Due to various reasons, I've needed to make Dis Lexic my new sounding board for most of my ideas. Thankfully, they were up to the task of putting up with my inane wittering, and it is partly thanks to them that this new Elden Ring crossover idea is ready, at least in a sample chapter form. As always, time till tell if it has legs.

People will see the DNA of my oneshot and, to date, the only Potterverse crossover with Elden Ring, The Snow Witch and the Boy Who Lived. This is not a sequel, but rather, a reimagining of the same concept, in a similar manner to how my Dark Souls oneshot, Worth a Thousand Words and More was reimagined as You're the Son of Legends, Harry! The base pairing is Harry/Ranni, but I am seriously considering adding Melina and possibly even Malenia to the mix. I have plans for saving Melina that won't involve the Flame of Frenzy.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy...

HARRY POTTER, FAIR CONSORT

CHAPTER 1:

THE DOLL AND THE DOGGED

Where stories begin is a tricky thing to determine. Life is not filled with neat and discrete beginnings and endings. Lives and history flow together, in a vast torrent of cause and effect.

Where did it begin, then? On a world where all life sprang forth from a massive tree? When that tree was usurped by a golden parasite that supplanted it? On the fogbound night where two siblings willingly died, sparking a war that would rage over much of the lands on that world? On a night when an ambitious wizard from another world stole something precious from a cold witch?

Or did it begin one night, when a would-be immortal warlock murdered the loving parents of a baby boy, and would have killed him, had it not been for the sacrifice of said baby's mother? Did it begin when that boy learned he was a wizard, and was famous due to his mother's sacrifice protecting him? Did it begin when his nemesis brought himself back from the grave? Or when the boy, now nearly a man, put him back in there?

Every story has a myriad of beginnings, and so, one must find the point to begin. We need not retell the story of the boy's life in any great detail, as it has been told in considerable detail elsewhere. Instead, we will begin at a point not long after this boy, now having barely reached manhood, had saved his world. And begin the story about how he, amongst others, saved another…

"ACHOO! Dammit, Kreacher, didn't you ever dust up here?"

"…Lady Walburga said Kreacher didn't need to."

"Kreacher, that bitch was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. It was one of the reasons I got rid of that damn portrait."

"…Kreacher remembers."

"Don't sound so sullen. The Dip can't affect you, Kreacher…well, unless you huff the fumes, anyway."

"Kreacher might as well huff the fumes. Then Kreacher wouldn't have to put up with cruel Halfblood master."

"Would you like some cheese with that whine, Kreacher? I ask for information."

Only sullen, semi-coherent mutterings answered Harry, and he shrugged, before returning to rummaging through the expanded chest, in the attic of 12 Grimmauld Place. The cantankerous House Elf had rendered the things within as safe, or at least claimed they were. Harry was double-checking them to be sure, but he was just seeing if stuff should be kept, brought out of storage, or sold.

Doing this helped. It helped keep his mind off everything. Off the aftermath of the final battle against Voldemort.

People who thought this shit would end up like a fairytale were idiots. Harry had to admit, he counted amongst their number. He'd hoped that, with Voldemort dead, he'd get to be happy.

But for what? So many were dead who should've lived. So many were alive who shouldn't have been. And Harry and his friends and allies were left with deep scars.

And Harry himself was left without direction, rudderless. He'd beaten the man who had wanted him dead from the day he was born, his nemesis. Ginny was right, after a fashion. Not that he would never be happy unless he had Voldemort to fight, but it gave him purpose.

Now, he needed another.

Another sneeze brought him out of his morose thoughts, and he glared at the dust. "Should've used a Bubble-Head Charm," he grumbled to himself, before he saw something, and frowned. He fished out something he hadn't expected inside the chest. "…A doll?"

Soon after he said that, he heard Kreacher screech. "AIYEEE! PUT HER BACK! PUT THE CURSED ONE BACK! DON'T LET HER OUT!"

Harry stared at Kreacher, whose already large eyes (albeit usually in a sullen squint) were wide with horror and fear, and then back at the doll. He'd already used charms to check for curses, so what was going on? Why the hell was Kreacher looking so afraid?

"While he is being perhaps overly dramatic, I think Kreacher has a point. That doll has something of a storied history, little of it good. It's certainly dangerous."

Harry looked at Andromeda Tonks as they had tea later that day, Teddy being babysat by a Muggle friend of her late husband. "I didn't find any curses, and believe me, I used the detection charm you taught me."

