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Chapter Text

A massive explosion rippled through the forest where a Dúnedain was resting. Halbarad quickly ran towards the source, his steps quick but careful, trying not to draw attention to himself from whatever had caused that. There’s no fire, but all the trees shook violently because the explosion was so strong. Orcs and Wargs didn't do this, it had to be something else, something that was unknown and maybe dangerous.

Halbarad looked at the ground around the explosion, which looked like it had just been hit by a storm. The blast's core sent out a lot of pressure that ripped up patches of grass. It was nothing like what he had thought. The huge force had come from a young man who was lying unconscious in the middle of it. If it weren't for the fact that the ground and trees around him were broken, he might have thought the boy was just a victim. Everything was perfectly around where he slept. Halbarad moved closer, taking careful steps because he was afraid this might be a trap or something worse. But when he saw that the young man didn't have any weapons, he glad.

The young man was wearing odd clothes, but not in a bad way. The fabric looked high-end and fit perfectly, like clothes for royalty. But Halbarad had never seen this kind of thing among the rich people he knew, and he had never seen elves wear anything like this. It was strange that the boy's ears were rounded, and his face was too delicate for a man, he had no facial hair. If Halbarad can be honest, he is beautiful like the elves. But none of the elves he had met had a face as perfect as this young man's. His skin was perfectly smooth, like it had never been in the sun. His lips were a soft pink colour and looked moisturized in the dry air. Long lashes and high cheekbones, the only flaw he had is a weird scar on his forehead.

There was some minor bruising from the impact, but no new wounds. For several hours, it didn't seem likely that the teen boy, or maybe he was a man (Halbarad wasn’t sure), would be awake. Halbarad chose to carry the young man back to camp, certain that he was not a danger. The smaller body was placed on a heap of cloth, his head cushioned. Though his clothes were long, they clearly wouldn’t keep him warm through the night, so Halbarad removed his own cloak and covered the boy with it.

“Aragorn should be here soon,” he whispered, eyes darting to the sky that was growing darker.

With this kind of explosion, it was impossible not to attract dangerous creatures lurking in the forest. But his own legs were injured, he couldn’t go any farther. Besides, his horse had just been rested. If Aragorn could sense the blast, he might arrive quickly to assist. Aragorn could be here in time to help them if he could sense the blast. With a young man unconscious under his care, Halbarad was not sure if he could defend them from the Orcs.

Halbarad got awoken by the sound of hoofs. Goodness, he had just fell asleep in a potentially dangerous situation. Grateful that there were no signs of danger in the area. His gaze briefly shifted, looking at the boy who was still asleep. However, if you looked closely, you could see the dark circles beneath those eyes.

When Aragorn arrived, he wasted no time with small talk. “Halbarad, what happened? I could feel it even from a distance.”

“I don’t know either, but that boy was right there when I came. He’s been unconscious since then.”

That’s when Aragorn noticed another presence among them. A young man lying helpless beneath a tree. His clothes were strange—definitely not something worn for traveling. “Is he the one who caused the explosion?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but that’s exactly what happened.”

“He looks no more than 18,” Aragorn noted, and Halbarad nodded in agreement. Aragorn moved closer and gently stroked the smooth side of the boy’s face with the back of his finger. “His skin is like an Elf’s, but his ears are rounded.” Then he noticed something else. “Is he hurt?”

“No, just some bruises.“

Without saying more, Aragorn sat down next to the boy, still unable to take his eyes off the stranger they had found. The youth’s body was lean yet toned. Obviously not skilled with weapons, especially considering he wasn’t carrying any.

Then he turned back to his friend. “We should take him to Rivendell.”

The statement made Halbarad confused. “Why? He’s not injured and clearly not an Elf.”

“But he was there when the explosion happened. Better safe than sorry—Lord Elrond might know what’s going on.”

“Maybe we should wait until he wakes up. He might have answers.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Morning came when Halbarad finally awoke. His leg still hurt even after he applied herbal ointment the night before, but at least it felt better. He could keep going and pretend the injury wasn’t that serious. For a Ranger, wounds were part of their life—as long as nothing was broken, then it’s fine.

With a quick glance around, his brown eyes saw Aragorn kneeling next to the young man. Hold on, how did that boy get there? Halbarad was sure that he had placed the boy under a tree to the northeast, but now when the sun had risen, his body lay sprawled face-down towards the west. He saw his companion approaching, staring at the unconscious figure with a soft smile.

“He sleeps worse than a bear. I saw him rolling around and bumping into the tree.”

Halbarad sighed. “And he still didn’t wake up after all that?”

“That’s right.” Aragorn couldn’t hide his giggles, while Halbarad just shook his head. What an unusual boy—they had never met someone with such horrible sleeping habits. Even the dwarves couldn’t compare. “Should we try to wake him up?”

“Maybe we should.”

Halbarad kneeled and gently shaking the boy’s shoulder. There was no response, so he softly tapped the boy’s pale cheek, causing a slight moan. The two Rangers exchanged glances, so Aragorn tried to shake him too. It seemed to work—the boy no longer lay like a deer in the headlights. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. Soon, the brightest emerald eyes appeared, capturing all their attention—the most stunning gems in Middle Earth.

The three exchanged silent looks, or rather, the boy gazed up at the two men with confused eyes. He furrowed his brow, clearly trying to make sure he knew what was going on right now. Aragorn might have laughed if they were in a different situation. But just after the fifth minute, the boy suddenly jumped—only to slam his back into a tree trunk, which made him wince and curl to the side.

Halbarad reacted fast, catching him before he could collide with anything else. Another smile tugged at Aragorn's lips as they saw his round ears turn a bright red against his pale skin. "Are you alright?"

No answer came, but Halbarad helped him sit up so they could look at each other more easily. “Where are you from, boy?”

The youth—maybe teenager or young man, they still weren’t sure—blinked at them confusingly. He looked like a lost puppy, or a mouse who suddenly faced the wild cat. It took a moment before he spoke. But the language he spoke was completely unexpected for the Rangers.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Aragorn and Halbarad exchanged glances (for a hundred times). They have a secret conversation in their heads before they both focused again on the emerald eyes, who were still looking at them helplessly. They didn’t recognize a single word. It wasn’t Westron, not even Sindarin. Neither Ranger, who had spent so much time exploring the forest and keeping Middle Earth safe, had ever heard this language. Like it belonged to a completely different world.

Aragorn sighed. “If that’s the case, there is no point in taking him to Rivendell.”

“You’re right. Then what do we do?”

“Our best choice is to bring him to the nearest village. He can stay there and learn Westron.”

“And what about the explosion?”

“We’ll investigate that later. We can’t ask him now if we don’t understand each other.”

Halbarad nodded. Turning back to the boy, he stood and offered a hand, which was taken after a moment of hesitation. Before leading him to the horse, Halbarad introduced himself. “Halbarad,” he said, placing his palm over his chest. Aragorn did the same.

At least this guy was smart—he immediately understood their body language and copied them by naming himself.

“Harry.”

What a strange name, the two Rangers thought. They never heard anything like that before. But this wasn’t the time to dwell on that. They needed to move before Orcs approached the source of the disturbance. As they guided him toward the horse, Aragorn signaled for the boy to get on. He didn’t have much choice. Even though he was still confused, Harry obeyed as Aragorn helped him mount.

Harry had obviously never ridden a horse before. The way his body tensed and shifted on top of the big racing animal told anyone. Aragorn held tight to the smaller figure as Halbarad laughed behind him. To prevent Harry from falling forward, Aragorn had to hold him from behind, pressing his back against his chest. His ears burned an even brighter red as the horse galloped on.

They kept riding for several days, and throughout that time, the two Rangers never stopped trying to teach Harry about Westron. They started with the names of objects, plants, animals, and before long, Harry was able to say a few simple short sentences. It was quite surprising—Halbarad never expected him to learn so quickly and have such a strong memory, which made them feel the joy of teaching him.

One day, while Aragorn went hunting and left Halbarad and Harry to set up the camp, he returned and was greeted by Harry’s wide grin, proudly showing off his new vocabulary. With a bright face, the boy said,

“Aragorn, you are a wild monkey!”

The Ranger went silent, and Halbarad burst out laughing from behind. Harry immediately furrowed his brow when he saw Halbarad rolling on the ground like a fool by the campfire (he was completely confused). When he turned back to Aragorn, the Ranger pinched his nose gently with his thumb and forefinger—not hard enough to hurt. Still looking confused and asking for an explanation, Harry made Aragorn sigh shortly.

“Don’t say that again, got it?”

No, of course he didn’t get it. Had Aragorn forgotten that Harry’s vocabulary was still very limited? But judging by the way Aragorn was pointing at Harry’s face with his fingers, it seemed like a warning. To make matters worse, the Ranger threw the rabbit he had caught right at Halbarad’s face, giving him a sharp glare for still laughing so hard.

Ah, so he’d just been pranked?

Damn it.

From that day on, Harry stopped listening to Halbarad’s words unless Aragorn confirmed them himself. The Ranger never got offended or felt guilty, he just grinned every time Harry gave him a doubtful look.

There was another funny moment when their group found a river. Harry almost jumped off his horse because he simply couldn’t stand being out in the wilderness without bathing. Aragorn took him to the river and gave him signals so he could take off his clothes and soak in the water. But it didn’t go well because Harry started shivering uncontrollably after dipping his toes in. Merlin, he didn’t know if water in the river could be that cold! It felt like a death wish inside an ice block. Halbarad couldn’t hold back his laughter, watching Harry’s shocked expression by the low temperature.

The boy hesitated nonstop until Aragorn had to reassure him that the water wouldn’t kill him. But Harry couldn’t focus on their words because—oh my god! Did he really have to be naked out here? He hadn’t taken off his underwear, unsure about the idea. But seeing the rangers strolling in the river with not a thing on terrified him. He tried to stay calm, carefully glancing anywhere but at the damn big penis still visible above the water. It didn’t help that it was pretty hard too, probably because of the cold.

Harry began to wonder, was it normal to have a big penis like that? He knew that people used to be physically larger back then compared to modern humans, but seeing it in person was a whole different thing. Harry himself was 175 cm tall, but next to them he barely reached halfway up their necks. Totally embarrassing. His own thing looked like a love bird among the eagles—damn it.

Once again, did all men back then have such muscular bodies? With abs, chest muscles, biceps, even thick thighs. Harry rarely saw men so buff. As a wizards, they were so spoiled by magic, and not many of them wanted to build their muscles. But these two Rangers had no option— their bodies were the result of surviving decades in the wild, toughened by nature with no fancy things.

Harry had never really seen a man’s body besides his ex, and thank God he’d only dated once. Even at Hogwarts, everyone kept their privacy with at least two or three bathrooms in each dorm room. Unlike Muggle boarding schools where sharing bathrooms was so common.

So, awkwardly, he slowly took off the rest of his pants and walked towards them. Hugging himself, he didn’t understand how those two acted like they were in a warm jacuzzi when the water was so freezing. Getting close enough, he leaned on a big rock and started rubbing a small bar of soap Aragorn had just tossed him. They both talked casually while washing their clothes, which Harry didn’t have to bother with since he only had one. Besides, he secretly had been casting cleaning spells on his clothes, which often left the Rangers confused since his clothes were never dirty.

“Harry, come here,” Aragorn called, maybe noticing how much trouble his little companion had holding the soap bar. Harry was used to liquid soap back in his world. The hard white bar kept slipping from his palm, almost carried away by the current.

Looking confused, Harry found himself bent over by the bigger man. Aragorn took the soap from his hand and skillfully rubbed it onto Harry’s head after wetting his hair thoroughly. Although it wasn’t as comforting as a salon massage, Aragorn tried to be as gentle as possible so Harry wouldn’t feel like he had been pulled. The soap barely foamed—almost no lather—but it was better than nothing.

Halbarad also helped to scrub Harry’s back with a coarse cloth they carried in their pack. In return, Harry rubbed their backs. They said something about his height—maybe they thought it was easier for him since he was so much shorter. Well, that stung a bit. Too bad he didn’t have enough words to respond, so all the he could do was splash Halbarad with the water, only to get hit with a bigger wave in return. Aragorn said something about their antics, but Harry didn’t care and kept splashing Halbarad.

Standing between two giant men made their differences even more obvious. The Rangers had tanned skin with many scars, while Harry’s was pale and spotless. He guessed all his wounds had been healed by Lady Magic before arriving in this world—except the lightning-shaped scar still clear on his forehead. Honestly, it made him a little embarrassed, looking so skinny next to Aragorn and Halbarad. It became even more obvious when Halbarad openly mocked him with body language after Harry nearly got swept away by the river’s current.

Besides the very low temperature, that strong river current was a real menace.

Chapter Text

After a week of riding, they finally came across a village called Newbury. Harry had expected life here to be simple and quite backward, but seeing it with his own eyes still took him by surprise. Luckily, the village was relatively clean—not like the grim places he’d seen in Muggle movies. The livestock wandered around freely but were still kept in check. Trade was done either by bartering or coins. At least the villagers seemed friendly enough.

Aragorn carefully helped him down from his horse. Earlier, Halbarad had given Harry a black cloak, likely to help him blend in and avoid standing out too much. After all, he had arrived in Middle Earth dressed in a formal suit. Even with the cloak covering half his body, a few curious glances were still cast at Harry’s attire. Unfortunately, there was no way to hide his polished dress shoes.

They took him to a house on the edge of the village, right next to a large well. Harry wasn’t sure if the Rangers actually knew the owner or if they were just dropping him off at a random place. The big old man living there looked intimidating but surprisingly kind. They talked about things that Harry didn’t understand—maybe discussing his price if he were to be sold as a slave to that man. He wasn’t sure.

