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Chapter Text

Title: Ardamire

What if Harry was not actually a potter but a finwean the Eldest son of Finwe and Miriel, who was lost before Finwe became a king?

There was a secret hidden deep in the house of Finwë, buried beneath years of silence and sorrow—one not even his second wife, or his sons and daughter, had ever known.

It was a promise made long ago.

Before Finwë became king. Before the Silmarils. Before the great songs and tragedies of the House of Finwë echoed through Arda.

Finwë and Míriel had once a child before Fëanor, a child known only to a few Valar and the most trusted friends of the High King.

The child was named Ardamírë "The Jewel of the World" a name given by Manwë himself.

He had Míriel's vibrant green eyes, like the first leaves of Laurelin in spring, and Miriel's starlight hair. A perfect union of their beauty and will. The child was bright, curious, gentle, and already showed signs of strange magic foreign to even the most gifted of Elves.

But a great disaster struck and Ardamírë was lost.

No body. No cry. No hope. Only silence.

Finwë and Míriel felt the bond snap and though Finwë mourned and moved forward, Míriel could not. Fading claimed her, slow and sorrowful, until even her fëa sought rest in the Halls of Mandos.

And Finwë, guilt-ridden and grieving, agreed to the secret. The Valar erased Ardamírë’s presence from the minds of all save the most trusted. A memory, a myth. He never told his children, never spoke of the pain again.

He died with that regret.Now, it was the Fourth Age.

Middle-earth was quiet. The Elves had returned West.

Legolas, sailing with Gimli on a small boat of elven make, marveled at the silver waters of the sea as they approached Valinor. It was peaceful.

Until an Elf fell from the sky and crash-landed directly on top of Legolas.

Gimli: “By Mahal’s beard—what in the blasted—?”

Harry: “Ow. Did I break something? I really hope not. Sorry. I didn’t mean to land on someone.”

Legolas: “I think my ribs cracked.”

Harry had no idea how he’d ended up here. One minute he was walking through the streets of Athens, looking for olives and wondering if he should try wine again, and the next minute—black hole. Literally. Under his feet.

Now, his hair was no longer a bird’s nest but smooth, flowing gold-brown silk. His ears? Pointy. His senses? Overwhelming. He was an Elf. Somehow.

He’d known for a while that he wasn’t a normal human. The trees whispered to him. Birds followed him. Small animals snuggled up to him in the forest like some kind of walking Disney cliché.

When he was young, he’d heard the wind speak.

So Harry who had faked his death after the war with the Goblins’ help just to live in peace wasn't too surprised.

Still, crash-landing on an Elf and a Dwarf was a first.

Surprisingly, the trio got along well. Gimli and Legolas helped him forge a fake identity—"A wandering elf from the East. Named... er... Harryon."

Harry: “Really?”

Legolas: “It sounds elvish.”

Gimli: “It sounds lazy.”

Harry: “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

When they arrived in Valinor, they were welcomed by Oropher, Legolas’ grandfather, and two beautiful elleth his grandmother and mother. The reunion was teary. Emotional.Then came introductions.

When Harry was asked about his family, Legolas quickly intervened, explaining that Harry’s family was “still in Mandos,” and that he was an orphan of the old world.

The Elleth cried.

They hugged him. Adopted him. Took in Gimli too. Oropher complained. No one listened.Harry, for the first time in forever, found a family.

He lived peacefully. He met Gil-galad, who turned out to be Oropher’s best friend despite his dramatic denials. He even picked up music, art, and weaving. He was terrible at weaving. But everyone said it was beautiful anyway.

He was happy.Until the last ship docked.
And chaos bloomed in the House of Finwë.

Finwë’s secret had been found. A letter in old script. A memory shard. A vision in Lorien by Galadriel. The truth.

Feanor: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE AN OLDER BROTHER?!”

Nerdanel: “Wait—older? As in... before you?”

Fingolfin: “Father never said anything…”

Finarfin: “Why does this sound like one of those mortal soap operas?”

And then, one day, Feanor caught sight of him.

Harry: walking peacefully with a basket of fruit and flowers gifted by the Elleth, smiling as he hummed a tune.

Feanor: pauses dramatically

Feanor: My elder brother...!

Feanor: squints

Feanor: My younger brother…!

Feanor: nods, looking entirely satisfied as if this somehow made sense

Harry: ????

