A/N: The first chapter was something of a teaser and rather disjointed, so not brilliant but I hope most of the issues raised by various reviewers are addressed here. Enjoy!
I own nothing which is recognisable.
Review reply to Sup I like your story btw and others, I understand your concerns, and the reason he has their trust is an incident involving a large amount of orcs, and Aragorn needing his life saved. Also Galadriel can see inside his head (she is the equivalent of an extremely powerful and skilled legilimens) and Harry isn't much good at defensive mental magic, though he is not pleased when she pokes around in his head. Not pleased at all. Aragorn and Harry himself, possibly Galadriel, Gandalf or Elrond might say a bit more. I will use a flashback, but only because Harry has not yet opened up about how he got to Arda and Galadriel is a) not around, b) keeping quiet at Harry's request. Elrond does know a little, though not the specifics, so he is going to mention so of what he knows.
Sam paced anxiously up and down the corridor outside the infirmary in Rivendell, while Pippin, getting his priorities firmly in order, was happily eating a couple of meat pies. Merry looked anxious but was nevertheless munching on an apple. They all looked up when the main doors opened, revealing none other than Harry Potter, who strode across to the hobbits, and said, "Frodo's condition is stable and he will be fine, but he is still very weak. The poison spread through most of his body, and if he had got to Lord Elrond much later, he would be dead." His voice had lost its raspy tone, Sam and Merry noticed, Pippin enjoying the cooking of Rivendell far too much to notice anything save the message itself.
"See, Sam, I told you he would be alright." Said Pippin, in a (albeit muffled by crumbs) tone of one condescendingly imparting wisdom to another, showering Merry in crumbs, for which the older hobbit gave him an ugly glare which was ignored. The hobbits soon began to bicker cheerfully while Harry sat in the corner, eating a pork pie which had previously been a small stone. Hunting orcs with Aragorn and the consequent lack of food had improved his Transfiguration skills exponentially. Aragorn had been very surprised when Harry had produced a small chicken from a medium sized stone, and Harry never could be bothered to go to the kitchens, especially not after his visit to the Hogwarts kitchens with Ron and Hermione. Dobby had been so happy to see him, he remembered sadly. He was one of many loyal friends who lay dead on his behalf and as he thought of Dobby, his mind went back to when he first came to Middle earth 4 years ago.
He had defeated Voldemort a month ago and still the magical world was counting the cost of Voldemort's reign of terror. He had been badgered continuously by fans wanting autographs , journalists wanting exclusives (he had put the invisibility cloak to good use in avoiding Rita Skeeter, reasoning that hexing her was probably a step too far) and the odd Death Eater who wanted to take a piece out of the Dark Lords killer. On balance Harry thought he preferred the Death Eaters at least he could jinx them with a clear conscience. One day he made his choice. He would have to leave, if only to escape those who wanted to worship him and those who wanted to kill him.
Also, the deaths were just beginning to hit him. Colin Creevey, sneaking back into the castle to fight alongside his friends when he could have been evacuated away to safety, Remus Lupin, the last of the Marauders and Harry's friend. Tonks, cheerful, kind Tonks, who died trying to avenge her cousin, leaving a newborn son behind. It would be hard for him to leave those who survived behind to fend for themselves, but they would be fine and they would understand he reckoned. He scribbled a note, saying he was going away for a while. Then he walked up to Professor McGonagall's office, to take up a suggestion that Dumbledore's portrait had made in the aftermath of the final battle. They suggestion had been to go to another world, one where no one knew him and clamoured for his autograph. Though he had considered it farfetched at the time, but now he thought it made sense. Certainly, it made more sense than suggestions of Death Eater sympathisers to top himself.
As he reached the door to the Headmistresses office with his packed trunk floating along behind him, he hesitated next to the still unrepaired and occasionally groaning gargoyle. Could he really leave his best friends, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny whom he loved deeply and truly. He stopped, thinking of their dismay when they found he was gone. He mulled it over, then stepped inside, and as he went up the staircase reasoned that he would not be gone for long.