"The doll is cursed in other ways, in a more metaphorical sense, though I wouldn't be surprised if it had a more esoteric actual curse on it," Andromeda said. "Even I knew about it before I got kicked out by Walburga. Bella was the one who found it…and got a frostbitten nose for her troubles."

"Frostbitten?"

"She was treating it badly, playing a game of 'Blood Traitors' with it," Andromeda said. "According to the stories, centuries ago, one of our family's best warlocks was seeking immortality. But he didn't wish to risk creating a Horcrux or being reliant on a Philosopher's Stone. He had developed rituals that allowed him to travel to other worlds, other universes. He was hoping to find a means of gaining immortality from another world."

"And he found the doll there?" Harry asked sceptically. "In another world?"

"Yes. He ended up in another world, specifically a continent known as the Lands Between, presided over by a vast world tree, a bit like Yggdrassil in Norse myth," Andromeda said. "He met an accomplished sorceress, one whom he seemed to think held the secret of immortality. I don't know the details, but he claimed the secret to her immortality was in this doll he stole from her."

Harry glanced to the doll, which was currently sitting on a nearby shelf in the living room. It appeared to be that of a young woman, dressed in white robes that seemed both shambolic and yet regal, topped with a large, floppy, pointed hat, making her seem like some stereotype of a witch. The face was quite beautiful, framed by a shaggy mess of shoulder-length hair.

Of course, the doll was pretty odd. The pale blue colour of the skin was a case in point, and the hair was a darker shade of blue. One eye was perpetually open, the blue iris seemingly glowing, while the other was shut, with a strange sigil painted over it. And then, there was the quartet of arms the doll seemed to have.

"And what, he was cursed?" Harry asked.

"So the stories claim, for the most part. In any case, he never got his desire for immortality fulfilled," Andromeda said. "The doll became a sort of perverse heirloom, but it never really became a well-loved toy. It's been known to come to life at odd times and attack those holding it."

"Andromeda, with all due respect to you and Sirius, your family is not exactly a good one, and probably treated the doll badly. I mean, for all you know, Bellatrix was treating the doll badly or something. Playing a game called 'Blood Traitors' doesn't sound any good."

"True enough, but you learn to be wary of anything in this household, especially something with a storied history," Andromeda said, looking to the doll. "I remember it speaking too. Almost Shakespearean, her language, and yet…so cold. So very cold."

"Yeah, but…am I at risk of unleashing something like Chucky if I keep her out?"

"Chucky? Oh, you mean from those appalling films. And how on Earth did you watch those?"

"Dudley often bugged his parents to watch stuff, even if it was not suitable for someone his age. Child's Play was one of them," Harry said with a shiver. "But given what Kreacher said, I wanted your opinion before I decided what to do with it. Because I want to dump a lot of the cursed stuff, get it disposed of. I owe it to Sirius and Nymphadora, and to Teddy."

"Harry…I genuinely don't know. Is that doll dangerous? Yes. Is it a danger to you? I don't know. The only time I saw it hurt anyone, well, Bella was treating it very roughly, as you thought. And after what you said about hunting those Horcrux things…" Andromeda shook her head. "Treat it with caution at the very least…"

A world away, a witch sitting on a chair, on a pile of books, felt something from afar. A jolt, up a link she hadn't felt for some time. How long had it been? Years, at least.

She had grown tired of the tedium as she awaited the news she wished to hear. This would divert her, she hoped. Tormenting those who had stolen one of her precious items was an enjoyable past-time.

And who knew? Perhaps this one might be interesting in other ways. Maybe it was someone she could talk to, rather than merely torment. She had few she could speak to. But first, she needed to get the measure of them...

While wariness and caution did tinge Harry's decision, he decided to keep the doll, at least for now. There was something endearing about her. And he had to admit, his curiosity was aroused. True, he didn't want her to basically kill him in his sleep like Chucky or something.

True, he did remember the Diary from his second year, to say nothing of Arthur Weasley's admonishment to not trust something if you couldn't see where it was keeping its brain. But then again, this doll attacked Bellatrix Lestrange, and while this was prior to her marriage, he was under the impression from Andromeda's anecdotes that Bellatrix was always like that. Plus, playing a game called 'Blood Traitors' with a doll was pretty nasty, even for a kid. So getting a frostbitten nose was probably karma, even at such a supposedly tender age.