Harry: Who is this?

Chapter Text

Title: Escaping and Chaos

What if the Golden Trio when escaping the Death Eaters accidentally traveled to the Middle Earth becoming an Elfling that look like a replica of each Sons of Finwe?

While escaping the Death Eaters, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves deep in the Forbidden Forest, pursued by Greyback and his pack. Just as they were about to be caught, the ground beneath them gave way. They fell through a mysterious hole one not of the earth, but of time and space and landed in Middle-earth.

They awoke in a snowy mountain village, bloodied and unconscious, their ears now pointed, their bodies transformed into elflings. The villagers, a hardy people of the mountains, found them and took them in, nursing their wounds with care and kindness.

When the trio awoke and discovered their transformations, they had a collective meltdown. Children again, with pointed ears and unfamiliar bodies, they struggled to cope with the change. But as days passed, the warmth and care of the villagers began to chip away at their defenses especially Harry’s. For the first time in a long time, they felt safe. Loved.

Harry cried.

But peace never lasts. Orcs invaded the village, killing everyone in a brutal raid. The villagers fought to the last breath, buying time to smuggle the trio away to safety. The trauma broke something inside them especially when they witnessed the death of their adopted father. Harry snapped.

And with that snap, magic, wild, chaotic, ancient erupted from him. Their doormat like magic, long suppressed by trauma, finally answered their pain.

Now, the Golden Trio must navigate the complex world of Middle-earth: elflings pretending to be adults, trying to understand who or what they’ve become, all while triggering panic across the land. Elves, dwarves, and men alike are left reeling in their wake.

They change fate. Save lives that were meant to be lost. In one instance, they even save Finrod Felagund before Beren’s ancestor could, earning Finrod’s eternal gratitude and life debt.

Finrod, ever noble and bewildered, takes the three into his kingdom. Over time, the elves discover the shocking truth: the three strange “adults” are actually traumatized elflings, half-starved of affection, covered in scars, and teetering on the edge of fading.

Cue the collective heart attacks, fainting spells, and outraged curses.

And then… the illusion drops.

The Resemblance:

Harry – Feanor’s face, Finarfin’s gentleness, Fingolfin’s battle instincts

Ron – Fingolfin’s face, Feanor’s temper, Finarfin’s wisdom and restraint

Hermione – Finarfin’s face, Fingolfin’s drive, Feanor’s sheer chaos and nerve

The resemblance is uncanny—and disturbing. Finrod stares. His entire court stares. And then the trio starts bickering.

Just like his father and uncles.

Except… with the wrong faces.

Finrod, halfway through writing letters to his uncle Fingolfin and his cousins, pauses to collect his composure and the broken pieces of his mind. Surely someone out there has misplaced three suspiciously familiar elflings?

Finrod:

“This feels so wrong.”

“They bicker like Father, Uncle Fëanor, and Uncle Fingolfin… but with the wrong faces.”

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see that.”

“H.E.L.P. A.S.A.P.! W.E N.E.E.D B.A.C.K U.P”

Chapter Text

Title: Fourth Life

What if, Harry had been reborn as the exclusive Vanyar Elf in Valinor in his fourth life while getting entangled of the Noldors Elves?

Harry been reborn again and to his surprise as an Elf that live in a land called Valinor. To say Harry was not surprise as this was his fourth life, he had been reborn.

The last one he was being reborn was he became a demigod, A descendant of Hecate and the only of Thanatos Aka Death became cousins with the Son of Hades and friend with the Son of Poseidon, where they bond about bullshit fate and prophecy. Harry was not a bit amused but atleast his that life was fun and he had a family.

While his second life, Harry was certainly not fun because he was drag in a bullshit life in the paranormal. Who knew that Lucifer and Angels are real? He was an angel then later became an Archangel under Michael. All Harry can say is in that life was the blasted worse because he can't literally die and he only die because he tricked death which became a Karma in his third life.

Now in this fourth life of his, Harry all could say that this very very tame compared to his other lives but Harry can't complain. He can finally have peace but who knew it will be the famous last words.

When Harry was traveling to Noldor wanting to buy herbs that exclusively grow in the place where the Noldor lives when suddenly he bumped into a teenage? who was crying. He comforted the child, telling stories about his previous lives which he was sure that the child believes to fictional story but who cares?

