?"

"Unlike you," Harry crossed his arms, "I actually have to live in this world and pretend to be you. I can't exactly say to everyone that I am a dead person possessing others, can I?"

"Any why would that be? Also, you don't even know what happens to my body —" Elise pointed at herself, " —after you conveniently lose consciousness,"

"If we are alive after loosing conscious for so long, I would put my chances in that we are in good hands," Harry snapped back, said, "Otherwise, I am afraid I might not be having this conversation with you at all,"

"So you are just gambling away my body now, aren't you?" Elise accused, "It is my life that you've ruined and taken, Harry,"

"No, of course not!"

"So what is it then?"

"I was —" Harry stuttered for a moment, thinking for a reason.

"Hmm? Is my life that cheap?" Elise cried, "You can't just go around and faint on the ground in front of strangers,"

"I saved one of their companions life!" Harry retorted, "He would have been cleaved in two!"

"So? Does it mean that you can judge my life with his on your own?" Elise demanded, brows furrowed, "This is my life you are carrying about. If you die, I will die. I don't know, maybe a world drifting wizard such as you will somehow survive and search for another host to infest? That doesn't mean that you can do what ever you want with my life! I am very much mortal, thank you very much."

Harry can find nothing to say to that. He knew that he was wrong and should mess around with other's people mortality, especially when they are vulnerable. He stood accused and he knew that he was wrong, no matter what.

"I...I... Well..." Harry admitted, "I have nothing to say about that and nothing to change that right now. I am sorry for being reckless. "

Elise stared at him for a several moments, there was a heavy silence between these two souls in a mind's station to death. Finally, Elise sighed and rubbed her face, "I suppose that that will have to do for now." She closed her eyes for a few moments, as if eyes can get tired in an imaginary world. When she opened her eyes, she said, "Harry, you've pulled apart my community. You've wounded my family, friends, relatives. You've terrorised them, you've destroyed my relationship with my own family..."

Harry was about to retort, but Elise cut across his words, "I know its not you fault. You didn't plan to suddenly wake up as me just as I didn't plan to be pushed out of my own body," She looked at him with really solemn eyes, "Harry, I don't know how to say this but... You need to find a way to fix what ever this is. I want to go back to my family, my friends. You can't simply take my body as yours forever."

"Of course I will find a way to give your body back," Harry promised, abashed, "I'll need to find myself my own body. I know that I cannot just take yours!"

"Which means that you will need to take care of my body while you are at it," Elise muttered. She sighed, "I heard that things are getting dangerous from my mother. She said that she saw refugees coming in from the east, all the way from Rohan!"

"Why, is there a war going on?" Harry questioned.

"Not exactly a war. More like raids from orcs and goblins," Elise spat, "The soldiers can keep us safe most time, but still, a lot of villages have been wiped out, guards or not. All the men were killed, the children slaughtered the women —"

"Elise, hold on, you don't have to tell me about these if you don't want to," Harry said.

Elise shook her head and said, "No... it fine. I think you will want to know about these things if you are going to survive,"

Harry thought for a while, before saying, "If you say so... I think we weed to focus a bit more on related topics though," he laced his fingers, placing his elbows on his knees, "What about this — what is an Orc?"

It took Elise a few seconds to think, "Before I can tell you what they are, I'll need to tell you about the... gods and Dark Lords first."

Harry blinked, "Well then. Go on."

Elise said, "Our... Gods, as per your language, are known as the Valar. There were fifteen of them, and together, they sung this world — Arda, or commonly known as Middle Earth — into being."

"Sing?"

"Yes. Sing. They were sent by Eru, or Ilúvatar, the Father of all to shape Arda in his will," Elise explained, "Their voices were powerful enough to create with their will, and so was Arda formed. The Man and Elves are created by Eru himself, while the dwarves are stone — moulded by Aulë — that he breathed life into."

Harry laid back, digesting the information.

Harry had never been fond of religions. There are so many of them and they just cannot agree on it. Of course, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that a god like being do not exist. After all, as a Wizard, Harry was a product of impossibility. It doesn't help that most religion demands the his death or any of his kind, burning them on a stake, quartering them, scattering their remains — yikes.

As of such, he generally steer clear of all religion. He supposed he would be counted as a... Agnostic? Was that the word? The muggles have so many new words now that previously makes no sense at all. He had thought that for someone his age, he was relatively on track with time.

However, in this world, their religion seemed to be a lot more substantial then his world's.

He asked, "Is this version of the religion the same all around Arda?"