He was reading an email that Hermione had sent back on a laptop he had bought at Hermione's insistence. Andromeda had headed back home for now, and he had the doll sitting on a nearby table. Hermione had tracked down her parents to Australia, and had restored their memories, but…well, it had been a rather shaky reunion. Harry had to read between the lines, but Hermione was implying a rather deep estrangement.

Harry sighed, before looking at the doll, sitting there. "I hope things work out well for her, I really do. Hermione's one of my best friends. I don't know what she'd think about you, though. On the one hand, she'd probably be wondering how dark your magic is. On the other…well, she and Bellatrix had a mutual hatred thing going on, so giving Bellatrix frostbite is a mark in your favour, I guess. Just as long as you don't get murder happy, I reckon."

No reply. He was half-expecting one, though mostly due to Andromeda's anecdote. But he continued to talk. "It's a bit weird how you have four arms and all, but…one of my best friends is half-giant, so I can't talk. Then again, look at me. I'm talking to a bloody doll of all things. I must have been in this place for too long. This place is a madhouse, and I'm getting infected. Or maybe it's the dust. Hermione told me dust has mould spores in it or something like that. After all the cleaning I've done, I believe her. Maybe Kreacher gets high off the mould spores or something, that's why he never cleaned this place up."

Did he hear something from the doll? He shot it a glance, but saw nothing really new, before he returned to the laptop. "Merlin, this place is getting to me. Or maybe I've been driven insane by having to deal with Voldemort. I've no idea. All I know is…I should really get out more. I need someone to talk to. Having one-sided conversations like this is unhealthy."

"And yet, thou art doing so regardless. What a dogged fellow thou art. Or perhaps it is thine habit to speak with dolls, despite thy claims to the contrary?"

He froze at the unexpected voice. It was a regal, cultured rasp of a voice, that of a young woman's. Gentle, and yet, with an edge of steel in it. He turned, slowly, and stared at the doll.

And the doll stared back.

She was now looking at him, one pair of her hands folded in her lap, the other pair being steepled together. She was looking at him from beneath the brim of her hat. Oddly enough, a ghostly mirror of her face, outlined in azure light, seemed to be bound to her face, at the closed eye. A faint sensation of freezing cold seemed to emanate from her.

But not, he felt, anything malicious, at least as far as he could tell. If anything, there was faint amusement and curiosity in her expression. No sense that she was about to try and freeze his nose off.

Still, he remembered Arthur's warning. Unless she kept her brain in the head, he didn't know where it was. "…Okay, so, this is awkward…" he began. "Uhh…you're not going to attack me or kill me or anything?"

"Not unless thou giveth me cause to," she said. "Though thou art the most…civil of those who hath spoken to me. I would hath thy name, scion of the Black bloodline."

"Scion? Oh, no, I'm not a Black…well, not directly part of the family, anyway," Harry said. "I think one of my ancestors was a Black, but this was my godfather's family home. He was better than the rest of them. So's Andromeda, who told me about what you did to her sister, Bellatrix. You froze her nose, apparently."

"Ah, yes, I remember that little brat, throwing this doll hither and thither, calling me a Blood Traitor. She would hath broken this body had she continued, so I sought to teach her a lesson. Painful lessons are oft those that instruct best. Well, as long as thee and thine doth not give me cause to harm thee, then I shalt not in turn. But prithee, give me thy name."

"…I'm Harry Potter. But this doll thing…are you living in this?"

"Nay. This is but an extension of my current form, back in my world. I am connected to it, I control it, but I doth not inhabit it. In any case, as thou hast given me thy name, 'tis only proper than I give thee mine. These names and titles may be bereft of meaning to thee, thou who resides in a different world to mine, and mine station means little too, but prithee attend carefully to my name. I am Ranni the Witch, firstborn of Queen Rennala of the House of Caria, and her consort, Lord Radagon."

Those names and titles were spoken solemnly. True, there was some pomp in the haughty tone, and yet, there was a solemn self-mockery in it too. But as those names sank in, Ranni looked up at him, and gave him a small smile. "I hope, then, that it is a pleasure to meet thee, Harry Potter, and mayhap this may be a pleasure for thee too…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, there it is. Harry has met Ranni, or at least her doll body. And on not as bad terms as Harry had feared.

No numbered annotations this time.