Later the father of the teenager's father came and he got to witness the drama thou it was a bit funny as he then said goodbye to the boy. Then suddenly he was summoned to the palace, confused if he did break some rules since he just arrive three days ago.

Then he found out the father was actually King Finwe and the teenage was the crown prince Feanaro making Harry twitch. He was then offered by the King to became the prince's Nanny/Big brother since apparently the crown prince like him and only calm when he is around. He reluctantly agreed but seeing Feanaro he agreed.

Then Harry became the exclusive Vanyar Nanny of the Crown Prince. Harry managed to ease the relationship of the Crown Prince and King, managed to befriend the King and its people with helping them of their problem slash becoming not only the Nanny/Big Brother of Feanaro but also to its people. It was peaceful until it was broken when Finwe remarried broken the once healed bond of his son and causing strain to its relationship people.

Finwe and Harry had a fight about it because there is no way in hell will Harry let Finwe hurt Feanaro. Until Finwe said a sore topic which cause to Harry punch Finwe in the face as he then quit despite the pleading of the servants, guards, the people and Feanaro.

But Harry was made up in his mind as Harry was in pain. He could feel the buried memories was resurfacing and would probably broke him resulting in him to be the next Elf to fade after Miriel causing them to have a grudge to their King.

Harry then live in exclusion Alqualonde where he managed to befriend two odd elves. A blonde and White head later finding out it was the exclusive King Ingwe of Vanyar and King Olwe making his lips twitched at the fate.

Decades later, when Harry its final decided to visit Noldor again after some very persuasive convincing speech from Ingwe. When he arrive, he later found out that Feanaro had seven sons with an Elleth named Nerdanel and that Finwe and his latest wife, have children. Two sons and two daughters.

Harry was supposed to stay in Noldor for a month where he kept meeting strange elves like an Elf named, Maitimo, Carnister, Arakano, Ingoldo and so on. Harry never suspected a thing as when suddenly he was asked by Maitimo that his father wanted to his exclusive friend Harry agreed not knowing he will be having a reunion with Feanaro and Finwe while meeting the rest of their family resulting chaos.

Harry then became the honorary family of Finwe much to the displeasure of Harry while kicking the butt of newly released Melkor preventing the death of Finwe and the Kinslaying plus Silmarillion Oath not knowing outside of Arda, people from Harry's past are looking for their wayward Son/Brother/Cousin/Nephew/Friend.

Maitimo: Father wants to meet my other bestfriend beside my cousin.

Harry: Agreed and Nodded then looked at the suspiciously familiar address.

Harry: Shrug it off thinking it was impossible.

Day off the meeting.

Harry: ........

Finwe: ........

Feanaro: Haryael! Your back!

Servants/Guards: QAQ, Brother you finally returned! It had been hard for us!

People of Noldor: Horrayy! Big Brother is back! Brother we missed you! QAQ

Harry: I'm back...?

Sons of Feanor: ????

Fingolfin: ???

Rest of the family members: ?????

Harry: I think...I should go back....

Servant/Guard/People of Noldor/Feanaro: No!!! Don't even think about it!!

Chapter Text

Title: Furs and Meows

What if the grandchildren's of Finwe had turned unto cats and was then one by one sent to the Wizarding world?

It all started when his godfather Sirius had finally cleared his name then gave the Wizarding World and Dumbledore the biggest fuck you ever and took Harry with him. He then withdraw him from Hogwarts enrolling Harry into Durmstrang after giving a middle finger to Magical Britain and not even looking back.

What no one knew was that Sirius had time-travelled. He had enough of the bullshit. Not this time. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Harry did notice Sirius acting strangely but didn’t question it. After all, he finally had a family and a peaceful life.

No more DADA teachers trying to kill him.
No more basilisk, death traps, or ancient curses.

He still exchanged letters with Ron and Hermione. Surprisingly, even Draco who unexpectedly became his friend. Life was weird like that. Then the cats started to appear.

It began with a single box. Outside the house that once belonged to the Blacks. Eight red cats inside. Each one was different.

One was missing a paw.

One was obsessed with music, constantly purring in strange rhythms.

One liked to hunt things—even Sirius's socks.

One was broody, often sleeps in dark places making people trip.

One was far too curious and ended up stuck in the chimney.

Two were troublemakers who always caused explosions.

One looked like it had seen war and flinched at even a flicker of flame.