Elise frowned, "Versions? Do you mean — oh."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Elise waved away, "I just forgot that in your world religion was something that was debatable. But the answer to your question is yes, all Arda share the same religion."

"How?" Harry asked, "How does it even..."

"The Valar are seemed to take part in this world a lot more then your's did," Elise said, "There are plenty of marks left behind by their presence,"

"Explain?"

"Among the fifteen Valar, one was known as ... Melkor, and he was the strongest one of them all,"

"Let me guess," Harry said almost sardonically, "He wanted power,"

"He wanted power," Elise agreed, "So he waged war against the other Valars. In this war, he was known as the Dark Lord, or Morgoth. It sowed lies and destruction, Man against Elves, atrocities that cannot be said. On of them, are about the Elves."

"Elves? How are they connected to the Orcs?"

"The Arda was originally created for the Elves, and later on, the Men. When Eru placed the Elves unto Arda, Melkor had found them before all. He captured a great many, did unthinkable experiments on them, torturing them, twisting them as he saw fit," Elise crossed her arms, as if a sudden cold wind had blown through the non-existent windows, "And in the pits of his malice, a great number of the first Elves were twisted into the Orcs, beings of evil and will always be evil."

"Always?" Harry raised an eyebrow after contemplating for a second, "No exceptions?"

"None," Elise said sadly, "They are created and bred that way by Melkor. Its a part of their souls that are putrid. There was once a ranger that came to our village. He had said that the only way to help an Orc is to slay him and free its spirit from its mortal bond. Its the kindest thing one can do for them."

Harry felt an inexplicable profound sadness.

In his life, he had met many foes. Most of them would have sought to brought the world to its knees, to bring it to ruins, to subjugate its people. Those are vile and ambitious people, they all have their own agenda to being "evil", or as they say.

Harry would say that no one was born evil, no one was born with a darkened heart. It is almost always because of the environment they are brought up in that blackened their innocence, no matter when or where.

If something can be born evil, is it possible to make them good? Do they lack the capability of morals or is it something more sinister? Orcs are essentially an entire subjugated race. It is pathetic. Its disgusting. He felt an instinctual revilement towards the Orcs.

And now, Harry would have no qualms with freeing them from their torment. When he was still on earth, he had faced a Dark Lord that the public had aptly named the Necromancer. The demented man would torture and kill people, muggles or not. When he kills them, he would stab a specially carved knife into them, trapping their souls to his will, trapping the mind in the body under his power.

The result was a disgusting monster capable of using magic or their minds without any chance of freedom but death, the poor person it was was a helpless soul caught between life and death, slave to another will. Once the soul was bound to the Necromancer, the only way to free them was the destruction of a functioning body, or the Shard Stone that was imbedded in the heart of the victim. Worse then the Imperius, the Necromancer had carved terror throughout Europe for two years before Harry was commissioned to help the European Magical Alliance to slay the Dark Lord.

It was... messy.

It is not like an imperialised Death Eater, where one can break its hold. It was more... sinister. These were fully intelligent men and women, capable of forming their own plans and future still.

But worse. No chance, no way to help or break the chain.

When the Necromancer was finally slain, he still kept his iron grip on the souls he captured, dragging them with him to the afterlife. Thousands of men and women dropped dead where they stood, the Shard Stone in their chest burning through them until a smoking pile of putrid ash remains as its power became uncheck.

The world both mourned and cheered, the Necromancer is dead. The world is safe once more.

Harry knew better now. One must not show mercy to those that cannot be helped, for death is the greatest mercy.

These Orcs deserve death, but not for the reason they though it would be, not for the evil they do.

Harry realised that he had stayed silent for a suspiciously long time. He looked back at Elise and said, "I understand. I will have no qualms with slaying them then,"

Elise slowly nodded, smiling sadly, "Its quite sad, isn't it? To be subjugated like that..."

They both stared at the other platforms for a while, both lost in a sense of sadness for a while. Eventually, Elise spoke up, "Harry, the story does not stop here. Here's the rest of the history between that and now. Other then the Valar, lesser beings called Maia, were sent or Arda to teach and to learn. A Maia named Mairon was one of them,"

Harry raised his eyebrows at this, "... Does he have anything to do with a ring?"

"Why, yes."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh no," Harry groaned.

"... why?"

Harry messaged his temple for a while before answering, "that would be because before I fainted from exhaustion, I was attacked by a several dark-cloaked creatures with swords that a man called 'Nazgül or something similar while saying something about a ring," he stared at Elise, "Please tell me that I have presumed wrongly, but are these all connected to the being you are going to talk to me about?"