Maybe a few months, just some rest and recuperation. Dumbledore's portrait had said this world was relatively quiet with a few minor hiccups. How bad could it be? Harry wondered. After all, I've just fought a war. It can hardly be worse. He strode into McGonagall's office. Unsurprisingly she had yet to put her definitive stamp on it, with the last resident being Severus Snape, who presumably had had a fair bit of dark stuff, if only to keep up appearances. He crossed to the fireplace and glanced at the floo powder, relieved to see it was still there, and turned to face Dumbledore's portrait.
"Right, I'm here and I'm packed. What do I do next?" Harry said, waiting impatiently.
"Take some of the floo powder, throw it into the fire and say 'Bree' as you step in. The world is known as Arda or Middle Earth, but Bree is a quiet town and a good place to stay. The world is very old fashioned and has only 3* known active wizards, so many treat magic with suspicion. Good luck." Dumbledore's portrait said, eyes twinkling as ever, though his tone held a hint of warning.
Harry nodded and complied with Dumbledore's instructions. When he came out the other end, he was in a damp forest with the lights of medieval style town in the distance. Good thing I brought my broom, he thought dryly. Then he froze as the cold metal of a sword touched his throat. Rest and Recuperation my arse, he thought. Thank you so much Dumbledore.
Harry was jolted out of his reverie by one of the miscellaneous elves who served Lord Elrond, a young male elf with the pained expression of one who had been subjected to third degree pestering by Hobbits, three of whom were sitting with expectant and determined expressions. Harry had worked out what was required of him before the elf, who had little experience of mortals, particularly powerful wizards, asked timidly, "My lord, would you please go in and check on Master Baggins' condition? For I am not allowed to go in to check and the young masters," at this point he indicated the hobbits, "are most interested in their friend's welfare."
Harry stretched and stood up, saying, "Very well. I probably should have done so before." As he turned to go through, Pippin piped up anxiously, "Afterwards could you help us find Strider?"
"Hush Pip, he's a wizard and they are always busy. He's doing us a favour by going to look at Frodo." Merry scolded him
"Well he was half asleep Merry." Pippin retorted, then glanced up to see if his remark had offended Harry. It clearly hadn't as the wizard in question was shaking his head and smiling in an indulgent manner.
"I will help you find Strider, don't worry. Now I believe I was meant to be going to check on Frodo." Harry said in an amused tone. Pippin flushed and nodded.
Harry strode through the doors to the healing wing shaking his head in amusement. Hobbits were one of the things that made Middle Earth so wonderful, and eased his residual homesickness.
He knocked on the door to the room in which Elrond was tending Frodo. An elf opened the door, and Elrond, looked up, then continued cleaning the wound.
"How is he?" Harry whispered, Frodo being asleep.
"He is still sick, but improving. I have removed the piece of the morgul blade lodged in his shoulder, and rid the wound of its residual poison." Elrond whispered briskly as he reached for bandages. "All he needs is rest and time to heal. Much like you did when you first came, though your wounds were more to your heart than your body." Elrond said to the young man who inclined his head in agreement. "I am guessing that the Hobbits pressed you into checking on Master Baggins'?"
"They did, after pestering one of your servants. Only once he assured them that he was not able to visit did they turn on me. I was of course happy to help." Harry said wryly.
"Have you worked a way to return to your homeland yet?" Elrond asked abruptly.
Harry ran his hands through his hair in much the same way as his father had done, "No, not yet, though I suspect Gandalf may have an idea as does Lady Galadriel, but neither of them are saying anything if they do know." He said, ever so slightly agonised.
Elrond put his hand on Harry's shoulder in a comforting manner. He knew what it was like to be far from loved ones, though at least he could be certain of seeing his lovely Celebrian in Valinor, whereas poor Harry was not necessarily ever going to return. Every moment Harry spent in Middle Earth was a moment spent away from his friends who needed him. Elrond remembered one highly memorable evening in which both Harry and Aragorn had got drunk and reached the melancholy stage. Harry had said he had only meant to leave for a few months and lamented that he had probably 'been declared dead'. This was not a term Elrond was familiar with, though he gathered it was part of the dialect of Harry's home.
*The blue wizards are barely mentioned in the Middle earth legendarium and are as such not involved in this tale.