Delusional

Jessylane318

"It is well to see you awake, Harry..."

Green eyes opened slowly to the blur of the world. He reached out, attempting to find his glasses, though he didn't remember taking them off. He didn't remember much of anything though, besides the purring content of blackness and a whispered voice of strength. Something wiry and cold pressed against his face, poking his ear and head as they slid awkwardly on his nose. Looking up, he saw Strider smiling slightly, blue eyes kind, and he remembered:

Hermione and Ginny...

Butterbur and Bob...

Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo...

"Frodo!" he shouted, only to wince at the sound and pain.

"Be still child," muttered Strider, his face disapproving. "Do you wish to undo all the work Lord Elrond has done? I thought not. Your friends are all fine. Frodo has yet to awaken, but he is well all the same. Most likely due to your own foolish stunt."

Harry blushed and looked down sheepishly. He'd only been trying to help.

"Truly, Aragorn, there is no reason to be so harsh." The green eyed youth looked up, confused at the new voice in the doorway, only to find a tall man, older than any Harry had ever seen. His face, aged and wrinkled, seemed to hold a timeless quality, the white hair of his beard spreading wildly over his chest as though windblown and stormy. He wore gray robes, voluminous and light, while his pointed hat fell sideways, wrinkling its tattered cloth and falling behind his ear. He reminded Harry of a very cranky Dumbledore. "After all, if not for him, Frodo well may not have made it to the saftey of the Ford."

Harry recognized the man instantly despite having never met him.

"Gandalf..."

"Ah, yes, my boy. I am indeed Gandalf the Gray. I understand you have asked for me?"

"Then I will excuse myself," stated Strider, standing suddenly with startling speed. Harry wanted to call to him to wait, to ask him to stay, to beg him not to leave. If he were perhaps a bit braver, he may have, but he did not ask for things he would not get. No one said anything as Strider moved away, passing them both without pause and leaving without another word.

Harry turned towards the wizard then, opening his mouth to ask in a vexed tone what the hell he wanted, when the young wizard noticed a strained look upon the man's wizened features. Something akin to pain, or perhaps fear. It looked foreign and exotic, passing on with a sense of dreadful anticipation. The look unnerved him.

"Mr. Gandalf?" Harry asked, breaking the man from his stupor. Blue eyes turned to him, and Harry could see the wisdom and compassion in them. "Er- I... um..."

The wizard smiled slightly. "You wish my help in returning home?" Harry frowned. How had he known that? He'd told no one, not even Butterbur or Frodo, though he'd been tempted to do so many times. "Don't look so stunned, you and Frodo both talk in your sleep so I have already discovered much of your journey. I would have asked the tale of you earlier, when we first met in Bree, though you were unconscious and probably do not remember; you talked then as well, mumbling beneath your breath of 'Riddle. Riddle!' and other such nonsense which by now has become much clearer after many talks with Aragorn and the young hobbits."

Harry nodded, his stomach shifting at the thought of returning home. Somehow, he didn't feel so certain of it now. But he had a job, he needed to save Ginny, needed to help Hermione, need to destroy Riddle. Ron couldn't save the castle alone, though he did have Lockhart, not that Harry counted the fraud as much help.

But he didn't want to do it anymore. He didn't want to go back to the curious stares and the hissing whispers in the dark.

He just wanted to be normal. Why couldn't he just be normal?

"You called Strider, Aragorn, why?" The wizard looked stunned and confused by the sudden change of topics and Harry wondered why.

"Because it is his name. But if you wish to learn more," stated Gandalf before Harry could ask more, "it is Aragorn's story to tell, and his alone. Though I do not doubt he would probably tell it should you ask, he has become most attached to you. For whatever reason, he has barely left your side since you were found by the elves."

Harry blinked. Strider had... Aragorn had stayed by his side? But why? No one had ever... Except maybe the Quidditch team, but he knew they were only protecting their seeker. What did Strider—no Aragorn, have to gain from it? Why would he?

"All the same, even the hobbits have been out of their mind with worry. Whatever you did caused a small fire, young Harry. You nearly burned yourself and the Nazgul in the flames. Had Elrond's sons not found you in time... Well, that is neither here nor there. When you feel well enough rested, the table of the elves awaits you, for you are far to thin."

Harry nodded and watched the man stand, his robes rustling as he left.

Many hours later, when the sun had nearly spent itself and the moon already wadded through the eastern sky, Harry awoke again. Climbing from beneath the warm, heavy covers, he found a tunic of green already laid out for him on the bed. After several tries he managed to get it and the green hoses on, though they were highly uncomfortable and strange.