Elise stayed silent, and then smiled tightly in the most sardonic way.

"Well then, seemed like I have arrived in Arda with the most unfortunate timing," Harry said to himself, sighing, "Continue with your story, Elise, seemed like this bit is important,"

She took a deep breath before continuing her narration, "This being name Mairon, was the greatest of all the Maia, not quite a Valar, but much stronger than all others of his kin. While in Valinor, where the Valar lives and rule, he was known to be a craftsman, a craftsman that create items of power fit for the gods. For that, he was named 'the Admirable'.

Even though he was created good and pure, he was still prideful and seek perfection. In the servitude of Melkor he saw a path that would lead him to greatness far beyond what he would achieve alone as a servant to Eru. And he did, under his servitude he was the most cunning and vilest servant of Melkor. During then, Mairon was named Sauron by the common folk, which means 'the abominable'

Of course, when Melkor fell, he seemingly repented, casting the light off himself. But instead, in Arda he began to create his own armies and fortresses, becoming the second Dark Lord. He had tried this several times, but each time he was defeated by Men, Elves and Dwarves, not before sending the world into a stage of despair. And in one time, he adopted the a fair form, and befriend the Elves in disguise.

He had managed to convince them a way of crafting,and the crafting of twenty Rings of Power that would give strength and elongated life to those who wear it, and to their trusted companions as well. He gave the rings to the three races, Elves, Dwarves and Men as gifts. However, in secret, Sauron created a master ring, the One Ring that dominates all others, and with it, he managed to enslaved the nine kings of men, turning them into what you called them, the Nazgül. Those are probably the same creatures that attacked us earlier.

Luckily for us, the Elves had felt the One Ring when Sauron put his on, so that they immediately withdrew theirs from their fingers, preventing them from being enslaved. The Dwarves fared slightly worst. Although they proved to be surprisingly resistant to the corruption of the One Ring, they received a curse instead: They would be plagued by a never ending desire of treasure and immeasurable greed that would one day bring them to ruin.

With the One Ring and his Nazgüls, he almost managed to conquer all of Arda, until he was abruptly defeated in a battle where the uncorrupted king of Men named Isildur managed to cut the One Ring from Sauron's finger, destroying his physical form suddenly. Isildur bore the ring to the fires of Mount Doom, where the ring was crafted and only there it can be unmade. However, as he drew the steps, he was corrupted by the spirit of the Ring, where the power of Sauron had been stored.

Instead of destroying the One Ring, he became convinced that he can wield the One Ring for himself, and left the with a grand victory out of Mordor, where Sauron took as his base. Of course, created by Sauron, the One Ring would only ever served Sauron, it attracted the attention of Orcs and marauders, who attacked Isidur and his small envoy and he was slain, the Ring becoming lose and dropping into the river of Anduin.

And there it laid, lost to the world for two an a half Millennia," Elise concluded.

"Until it was apparently discovered," Harry said dryly,

"Yes, until it was apparently discovered," Elise responded in a manner that is equally dry.

Harry took a moment to comprehend everything that he just heard.

An undying god-like thing searches the world for his ring with his servants so that he can rise to power again because of a freak accident he was destroyed previously. This sounded extremely similar to the tale of Tom Riddle, attempting to murder poor little baby Potter and getting himself blown to pieces instead.

And then, he came back to power.

And it seemed that his Maia, or Umaiar, is on the same track,

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

Harry asked tentatively, "Elise, I have to wonder, how do you know all these... things? I take that not all commoners know about history of their world this in-depth,"

Elise answered uncomfortably, "I... I was a apprenticed under the Lore Master of our village, who keeps all records and books that this village have ever seen. I was chose because of... you know, my ability to see things. You see, being able to... commune to the deceased was something that was... prized."

"Oh," Harry answered simply, not terribly surprised. To his knowledge, being any kind of magical in a village would inspire both awe and fear, especially when it concerns the dead. No wonder that the villagers had reacted that way when Harry woke up.

Harry proceded to ask Elise several other questions that concern the Elves, the Dwarves and Men, however, before he was able to finish his list of queries, he gelt a strange tingle back. He felt suddenly lighter all of a sudden, the white world of his mind seemingly glowing to him —

"— and thats why ...Harry, what is happening?" Elise cried out as the arms of the clock started to move on the walls, as a great wind started blowing through the station. An indescribable hum filled the station, the sound of metal rattling grew gradually louder and louder. It was as if the station suddenly became alive, all of a sudden. The smell of musk and crisp air drifted into his nose.