Harry had a strong feeling he was being treated like a bargaining chip in some trade. Although Aragorn and Halbarad had been kind so far, what reason would they have to keep him around? The most they could do was leave him in a random village to work and survive. Not that he was going to complain—he was fully aware of how things were. This is for the best and maybe the only choice they had.

Before that, Harry was given a simple room. By his modern standards, “simple” meant something like an old shack, worse than the Leaky Cauldron. There wasn’t even an indoor toilet—just a chamber pot and a small washhouse outside near the well. For some reason, Aragorn and Halbarad didn’t leave yet. They stayed for a while, maybe to keep an eye on Harry’s progress as a medieval house elf.

At first, they taught him how to take care a horse. Halbarad really needed to shut up because he kept laughing at Harry. When a horse kicked muddy water all over him, Harry couldn’t hide the disgust on his face. He almost cried because now, his body was filthy and smelled like a horse dung—just another reason for Halbarad to crack up. Aragorn wasn’t much better, though he tried to hold back laughs, he still snickered every time he saw Harry’s crumpled expression.

It is not his fault if he hated dirt, okay? He came from a modern age, raised in a wealthy family, and adopted by another wealthy family. He had plenty of reasons to be grossed out by mud, livestock, or anything of the sort. Unfortunately, adulthood meant swallowing complaints and being grateful for these “helpful” experiences. So, Harry spent his days to cleaning horses and their muddy pens.

Oh God, Alphard would probably roll in his grave knowing his only child was doing dirty work like this.

Harry had learned to hunt before arriving in the village. He often cheated secretly by using magic, but no one needed to know that. The Rangers assumed he had his own way of hunting when no one was watching, so no one questioned it when Harry returned with a lot of meats. Well, except for Mr. Hama, who stared at him curiously. It was hard to believe such a slim boy could bring home so much wild meat.

Speaking about Harry’s body, Halbarad started to worry that he wouldn’t live long if his body kept like this. So, along with Aragorn, he began training Harry in sword techniques, forcing him to do morning runs, helping market vendors carry heavy sacks, and digging wells daily. The first three days nearly knocked him out, which made Aragorn realize Harry was truly not cut out for this life. But really? Even 12-year-olds here were used to heavy chores, he thought.

But aside from his incessant frowning, Harry never really complained. He felt that he was getting better and that this was all for his own good. His strength and endurance increased, but not significantly. His vocabulary grew because he lived in the village and interacted with locals. The locals were quite welcoming, excited about the newcomer from a faraway land who didn’t speak their language and, honestly, Harry’s good looks helped more than he expected.

He also getting close to the owner of the house. He just knew that Mr. Hama had lost his wife two years ago to a Warg attack—wild, lone wolves that nonetheless caused great harm to the village. Sadly, Mrs. Hama was the first to face such danger.

Their bond deepened over food. Harry had taken over the kitchen within a week of his arrival. A modern man like him couldn't stand the simple, bland meals that Mr. Hama usually prepared. From then on, Harry became the village’s unexpected star chef, thanks to Mr. Hama’s gossiping skill. Whenever there was an event, the locals would asked Harry to manage the kitchen. He even started cooking classes for locals eager to learn once his Westron got good enough. Aragorn and Halbarad couldn’t be prouder than this, they’re sometimes acting like mothers crying on their daughter’s wedding. Harry found it amusing.

Sometimes, nightmares struck him suddenly in the middle of the night. Since they shared a room, Aragorn and Halbarad would awake to his soft whimpers. They never complained, and Harry was too mentally drained to feel embarrassed. What surprised him most was Halbarad offering a warm hug and Aragorn singing a gentle lullaby for him. Harry had no time to be shocked—he just accepted their comfort. Halbarad’s large hand stroked gentle circles on his back while Aragorn lovingly caressed his head.

If anyone caught Harry crying like this, they knew to keep quiet. The Rangers’ warmth only stirred memories of Alphard. Merlin, how he missed his father more than anything. Years had passed, and Harry thought he’d made peace with his past, but now, surrounded by the care of Aragorn and Halbarad, it returned like a glass bottle washed ashore. Harry curled up, crying quietly—allowing himself only for this moment to be embraced by their love.

The next morning, no one mentioned what was happened last night, life went on as usual. Harry would cook breakfast, Aragorn might train in the yard, Halbarad would grab a bit more sleep, and Mr. Hama checked his market goods. Somehow, Harry found himself used to morning hugs now. He liked it—it brought memories of Sirius and Regulus in a good way. His brothers often did the same.

Yeah shit, he really miss his brothers.

A month later, Aragorn and Halbarad suddenly invited Harry for a walk. They toured the whole village, even the borders and the forest. At first, Harry thought they were just bored—he’d done this before and even knew each locals by now. But he kept quiet, it was nice to spend time together. He enjoyed any activity as long as Aragorn and Halbarad were around.

That night came when Aragorn led him to sit by the fireplace with Halbarad. Mr. Hama was at the pub and probably wouldn’t return till morning. Harry sensed something was up but kept silent, letting the Rangers take the lead. He popped a piece of fruit into his mouth to calm his nerves.

Aragorn wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder, giving him a deep, understanding, and affectionate look. “Halbarad and I are leaving tomorrow. We need to get back to our duties as Rangers—there are so many places to watch over.”

A pang hit Harry’s chest after hearing this. Sure, he knew about Orcs and Wargs from their stories, also the other creatures like Goblins and Trolls. But honestly, he had no idea of how dangerous they are. He knew Trolls from his world too, but those trolls lived deep in the forests, far from humans. Goblins there weren’t harmful—they lived like wizards without wands. Only Orcs and Wargs frightened him.

If Mrs. Hama died because of a Warg, and Orcs would’ve killed anyone without reason, then Rangers were definitely needed by all the people, right? So why did Harry, who was basically nobody, feel upset about being left alone? Why did it hurt so much? Didn’t Aragorn and Halbarad already do so much for him—even staying for a month instead of abandoning him?

They’d done more than enough. They couldn’t keep babysitting a spoiled kid forever—they had bigger responsibilities. No, he wasn’t spoiled. He was just used to having them around. He accepted their hugs, warm embraces at night, lullabies, gentle head pats—things Alphard used to give him daily. Could he really lose all of that? Would they leave him? Would he never see them again?

A light tap on his knee brought Harry back to the moment. Halbarad looked worried. “Harry, are you alright?”

“Yeah— yeah I’m okay.” He smiled. “So, you have to go... will you come back here then?”

Aragorn smiled kindly. “Of course, but we can’t say when. It might be three months, six months, or longer—we just don’t know.”

“We’ll come back, Harry,” Halbarad added. “Maybe someday you’ll join us. But for now, it’s too dangerous out there. I want you to enjoy this peaceful a little longer.”

Though Harry felt ready to face whatever lay beyond, he nodded. Orcs or not, his magic was plenty protection. But he’d learned arrogance born of ignorance wasn’t wise. Maybe they’re right… he wasn’t ready. His back still wasn’t used to sitting on horse for long without magic, his stamina wasn’t like theirs, and his wilderness knowledge was limited. His Westron, though decent, still had a rough accent and grammar.

Yeah, thinking it again, he really wasn’t ready. Staying in Newbury was the best option—he could help the villagers and learn everything. They had no public library, only a tiny bookstore with fewer than twenty books. Still, there was knowledge everywhere—you just had to appreciate it, even if it was as small as a pebble.

“Alright, but could you bring me some books? I want to read more.” He hesitated, knowing it sounded odd to reveal his thirst for knowledge about this world. They didn’t know anything about him yet, and now wasn’t the time. Maybe someday, when he was ready, he’d tell them everything—about magic, death, and how he ended up here.

“Sure. If possible, I can ask the Elves if I can borrow some of their collection,” Aragorn offered, making Harry frown.

“Elves? You’ll go there?”

“It’s likely we’ll pass through Rivendell. Lord Elrond is generous, hopefully, he’ll lend us some general books. You might even learn Sindarin—the language of the Elves.”

Harry had been told this world had many races. Aragorn and Halbarad were Men—humans of this age. Then there were the Elves: Iluvatar’s first children (Men were the second).

Though created by the same being and looking almost identical, their nature was very different. Elves were essentially immortal. Once adults, they no longer aged and only died if got killed or fading away—a concept Harry wasn’t quite sure about. Physically, Elves were stunning, with flawless skin, no body hair, tall and proportionate, with sharp hearing and sight. All of them likely to kept their hair long.

Harry ignored Halbarad’s teasing about his skin and beauty which looked exactly like the Elves, sure it was because he came from a modern era where people rarely saw sunlight and using skincare. Oh right, being a Rosier was also a thing—his family was lucky in looks. Many said he was handsome or pretty, but he never had been compared to the perfect creatures like Elves.

He refused to get cocky, especially with Halbarad teasing relentlessly. Aragorn wasn’t much better, insisting Harry looked like an Elf if only his ears weren’t visible. Ridiculous! Elves were said to radiate a light visible to others, while Harry was just a regular human. Some wizards even said his aura looked like that of a Grim Reaper—probably a side effect of his deal with Death.

Then there were Dwarves and Hobbits, both small in stature. Dwarves were bigger and stronger than Hobbits, and Harry figured Dwarves here shared some Goblin traits from his world: greed for wealth, treasure, gold, silver, and the like. Though they were louder and sillier, they were nothing like Goblins in his world. Hobbits, on the other hand, were the opposite of all Middle Earth races—non-fighters, uninterested in power, living just for good food and dancing. Such a peaceful creature, and Harry was a little jealous.

Harry found himself looking sadly at the Rangers getting their horses and supplies ready as the sun rose. His heart was heavy. When Aragorn saw it, he approached and smiled gently.

Harry was so surprised when Aragorn kissed his forehead and hugged him like a father. He froze for a moment, then returned the hug, holding back tears. Sometimes his youthful appearance made him vulnerable to emotional moments— ugh this is frustrating. The fact that they were leaving for a short time shouldn't have made him want to cry. Merlin, they weren’t go to war!

“Take care of yourself, Harry.”

Just as Aragorn let go, Halbarad swept in, pulling Harry closer to him. Their height difference made him rest his chin on Harry’s head, whispering a few words before planting a kiss. “Don’t cry unless no one’s here to help you clean the horse dung.”

That made him laugh. “Hey, I’m used to it now. And I didn’t cry then!”

“True, just pouted like a kid who dropped his candy.” Both men burst out laughing after Halbarad's taunting earned him a swift punch to his stomach.

Harry allowed himself to feel their warmth. He remained silent for a while before he gathered up the courage to say, "I'm going to miss you guys."

“We will miss you too, Harry.” Aragorn pulled something from his pack—a beautiful dark green cloak with a silver brooch at its hood. It looked worn but well cared for. He draped it over Harry’s shoulders, who raised an eyebrow in confusion. “For you. Made by the Elves of Rivendell. It suits you perfectly.”

“Isn’t this yours?”

“Yes, but now it’s yours.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, his green eyes full of love and joy. “Thank you, Aragorn. I’ll take good care of it.”

Suddenly, Halbarad grabbed his arm, palms open to reveal a short sword. Sharp and well-maintained. “I got this from my father on my fifteenth birthday. But I grew fast, so I rarely used it. It’s too small for someone like me, but it’ll fit you.”

He snorted, catching the hidden joke. “Did you just call me short?” Halbarad grinned, and Harry rolled his eyes before smiling. “Thanks, Halbarad. But if this means a lot to your father, are you sure about giving it to me?”

“Better than nothing. This sword needs a new little master. It’s well-made—I used it to kill a Warg back then. It’ll be a loyal training companion until you get a better one.”

Could they be any more thoughtful than this? Harry was speechless at all their kindness. They’d only known him for a bit over a month, yet trusted him with such precious things. Even though these two were younger than him, why did he act like a kid again around Aragorn and Halbarad? Must be that young look. He did the same with Tonks, his goddaughter.

He gave them a tight hug and expressed his gratitude before preparing himself for the Rangers’ departure. His young soul wanted to wave good-bye, but he refrained. For Merlin's beard, he is 142 years old! His mature side thought it would be ridiculous to do anything more.

Chapter Text

Before he knew it, Harry had already spent two years living in Newbury. He really like the village, and by now, he was well-known among the locals. The children often came to find him, eager to play. Harry always loved kids, so he never minded. The only reason why all the kids adored him was because he often gave them little gifts. Nothing fancy, but to someone who rarely received anything, these simple presents meant a lot.

Usually, the girls would get flower bouquets, knitted dolls, and ribbons for their hair. The boys would receive wooden toys—sometimes animal figurines or little wooden swords. Mr. Hama was quite surprised when he found out that Harry could make all these things, not knowing that Harry had been using his transfiguration magic the whole time. But more than anything, the kids loved the candies and sweets that he shared. Mr. Hama even got inspired to suggest they open a bakery.

And so they did. Harry was given an old cart to sell the cakes and candies he made. Visitors from nearby towns would buy out all his goods as souvenirs. Their income grew, especially with Mr. Hama’s meat business that surged thanks to Harry’s help. Together, they managed to renovate Mr. Hama's old house into something much cozier and beautiful. Most of the renovation work Harry did while Mr. Hama was away visiting his relatives in an another village for a few days.

When that man returned, he nearly fainted at how different the house looked. All the dirt was gone without a trace, the old wood was replaced with stronger new planks, the furniture was all new, and now there was a spacious living room filled with chairs arranged around the fireplace. Harry wasn’t sure if people in this age had sofas yet, so to keep things subtle, he made wooden chairs with cushions on the seats. The kitchen had also improved greatly—a window let in natural light from outside. Harry even tended the lawn and planted flowers both inside and outside house. He’d even expanded the small bathing hut and installed a proper bathtub.