Harry thought they were weird. Too intelligent. Too... coordinated but he shrugged it off.

Even when he caught Sirius lecturing the cats like rebellious teenagers occasionally joined by Remus. Even when one of them huffed and turned away like a sulking noble.

Harry still shrugged it off then another batch appeared.

Five blue cats this time and they knew the red ones.

One had golden streaks in its fur and immediately ran to the red cat missing a paw, clinging to it like it belonged there.

They acted like they knew each other.

Harry thought that was it. He was wrong.

The third batch arrived next.

Golden-yellow cats. Five of them.

They too seemed to know the others.

At this point, Harry just let them in. He was too tired to question it. Maybe he was adopted now. Who knew?

The house was full of cats. Strange cats. Magical cats. Cats who watched him like they understood every word.

Cats who moved around the manor like it was theirs.
Cats who disappeared and reappeared in places they shouldn’t.
Cats who somehow knew how to fucking fight.

Harry just sipped his tea and carried on with his peaceful life. After all, no more cursed objects. No more prophecies. No more Voldemort—

Meanwhile in Valinor, it was...Chaos.The grandchildren of Finwë had vanished. Disappeared. Gone. Just like that.

Feanaro was about to swear another oath when Nerdanel smacked him in the face with a pan before he could utter a single word. Now the Valar were panicking. The parents were panicking. Everyone was panicking. The grandchildren of Finwë had just vanished and on Earth, the Wizarding Britain was under siege.

By fucking cats.

The Feanorians, in red fur, were terrorizing the British Magical World.
Stealing Dark Lord robes. Setting booby traps. Blowing up lemon drops.

The Nolofinweans? Oh, they followed. Because wherever the Feanorians go, they go too.

The Arafinweans? They tried to pretend they weren’t involved. But they joined eventually. No Finwëan left behind.

Now they were all here. In cat form.
Terrorizing Voldemort. [ check]
Haunting Dumbledore. [ check]
Breaking every law of magic just by existing. [ check]
Causing Chaos: [ check and double check]

Harry: What a peaceful day

Sirius: “Good. Very good. Now let's blow up the Death Eater's Headquarters!!!.”

Feanorians: Meow! Meow!!

Nolofinweans: Meow~ Meow~!!

Arafinweans: Meow... Meow!!!

Hedwig: Toot! Tooot!!

Harry:…Like I said. What a peaceful day :)

Remus: Is it too late to go back down?

Chapter Text

Title: Future and Thoughts

What if Caranthir had traveled back in time and regained his memories, then decided to change the future… but didn’t know his family could hear his thoughts?

Caranthir knew the moment he was born.

He had traveled back in time—before the Two Trees were destroyed, before his father was banished to Formenos.

This wasn’t his second life, but his third.

The first, he had lived as Harry Potter. Then he died and reincarnated as Caranthir of the Silmarillion, without any memories of his past life, and died again, just as written.

Now, in his third life, his memories returned thanks to a book accident, of all things. Some bully had shoved him, and he hit a bookshelf. Books fell. One smacked him square in the head.

Boom—memories unlocked.

No chains of fate weighed on him now. Eru, the world’s creator, had given him permission to change the Song of Arda, since he couldn’t interfere in the previous timeline. And Namo helped him too, apparently recognizing Caranthir’s lingering title as Master of Death from his first life with Namo’s help, Caranthir embarked on a path to change the future once carved in stone. Even if it meant breaking bones or setting someone on fire but what Caranthir didn’t know… was that people could hear his thoughts.

To their horror, the House of Finwë—especially the Fëanorians—had been thrown into chaos. At first, they thought it was just Osanwë. But it wasn’t.

They heard everything and it was unhinged.

They misunderstood, believing Caranthir was having some sort of apocalyptic visionor worse, was on a self-destructive mission to prevent a future only he knew of.

So now, everyone scrambled behind his back, trying to come up with excuses and distractions before Caranthir could act on his thoughts… all without letting him know they could hear them.

Caranthir: Tomorrow, Father will point a sword at Uncle Nolo… then get banished.

House of Finwë: “WHAT!!!???”

Caranthir: What to do…?

Caranthir: I know! Let’s break my leg and play it off as an accident!

House of Finwë: "!!!!"

Caranthir: Or how about running away from home? What if I just go to the Halls of Mandos instead? That would work, right? Let’s do it!!!