The world, once white, flooded with colours, like ink spilled upon paper. The pristine mosaic filled with spectrums in abrupt clarity, the bricks turned brown and the sunlight shining in golden rays.

"Elise, it seemed that your body is finally waking up," Harry said, staring at the ground which was starting to shake, "Seems that I have to go now,"

"What? Harry — Don't go yet! I —"

It was as if a he was standing in a wind tunnel now, the wind ripping at his imaginary clothes, sending him stumbling. He yelled back through the deafening howl of the wind, "What?"

The rails were ringing, a incomprehensible voice filled the air —

"Harry, wait —" Elise screamed.

Before Harry can hear any more of what she was saying, the wind suddenly blew him off his feet, sucking him into the sky —

And abruptly, for the second time in this world, he woke up.

Aragon sat at the desk, idly reading an Elvish book as he faced the bed occupied by the girl that he, against the judgement of his practicalness, decided to bring along to Rivendell when she collapsed onto the floor.

Frodo was still being healed by Elrond and his healers in his study, and Aragon was forbidden from entering. So, he sat here in the infirmary, waiting for the girl to wake up, if she decides to do it or not. For some reason, he felt obliged to do so. Despite her show of incredulous power from the night before — her obviously magical flames that burns so brightly — she now laid completely defenceless on the bed, breathing softly.

Lord Elrond had assured him that after both the girl's Fëa and Hröa are in good condition, and should wake up after a long rest, therefore he was content to leave Aragon by their guest's side without a healer. That however, does not explain the force that she wielded before. Aragon had explained the things that transpired on Weathertop to both Elrond and Gandalf alike. They both frowned with an identical contemplative furrow of their brows, before stating that since they do not sense any inherent evil from her and that she had saved Frodo's life from before, she should at least be allowed to explain herself when she awakes.

Aragon couldn't wrap his mind around the strange mysteries that surround the girl. Therefore, he decided not to think about it at all until she wakes up.

Maybe he should be sleeping, after all, it had been a very eventful day and the last time he slept was two nights ago.

But sleep eludes him in the day. He had received the tale from Gandalf, who had arrived before them and with Elrond, sent the wave of water that swept the Nazgüls that hunted Frodo and Arwen.

Saruman's betrayal shocked Aragon, but in foresight it had seemed obvious. And now, it is increasingly worrying him. Lord Elrond had already sent out the couriers to the corners of the world, requesting a representative from each race to their council. Hopefully, in a matter of days, there will be visitors coming in because of their dire news.

Aragon was abruptly disturbed by the stirring of the occupant of the bed. The figure on the bed wiggled, a moan came out.

He swiftly dropped his book onto the table and rushed over to the girl's side. She was squirming, her face clenching as the light pass through her eyes. Aragon whispered, "Shh..."

The girl groaned, rolling to her side. Aragon swiftly checked her temperature, and was relived to see that she was physically well.

The girl groaned again, slowly stretching her eyes and blinking rapidly. The perpetually mild sunlight shone in through the open windows, white and golden light illuminating the pristine chamber in a holy whiteness. Eventually, her eyes focused onto him. The green had seemed to dull considerably in comparison from yesterday night's events, now the orbs had faded from burning green fire to dark emeralds. Curious.

She whispered, "Oh, you..." before slumping back down, her eyes staring at the white ceiling.

Aragon drew the chair closer to the bed and sat on it, crossing his fingers, "My lady, you collapsed last night after your... performance. I saw fit to bring you to healing."

She gave him an tired expression before saying, "I know..." She yawned, struggling to sit up, "Where am I?"

Aragon helped her to sit up. From a nearby beaker, he poured her a cup of water which she accepts graciously, "Rivendell. One of the lands of the Elves... There, don't overtax yourself yet. You had just awoken."

She didn't reply for a while, simply sipping from her cup, and Aragon let her think.

Eventually, she muttered, "Elves, huh?"

"Indeed," Aragon leaned back and raised an eyebrow, "We arrived here before dawn and you had rested for the good part of the day. On a separate note, what shall I refer you as?"

"Uh..." She hesitated for a moment, before saying, "Elise. Elise of... um, Rotherham,"

Aragon knew that she is hiding something, but he decided not to question her for now. She can first have her rest. He offered, "My name is Aragon,"

"So... Aragon," She asked, setting the cup down and stretching slightly, "What happened after I passed out? What became of those dark cloaked things? Nazgüls, right?"