Honestly, Mr. Hama nearly cried when he faced Harry. He kept saying that having Harry around was the greatest blessing from the Gods. It was honestly a bit overwhelming—Harry didn’t really know how to respond. After all, all these changes were for himself too. He couldn’t keep living in a run-down place. His room had become tolerable, and if the villagers caught a glimpse of it, they might even gossip that Harry was some lost noble. At least, which made the last two years much more comfortable.

Harry had also made some friends. There was a young man named Aerion, who was 27 years old, and his wife, Lorelea. Harry called him “Rion” for short. They were a couple married just months before Harry arrived in Newbury. Both were kind and warm, often inviting Harry over for lunch or spending the day for afternoons talking. Lorelea had learned many new recipes because of Harry and had even started calling him her little brother. Rion was much the same—he loved introducing the youngest member of their circle to all sorts of things, including the history of men. They shared a love for reading.

Maybe Harry had enjoyed Newbury more than he’d ever imagined. At 144 years old, he finally understood why so many elders in his world dreamt of spending their old age in a quiet village. Well, now he was part of that group himself.

One day, Harry went inside his room and pulled a small suitcase out from under his bed. It was a keepsake from his original world, shrink-wrapped in one of the jacket pockets he wore when he first arrived in Middle Earth. He was surprised when he found it for the first time but never had the chance to open it because Aragorn and Halbarad were always around him. Only when they both left did he dare to enlarge it and go inside.

It turned out the Valar hadn’t sent Harry to their world unprepared. Inside, he found the entire main vault of the Rosier and Black family at Gringotts Bank—from heirlooms and old jewelry that contained no dangerous magic to several sets of formal and semi-formal clothing. There’s also an office room, bedroom, bathroom, and a small library that was only a quarter the size of Rosier and Black’s collections. They even included Harry’s precious photo albums.

First night without the Rangers, he cried a lot while looking at his portrait with the Blacks.

That afternoon was warm, with Mr. Hama’s house tucked away in the village corner, so the bustle from the market center or the large pub didn’t disturb their peace. Harry spent the time sitting on the lawn, on a cloth spread like a picnic blanket. He lay back, reading a book he borrowed from Rion, while a sweet white rabbit sat on his chest. He had brought the rabbit from the forest a while ago when he realized he had no family. The softness of its fur made Harry unable to stop stroking it.

It had been five years since Aragorn and Halbarad left the village. No matter how hard he tried, Harry still missed them. He missed Halbarad’s teasing and Aragorn’s care. He longed to feel that again. Were they really meant to spend five years in the wilderness? Or had something dangerous happened? Harry couldn’t help worrying. He feared they’d been hurt—or worst of all, killed in an ambush. Lately, he’d had trouble sleeping over thoughts like these.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves on the road caught his attention. He sat up quickly, cradling the rabbit in his arms, standing to see who had come to the village at this hour. He smiled so wide when he realized who they are.

Aragorn and Halbarad had returned! They had finally kept their promise to come back and see Harry.

Without wasting a second, Harry ran forward to hug Aragorn the moment the man got off his horse. His arms wrapped tight around Aragorn’s neck, and he rested his face against the big man’s shoulder. Aragorn hugged him back firmly, almost lifting Harry off the ground.

“You’re back! I thought you’d never come back. You’ve been gone for so long,” Harry said, unable to hide his frustration—and maybe even a tear had slipped out. For a man living in modern times, where international travel took just hours by plane, five years felt like forever. Harry had nearly lost hope, believing they’d never meet again.

Aragorn planted a soft kiss on Harry’s head as a silent apology, smiling gently while stroking Harry’s back with his large hand. “Sorry, Harry. Many things happened out there, I’m really sorry. How have you been?”

“Good! I have a lot to share with you both.”

Then Harry turned to Halbarad, who was grinning mischievously with arms wide open. Harry laughed and welcomed him into a tight hug, letting out a small squeal as Halbarad lifted him up. “Halbarad, I’m surprised your hair hasn’t turned white yet. You’ve kept me waiting for five hundred years—I hope you’ve got a good story to explain that.”

Halbarad chuckled. “If I’d kept you waiting for five hundred years, Harry, I’d expect to be greeted by an old men leaning on his walking sticks. But look at you—“ he pinched Harry’s cheek, “you haven’t changed at all. You haven’t even grown taller. Did Mr. Hama even feed you?”

“You make Mr. Hama sound cruel. I eat like a normal. It’s not my fault I stopped growing and you all look like walking trees.” Harry rolled his eyes so hard that he thought they might fall out.

Aragorn bent closer and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, noticing how well it had grown. Harry’s hair was no longer short like it was the last time they met—it had grown all the way down to his waist, a change that nearly made the Rangers not recognize him. “Your hair’s gotten really long…”

Halbarad nodded and joined in, his fingers brushed through Harry’s jet-black smooth hair. His little friend was truly captivating now, with that new look—no one could take their eyes off Harry once they saw him. “You’re looking even more prettier now. I bet some men have tried to ask for your attention.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Nah, we’re just telling it like it is.”

Ignoring his teasing, Harry tugged both Halbarad’s and Aragorn’s arms after they tied their horses to the stable, leading them inside. “Come on. You both need a bath while I prepare the welcome feast.”

The Rangers couldn’t help but chuckle at how enthusiastic Harry was—he looked like a kid welcoming his dad and uncle back from the army. They looked again at Mr. Hama’s house, each showing a different confused expression. Aragorn raised his eyebrows, while Halbarad looked like he was trying to catch a fly with his mouth. Clearly, it wasn’t just Harry who felt the impact of the years… even this house had changed more than they imagined.

The younger Ranger said, “We might have missed a lot—too much has happened in the last five years.”

“You’re right, Aragorn. I almost thought we were at the wrong house if not for seeing Harry sitting right here.” Halbarad’s brown eyes flickered. “Did Mr. Hama find some dwarf treasure? Or maybe a generous guest decided to renovate the old house?”

Their reactions matched exactly what Harry expected, which made him grin with satisfaction. This was another reason Harry always awaited Aragorn and Halbarad’s return, he wanted to make them proud, maybe spoil them a little with a nicer home. He even added rooms so they wouldn’t have to share again, giving himself some privacy with his magic.

“You both just being dramatic. Mr. Hama and I increased our income from trading, then decided to renovate the house. What do you think?”

“Amazing, my friend. You just turned an old house into something as charming as the Hobbit’s homes in the Shire,” Aragorn praised.

“Really? Then you have to take me there someday. I’ve only met men all this time. But whatever, you two really need to take a bath now, hurry!”

Hearing this, Halbarad shook his head amidst chuckles. “Alright, ma’am.”

“Halbarad!!”

Harry’s cooking was always amazing. Aragorn and Halbarad had eaten many plates of delicious food after surviving harsh conditions in the wild with whatever they could find. Aragorn was sure if the Hobbits met Harry, they’d swarm around just to learn his recipes. The Elves probably liked it too—Harry could turn simple vegetables into dishes that felt like a luxury, yet still healthy and never bland.

They spent a long time talking at the now-long dining table. Mr. Hama excused himself for an errand, leaving the three of them in a cozy, peaceful atmosphere. Harry even persuaded Aragorn to sing because he enjoyed the way the man's voice sounded and how each song seemed to contain a wealth of stories. With his eyes closed and his head resting on Halbarad's shoulder, Harry allowed himself to be enchanted by the music and relished the way the Ranger's fingers brushed through his hair.

“Harry, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” Halbarad suddenly spoke, jolting Harry from his relaxed state.

“What is it?”

“We’ve actually wanted to ask for a long time, but we were held back by language. Now, do you remember the first time we met in the forest?” Seeing Harry nod, he continued, “And do you remember what happened before that? What brought you there?”

Harry fell silent. Aragorn noticed how restless he looked, even though Harry was skilled at hiding it. Aside from their time in the forest, when he and Halbarad first found the boy, Aragorn had never seen Harry this uneasy. Though he looked young, maybe 18, they were surprised at how calm and mature he was—no teenager acted with such wisdom and grace.

At first, Harry seemed confused around them. Like a lost dog, it took time for him to process everything, as if he came from a completely different world. Aragorn never forgot how the boy looked around when they first set off to find the village—his bewilderment taking a river bath, awkwardness on horseback, or seeing Newbury as if he just stepped on the moon. Not to mention his original clothing, so unlike anything Aragorn had ever seen—though now Harry was dressed to blend in.

But despite all that, Harry never complained. Aragorn could tell he hated dirt from his expressions, but still, he never whined. He adapted quickly, learning Westron despite limited books. Aragorn had even seen Mr. Hama get offended when Harry offered to take over the kitchen duties—they argued briefly, but it ended well because Harry was good at handling situations even with his limited vocabulary.

If it weren’t for his youthful appearance, they would have guessed Harry was a mature man who had seen much. His graceful habits—drinking tea, reading books, eating—made him seem almost noble. Aragorn had even heard Halbarad comment on Harry’s walk, saying it reminded him of an Elf lord. Harry was truly a mystery to them for five years. Seeing he hadn’t physically aged except for his hair only deepened Aragorn’s curiosity. While it’s hard to see aging in a mature man, for a seemingly 18-year-old youth, he should still be growing, maturing. But Harry’s aura felt like two ages wrapped in one body.

Waiting for Harry to speak, Halbarad asked, “Where do you come from, kid? Why are you so different?”

Aragorn stayed silent, letting his friend lead the conversation. They’d agreed not to press or make Harry feel interrogated. They just wanted honesty. After all the time together and as Rangers, it was their duty to keep things safe. Aragorn cared for Harry like family and was certain he wasn’t a threat—he just needed to know.

Finally, Harry moved, sipping tea elegantly. All his restlessness vanished instantly—everyone noticed his calm.

“I suppose I can’t keep this secret any longer. Know that I didn’t mean to hide it. I just needed to see your reaction. Not everyone takes it well, so forgive me if I’m wary.”

He reached out and took Harry’s hand, smiling. “There’s no doubt in our minds, brother. I’ve seen and heard things that people would call impossible. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Oh, you’re going to be shocked by this one, I guarantee,” Harry chuckled. “Honestly, I’m still in disbelief myself. I’d understand if you don’t believe me.”

“Nonsense, Harry. We will always believe you, even if you say your parents were the lost Elves,” Halbarad assured.

“Why are you always comparing me to Elves? I’m not one of them, don’t know them, and have no Elf blood inside my body, Halbarad.”

Even though it is hard to believe, Halbarad sighed. They’d debated Harry’s true race many times, with Halbarad firmly convinced Harry was tied to the Elves. It would be disappointing if he were mistaken.

“Here’s the thing,” Harry started. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not from this world.”

Aragorn straightened up. “You mean you’re not from Arda?”

“But how is that possible?” Halbarad asked. He’d never heard anything quite like it. The only impossible thing he knew was the story of Glorfindel’s resurrection by the Valar. When he first heard it from Aragorn, he refused to believe it, until he arrived in Rivendell and saw the Elf himself.

Harry understood their reactions, he’d think the same in their shoes. “Doesn’t it seem strange? A young man who looks perfectly healthy but doesn’t understand the common tongue or know about the people here? That’s because my world is different. Not everything, but many things. Some things are similar, but they’re still different from what you have here.”

“I don’t know if I want to hear about your world first or how you ended up here.”

“Believe me, Halbarad, I don’t know much about why I’m here.” Harry sighed. “You were right, I'm very different. I don’t know much about the people of this world. Maybe I’m a man, but not like you. I…” He took a deep breath, staring them carefully. “I have magic.”

“You’re… you’re an Istar?” Aragorn shocked.

“I’m not sure about the wizards here. You said there were only five, and they are different from both humans and the Valar. In my world, there are so many races, but at some point, we’re all just humans. Wizards are basically magical beings who separate themselves from non-magic humans called Muggles. So the classification between magic and non-magic is quite different, we have knowledge on many creatures, while Muggles only know four races based on physical and ethnic characteristics.”

Ah, this would be a long story, Harry thought before continuing. “In my world, there are millions of witches, wizards, and magical creatures. But compared to Muggles, we’re less than 1% of the population. That’s why we separate ourselves. Ugh, this is complicated and hard to explain without questions.”

Halbarad tried to take it all in but understood one thing clearly. “Is civilization very advanced in your world?”

“Oh, so you've noticed. Sorry if I offended you, but looking at Arda is like going back a thousand years in my world—maybe more. In my time, forests and natural things are rare compared to settlements. Humans have filled most of the earth, along with discoveries in every field. We have many languages, each region its own, none sounding like Westron.”

“Wait, Harry.” Aragorn interrupted, deep in thought. “I love hearing about your world, but right now there’s something more important. You should see Lord Elrond, or if we’re lucky, maybe Gandalf.”

“Why?”

“You know there are only five wizards here, and your arrival will spark many discussions—especially now, with dangers threatening all over Middle Earth. It’s wiser for Lord Elrond to meet you, he can ensure your safety.”

“Wait, you mean I’m in danger just because I have magic?”

“Not just you, Harry. All living things face the threat of Sauron and his minions. But you, as a magic user, are potentially at greater risk if the wrong ears hear about you.”

Damn. Harry could see where this was going. So this is how it ends? Another war? Seriously, his life had been that intense across worlds. He scoffed silently. Couldn’t life just be a little more peaceful? Was the peace in Newbury only a brief moment before a bomb dropped? He thought about what sins he’d committed to deserve all this shit.

But by the way, “You guys believe me? Just like that?” Harry blinked three times, finding the whole situation ridiculous. “With threats like Sauron, how do you know I’m not one of his toy?”

Halbarad snorted, breaking the tension. “Honestly, I want to believe that too. But on second thought, no Sauron lackey would cry over cleaning a stable.”