House of Finwë: “NO!!!”

Maedhros: “Nope!”

Maglor: “Lock the door!! And the windows too!!”

Celegorm: “I’m sure Moryo wouldn’t mind if he breaks his legs, right?”

Ambarussa: “Yeah!!!”

Curufin: “Is this treason? Is this how treason begins?”

Tyelpe: “Uncle! Don’t leave me!!”

Fëanáro: “My adorable, quiet baby… going to Mandos…?” faints

Nerdanel: “Why am I part of this family again?”

Chapter Text

Title: Husky's Adventure

What if War Veteran Harry transmigrated into the Silmarillion as A husky with green eyes and had lightning bolt on its head. Making him the very first Husky in Middle earth?

Harry opened his eyes, realizing he had become one of the infamous Husky dog breeds. He was speechless, and with that, Middle-earth had known no peace with the strange, additional dog with magic.

Harry managed to save Aredhel before Eöl killed her and became friends with Maeglin, who became his owner. He even turned the bad father/husband Eöl into a good one. Later, the trio of family would come to know the headaches that would follow.

He managed to befriend the Dwarves as well, discovering a talent for cross-talking among species. He became the menace of Gondolin, often turning the city upside down and traumatizing Elves with his strange howl, making Turgon grow white hair.

He then turned the Gap upside down with chaos, along with other kingdoms like Doriath, traumatizing its king—much to the amusement of Melian and Lúthien. He managed to matchmake Lúthien and Beren without the dangerous quest.

He saved Finrod from his death, as well as other fated destructions, and helped the Fëanorians break the Oath. He befriended the infamous Huan, who was amused to find a fellow kin—though, albeit a strange one.

Harry then became the bane of existence for the Orcs.

The Orcs were confused and scared upon encountering the strange creature who could apparently use magic. He also became a headache for Morgoth, much to the amusement of Sauron, and confusion of the Valar—especially Námo—about why a dog seemed to have a higher authority than him in death, while Eru, in the background, was just laughing.

When the Elves called upon the Valar, who had lifted the Ban after Harry traumatized them they decided that they would bring the Husky, Harry, to Valinor. Harry just rolled with it, protecting his master and occasionally biting the butts of Turgon and maybe Thingol.

So when Harry arrived in Valinor, he was pampered by the Finwëan ladies, much to the annoyance of their husbands.

He met different Elves, and upon meeting Ingwë, the High King of the Elves, he suddenly became an Elf landing himself on the Elven King’s lap much to his embarrassment and the King’s amusement.

Fate: XXXX is going to die today.

Husky!Harry: Not on my watch!!!

Husky!Harry: Proceeds to save the said Elf while traumatizing enemy and said Elf alike.

Maeglin: What a normal day.

The said Elf and Enemy: DOES THIS LOOK NORMAL TO YOU?!?!

Chapter Text

Title: Little Eru

What if the people inside The Silmarillion knew that they were only fictional characters, while at the same time mistaking a young Harry Potter for Eru?

The people of Valinor gradually became aware of their existence as “fictional” — everyone except the Valar. At first, they were in complete denial. How could it be true? They bled, they loved, they wept. Fictional characters were not supposed to live as they did.

It began one day, just before Fëanor was banished from Tirion. Out of nowhere, a child’s voice echoed across the land, narrating the next scene. The Elves were left dumbfounded. Many dismissed it as false or impossible yet as time passed, they could no longer deny the truth. A strange, unwritten rule seemed to prevent them from speaking of it openly whenever they tried to tell the Valar or discuss it aloud, the words would vanish from their lips as if barred by some unseen power.

Even so, they came to understand glimpses of the future.. terrifying visions of what awaited them. It caused rifts, betrayals, and hidden truths to emerge but above all, they felt gratitude toward the mysterious voice they had come to believe was Eru Himself.

Then, one day, the voice fell silent. At first, they thought little of it. But as months turned into years, faint echoes of pain, sobbing, and pleas for help reached their ears. Anger rose in them. Their God was in pain at last, they were given a choice: remain in their world… or step into “reality” to save their God.

Harry Potter was four years old when he met a strange man who handed him a book. Suspicious despite his young age, Harry narrowed his eyes, but the man only smiled and said gently, “It’s for your own good.” Harry frowned, unsettled by the words.