"Yes, those were indeed Nazgüls, We brought you here slightly afterward. Frodo — my companion who was stabbed in the shoulder — was in a sense, poisoned, and would be turned into one of those foul monstrosities if he was not treated," Aragon explained, "Fortunately for us, help arrived and he was brought here quickly with a fast horse and was able to seek help. We arrived later on, having to carry you."

"Oh,"

"You've slept for quite a while," Aragon asked, "How do you feel?"

"Dizzy," she replied after a moment of thought, "And strangely healthy,"

"That would be the Elven air. It would seem to be... more pure than the air out there, it is cleansing to the soul, soothe the mind and body"

"Ahh," she nodded, "So... what happens now?"

"Depends," Aragon decided, "If you can walk properly, then I will summon a maid to bring your clothes to you. If not, then you may rest here until a later time."

As if suddenly aware that she was scantly dressed in a robe, she blushed, "I — think I can walk,"

"Good, thats settled then" Aragon stood up, nonplussed, "After you get dressed, we will have some questions for you. I will wait outside the room then."

With a swirl of his cloak, he swept out of the room.

He watched as Aragon left the room in a manner that strangely reminded him of Severus, all those forty-odd years ago.

He gently messaged his forehead, wincing as another sharp pain reverberated through his skull. Straining one's magical core is a pain to deal with, causing all sorts of head aches and vertigoes. To be honest, he did not expect to collapse immediately after casting that single spell wandlessly. Even though it was a fairly magic-draining spell, he had been able to cast some other spells wandlessly without collapsing.

I must have unconsciously put too much power into that spell, He though to himself, I shouldn't really be this drained.

These thoughts also brought him to another important topic — he lack a proper wand. As with everything else, it seemed nothing but his mind, his soul, made it across. His holly wood, Phoenix Feather wand was missing, his Auror kit, his glasses — all were missing. Even the blasted amulet in the shape of the Deathly Hallows had gone, but as of this moment it would rather have it dangling by his neck.

And more importantly, how will he acquire a wand? He know the basics of wand lore, as it's a pre-requirement in order to be head Auror. If given the right materials and circumstances, he should be able to create a weak, but working wand. At that moment, he was suddenly very glad for the training that he had received.

But that will have to wait for now.

The head ache had faded somewhat now, moving to the back of his mind. His parched throat now watered and eyes cleared. After the fiasco from the day before, he thought that in whatever body he is in he would have had a severely bad-hair-day. To his surprise, its silky to the touch and was... brushed.

Oh god, did someone groom him while he was unconscious?

The room he was in was white, whiter than the purest snow he had ever seen. Each brick was an art, the silk curtains drifting in the breeze, the golden sunlight that warms the air. There was a garden outside the window, pristine bushes and trees around tables that seemed to be carved directly from a chunk of marble, flowing seamlessly that would shame the greatest architects, even though no one currently occupies it.

The air was fresh, clear. He felt like he had been choking on smoke for his entire life and this was a gulp of clean air.

If he believed in an afterlife this would probably be it.

He could hear Aragon speaking to someone behind the wooden door in a language that he did not know. It must be Elvish, Harry concluded.

Not long after, a woman — no, an Elf walked in, carrying a bundle. Definitely not human.

The creature glided in with an almost etherial grace. Her ears — pointed ears, were obvious behind behind the golden hair tied back with a ribbon. Each step she takes seemed to be a dance. The sunlight seem to glitter upon her skin.

This — maid?

This maid, supposedly clothed in a commoner's dress — was impossibly beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful.

Perfect being, eh? Harry though to himself, quietly observing. The maid brought in a set of clothes — the one that he wore before. They had obviously been cleaned and mended. However, even in their repaired, pristine condition, it still looked positively... dull when compared to the dress the Elf was wearing.

He stopped his staring for a moment when the Elf laid the clothes down onto the table nearby, smoothing them out. She gave him a inquisitive look before asking in a shockingly melodic voice, "Would you require help...?"

Harry hurriedly answer, "Oh no, no thank you. I can handle this on my own,"

The Elf smiled politely before backing out of the room, closing it behind her with a quiet clop.

Harry took a deep breath. Speaking with an unfamiliar voice is still strange to him.

Slowly, he moved off the bed, casting the blankets aside. His bare feet met the cool stone floors.

Bracing himself, he stood up.

Nothing happened, no vertigo, no vomiting. Good.

A large mirror stood in the corner, intricate carvings engraved on its oval frame, its surface reflecting the sunlight. He walked over too it and stared at himself.