That again! Couldn’t the guy leave his bad stable memories alone? Harry’s face flushed involuntarily, swearing he will add plenty of salt to Halbarad’s breakfast tomorrow. Maybe Aragorn too, since he was quietly laughing along. “I’m not crying!” Harry grumbled irritably. “I hate you.”

“I know you love me.”

“Just shut up, Halbarad!”

< OMAKE >

Aragorn : (brushing Harry’s hair like a dad with his daughter) Do you want me to braid your hair?

Harry : (glancing back) I didn’t know you could braid.

Halbarad : He learned that from the Elves in Rivendell. (touching Harry’s hair, admiring it) We need to get accessories, some ribbons and clips perhaps. It’ll be cute on you.

Aragorn : (nodding, still brushing)

Harry : (quietly groaning) You know I’m not a doll that you can dress up however you like, right?

Halbarad : No, no. You’re our daughter.

Aragorn : (nodding again)

Harry : (sigh) Maybe I should just cut it…

Halbarad & Aragorn : Don’t you dare!!

Chapter Text

Since they knew Harry’s true identity, Aragorn couldn’t help but watch him in silence. They had planned to leave the village and go for Rivendell in a week, giving Harry enough time to say his goodbyes to the locals. Maybe, they wouldn’t return to Newbury for a very long time—perhaps this would be Harry’s last visit. He needed to bid farewell, especially since he had become so dearly loved in this small village.

They saw how Mr. Ham was deeply saddened by the news but tried to stay strong, reassuring Harry that he would always be welcome there. Aerion and Lorelea didn’t even bother hiding their tears—they hugged Harry tightly as if he were their own child. An elderly woman at the market gave Harry a backpack as a parting gift. What surprised Aragorn the most was when several villagers pooled their money to buy Harry a horse—the owner even gave a big discount just for him.

That’s when Halbarad and Aragorn truly realized the impact Harry had on the people around him. Indeed, they both agreed Harry was incredibly easy to love. His kindness was rare—always ready to help, full of brilliant ideas. Some of the elders even wish their daughters could marry Harry, which he politely declined. Halbarad couldn't stop teasing him about it.

But what kept weighing on their minds was the fact that Harry confessed to having lost his world. Not really lost his world, but he had left everything behind—the whole life he once knew. Aragorn and Halbarad weren’t sure if their little friend had family back there, and no one dared to ask. They also weren’t ready to share the full stories of their own lives just yet. Reflecting on Harry’s nightmares, they wondered if these were echoes of his former wizard life. They couldn’t help but worry.

Unconsciously, a week passed. The day to leave Newbury for Rivendell had arrived. Early in the morning, the village was so alive with people lining the streets. Mornings were never quiet here, but today, everyone came together to bid Harry farewell. Children rushed up first, hugging him and giving him bouquets. Many adults brought supplies. Halbarad found it touching and Aragorn couldn’t blame him.

They set off, with Harry riding his brown mare named Meda. When Halbarad asked about the name, Harry said the horse reminded him of Andromeda, his cousin with beautiful brown hair. They even shared similar personalities—calm and smart. Harry wasn’t an expert rider yet, but Meda never made things difficult.

Along the way, Harry began experimenting with simple spells, just to feel more comfortable using magic, should the need ever arise. Lumos, Aguamenti, Incendio, and some basic transfigurations were the first he showed. The expressions on the two Rangers’ faces were priceless—expressions that Harry would’ve happily paid to see again. They looked so funny, though he lacked the words to describe it better. Aragorn admitted he had never seen Gandalf use magic for such simple but useful things like this.

Speaking of Gandalf, Harry honestly didn’t know how to react about the wizard. According to Aragorn's stories, Gandalf was powerful but not the strongest—that title belonged to Saruman the White, who offered key advice for major history. Aragorn admitted he didn’t like Saruman much, Gandalf was more laid-back and easier to talk to. If Harry were to sum it up, the old gray-robed wizard with the long beard (as Aragorn described) was wise and deeply involved in conflicts, regardless of race. Saruman, however, seemed suspicious to Harry—maybe the Black family’s paranoid habits rubbed off on him.

The journey to Rivendell took longer than Harry expected. He wasn’t accustomed to traveling by land, especially without modern transport like cars or trains. It was tough, if his modern mindset could be honest. Riding was fine, but sleeping in wild was a different story. He’d only briefly tried it when he first arrived in Middle-earth. After five years in the village, sleeping without a bed was still a nightmare.

He could have chosen to sleep inside his trunk, but knowing so little about wilderness survival, it’d be smarter to learn firsthand. Besides, sleeping in the trunk while the horses were tied outside wasn’t a good idea—someone could kidnap him or harm the animals. Maybe he’d figure out a way to make a magic tent once they got safely to Rivendell.

One day, Harry found Halbarad wrapped him in layers of cloth and tying a belt around his body. Harry raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

With a silly grin, Halbarad replied, “I want to make sure you don’t roll off while you sleep. I don’t wanna wake up and find you in a different place.”

Harry was speechless, and Aragorn burst out laughing so loudly that it started to scare him. Seriously, that man could laugh louder than a rabbit’s squeak? Impressive. If only he had a camera, he’d have captured that moment. But bonking Halbarad’s forehead with his own was the top priority for now. He smiled as Halbarad glared, his hand on his own head in disbelief.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to wrap you up in this cloth and hang you from a tree like a cocoon.”

“Let me go!”

“Nope, consider this punishment for being rude to your elders.”

Harry wanted to shout that he was the actual oldest here—but revealing that would only expose more secrets. Not yet. Better to spill everything when they reached Rivendell so he wouldn't have to explain over and over. So he grumbling, tried to break free from the ranger’s trap. Damn, those bindings were tight. Struggling only made him look like a wriggling caterpillar.

“I swear, I’ll turn your hair pink if you don’t release me!”

Halbarad really underestimated Harry’s magic. Though not hung from the tree, Harry was left wrapped tightly in many layers, rolled up like a cake roll. Aragorn didn’t help, he pretended not to notice Harry and chose to keep watch from a tree branch. Those two old men were hopeless—no wonder they were still single (as if Harry himself wasn’t).

He woke up to familiar laughter. Before he could open his eyes, someone kicked his cloth-wrapped bundle, rolling him like a trash barrel into a tree. Luckily, the thick layers cushioned his back. When he looked up to complain, he froze.

Halbarad was standing there, tall and completely mad. His arms crossed over his chest, though scary as his presence was, Harry couldn’t help but burst out laughing when he saw the long strands of pink hair adorning his head. Aragorn giggled behind him, clearly enjoying his friend’s prank.

“Harry,” Halbarad’s deep voice demanded. “Put. My. Hair. Back. Now!”

“No.”

“You brat!”

“Consider this your punishment for being rude to someone younger,” Harry teased proudly, smiling with his tongue out.

Halbarad was stunned, Aragorn doubled over laughing again.

They continued their journey to Rivendell by the end of that day. Halbarad accepted that he would have to wear this pink hair for three days, and Harry tried not to blush as Halbarad couldn’t stop to pinch his cheeks. Overall, Aragorn was thrilled on this trip, he grinning like an idiot on his horse as they rode. Harry promised to remind him to sprinkle glitter all over his clothes tomorrow.

“Come on, Harry, we’ll be there soon. We only need to find one more place to rest.”

Despite Aragorn’s encouragement, Harry couldn’t stop resenting his sore back. The real pain wasn’t sitting—it was the horse’s back rubbing against him. He badly needed some support now. His mind flashed to the soft seats on planes, beating him hard. He knew he shouldn’t complain or compare the eras. But Merlin, you can’t expect a kid who is born with a golden spoon to suddenly handle a herd. Impossible, even for adults.

What annoyed him more was that he couldn’t share these memories. Besides it sounding rude, Harry doubted anyone here even had an idea what a plane was. He wasn’t even sure if they knew about bicycles. Ignoring gentle pats on his back, he forced himself to focus on the road ahead. Then suddenly, a strange smell caught his nose.

“What’s that awful smell?”

Aragorn and Halbarad immediately reined in their horses. An older Ranger asked, “What do you mean, Harry?”

“Don’t you smell it? Like burned animal carcasses. I think it from the west.”

They all fell silent. Aragorn, who had been experienced there for decades, looked to the left. He yelled, "Pull out your swords!" as he realized the danger.

At that moment, a group of ugly creatures show up from the trees. There were so many of them, riding what looked like rabid wild dogs. Harry shuddered—could this be the Orcs and the Wargs that his friend had mentioned? He remembered Aragorn’s descriptions, and for God’s sake, “ugly” didn’t even cover these miserable beasts.

Aragorn and Halbarad slashed with expertly trained swordsmanship. If they’re not outnumbered, Harry was sure these creatures wouldn’t stand a chance. Meanwhile, Harry took a moment to assess, then, given his experience as a target of dark wizards, he pulled out his wand and began casting protective spells. After all, as a Rosier, he was built for this.

A Warg leapt at Halbarad, but Harry flicked his wand, and the creature was knocked far back into an Orc’s sword. Halbarad glanced at him with admiration, nodding in thanks before rejoining the fight.

Without the Rangers around him, Harry would have used Protego Diabolica, a powerful dark magic. Even if the orcs looked like second-rate trash, there is no way they could handle that spell. Three Orcs popped up from different directions, Harry jumped off his horse and stuck his wand into the ground. They flew back, giving him time to cast Petrificus Totalus. They froze stiff, and Harry quickly beheaded them.

There were too many enemies in here. With only three of them against nearly thirty Orcs and Wargs, it was almost impossible to win. The numbers were overwhelming. Harry struggled to split his attention between attacking and protecting the Rangers. Magical family defenses like Rosier were so strong, so normally Harry wouldn’t need his wand. But these nasty creatures gave him no room to breathe.

“ARGH!”

Harry turned immediately to see Aragorn struck by an Orc. The blade slashed his upper arm. He didn’t know if it was deep or not, but the pain was clear. Halbarad was being pushed by a Warg. Harry blasted the Warg with Stupefy. As he prepared another spell, Aragorn shoved him to block an attack from behind, accidentally knocking Harry’s wand away. He was about to grab it when a filthy orc stepped on it.

Looking up, Harry growled at the Orc who dared to stepped on his precious wand. If that creature had anything down there, Harry promised to blow it off right then. Or maybe shove a hot iron rod straight through his body. In his world, no one ever dare to stepped on his wand. This evil creature might need some lessons.

As the Orc raised its sword, Harry prepared to cast a shield spell without his wand, when suddenly an arrow pierced the orc’s face right in front of him. Harry rolled to avoid the falling corpse, grabbed his wand, and stood to see who saved him. Aragorn and Halbarad didn’t carry any bows, so—

“Help is here!” Halbarad shouted, distracting some Orcs so a group of horsemen could shoot arrows. Some even slashed them.

Harry caught a quick glimpse. All these men had long hair and pretty faces, riding large white horses that matched their elegance, armor gleaming even in the dark. Wait, Elves? This must be the Elves!

But there was no time to observe more. Harry moved back, rolling and ducking as a sword swung at him. An Orc struck down by Elf warriors fell near Harry, almost hitting him if not for his quick reflexes. The stench was so awful it would make him vomit if the situation allowed.

"Aw shit! Have they never heard of a toothbrush?” Harry snorted.

He could hear some soft laughter from the Elves. Halbarad almost lost focus from how funny it was. He had forgotten the Elves’ keen hearing. Now his face turned red, feeling foolish for the comment. But seriously, those Orc teeth looked like breeding grounds for worms. Who wouldn’t shudder?

An Elf riding nearby and smiled as he struck a Warg. “Estel, I didn’t know you had such a interesting friend!”

Harry didn’t know who Estel was, but Aragorn laughed from a corner. That caught Harry’s attention. He glanced and saw Aragorn is still fighting despite the pain, sometimes he will grab his injured arm. The sight stirred something inside him, unlike anything since he arriving in Arda, his anger felt like exploding.

Clenching his fists, he turned and shouted, “ARAGORN! HALBARAD! RETREAT!”

They both looked confused, and then followed slowly back toward Harry. Luckily, the Elven riders stayed to the side of the fight, leaving Harry free to unleash his anger. Halbarad wanted to ask something when Harry slammed a fist on the ground.

The horse let out a loud neigh and retreated, their riders nearly fell off because of the powerful shockwave that rippled through the earth. Everyone closed their eyes from the blast that threw some Orcs and Wargs into the air. Calling it a blast was an understatement—the force that scattered the enemies was so strong, leaving them defenseless. When they landed, the Elves and Rangers unleashed their final attacks.

That was the end of the battle. Halbarad swore he saw Harry’s green eyes glow like lanterns in the night. Normally, eyes appear dark without the sunlight, but for a few moments, they shined with bright light. Subtle, but noticeable by the people around him. Aragorn and Halbarad definitely saw it.

Silence fell over the night. Dozens of eyes fixed on Harry—he didn’t want to guess what they saw in him. Confusion, fear, and maybe judgement? He didn’t want to know. He tried to step back but Halbarad quickly drew him into an embrace

“Thank you… thank you my friend. You’ve saved me. Oh my little friend, I owe you my life.”

Harry snorted but hugged back. “We don’t owe each other anything, Halbarad. You’ve helped me a lot since the beginning.”

He caught three of the Elves walking toward them—two with black hair and one with shining golden locks that glimmered even at night. Aragorn approached and embraced them warmly, like distant kin who were separated by the sea. Harry noticed the black-haired Elves looked alike—twins, it seemed.

“My brother,” said one with black hair. “What brings you back so early?”

Aragorn sighed. “There’s something I need to discuss with Ada.”

The golden-haired Elf locked eyes with Harry for a moment, then asked without breaking their contact, “And who is this young wizard, Estel? I didn’t know we have another istar, especially with the young one.”

Great. Now everyone was focused on him again.