Still, he grew fascinated with the book. Though reading was difficult, he stubbornly pushed through with the help of a borrowed dictionary. One day, after accidentally injuring Dudley, his Uncle Vernon beat him. Just as Harry thought he could not endure anymore, a light appeared and three radiant, beautiful men stepped forward. They stopped Vernon in his tracks. One, clad in red robes, knelt before Harry and spoke in a voice gentler than any he had ever heard:

“Little Eru… forgive us. We are late.”

Child Harry: No one loves me.

Death: Nonsense.

Destiny: Who spread that lie? Fate?

Fate: Not me! Stop blaming me!

Child Harry: I’m all alone…

Lady Britain: Mama is here, my child.

Child Harry: I’m so sad…

Lady Magic: Don’t be sad, little one. Auntie loves you.

Child Harry: I’m gonna cry…

Death: …

Lady Magic: Dad!!!

Lady Britain: Grandpa!!!

God: Yes?

Lady Britain and Lady Magic: Do something!

God: Of course.

God created The Silmarillion and tossed it to Death.

God: Now be a good child and give it to your Master.

Death: …Shit.

Chapter Text

Title: Melkor's Only Maia

What if, Harry was reborn in Silmarillion after his death during the War with Voldemort as Melkor's only Maia?

After the war with Voldemort, Harry Potter died finally free, expecting to meet his parents in the afterlife. But instead of finding Lily and James, he was met by a strange figure… who was definitely not Death in disguise.

The figure simply asked him for a favor.

Harry, exhausted beyond reason and desperate for peace, agreed without even listening to what the favor was.

Then everything went black.

Far away, in the timeless, empty Void, Melkor stirred. Something… foreign had entered his domain. To his shock, he found a soul forming a Maia, born not in Eä, but in the Void itself. Melkor, speechless, stared as the soul took shape: a child Maia with strange, otherworldly green eyes and a small scar on his forehead.

It was impossible. It was unheard of.
But it happened.

Melkor, bewildered yet oddly intrigued, decided Why not? and chose to raise this strange little Maia as his own. For a time, there was peace in the Void.

Until the Valar decided it was time.

Melkor was summoned and released from the Void, meant to return to Valinor under watchful eyes. At the grand celebration marking his "return," the Valar were stunned by his agitation. Manwë in particular was troubled, confused by his brother’s increasing restlessness.

Until Melkor snapped.

“My Maia is still in the Void!!” he shouted, throwing the entire celebration into chaos.

There was stunned silence.

The Valar expected some grand, powerful Maia of darkness Melkor’s perfect right hand.

Instead… they got a child.

A little boy who looked suspiciously like Melkor...if Melkor had wild green eyes, constant curiosity, and a lightning-bolt scar.

The irony hit hard: the only Maia to Melkor… was Harry Potter.

Harry, now bound to Melkor, promptly decided two things:

One, He was not letting Melkor become Middle-earth’s Worst Problem even in Valinor even if it's means acting like a spoiled brat like Malfoy.

Second, If he had to be stuck here, he might as well cause fun chaos. Because there is no such as peaceful life when Harry is involved.

Thus began the slowest, strangest redemption arc in Arda’s history.

Harry derailed Melkor’s dark plans at every turn accidentally at first, then on purpose usually dragging Fëanor into his schemes. Fëanor, for his part, was delighted. Nerdanel watched it all with amused exasperation and much to the headache plus worry from the House of Finwe.

Prompting Finwë to start every morning with, “Eru preserve me…” while Mairon, the future Sauron, babysitter by default aged centuries in a week.

Dark Throne Room. Ominous lighting. Evil plotting in progress. Melkor, seated on his dark throne, voice dramatic and thundering:

Melkor: "As I was saying, let us DESTRO—"

Minion: "LORD MELKOR!!"

Melkor: "WHAT?! CAN’T YOU SEE WE’RE HAVING A MEETING?! THIS IS THE SIXTH TIME! IT BETTER BE IMPORTANT OR I WILL THROW YOU INTO THE VOID!!"

Minion: "But my Lord! Your Maia—totally-not-your-child—has run away from home… again!"

Melkor: “...Oh.”

Minion: “...”

Melkor: “...”

Melkor: “WHATTTTTTTTT?!”

Mairon in the background, facepalming:

Mairon: “I swear, It was peaceful when I was in Aule's forge.....why did I decided to follow Melkor again?…”

Chapter Text

Title: Mistaken Identity

What if, instead of Harry being reincarnated into the Silmarillion, it was Ron reborn as Mairon?