It was the first time that he actually saw himself in this body. He raised his hand through his — Elise's hair, and the image copied his actions, fingers ruffling through the silk hair.. He is, indeed, in Elise's body. His — or her's?

For sanity's sake, Harry decided that he should probably refer it as "hers". It would seem incredibly pompous if he were to claim her body as his.

Her build was quite slim and small, short even, the long white robe dragging on the floor. Black hair run down smoothly over her shoulders, ending at the elbow. Her eyes were green —

Wait, what? Harry grabbed the mirror, peering close to take a better look. He was certain remembered that Elise's eyes are definitely brown, not green. He raised a single fine eyebrow and thought, Its seems like her eye colours changed...

He remembered learning in a certain Aurors training session about the Imperious curse. His instructor had stated that the best way to know if someone is Imperio-ed was to look at the eyes. Through out many civilisations, eyes were known as "The window to the soul", and looking through them can show many things about the person. The theory of Legilimency was also based upon this magical fact, where eye contact is required to read someone's mind.

Harry theorised that this abrupt change of eye colour would be the result of his influence. This green now resembles much of his originally eye colour, a toxic, Avada green that too was the result of Riddle's attempt at murdering him when he was a child. People told him that this green was his mother's eye colour, but he was sure that it is not. Lily's eye colour, although bright, was never that of a killing curse.

Taking a step back, Harry realised that this figure in the mirror would be him if he were to be born female. The black hair, the green eyes, the under-weight looking form — The trademark Potter signs. The only difference is that one's hair is messy and this one's not.

And the glasses, he noted.

How old is Elise, anyway? Judging from his image in the mirror, she couldn't be any more than sixteen. His observation only served to further unhinge him.

Disturbed, he casted his gaze back onto the the pile of clothes on the table. He walked over and gingerly laid them out one by one. A white tunic, a leather jerkin, a pair of... breaches? Putting that aside, he looked at the rest of the items, a pair of dark coloured pants, a skirt that he supposes go over the pants, a pair of scrubbed boots and a hair tie for the hair.

Alright, he thought grimly, where do I start with these?

Suddenly, he just realised that an important step in changing clothes is to remove one-self from the ones they were in.

Oh god.

Wincing slightly, he thought about what to do. The next time he, whatever happens, he goes back into the deep recesses of his mind, Elise would murder him.

He picked up the tunic and brought it to the bed.

Grimacing, he closed his eyes and swiftly brought the robe over his head and onto the floor. Blindly, he picked up the tunic from the bed and wrapped it around him, tunnelling his arms though the sleeves and buttoning up hastily.

There, now he didn't see anything and nor did he touch anything undue.

Cautiously, he reopened his eyes and was relieved to find that the tunic was long enough to cover his — her thighs. Trying not to think about the fabric rubbing over his chest, he walked over to the rest of the clothes and swiftly dressed himself. Having a mental age of over fifty, he had gotten pretty good at suppressing his not-so-decent thoughts.

Just as he was tying his hair back, Aragon's voice rang from beyond the door, "Do you require help, my lady?"

Harry yelled back, "No, I am fine, thank you. Just a moment!"

He folded the robe back into a neat square and placed it back onto the table before hurrying to the door, pulling it open.

It opened to a corridor, walls one side and the other pillars, leading to a garden.

Aragon stood there, leaning on the wall and gazing out into the garden. He looked at Harry when he opened the door, "How do you feel?"

"Suitably refreshed," Harry replied, looking around, "What happens now?"

"Now? Questions, and food," said Aragon, gesturing to the other end of the hall, "Follow me,"

And followed he did. Aragon led Harry through a maze of corridors and buildings, effectively giving him a tour of Rivendell. The other Elves gave them a wide berth, their graceful forms, shrouded in elegant white robes, moving between columns and gardens.

With surprise, Harry noted can hear the sound of rapid running water as they neared an open ended corridor.

Harry asked, "Are we near a river? I can hear water rushing..."

Then words failed him.

He stood on a bridge — one that spans not water but buildings —the sun light shining in all its glory upon the valley. Oh no, he is not next to a mere river, he is next to a water fall. From this view, he could see the entire valley, the water washing through the rocks, the gleaming tiles of the buildings, the verdant greenery that seem to meld with the stones, the sunlight enrapturing everything in a golden glow.

A gentle breeze of constant spring blew through the golden leaves, the fine mist from the water fall rising up to the sky, the sounds of countless life chirping and living, the pulse of life — The sight sent a tingle up his spine.