Aragorn smiled then explained, “He’s my reason for coming back. Ada needs to meet him. Don’t worry, I promise he means no harm.” Then he looked at Harry, “Harry, I want you to meet my brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, and this is Lord Glorfindel.”

Harry bowed his head slightly, one arm over his chest, the other behind his back. “Forgive me if I’m a bit forward, but I truly appreciate this introduction. However, may I suggest we find a more comfortable place for this? I’m afraid my nose won’t survive much longer with the smell of Orcs, like a pile of rotting carcasses mixed with livestock dung.” He shot Aragorn a glum look. “You really should have warned me about the smell before the ugliness.”

"I apologize, Harry. I was unaware of how keen your sense of smell was."

Elrohir, whom Harry guessed was one of the twins, chuckled softly. “Alright, you’re probably right. Let’s moved to our camp.”

And for some reason, the golden-haired Elf kept glancing at Harry whenever he could.

< OMAKE >

Harry: (wiggling like a worm inside the roll) Let me go, you old man! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!

30 minutes later

Harry: Let me go! Let me go!

Halbarad: Zzzzz... (already asleep, ears plugged with leaves)

Aragorn: (sighed, tired of his tantrums) Harry, go to sleep. You’ll be tired tomorrow if you don’t rest. Doesn’t this keep you warm? (He pats the cloth roll, trying to make him sleep)

Harry: (groans but obeys, starting to enjoy Aragorn’s pats) Zzzzz…

…

Halbarad: I won’t buy you another hair clip for being naughty! (pointing at his pink hair while pinching Harry’s cheek)

Harry: I-I’m r-rwe-rwearry gwad thwen… (read: I’m really glad then)

Halbarad: … (thinking)

Halbarad: I’ll buy you a whole bunch of hair clips for being naughty!

Harry: (wide-eyed, shocked) NO!!

Aragorn: (smiling happily, imagining his son’s hair filled with clips)

…

Harry: “ARAGORN! HALBARAD! RETREAT!!” (started an ultimatum)

Rangers & Elves: (shocked)

Elves: Who’s that little girl?!

Minutes later, after Aragorn brought Harry to his family:

Elves: Not a little girl, but a little man!

Elladan: (thinking: Aragorn has a kid?)

Elrohir: (thinking: my new little brother!!)

Glorfindel: (silent, observing)

Chapter Text

The Elves camp was not so far from the attack site, but far enough that the smell of the Orcs no longer reached them. This explained how they could arrive just in time when they were needed. According to Elladan’s information, the Wargs had been approaching the borders of Rivendell more often than usual lately. That was why the border guards had been reinforced.

The battle wasn’t that hard, but unfortunately, Harry lost Meda because of it. The poor horse had been attacked while everyone was distracted. In the end, he rode alongside with Aragorn.

Speaking about him, Harry suddenly remembered something. Just as Aragorn sat down on the ground, Harry moved closer to him and took hold of Aragorn’s injured arm without saying a word. Aragorn frowned, looking at Harry as if to ask for an explanation, but he didn’t refuse the touch.

“I know you got hurt. I can heal it, so please let me.”

Aragorn didn’t answer, only nodded obediently. As Harry said, he let the young man do whatever he wanted. Halbarad watched closely as Harry covered the wound with one palm while gripping his wand with the other. Harry began whispering some words that none of them understood, his wand moving through the air as if drawing a pattern. Then, like a thread, the white and green light lines worked their way around Aragorn's arm and into his flesh. If Halbard wasn't fooled by his eyes, the wound on Aragorn's upper arm started to slowly close.

All the Elves nearby had witnessed this, especially those who were sitting not so far from the three men. The twins stared in amazement. Halbarad probably would have laughed if they were in a different situation. You don’t often see an Elf gaping with his mouth wide open, it was rare. Not that he could blame them, even Halbarad himself hadn’t seen much of Harry’s magic before, so it was safe to say he and Aragorn were just as shocked as the Elves.

The magical light slowly faded. Harry smiled, happy with the result. Aragorn’s wound didn’t even leave a scar now. “Just because the wound’s closed doesn’t mean you can move your hand too much. Healing magic takes time to fully seal the injury. Usually paired with a potion, but I don’t have any of those here. So, be careful not to reopen the stitches.”

Aragorn looked at his arm, then back to Harry. He’d never been healed so quickly before. “Thank you, Harry. Were you a healer before?”

“Yes, but healing magic requires other stuffs to work. I couldn’t have done this on deeper or more serious wounds only with my hands. Luckily, your wound was not that deep.”

“That’s amazing!” one of the twins said. Harry wasn’t sure which one, as he still hadn’t learned to tell them apart. “I’ve never seen Gandalf do anything like that.”

“You’re right,” said the other twin. “So, what is your color, young istar?”

Harry frowned, clearly confused. “Color?”

“You know, like Gandalf the Grey or Saruman the White. What’s your color?”

Ah, that wasn’t something he could answer. Harry looked to Aragorn silently, asking for a help, and Aragorn caught his sign immediately. Somehow, despite how this all started, Harry realized he was starting to lean on these two Rangers. It felt good to have someone to rely on again, rather than always being the one that others depended on.

“Harry isn’t from our world,” Aragorn explained. “He came from a different realm by accident. He doesn’t remember much, nor did he plan any of this until we found him five years ago. That’s why I want to bring him to Ada. He must know something.”

This explanation caught everyone off guard. The Elves immediately stopped what they were doing and gazed at the only young man in there. Suddenly, Harry felt like an alien who had just crash-landed on Earth. The twins and the golden-haired Elf didn’t even bother hiding their curiosity about Harry, as if they were examining an ancient artifact that had been discovered by chance.

Glorfindel stared intently at him before shifting his gaze to Aragorn. “Five years ago? Then why did you bring him here just now, Estel?”

“When we found him, Harry spoke a very different language. We had communication problems then, Glorfindel. I thought it would be pointless to bring him straight to Rivendell, so I changed the plan and took him to a nearby village. That’s where he started learning Westron and the basics of our world.”

Before Glorfindel could say anything else, Halbarad spoke up. “And even then, we didn’t understand anything about Harry’s magic. We thought he was just a young man, we helped him settle in for a month, then Aragorn and I resumed our duties. Only after returning five years later, without any language barriers, was Harry able to tell us the truth.”

Halbarad silently assured Harry that he was not at fault while giving him a gentle back pat. Language had been their biggest challenge, and the Rangers couldn’t stay in Newbury just waiting for Harry to become fluent. They had responsibilities, even if returning after five years wasn’t the plan.

Harry lowered his gaze, hugging his bent knees. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep it secret. But in my world, not all people have a good reaction to the existence of wizards. It’s almost instinctual for us to hide our magic from non-wizards, like a survival tactic that we’ve been using for thousands of years. We even separate ourselves from them, so most people have no idea if we exist.”

Elladan was thoughtful, sensing the pain behind Harry’s voice. “What happens if they find out about wizards?”

Harry gave a bitter smile. “About a hundred or two hundred years before my birth… if people discovered some wizards, those wizards would be horrifically killed. The most common punishment was hanging them on a pole and burning them alive while everyone watched. This has been happening for over 500 years.”

Everyone took a deep breath. Fear and horror filled their eyes. Neither Aragorn nor Halbarad expected Harry’s world to hold such terrifying tales. Burning someone alive and hanging them? And as a spectacle for the public? What sort of fiends inhabited that place? The story was made even more spooky and ironic by the harsh reality that these crimes were committed by people rather than monsters like the Orcs.

“But… why?” Elrohir asked, already having lost his energy. “They didn’t do anything wrong, right?”

“No, we have contributed to the advancement of human knowledge over the ages. But you know how people tend to fear what they don’t understand. The fact that we could create fire and other things made them think we'd one day slaughter all humans for no reason. Some even spread rumors that we obtained our magic through demons, carrying out ritual sacrifices that resulted in human deaths. It’s ridiculous.”

“Even in my time when people had long given up on nonsense about magic, some young wizards were still tortured. Not all wizards are born from magical parents. Sometimes, those nonmagical parents, when they saw the signs of magic in their children, thought their kids were weird and started abusing them to make them stop using magic. Can you imagine that?” he continued.

Harry could see the surprise and disapproval on their faces, but no one responded. Of course, not only in Harry’s world but surely throughout the universe, kids are treasures and should be protected. Especially the Elves, who feel deeply and are barely having children in this era. Knowing parents could hurt their own kids was more terrible than Orc behavior. Harry sensed the restrained anger from the men around him, particularly the Elves quietly growling.

A hand rested gently on his shoulder. Aragorn smiled, though it was a bittersweet, painful smile. “Sorry for making you admit something like this.”

“It’s alright, Aragorn. It’s understandable. Our worlds are different, aren’t they? As far as I know, wizards here aren’t considered dangerous?”

“No, we respect Istari just like everyone else. But if someone unknown showed up with extraordinary magic power, that would be another story. They might feel threatened by your presence or suspect you’re allied with Sauron,” Glorfindel explained.

At that moment, Harry noticed the blonde Elf no longer looked at him so sharply, although his gaze and tone remained firm. Well... that was understandable.

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “I’d be seriously offended if anyone thought I was working with those disgusting creatures earlier. If Orcs already smell like hell’s breath, I don’t even want to imagine what Sauron smells like. I’d be dead from the stench before any alliance could form.”

Once again, Harry’s spontaneous comment broke the tense mood that evening. Everyone laughed—or rather, laughed at Harry’s reaction when he met the Orcs for the first time. His expression was hilarious, like someone who just stepped in horse dung with his new boots instead of fearing them.

That night ended with the Elves and Rangers sharing some stories of their life in Middle Earth with Harry. He slept between the two men to keep him from rolling over and hitting those who were resting. What they didn’t know was that the twins had overheard their quiet conversation and laughed at Harry the next morning.

“Welcome to Rivendell, my brother.”

Harry was speechless. Literally, his jaw dropped at the sight before him. After five years living in a small village, he never imagined the Elven lands could feel like heaven on earth. The harp music and Elvish songs blended with the sound of waterfalls to create a surreal atmosphere. Harry wondered how such majesty could be so drastically different from the outside world, oh and the natural beauty was unparalleled!

Crossing a bridge, they stopped at the entrance hall and dismounted. Only Lord Glorfindel and the twins were among the Elves who went with their guests; the others were told to keep Harry's identity a secret and returned to border duty. Then he saw some people approaching who he assumed were the rulers. Before retreating with their guests, the twins and the rulers exchanged greetings.

What Aragorn hadn’t expected was the presence of the Lady of Lothlórien, Lady Galadriel, standing between Lord Elrond and Gandalf the Grey. The three seemed to have been waiting to greet their guests. He looked at Elladan who is standing right next to him. The Elf smiled and whispered,

“Naneth and her guards arrived three days before you. She mentioned waiting for a guest here. I believe she already sees him.”

Ah, that explained a lot.

It didn’t take a keen observer to guess who they were here for. Their focus immediately centered on Harry who is standing gracefully, his slender frame draped in a green cloak gifted by Aragorn. His long hair was simply braided with a ribbon that Halbarad had tied at the bottom. Some Elves paused to see their company, obviously more focused on Harry than anything else. Used to such attention, he remained unbothered.

“Welcome to Rivendell. I see you’ve brought us an interesting guest, Estel,” said the Elf Lord, his voice authoritative but kind. “I’m Elrond, lord of Rivendell. You have met my sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and also my friend Glorfindel. With me are Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien and Gandalf the Grey. May I ask your name, young man?”

Harry stepped forward with a newfound confidence neither Aragorn nor Halbarad had seen before. He stopped exactly three paces from the rulers, glanced briefly, then bowed deeply with one arm across his chest and the other behind his back, the same salute he gave earlier.

“Good afternoon, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Gandalf the Grey. I am Hadrian Rosier from House of Rosier, also known as Harrison Black. But please, call me Hadrian or Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

The two Rangers exchanged looks. They didn’t know Harry’s real name until now. Such a beautiful name, even though none of them knew the meaning. Lady Galadriel smiled with a hint of understanding, her gesture exuding grace and power. She stepped closer, making Harry realize how tall she was—almost as tall as Aragorn.

Her slender fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Harry’s forehead, causing him to blush slightly, though he stayed calm. Galadriel smiled again. “Your name sounds so beautiful. May I ask what the meaning is?”

“Hadrian comes from ‘Hadri,’ meaning peace and beloved, or it can mean dark-haired if it from the Latin ‘Hadria.’ Rosier is my family name, derived from ‘Rose’ and in French means rose bush,” Harry explained with a warm smile. “Meanwhile, Harrison Black is the name that I took when I joined The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Harrison comes from ‘Haris,’ another name for the star Seginus, and in Arabic means guardian angel.”

Harry's explanation simply caused everyone to have more questions. The unfamiliar words made sense to the people who knew his story. For others, it felt like they had reached an unexpected dead end. Aragorn and Halbarad smiled—they were right, Harry really did live up to the meaning of his name. His time in Newbury was proof enough that he was truly beloved.

Galadriel’s smile deepened with that information. “I think those names suit you well, Hadrian.”

“Thank you, my Lady.”

Lord Elrond ordered some Elves to take the horses to the stable, while the guests were escorted to their rooms. After all, Harry and the others might need some rest. Aragorn already had his own room, and Halbarad would use the same guest room as usual whenever he visited. Harry was personally escorted to his chambers, leaving the remaining Elves standing at the gate watching them leave.

Elladan noticed Erestor and Lindir beside him, all looking toward the direction where the Aragorn company had last been seen. Erestor spoke first, “I’ve never seen a man so beautiful. I can say he’s the most beautiful man in all my thousands of years.”

Elrohir nodded in agreement. “True, there’s no harshness in his face, as if the sun has never touched him. He looks young, but his bearing is mature.” He frowned. “Is he really man or perhaps an Istar?”