One moment Ron was quietly celebrating the anniversary of his brother’s death, and in the next, he opened his eyes to find himself staring at a marbled ceiling. The unfamiliar sight startled him so badly that he let out a loud scream.

Ron sat up in a rush, catching a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror. His appearance was strange his hair was longer, his features sharper, and a fresh bandage was wrapped around his head. Confused, he reached up to touch the wound, only for the door to slam open with a bang. Startled, Ron snatched up the nearest pillow and hurled it at the intruder.

“Bloody Merlin!!!” He shouted.

The intruder turned out to be Aulë, who had been fretting ever since Mairon his most talented Maia had fainted and struck his head during a heated argument.

The sight of his beloved Maia awake should have been a relief, but something was wrong. Mairon was acting strangely: defensive, suspicious, and far too guarded around him. The once-devoted Maia who had followed him loyally like a pup now looked at him as though he were a threat.

The change broke Aulë’s heart. He even went so far as to weep before Manwë, confessing that his precious Maia no longer seemed to want him. Mairon had once been his darling favorite, but now he ran from him, even seeking refuge with Námo of all people. The thought was unbearable.

Meanwhile, in Tirion, the Finwëans were baffled by this peculiar Maia who had all but crash-landed in their city. Unlike any Maia they had ever met, this one was clumsy, oddly human in mannerisms, and most surprising of all an excellent cook.

Nerdanel delighted in finding not only a new kitchen companion but also an unexpected muse. Fëanor, at first suspicious, found himself begrudgingly impressed when the strange Maia casually trash-talked the Valar, instantly earning a sliver of his respect.

Ron, however, was simply trying to survive. He needed to figure out how to get home, find this mysterious “Mairon,” and avoid the clingy, overbearing “deadbeat” calling himself Aulë. Along the way, he befriended the Finwëans, stumbled into an unexpected romance with none other than Celebrimbor, and developed a habit of thrashing a certain creepy nuisance named “Melkor” who refused to leave him alone.

But the more Ron learned, the more unsettled he became. Why did all these names Aulë, Mairon, Melkor, even Celebrimbor sound so strangely familiar?

Ron: Becoming Mairon.

Ron: Sounds Familiar....Hmm

Ron: Meeting Aule.

Ron: Familiar.

Ron: Meeting the Finweans..

Ron: Familiar..Familiar.

Ron: Meeting Melkor.

Ron: Holy Shit! Creepy ass dude!

Ron: but Sounds Familiars.... now where have I heard them again?..Nahhhh

Harry and Hermione: RONALD WEASLY!!!!

Chapter Text

Title: One Year

What if Maeglin is fading and had one year left?

Maeglin had slowly begun fading, and he knew it. It wasn’t something that happened suddenly but had started long before he had arrived in Gondolin.

The seeds had been sown in Nan Elmoth, a place haunted by memories of his mother’s rejection and the painful truth of how his father had wronged her. The weight of it was unbearable, but it had become his truth, something he couldn’t escape.

He had started feeling cold, distant from everything and everyone, like the light of his soul was flickering out, bit by bit.

Over time, he could feel the fading growing worse, particularly after coming to Gondolin, where everything felt like a reminder of how alone he was. It seemed like no one cared for him, and in truth, he was certain that when he was gone, no one would miss him. If anything, they’d be glad to see him fade away. So, he kept his affliction a secret, hiding the growing coldness inside him as best he could.

Then, something strange happened.
He unknowingly formed an Osanwe, connecting with a stranger who would become his only friend. At first, it felt like a fleeting moment—just a voice in his head. But over time, it grew into a conversation, an unexpected friendship born out of shared isolation. Maeglin didn’t realize that people were noticing his odd behavior, but they couldn’t understand what was happening.

Meanwhile, Fingolfin had been receiving strange dreams lately. They were vague, unsettling, filled with cries and half-formed thoughts. At first, he thought they were from his nephews, maybe even his older brother’s sons, but he soon realized that wasn’t the case. After some consideration, he concluded that the dreams must be the result of an Osanwe connection with a stranger—someone who had unintentionally linked with him across the distance.