This was a view that surpasses almost everything that he had ever seen before in his life — or to say, second life.

He was struck with a sense of déjà vu. He remembered the first day when he arrived at Hogwarts, the looming castle in all its majesty and grandness, the spiralling towers and arches. Sitting in a boat, the great squid swimming underneath, passing through the underground port into the castle.

This place positively wafts off magic.

Aragon voice brought him back to reality, "... a river indeed," Aragon pointed at the river, "That is the river Bruinen. It is the only way in. We passed by the Ford of Bruinen, which was further upstream when we brought you here. However, this is not the time for a history lesson, we have to move on now,"

Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze off the view and followed Aragon on into the mass of marble buildings.

Through countless corridors, stairs and sights, he found himself to be led deeper and deeper into the building. Despite its indoor status, natural light still found its way in, lighting up the halls in white and pleasant yellow.

And as abruptly as he awoke, he found himself to have arrived in some form of... a study. No, a library with a balcony, looking out into the forest and the gardens. Surrounded by countless shelves and bookcases was a small podium, which stood a stone table. Three chairs sit aside the table, occupied by two robed figures.

One smokes a pipe, an impressively large grey beard atop his grey robes, a gnarled wooden staff left leaning against a wall with a grey hat perched atop. Despite his obvious great age, he seemed to radiate a form of power and strength. The other figure wore an white elvish robe, a circlet tying his rich brown hair back on his pointy ears, leisurely reading a book.

As Aragon approached, he spoke a word of greeting, one that Harry of course did not comprehend as it was once again in Elvish.

The robed old man answered with a smile, blowing out a puff of smoke. Instead of dispersing, the smoke tumbled through the air into a rearing white horse, prancing through smoke loops before fading away, at which Harry watched with wide eyes.

Magic, that was magic.

The old man sat his pipe down on the table and said, "I see that our young guest is here. My name is Gandalf the Grey... Do not be alarmed, young one, come and sit!"

Numbly, Harry slowly moved and sat down on the only vacant chair, staring at the two figures. The Elf sat down his book too and regarded him gently with his eyes, "I hope you find our hospitality welcoming, hén. I am Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell."

Harry was speechless. From his now diminutive statue, these two beings seemed to be hopelessly majestic, even though he knew that he too could be considered as legendary back on... Earth? His lifetime of battling and training seem to suddenly pale in his mind, as if... No, these feelings are not his. He knew that Harry would have reacted rather differently...

"Lord Elrond, don't frighten her," Gandalf chided, looking back at him, "We only have a few questions, young one. We have given our names, and yours would be...?"

His throat seemed ridiculously dry at the moment, stuttering, he managed, "Elise — Elise of Rotherham,"

The old man nodded, "Elise, I trust that you know of the events that transpired upon Weathertop Hill?"

Hesitantly, Harry nodded — Why was he being hesitant? What was going on? "I was staying there for the night when Aragon here and his companions arrived. We came to an agreement for the night... and then..."

Gandalf supplied, "The Ring Wraiths, yes? Aragon had told me about yesterdays events," he then laid his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and said in a solemn voice, "It would seem that it was only due to your action that Frodo was able to survive. For that, you have my thanks,"

"Err... You are welcome?"

Lord Elrond said, "We knew that you have some form of ability that allowed you to drive off — no, destroy a Ring Wraith. A fire, unlike any that we have seen or heard..."

Harry gulped, his heart beating hard.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled in a manner that eerily reminded Harry of Dumbledore, taking a deep breath through his pipe, "Of course we will not push you for your knowledge, you may relax for that." He gestured toward Lord Elrond and continued, "Unless you plan to return to Rotherham as of this instant, I trust that you would find Rivendell to be a most hospitable stay,"

Harry's mind raced.

Should he tell them? Should he — no — can he trust these people who offered him shelter?

Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey, if he remembered correctly from his conversation with Elise. A wizard.

Someone that may be able to help him in his particular... condition.

However, how will they react to his confession. To be honest, Harry is now a body-snatching magical, dangerous undead. Judging from experience, people tend to react extremely badly to the idea of having a... undead, a non-being next to them, especially when it already have its first victim, Elise herself.

On the other hand, Harry cannot afford to let this opportunity to slip away, the chance to return back to earth, to figure out what on earth happened to him.

As he sat there, conflicted, Lord Elrond said gently, "You need not fret for now, make your decisions later. The day is still early. Would you rather that you have a more... Private conversation with master Gandalf here? I sense that you have much to say, though not to me."

Startled, Harry managed to stammer, "Y-Yes. I would appreciate that."