Looking into a mirror beside his bed, Harry found the stranger vaguely familiar.

His face, which had always been thin and pale, was now red and brown from the heat and sun during their travels. Someone, he imagined Gandalf was the culprit, had managed to fix his lenses, though the thick black circular frames were still crooked as usual. But he found his hair, which was normally kept short by Aunt Petunia's horrible scissors, was longer than he'd ever seen it. The ragged, unmanageable black twines falling into his eyes and over his shoulders.

He looked at the tangles and stifled a whimper. He was not combing those out.

"Harry?" He looked over, nodding as Sam walked through the door. He watched the blonde hobbit look at him and blush brightly, ducking his head.

"Morning Sam. Is something wrong?"

"Oh no! Gandalf sent me to come and ask you if you were ready to come down for food. I had though it a jest." The curly haired hobbit looked up, and Harry saw the worry. "When the elves brought you back, we'd all thought you dead."

Harry frowned. He hadn't meant to worry anyone, but the rumble of his stomach changed his thoughts. He looked at Sam and blushed brightly as well.

"You mentioned food?"

"Aye!" exclaimed Sam with his usual vigor. Hobbits, Harry had discovered during their travels, were incredibly fond of food. "Gandalf says Frodo shall wake in a day or so, and when he is, we shall have a feast!"

Harry nodded and together, the two guided the large city in hopes to fill their stomaches.

Just as Sam said, Lord Elrond hosted a great feast at Frodo's convenience. The elves, Harry discovered, were nothing like those of his home. Whereas Dobby seemed small and weak with a green body and ragged clothes, the elves of Rivendell could only be described as the exact opposite. Tall and proud, they seemed to each possess an impossible strength and grace, as well as angelic beauty. He'd even managed to witness one shoot eleven arrows from a longbow without pausing or missing his mark—a buckle-sized target a good twenty feet away.

All the same, the King of elves was nothing like he'd ever witnessed before. Majestic. He walked with grace and spoke regally, his voice lyrical and calm like a breaking dawn whispering amongst the trees. The feast he held was delicious and the company more different than any Harry had ever witnessed. When they had all eaten their share the group followed Lord Elrond and the most beautiful elf Harry had ever seen into a large room. The hall was large and illuminating, a poet in the corner and elves everywhere.

"Harry?" He turned at the voice, smiling to find Frodo moving towards him. "Oh! Harry it is a pleasure to see you. Sam has told me what you did, facing two riders unarmed but with fire! What wonderful news to see you well!"

Harry laughed at Frodo's enthusiasm, banishing some heavy weight that he hadn't realized he bore. Could the hobbit's opinion matter so much already? Had he grown too close to these strangers despite his foreknowledge that he would be leave soon? The hobbit wrapped his arms around Harry's middle, grabbing him in a hug before he realized it.

He stiffened at the touch but slowly returned it.

"Come Harry! Come meet my Uncle Bilbo, you remember the stories? He was a part of the Battle of Five Armies, a most astonishing tale. Come! Come!" Uncle Bilbo, as it turned out, was a round little hobbit with wild gray hair and furious wrinkles. Harry barely recalled Pippin spouting out nonsense of the man's birthday during their stay at the Prancing Pony Inn which seemed so long ago.

They stayed their for an hour, listening to stories before the old hobbit began singing an elven song Bilbo had created. After that, Harry made his way elsewhere, wandering until he heard a very loud snicker.

"What are you laughing at?" Harry asked, turning at once to see a long, gray bearded dwarf drinking ale alone.

"Naught but your clothes, lad." chuckled the short, broad man.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" The green eyed wizard frowned with confusion.

"Why they are backwards and wrong way out! Surely you have noticed the stares?" Harry blushed bright red. He had become so accustomed to people staring at his scar and himself, he'd taken to ignoring it. Of course, it explained Sam's strange reaction and Bilbo's odd looks.

"Oh..." he replied, sitting down besides the large man. "Er- I'm Harry."

"Gloin son of Thorin," puffed the dwarf proudly. "I hear you came with four hobbits. An exciting tale, no doubt."

"It was," he agreed, but frowned slightly, reluctant to tell. He turned to say something else, but was shushed when he saw Bilbo stand before the elves. As the hobbit began to read, Harry felt a slow tiredness drain at his eyes. Yawning, he struggled to listen, but the warmth, food, and sounds blended into his mind. He laid his head against the table, and before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep at the table beside Gloin.

A few hours later, the dwarf roused him gruffly, and made his way to his own room.