“I don’t know, brother. But his magic is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like that, even from Gandalf.”

Lindir, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. His eyes never left the path their guest had taken. “Lord Glorfindel really didn’t need to escort him to the room, but he held me back.”

The three glanced at each other. They’d all seen how the Lord House of the Golden Flower politely sidelined Lindir before he could carry out his duty. It was surprising, Glorfindel never bothered with trivial things like escorting guests before. It would seem inappropriate for someone of his status. As far as Erestor remembered, Glorfindel rarely showed himself to Rivendell guests, often busy with his own business.

Elladan sighed. “I hope he didn’t scare him.”

“I still want to be friends with the little man,” Elrohir nodded.

Harry was surprised when the Elf who escorted him to his room was Glorfindel himself. As far as he knew, Glorfindel was a lord of a respected house and a legendary warrior. It was unusual, even in his own world—a regular worker would have been enough to guide him. So why would a lord bother with such a simple task?

Maybe this was just part of Elven hospitality, Harry thought.

They stopped at a white wooden door in the same corridor as Aragorn’s room. Harry guessed this wasn’t the guest corridor since Halbarad wasn’t there. He planned to spend a lot of time in Rivendell—more than just visiting. Although that hadn’t been said yet, maybe the Elves were good at guessing situations? That would mean he’d been accepted to stay longer, something that Harry hoped was true.

“Please rest, young Istar,” Glorfindel said. “I will call you when dinner is ready. Afterward, we’ll have a private meeting in the council room. Your clothes will be sent soon. Is there anything you need?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, did you just say clothes?”

“Yes, Elrond ordered several sets for you to wear during your stay in Imladris. Not that you can’t wear your own, but it will help you blend in.”

Harry nodded, understanding. He smiled politely at Glorfindel, looking up slightly as the Elf was very tall. “Thank you for everything. I don’t need anything else for now.”

Though it was a slight smile, the Elf's good looks caused Harry's cheeks to flush. Even among the gorgeous Elves, Glorfindel's appearance and demeanor were striking. There was a strong sense of nobility and leadership emanating from him, especially when you looked directly into his piercing blue eyes, which were sharp with experience. His golden hair fell elegantly past his shoulders, and his tall body was obviously muscular beneath his tunic. If Harry looked too long, he would feel carried away like waves in a huge ocean.

“Well then. I hope you enjoy your time in Rivendell, young Istar.”

“Just Harry, please.”

“Very well, Harry. You may call me Glorfindel. I bid you farewell.”

Before going into his room, he waited for the Elf to turn down the hallway. Woah, even the room exceeded Harry’s expectations. Though it paled next to his world bedroom and hotels he’d stayed in, it was elegantly simple and characteristically Elven. Especially after five years he spent in a basic Newbury room, this is so much better.

After putting his things away, Harry went to the bathroom to freshen up. The water was very cold, but luckily, magic made warming runes easy. He enjoyed soaking while thinking back on everything he’d been through so far. His mind wandered to his world. He was still a human, even though he usually pretended that nothing had happened and that he had come to terms with his losses. Harry was still a human, he had limits. Now, every limit he has broken down like the water around him.

“If only you were here, Alphie…” he whispered. 

< OMAKE >

Glorfindel: (stepped closer to the twins) Didn’t I tell you to wake up the— (freezes, surprised and confused)

Elrohir: Do you think every man from other worlds sleep like that? (looking at two Rangers pinned down by Harry)

Elladan: (standing from the tent door) I don’t understand how Aragorn and Halbarad can sleep through that kind of disturbance.

Glorfindel: What a terrible sleeping habit…

Elrohir: You should’ve seen him a moment ago, he rolling like a wild bear.

Harry: Zzzz… (still asleep, rolling again, now his feet on Halbarad’s face and head on Aragorn’s stomach)

Rangers: Zzzz… (completely unbothered, they used to it)

The three Elves: (sweatdrop)

…

Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf watch the guests. Their eyes focused on the smallest figure among them.

Elrond: Is that the Istar in your vision?

Galadriel: (nods)

Gandalf: (watching closely) I must admit, he’s not as I imagined...

Elrond: … (quietly agreeing)

Galadriel: …

Gandalf: Isn’t he too young?

Elrond: You’re right…

Galadriel: …

…

Glorfindel just finished escorting Harry to his room when the twins blocked his way.

Glorfindel: (raises eyebrows) What?

Elrohir: You didn’t throw him out, did you? (skeptical face)

Elladan: Or put him in the shed instead of his room? (skeptical)

Glorfindel: (sighs) Really... what kind of Elf do you think I am?

Elladan & Elrohir: AN ARROGANT, CUNNING OLD ELF!!

Glorfindel: (bitter smile, trying so hard not to kick them in the ass since they’re Elrond’s kids)

Chapter Text

Glorfindel showed up to get Harry to go for dinner as he promised. A few sets of clothes had been delivered earlier by an Elleth, and Harry put them in the wardrobe. He wore a white tunic with gold embroidery from the shoulders to the chest for the evening, it was the most formal of all the outfits they gave. Harry reasoned that white would go well with the meeting he was preparing to attend and was ideal for nighttime when physical activity wasn’t the focus. His slim legs were flaunted by his straight-cut trousers, which were not too tight.

He added a few Rosier family accessories to make sure his lineage was clear: a lordship ring set with a ruby at its center, surrounded by rose petals, and a single earring for his right ear. He also pulled out a pendant he'd kept hidden beneath his clothes—an ancient Black family heirloom, its shape a twisted blend of raven and crescent moon, symbolizing the family itself. Arcturus had given it to him the day before he passed away as the last of the Blacks.

Harry combed his hair neatly, tucking a few stray bangs behind his ear to show off the earring. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed it—he looked the part of a distinguished pureblood. Not that Harry took any joy in displaying his family’s name or status, it was merely part of who he was, instilled in him from the start. Wherever he went, the name of Rosier went with him. He also felt a deep respect for the Black family, for all they'd done to raise and protect him.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of the Elven lord. Harry opened it and gave Glorfindel a soft smile. “Good evening, Glorfindel.”

The Elf paused, taking in Harry’s appearance, then smiled himself. “Good evening, Harry. You look incredible. I hope you were able to rest.”

“Thank you, and don’t worry, I was so comfortable here that I almost fell asleep while soaking.”

Glorfindel let out a little chuckle. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but that’s actually kinda risky, you know.” He then guided Harry toward the dining hall, where all of Rivendell’s Elves had gathered for dinner. “Elrond asked for you to sit at his table. Would that be alright?”

“I’d be honored,” he replied. “Will you be sitting there, too, Glorfindel?”

“Of course. Your friends, the twins, and Elrond’s daughter, Arwen, will be there too.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Gandalf and Lady Galadriel won’t be with us?”

“They’ve already had dinner. The two of them are discussing something in private. We’ll see them later at the meeting.”

They walked calmly into the dining hall—which honestly felt more like a grand banquet hall and was larger than any restaurant Harry had ever seen. No doubt, its size was meant to accommodate every resident and visitor of Rivendell. From what Harry had heard, Rivendell was the only Elven realm that welcomed guests from all races, they were always open to visitors and offered healing from Lord Elrond to anyone in need.

Harry noticed plenty of curious eyes watching them. Probably due to Glorfindel’s presence, he figured. He didn’t realize people were just as intrigued by him—a dignified figure who dressed simply, his loose hair lending him an air of understated nobility. Even with the tunic, while beautiful and formal, it wasn’t even the finest the Elves owned. But Harry is a guest, and his comfort comes first.

Lord Elrond is the first to greet him among the others. “Good evening, Hadrian. Make yourself comfortable and enjoy our meal, please.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“Elrond is fine,” he replied, and Harry nodded in response.

Halbarad just saw Harry’s outfit and looked impressed, so he whistled and joked, “You look like a missing princess that we finally found.”

“Hey, you did ‘find’ me, remember?” he teased, making the two Rangers laugh and shake their heads.

Harry quickly got to know Arwen, Elrond's daughter. She had the same beauty as Lady Galadriel and was the most beautiful Elf woman he had ever seen in Rivendell. But Arwen’s aura was different, instead of power, she radiated warmth and deep of kindness.  The twins joined her in admiring Harry's ring and earring, which led them to a casual discussion about a variety of topics.

One thing Harry learned that night: letting the twins and Halbarad team up was a horrible idea. The three of them kept teasing him relentlessly! Halbarad alone was trouble enough, and now there were two more mischief-makers (handsome ones, unfortunately), reminding Harry of his brothers Sirius and Regulus. Those two men never agreed on many things, except for teaming up to mess with their little Rosier.

Someone really ought to cast a Silencing Charm on Halbarad. He spent dinner sharing every embarrassing story about Harry from the past five years! How he slept like a tornado, balked at cleaning stables for the first time, and could climb trees but never get down. The twins cracked up at every tale—actually, so did everyone at the table, including Lord Elrond. Harry felt betrayed.

“You’re like a cat, can go up the tree but can not get down,” Elrohir joked.

Elladan smirked from beside him. “Don’t worry, Harry, we can teach you how to climb down from trees if you like.”

Harry groaned. “I should have kicked Halbarad before I sat down.”

The man himself just grinned, completely unapologetic. Harry was already scheming revenge. Maybe he’d swap Halbarad’s clothes for frilly dresses or shrink everything to crop tops.

“There’s something about you that I can’t quite grasp.”

The meeting took place at the tallest tower in Rivendell, with more people than Harry had expected: Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Glorfindel, Aragorn, Halbarad, and the two Elf men he didn’t recognize gathered near the doorway. Glorfindel introduced one of them, Haldir, as Lady Galadriel’s personal guard from Lothlorien. The other was Erestor, Elrond’s advisor.

Harry tilted his head slightly, looking at Galadriel. “And what’s that, My Lady?”

Rather than sitting, the ruler of Lothlorien stood gracefully, sometimes gazing out the window. Her arms were folded behind her back, her long white gown almost glowing in the moonlight. Tension filled the room, but Harry couldn’t help admiring her ethereal beauty. She seemed straight out of a fairytale, embodying everything the Veela aspired to but never quite achieved. Veela beauty was fleeting, but an Elf’s was timeless.

His family (and Harry himself) were endowed with exceptional longevity and beauty because the Rosiers themselves had vampire blood in their veins. The average wizard lived no more than 150 years, although Nicolas Flamel lived to 667 thanks to his Philosopher's Stone. But a vampire ancestor could help the Rosiers live for 300–500 years. Harry would therefore still appear youthful at his current age even if he had not had his encounter with Death.

Galadriel finally looked into Harry’s green eyes, it’s so captivating from the start. “I sensed your arrival in this world. The forest whispered of you. I could feel your magic… so powerful, so unusual. But there’s something I still don’t understand…” She drifted closer. “Tell me, Hadrian, what has touched your soul?”

“He’s soul?” Elrond repeated, curiosity in his voice.

But Harry only murmured, “I’m afraid I don’t understand, My Lady.”

“I can feel it, Hadrian. Your aura, your soul—there’s something different inside you. It’s not magic, no. It goes beyond magic itself.” Galadriel reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his cheek. The touch was so delicate, Harry shivered. “You carry the scent of death… but also life.”

Everyone tensed at those words. Harry could immediately sense their caution, though Aragorn and Halbarad offered silent reassurance. He exhaled quietly, caught off-guard by these Elven powers that went far beyond beauty or strength. Galadriel was clearly no ordinary Elf, Harry was beginning to grasp where her aura came from. She was almost the pillar on which Elven life rested. If he had known how powerful her hands truly were, he might’ve played things safer from the beginning.

However, the ship had already set sail. No matter how hard he tried, he could not conceal his association with Death. Given the unusualness of his presence, their vigilance was entirely justified. Harry couldn't blame them. If someone from another world appeared with superhuman, enigmatic abilities, he would act similarly. The problem was to convince them that he would never turn against Middle Earth, regardless of his situation.

Gandalf, who’d been silent till then, finally spoke. “We’re just concerned, lad. The evil in this world is more than most can handle. Our enemies will do anything to exploit you.”

“I share that concern, Gandalf the Grey. But I promise, they won’t find me serving at their feet, ever. Still, some things from my world are secrets that I can’t share lightly.”

“And now you’ve found the right people to trust,” Elrond said firmly, hiding his compassion behind a stern look. “You’ve brought those secrets into a world that is not your own. A world long plagued by darkness. Keeping them to yourself isn’t the wisest choice, Hadrian.”

He felt Halbarad’s hand grasp his under the table, exactly what Harry needed to steady his nerves. He truly didn’t know how to begin. Back home, only his remaining family knew of his unique condition, plus a forced oath of secrecy with the Unspeakables to manage the aftermath in Britain. Not a pleasant experience, though it had its amusing moments.

Harry sighed. This wasn’t getting any easier.

“In my world, there were plenty of conflicts and unfortunately, all those problems involved me in general. There was an incident that bound my soul to Thanatos, or Death—he’s like our Valar. It’s not a curse, but it does tie us together in many ways.”

Everyone was startled. Glorfindel recovered first. “Death? You’re bound to a being like that?”

“It might sound terrifying, but it’s not. We only have three Valar, and Death governs much more than just the passing of souls.” Harry smiled. “Sorry, but I can’t reveal more than that. However, you still have my word. I’ll never betray the living of Arda.” Instead, he retold everything he'd already shared with Aragorn, Halbarad, and a few Elves the night before: about the many wizards, advanced civilizations, dense populations, and all sorts of conflicts in his home world.

Then came the obvious question,

“Wait, how old are you?” Halbarad asked—the one question he’d wanted to ask for years, but somehow kept forgetting.

Harry blinked. Then he looked down, his cheeks reddening as he scratched his neck. “That— one hundred and forty-seven.”