Lord Elrond nodded before standing up, revealing his rather inhumanly tall height. He spoke some inexplicable Elvish words to Aragon before departing the room together, closing the oaken door behind them with a small clop!

And with that, only Gandalf himself remains sitting at the table with him, his aged eyes boring intensely into his own. Puffing another mouthful of smoke, he spoke, "Speak freely, child. Is there something that you must confide with me?"

Harry took a deep breath, carefully forming his words in his mind, "Master Gandalf, the powers I used yesterday to defeat the Nazgùls... It's foreign."

"Foreign?" Gandalf frowned, setting his pipe down, "Do you mean that you channel some out worldly power, or...?"

"No. — it's a spirit of some sort. A very powerful one,"

"Pray tell, how did this spirit happen upon you?"

Harry combed his memories for the appropriate words, "Ever since I was young, I had always been able to sense the presence of the dead, and even commune with them, after a fashion."

"A very rare gift, and a dangerous one," Gandalf commented seriously, "Does this happen to have something to do with your pressence at Weathertop?"

"Several days ago, before the events that transpired yesterday, I had suddenly been visited upon by a spirit," Harry found himself saying, "In a moment of confusion as the spirit... possessed me, I've been suddenly treated as a monster. When my family and neighbours attempted to secure me, I... uh... Broke out. I harmed my own family in this fit of madness. And so, I've exiled myself. I only happened to be resting at the... Weathertop, as you called it, when the event earlier occurred."

Gandalf slowly tapped the table several time with his index finger, "Whatever the happened, I still must be grateful for your most invaluable intervention. If it weren't for you — and your companion's aid, young Frodo would have most certainly be slain, or very much near death. However, I sense no ill intent — To be honest, from the moment you were carried into Rivendell, I could see this most peculiar shroud of power surrounding you. I was worried for a moment, but it seemed that your... mysterious friend weren't so hostile, but merely lost. Tell me, does it have a name?"

"... His name was Harry," Harry answered, feeling quite stupid saying his own name, "He said that in his world there was a magical catastrophe, and he was accidentally banished into the... I do not know what it was called,"

"Limbo," Gandalf muttered, "No wonder that he was drawn to you, one so suitable to host unlife. Elise, the world, this world, is not the only one in existence, but they are all separated by a veil. From time to time, things, souls, found themselves slipping through the cracks and holes, falling through the fabric into the myriad of different worlds. This Harry had most likely suffered such a fate,"

Harry perked up with interest, "Such things happened before?"

"Indeed,"

"What happened?"

"It died," Gandalf simply said, "This unfortunate soul were not so powerful as your new companion. Within a year of its arrival, it had perished in this world. This is not the first, nor will it be the last for such a thing to happen. However, it is quite unusual l — no, more of a once in a tens of thousand years, will such a powerful being, capable of bring ruin to a Ring Wraith fall into our world,"

Harry deflated, "So... Is there no way to send him back to the world he belongs in?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. There is always a way when there is magic involved, but how, thats the question to ask," Gandalf mused, "However, as of this moment, I have nothing that can aid you in your quest. None of the books here, or even in Minas Tirith, would have a documentation of such a ritual. I would gladly give all of my help to aid you it weren't for the fact that we have a more pressing matter."

Harry gulped, "... Sauron,"

"Sauron and Saruman now, apparently," Gandalf muttered darkly, but he quickly recovered his composure, "I would not drag you into such a war — its not place for children, or any living being for that matter."

He laced his fingers on the table, "I will not try to hide this, but would you aid us? You and your spirit have shown to be extremely powerful — and in this upcoming war, we will need all the allies that we can get,"

Harry fidgeted on his seat, uncomfortable. This is not what he bargained for, and he made a promise to not endanger himself or Elise. But yet, this is about the only way this can go. Harry would never ally himself with the likes of Sauron, and thus he must help.

"Do not make your decision now," Gandalf raised a hand, standing up, "We have ample time before it must be made, but as of now, midday draws near. If my nose doesn't lie, I believe a feast is being prepared,"

Harry sniffed, and concluded that Gandalf was correct. The definite scent of cooked food drifted in through the balcony. Below in the garden were a blur of activity, food being laid out on stony tables under the gentle sun.

"Eat and rest for now, young Elise," Gandalf said, grabbing his staff, donning his pointy hat and smothering his pipe, "I've heard that sunrises are a particularly good time to decide on important matters."

And with that, Gandalf left the room.

With nothing much to do, Harry followed suit.