His friends’ reactions were priceless. Rivendell’s residents were shocked, but the Rangers—the men who’d found Harry and adopted him almost like a son—were even more stunned. It made sense, he’d never corrected them whenever they called him “kid.” It wasn’t that he looked so young, but as Men with Elven blood, Aragorn and Halbarad still seemed youthful even though both were far older—thus, they tended to see regular men as the young ones. Only recently had Harry learned that Aragorn is fifty-three and Halbarad is sixty-eight years old. No wonder they’d always treated him as a youngster!

“How’s that possible?” Aragorn frowned. “You said wizards in your world are still men, aren’t they?”

“That’s right. But because of my bond with Death, I stopped aging at twenty.”

“So you’re immortal? Like an Elf?”

“In a way, yes.”

Gandalf—always delighted by surprises—grinned while brushing his beard, his eyes twinkling like fireworks. “Well, Hadrian, that’s the most shocking confession I’ve heard in tens of thousands of years.”

Nothing could contain his excitement at meeting another Istar—especially the young one and from another world! Gandalf wondered if Saruman knew about this, as he himself wouldn’t have if not for Galadriel sharing her vision days ago. The Lady of Lothlorien had caught a glimpse of Harry’s arrival five years back but let times play out naturally.

Galadriel’s gaze fell on the new star in their midst. Hadrian, an Istar sent from another world by the Valar—whatever their reasons. She wanted to trust him, but some Elves still refused to deal with the Valar even after all these years. The Valar’s choices weren’t always perfect, they could cause chaos and bring new problems to Eru Ilúvatar’s children.

Sauron—who wrought so much destruction after Morgoth—proved that not everyone should be trusted. Although Galadriel’s instincts accepted Hadrian, how could they verify this young Istar's intentions? He didn’t even know his own purpose here. So how could she trust him outright? Even her powers couldn’t see into Hadrian’s mind, which only made her uneasy.

After much contemplation, Galadriel finally made her decision.

“You must stay in Rivendell, Hadrian Rosier.” Everyone turned to her. “We don’t know if Sauron is aware of your presence, and we can’t take that risk. Whatever brought you here, let Elrond and Imladris guide you, protect you, and help you to find your path. Settle in Imladris until the time comes.”

“The time comes?” Harry echoed. “When will that be?”

This time Gandalf answered, “No one knows, my friend. When it’s truly the right time, we’ll all know.”

That only opened more questions in Harry’s mind, and he sighed. It seemed no matter which world he found himself in, trouble followed him like bees chasing nectar. All he wanted was to return to Death someday, punch him right in the stomach (even if it wouldn’t faze an ancient spirit like that), and yell that he was done with all these ridiculous errands!

“If I catch you, Death, you’re going to pay for every bit of this!”

All of it was just too much.

This power—these visions—the constant consequences... it was too much. None of it was what Harry ever wanted. He understood better than any wizard his age that life’s never free, everything comes at a cost. Sacrifices, hopes—the death of one soul leads to the birth of another, and every sweet memory is balanced by bitterness. Nothing's ever truly free.

What happened to him was beyond his control. Fate—if that being really existed like the ones haunting Harry’s dreams—would one day hear him curse it out. All this destiny talk was starting to hurt, to nauseate him. He never got a grip; nothing could be held or controlled. It felt as though he existed only as a puppet for the gods—dancing and fighting for their entertainment whenever they got bored.

“I don’t give a fuck with you! If you really have power over all of this, then just stop it! I never wanted any of this!”

Thanatos, as Death called himself, stood before Harry, utterly emotionless. An ancient being—emotion didn’t come naturally, though with the right provocation even they could get angry. His aura weighed heavy and dark, overwhelming anyone not strong enough to face him. But Harry was never weak, standing firm before a floating, black-robed figure—no feet visible, just streaming cloth caught by the wind.

Even in his dreams, the cold Thanatos brought was all too real. Look down and he might see frost crystals forming underfoot, the mist thicker than winter itself, the wind heavier than snowdrifts. Still, Harry never struggled in the cold—even as a child, he'd been fine while other kids pelted him with snowballs.

“You’re the chosen one, like it or not,” Thanatos said, his deep voice echoing like a cave. Maybe it would have scared Harry if this hadn't been their third meeting. “You inherited my powers, you have access to my realm.”

He meant the realm of death—a dimension where disembodied souls roamed. Harry never wanted that vision, never wished for the ability to see or interact with the dead. It was all a disaster, and terrifying.

After waking from a nearly three-year coma, Harry was utterly unprepared to suddenly see the dead. Waking up in a hospital—prime haunting grounds—wasn’t helpful. He suffered seizures and panic attacks from all those spirits swarming him like ants to sugar. A doctor even had to sedate him to stop his frantic outbursts in the halls as he tried to shoo away the ghosts.

They kept him on tranquilizers for a week, told him it was all just hallucinations. That there was no eyeless man searching for him, no pregnant woman with a ruined body matching the recent portkey accident victim, no old man asking for help who’d just been buried next door. Nonsense—Harry could tell delusion from reality, he just wanted peace from all these unruly spirits.

Three weeks later, cleared to go home, Death started haunting his dreams—his one supposed safe place, easily invaded by the gods. Harry had never believed in Death as anything but a children's story—the tale of the three brothers. Even if real, nobody in his world sensed Death’s presence anymore. And yet, here he was, uninvited, claiming Harry as one of his own.

Who would have guessed the “Master of Death” meant being Death’s servant? The wizarding world needed to revise their records.

“Please… just stop. None of this will work out, I don’t want it. Find someone else, there are plenty of powerful witches and wizards. Just… leave me be and take all of it away.” He’d never felt so weary, not even when facing psycho wizards bent on wiping out the Rosier line.

“No witch or wizard is stronger than you. None are wiser. No one else deserves my power but you, Hadrian Rosier,” Thanatos insisted. “You were mine from the start. Your soul is forged by me and only for me. No force in the universe can change that, because I chose only you, you will always be mine.”

Harry scoffed. “I don’t belong to anyone. I belong to myself.”

Thanatos didn’t get angry, he didn’t take offense. He was still, as unfeeling as a marble statue. Harry couldn’t read his face, mostly obscured by his hood, darkness masking any detail. But he could feel the pressure thickening around them, a sign of how serious these words were, things no normal being could refuse. Harry shivered, cold creeping from fingers to neck, making every movement difficult. But the being before him stood resilient, unshaken. That aura wrapped Harry like a feather, enveloping him in a wave of energy.

Then, Thanatos’ low gentle voice sounded in Harry’s mind, “You are my child, my student, my connection, a part of my power. Your destiny is no mistake, and your life is not a curse. Let me guide you, let me show you who you truly are.”

That morning, Harry woke up bearing the Deathly Hallows symbol on his chest, framed in a circle of rose petals.

< OMAKE >

Lindir: Glorfindel, I’m supposed to receive and look after our guests. Elrond gave me this responsibility for long time ago.

Glorfindel: Not this time.

Lindir: (glares)

Glorfindel: (glares back)

Lindir: I’m going to pick up Hadrian.

Glorfindel: You can’t. I’ve already promised to him.

Lindir: (glares again)

Glorfindel: (glares back)

…

Halbarad: (cheerfully sharing tales about his adopted son) And that’s how Harry got stuck at the top of the tree.

Elladan: (laughing) Don’t worry, young Istar. I’ll make you a tree spirit like the Elves.

Elrohir: (wondering: imagining his new sibling as a stuck kitten) We must rescue the trapped kitten!

Harry: …

Arwen: (already sensing what’s coming) Better not give Ada another headache.

…

Harry: I’m 147 years old.

Glorfindel: …

Elrond: …

Galadriel: …

Erestor: …

Haldir: …

Gandalf: (strokes his beard)

Aragorn: (shocked, rethinking his view of the kid who’s actually a grown man over a century old)

Halbarad: (even more shocked, clutching his chest as if he’s having a heart attack) No way… I can’t accept this! The boy I raised is actually older than me!

Aragorn & Halbarad, after a moment: Eh, forget about age. You’re still our son.

Harry: …

Chapter Text

He recognized that look.

Alphard only ever looked at him in a handful of ways: affection, firmness, pride, and understanding. The Black family was never known for being expressive, they preferred to keep their emotions tightly controlled, always making things more difficult for their rivals. The less you revealed, the less resistance others could muster. They were old nobility, raised to be strong, and even though every Black cared for him, they had no reason to spoil Harry beyond what was necessary.

“You know this is all for your own good,” he said, as if he hadn’t already repeated that phrase three times.

Of course, Harry knew.

He gazed at his father who is now kneeling in front of him, enveloping both of Harry’s hands in a gentle grip. No matter how much Harry wanted to look away, he couldn’t do it, not with Alphard. That man deserved nothing but respect. He’d fought for Harry, for a child with no blood ties to their family. A poor boy found curled up alone in the ruins. A boy no one knew would one day bring so much burden to those around him.

“Hadrian, look at me.”

He did, even though he’d much rather refuse, would rather run away—anywhere, as long as he could escape everything that happening now. Alphard’s stare was deep, almost cutting with something invisible, weighted with pressure that the world itself couldn't hold.

“There’s no guarantee the ritual will work. But we need to try.”

“We’ve already tried.”

“Yes, and we need to try again.”

Harry fell silent, lowering his head to shield his eyes from his father’s attention for just a moment. He hadn’t realized how hard he was gripping his own hands, the tips of his fingers white, sure to leave red marks when he finally let go.

“It hurts.”

He spoke more quietly than he meant to. His words sounded almost desperate, resigned, refusing whatever the world tried to offer. They had done this twice now, and he hadn’t liked it one bit. The ritual, meant to help him, was just as terrifying as the nightmares that haunted him. Sure, Harry was a Gryffindor, but even a lion would turn and run if it recognized a threat too great to face. Sometimes, you know you have lost just by looking at it.

Alphard tightened his grip on Harry’s hand, but not in a painful way. He stroked Harry’s knuckles, offering a little comfort against the anxiety—a comfort for something they couldn’t control.

“I promise, this is the last time. If it still doesn’t work, I won’t make you do it again.”

Harry raised his head, looking for a serious expression in those silver eyes. A promise, not spoken out loud, but stronger than anything Harry could believe. Alphard never broke his word. Harry trusted that more than he believed in justice in this fleeting life.

And when he finally nodded, Alphard wrapped him in a warm embrace. He kissed the top of Harry’s head and rubbed his back. He didn’t hum a lullaby—no, that wasn’t his style. But his presence alone was enough to tame Harry’s fears, to give him the confidence that everything would be alright, that tomorrow wouldn’t be like yesterday, that he wouldn’t face all this alone.

“Get some sleep, my son.”

Harry woke in the middle of the night. Everything still felt unfamiliar, and the dreams he never wanted came anyway. He decided to get up, no point just staring at the ceiling. Maybe a breath of fresh air would do his mood some good. After all, Rivendell was something else, strange but promising peace.

He walked down a path he hadn’t yet explored. Glorfindel hadn’t taken this way when he led Harry to the dining hall, so maybe it was worth a look. And since Lady Galadriel had told him to stay for a while, nobody had a reason to stop him from wandering Elrond’s domain. Honestly, he was just following wherever the wind took him.

He realized how immense Rivendell was—there had to be a quiet spot where he could sit alone, unnoticed. He knew Elves didn’t need sleep, Aragorn had told him as much, but they did rest. To humans, it seemed more like dreamless sleep without losing total awareness, and they could do it anywhere: in beds, on trees, in the grass, on benches, even standing! It made Harry a little worried about running into another Elf.

He let his instincts guide him until he arrived at a white gazebo in the middle of a vast garden. It was high enough that he could take in the night sky at a glance. Moonlight flooded the space, stars sparkling overhead. Harry closed his eyes for a moment as his fingers brushed the edge of the wooden railing. There was so much natural magic in Middle Earth, wild and pure. He could feel it tickle at his fingertips.

Then, a long dormant habit resurfaced. Vines sprouted from the earth, twisting up to encircle the railings with delicate stems and sharp thorns. Harry’s eyes opened just as a rose bloomed between his index and middle fingers—a deep red, the color of blood. One became three, then ten, fifteen, until roses covered every side of the gazebo.

His green eyes stared in wonder. It had been so long. He couldn’t remember the last time Rosier magic had made him grow roses by accident. Nature magic in his world had faded, weakening pureblood families until most lost the ability to channel their family magic, something so deeply woven into their genetics, active without a wand, a natural response no one else could copy.

“You grow roses...”

His heart almost stopped. For a moment, Harry was frozen in front of the Elven guard from Lothlórien. Haldir, if he was not mistaken. He had seen him at the council meeting yesterday, standing at the doorway, following his queen. Such a wise soldier, never sitting when their ruler stood.

Haldir studied him, gray eyes shining in the moonlight, head tilted slightly as if trying to understand Harry from every angle. Curious, but not judgmental. There was a gleam of interest as he slowly approached Harry, a stranger from another world.

“Hadrian, right?”

He nodded, still hovering by the rail but letting the Elf come closer—not enough to break his personal space, just close enough to stand face to face, to reach out if needed (though it wasn’t).

“You didn’t use words, song, or even a wand. You don’t have a staff like Mithrandir and the others.” He paused, weighing his next words. “How did you do that?”

Maybe he really should've checked before doing anything. Was it even fair to call it doing ?

“It’s my family’s magic. There are certain abilities only passed down through bloodline. Some need particular conditions to access. Rivendell has overwhelmingly strong natural magic, so I think it’s affecting me more than I thought.”

“So you can grow plants with it?”

“With my family’s magic, only roses. It’s different from regular magic because it doesn’t need words or a tool. Sometimes it happens by accident, just touching nature is enough. But the roses that grow are unique, they’re eternal, never wilting unless destroyed on purpose.”

Haldir smiled softly, turning back to the petals that lined the white wood. He touched them, feeling the velvet red, even more beautiful at night. The scent spread around them, probably drifting farther given how many had blossomed. The Elf’s fingers moved between the thorny stems. Harry almost gasped, rushing to warn him before it was too late—

“Ah.” Haldir’s finger was pricked, a droplet of blood beading on the tip. Both of them caught the sharp smell of iron even from a mere scratch. The Elf examined his wound, then looked at Harry. “They’re so sharp.”

“I’m sorry, Rosier roses grow sharper thorns to protect our home from intruders. The effect isn’t the same on Rosiers or anyone officially bonded to us, like through marriage.”

Harry turned and deliberately ran the back of his own hand over several thorns—not just one. Haldir’s eyes widened but not dramatically, surprise clear enough. Harry just smiled, raising his hand for the Elf to see the generous drops of blood trickling down each scratch.

Before any could hit the floor, they vanished. Gone, like a piece of paper burning away, sparks fading in the wind. Every drop gone, even the wounds closed, like the skin had knit itself back together fifty times faster. Haldir had never seen healing magic like that—not even the Elf healers he knew could manage it.

“Any wounds we get heal instantly, because a weapon shouldn’t be able to harm its master.”

If Haldir had already admired him before, now he was truly awed. The guardian Elf from Lothlórien had never respected one of Eru's secondborn more than he did now. Elves were many things, sometimes a little too proud to consider mortals their equals. He’d only ever respected Aragorn as a human—Elrond’s foster son, Elros' descendant, Gondor's heir. But Harry… this man, this wizard, was his second exception.

“You bring many surprises, young Istar,” Haldir said, honest and sincere. It wasn’t often he acknowledged someone’s existence. Harry smiled, cheeks tinged pink at the praise. “But you really shouldn’t hurt yourself like that. You need to value your body.”

“Ah…” He didn't really know what to say. And it was true. Harry was so used to pain, he barely thought twice anymore. At least, not when it was his own.

But he could admit, maybe he’d gone a bit too far this time. Self-harm, especially in wartime, and especially in front of immortal beings who’d lived thousands of years, was hardly a pleasant thing. They weren’t used to it, barely grasped the concept. Wounds mattered here.

“Come, let’s go back inside.”

Rivendell could have leapt straight from the pages of a storybook, a real Elven home, too beautiful to be true. Harry couldn’t help but stare in wonder at every corner. Open spaces like this would usually be crawling with shivers-inducing things like worms and leeches. But after hours of watching, Harry still hadn’t found a single nasty bug here. As if the gardens were meant for comfort, not just beauty.

Daylight in Rivendell never felt harsh. So much green space sheltered everyone from direct sunlight, making the air always feel fresh. Leaves seemed to glow, flowers blooming among the vines gave the place a high aesthetic. No litter, no plastic waste as in Harry’s world. He almost refused to believe this wasn’t heaven on earth.

That afternoon he escaped from the Rangers, who acted more like mother hens. Ridiculous, really, how worried they were, even here, in a place as safe as Rivendell. He only had a little time before lunch, so he wanted to make the most of it. Some Elves would nod or smile briefly as they passed, immersed in their own business, a few ignored him, or plainly stared with open curiosity.

From what he’d heard, Rivendell was friendly to visitors, but not everyone liked outsiders. Especially a weird wizard from another world. It didn't take long for rumors to spread about him. Not even 24 hours passed before nearly everyone knew who Harry was. Maybe the attention from Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel had stirred their interest.

Turning a corner, Harry almost ran right into somebody’s chest—he would've, if not for quick reflexes, although he had let his guard down since arriving. He made a mental note: never relax, no matter how safe it seems.

He looked up. “Elrohir?”

“Elladan,” the Elf corrected. “Good morning, Harry. A lovely day for all sorts of things. But why are you sneaking around?”

Hopefully his cheeks weren’t turning red, how embarrassing. More than anything, Harry hoped the Elf wasn’t thinking he was up to something suspicious. He didn't want to ruin his reputation in such a cautious place.

“Good morning, Elladan. Sorry, I’m just avoiding Aragorn and Halbarad.”

Elladan laughed gently, melodiously—everything the Elves said sounded like music. “Mother hens?”

“Exactly. Sometimes they worry a bit too much.”

Not that Harry hated it. But being watched so closely made him feel twelve years old again. Alphard had done it too, only worse, especially when they were facing real danger. Harry understood it then. But the Rangers didn’t have a strong reason to shadow him so much now, especially not in Rivendell. It was safe, everyone was thriving.

Elladan seemed to get what he meant. He smiled, and they started walking together. Harry trusted the Elf could always find their way, getting lost wouldn't be a problem now.

“Maybe Aragorn sees a bit of himself in you,” Elladan offered.

“Hm?”

The prince turned, peering down into Harry’s green eyes. He looked almost sad, if you paid close attention—a sadness that made something ache in Harry’s chest. “Both his parents died when he was little. Estel grew up here, fostered by my father. Alone in an unfamiliar place. The only human among Elves. Always the odd one out, even if we treated him the same.”

They passed a fountain where some Elves, men and women alike, washed clothes. No difference in gender roles here, which Harry liked. The fountain was beautiful, stones layered to look like a mini waterfall, statues lined up, some shaped as Elves pouring water from jugs.

They all smiled and greeted them in sync—obviously not just for Harry, but mostly for Elladan, son of Elrond, the respected lord. Still, he replied politely, it would be rude not to.

“Halbarad is very nurturing. He looked after Estel the same way, though there’s only a ten-year gap,” Elladan added. “Seeing you arrive alone, unprepared, knowing nothing… I think that made them watch over you. Not to mention you look younger, even if you’re actually two or three times their age.”

“Well, I guess that’s—wait.” Harry whipped around, his neck spinning so fast it was worrying. “You know how old I am? But you weren’t at the council—”

Oh.

Elladan blinked. Not embarrassed at all. In fact, he smiled, almost smug, turning to keep walking. His shoulders shook with laughter. Alright, someone (maybe more than one) had definitely been eavesdropping.

Harry folded his arms, pausing to shoot the Elf a high eyebrow. “You were listening in.” Not an accusation, but a statement of fact.

“No, not exactly. Ada only said we shouldn’t come in. He didn’t say we couldn’t listen.”

Clever and sneaky.

He could picture which Hogwarts house Elladan would end up in if they were at school. Slytherin would suit him well. Harry laughed to himself—it reminded him of his second brother, Regulus, who could twist a situation perfectly. But honestly, a few Gryffindors he knew were just as sly. Sirius wasn’t much different from his brother: mischievous, brilliant, all rolled together, while Reggy was clever for necessity.

“Sometimes I forget about your keen hearing.” He’d only met Elves a few days ago, after all. “I suppose I understand my Ranger friends better now. Thanks, Elladan.”

The Elf beside him just smiled, warm and genuine. Harry saw the same smile their father had given him when he arrived. To be fair, most Elves looked remarkably alike, so it was easy to spot close relatives. Elrond’s resemblance to the twins was obvious. He couldn’t say the same for the Lady of Imladris (was she called a queen?), having never met her. But Arwen clearly inherited her beauty from Lady Galadriel, her grandmother.

At the edge of the path, they bumped into Elrohir, walking alongside Glorfindel. Great, Harry thought. He hadn’t said as much to Elladan, but he was also trying to avoid the blond Elf—who, for some reason, seemed obsessed with following him everywhere! This was actually more exhausting, since Harry didn’t really know Glorfindel like he did the Rangers. He also felt a bit intimidated whenever Glorfindel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Honestly, if that Elf thought he was being subtle, he was totally wrong!

“There you are, Harry!” Elrohir greeted, his usual lively self. “Aragorn and Halbarad were looking for you. Glorfindel said he couldn’t find you in your room.”

See? The blond really did want to keep tabs on him 24/7!

“Sorry, I just wanted to walk around and learn more about Rivendell.” Not entirely a lie—Harry would have explored the place by now, if not for two overprotective men and one obsessive blond Elf tailing him constantly. “But Elladan just caught me.”

“Yes, caught you,” his friend teased. “Anyway, you’ll need to meet my father to find out what you can do here.”

“Right, should I see him now?”

“Maybe after lunch.” Off to the Hall of Fire with two Rangers waiting for Harry, arms crossed, of course.

And that’s how Harry ended up in Elrond’s room a few hours later. But wait, he wasn’t alone—the Elf lord had other company inside: Glorfindel and Gandalf. As always, the blond Elf watched Harry in a way he couldn't quite decipher. Total mystery, unlike Gandalf, who radiated warmth.

Elrond motioned for him to sit on the last empty seat, right next to Glorfindel. Even with so little space between them, the Elf made no effort to hide how he kept glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. It was both confusing and unsettling. Couldn’t he just talk? Or was this just how Elves acted, mysterious, full of silent judgment?

“We’ve already discussed this before you arrived, so I’ll be upfront,” Elrond began. “Harry, if you’re staying in Rivendell indefinitely, you’ll need to blend in. Unfortunately, only a handful of us know Westron. So, you’ll need to learn Sindarin.”

Makes sense. Back in his old world, Harry had learned many languages for political reasons. Not all powerful witches and wizards were easy to deal with, and most of them were pretty uncooperative. As the family heir, he’d been trained to win people over, including by learning their language.

It didn’t always work, but it helped. Thanks to that, Harry connected with French, Chinese, Russian, and Japanese ministry officials. Russia was the toughest to crack, but once they realized he spoke fluently in their mother language, everything got easier. France was where the Rosier family hailed from. Even after moving to England, they still insisted on bilingual education for every child. China and Japan were involved due to the many cooperative projects that their countries have undertaken.

Elrond smiled. “Luckily, Glorfindel is an excellent teacher. He can teach you Sindarin, and in exchange, you’ll be his assistant for a while.”

Okay, that wasn’t so ba—

WHAT?!

Alphard would not be pleased with his face right now. But Harry didn’t care. Were they really pairing him up with the guy who stalked him everywhere? Maybe this was their plan all along—to keep him under constant observation so Glorfindel didn’t have to tail him all day?

Harry started reevaluating all his judgments about Elves. They’re not as friendly as he’d thought, everything had a motive. Paranoid to a degree that would stump any psychologist. But honestly, could he blame them though? With all this dark lord nonsense… okay, maybe it was understandable. All Harry hated was—

Why did it have to be that Elf?!

Why not one of the twins, or both even? Harry felt so much more comfortable with them. They were open, their dynamic reminded him of Sirius and Regulus—a tighter, healthier sibling bond. They were fun, totally different from the frosty blond.

“Is that alright, Harry?”

Dragged back to reality, he nodded—barely convincing, but Gandalf noticed. Bless the old wizard for keeping his thoughts to himself. He could probably read minds, but Gandalf knew better than to bother Harry. He just smiled wryly, taking a little too much amusement from the chaos.

“Yeah, of course, that’s fine. It’s quite an honor to learn something so valuable. Thank you, sir.” Wow, he really was good at playing nice. Reggy would be proud. “But may I know what I’ll be doing as your assistant?”

“Ah, you can ask Glorfindel about that.”

They locked eyes for a moment. Turns out Elves didn’t have as many eye color variations as humans in Harry’s world. So far he’d only seen blue, silvery-blue, silver, and brown in all sorts of shades, and Glorfindel’s were some strange blend of sapphire and silver. Maybe that’s why the Rangers kept complimenting Harry’s eyes, even the twins and Arwen were mesmerized when they first saw them.

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow after breakfast,” Glorfindel said, holding Harry’s gaze before turning back to Elrond.

“By the way, do you have any special skills besides magic, my boy?” Gandalf asked. “Anything that might be useful here?”

“Ah, I’m a pretty decent cook. Aragorn and Halbarad love my food. I don’t know much about Elven cuisine, but I’m sure I can make something good from whatever ingredients you have.” He also liked sharing Earthly recipes—people’s reactions to his food were always fun.

Now they seemed genuinely interested. All except the neighboring blond. Elrond said, “Maybe you could help out in the kitchen. Lindir can introduce you to one of our chefs, Maeron. He’s a perfectionist but open to all kinds of cooking.”

They finally came to an agreement. Starting tomorrow, after breakfast until two hours before lunch, he’d work as Glorfindel’s assistant (whatever that was—hopefully nothing too annoying). Then he’d help out in the kitchen, probably not cooking straight away, but that was fine. After lunch, he’d join a Sindarin class and assist Glorfindel again (seriously, what does the guy even need an assistant for?). He’d also have to come back to the kitchen for dinner prep.

Looks like tomorrow’s going to be a busy new day for Harry.

< OMAKE >

Erestor: I don’t remember our gazebo having flowers (looks confused)

Elrohir: Right. How did so many roses grow here?

Elladan: The thorns are really sharp...

Glorfindel: (silent)

Glorfindel: This scent is familiar...

…

Halbarad: My princess, come on! Time for a morning walk! (knocks on Harry’s door)

crickets

Halbarad: My princess?

crickets

Aragorn: Maybe he doesn’t like being called ‘princess.’

Halbarad: (sighs) Alright. My boy, let's go for a walk!

crickets

Halbarad: My boy?

Aragorn: (feeling bad, finally opens the door) Harry?

Halbarad & Aragorn: Our boy is missing!!

…

Elrond: We need someone to teach him Sindarin. Maybe Erestor—

Glorfindel: I’ll do it.

Gandalf: (shocked) You sure?

Elrond: (also shocked)

Glorfindel: Hm. But I need a personal assistant.

Elrond: (deadpan face)

Gandalf: (looks horrified)

Glorfindel: (smirks)

Elrond & Gandalf: Please be gentle with him.