For months, Maeglin and Fingolfin continued their secret communication, neither of them aware of the other’s identity. Fingolfin assumed he was speaking with an adult elf, and Maeglin, for his part, never thought to reveal his true name. They exchanged thoughts about vague subjects—cities, landscapes, places—and though Maeglin began to feel the weight of his fading growing stronger, he didn’t realize how close the end was.

Then, as the days slipped away, Maeglin found himself near collapse, his strength failing him. With only two months left before his final disappearance, Maeglin made the choice to end the connection. He decided to tell Fingolfin the truth, figuring it didn’t matter now. He was dying.

"Who are you?" Fingolfin had asked, his voice filled with confusion and concern.

It was then that Maeglin finally gave in. He whispered his name to the stranger he’d come to depend on, thinking it was no harm...no more than a final act before he vanished from this world.

On Fingolfin’s side, chaos erupted. The realization of Maeglin’s identity hit him like a thunderclap: the "adult" elf he had befriended was, in truth, his own grandson. Not just any grandson, but one who was fading from existence, with no one the wiser until it was too late.

Fingolfin panicked. He had to save his grandson, and had to stop his plan to challenge of Morgoth.

But would it be too late to reach Maeglin? Would the fading take him before Fingolfin could find him and help him heal the wounds that had kept them apart all this time?

Fingolfin: Oh I just form an Osanwe to a stranger.

Maeglin: GO AWAY!! STRANGER DANGER!!

Fingolfin: It’s alright besides he need a friend.

Maeglin: I DON’T NEED A FRIEND!!!! I just want to swallow my remaining life in peace and bitterness!!

later~

Fingolfin: WAIT A MINUTE—

Fingolfin: THAT "ADULT ELF" I WAS TALKING TO—

Fingolfin: HE WAS A KID—

Fingolfin: HE WAS MY KID—

Fingolfin: HE WAS MY GRANDKID?!?!??!

Fingolfin: &#^$×

Fingolfin: MY GRANDSON IS FADING—

Fingolfin: I REPEAT—MY GRANDSON IS FADING—

Fingolfin: CODE RED!!! CODE RED!!!GRANDPA ON THE MOVE

Fingolfin: HOLD ON GRANDSON—GRAMPA’S COMING TO SAVE YOU!!!!

Chapter Text

Title: Penpal

What if Feanaro and Harry are penpals despite being in different worlds and different times?

Fëanáro had a secret. One he never told Nerdanel.He certainly never told his seven sons. Never even hinted because it was his before his marriage. Before his sons.

There was only him. And a quill.

It started when he was just a child. A small moment. A quiet one. Rain poured outside the window of his study in Tirion, and then it appeared.A parchment. A quill. Ink. All unfamiliar. There was no name, no sender. It looked plain almost wrong in this perfect land.

Curious as he was, he wrote. Nothing complicated. Just a greeting to his surprise... it replied and just like that, the bond began.

His penpal was strange. Human. Young. Mortal. But bright. Sad. Honest. A little messy in handwriting, but kind in ways the Eldar rarely were. They didn’t know each other’s faces. But the quill, the ink, it allowed them to speak across realms and time.That was how he learned. Of the book. Of the story titled The Silmarillion.

He learned of the blade he would point toward Nolofinwë, of banishment, of heartbreak.

He learned that he would one day scream as his father’s blood stained the earth. That Morgoth..Morgoth! would destroy the Trees.That he would forge the Silmarils. And damn his sons. With an Oath written in blood and wrath and pride.

Fëanáro didn’t believe it at first. Laughed it off. Called his penpal dramatic. But his hand trembled when he looked at his father. When he looked at Indis and her children because... he adored them. Quietly. Secretly.

He never said it. He never would but time moved. Nerdanel came. Their sons were born and one by one... the penpal’s words came true. Not all of them. Not quite. But enough. Enough that Fëanáro stared at his hands, the same ones that forged fire into jewels, and whispered, He was right but then it changed.

His Atar was not slain.

The Trees fell, yes, but he was not banished. Instead, the Noldor did not march to slaughter and Fëanáro, he led the charge not against his kin, but beside them alongside Oromë.

The doom was undone and yet... his penpal was silent..no reply. No letter. The ink never bled again.

Fëanáro waited. Every day. Every week.He waited in the forge, eyes flicking toward that blank piece of parchment that never answered.He never got to say goodbye. So he buried the parchment in a chest. Never spoke of it again. Never forgot.

He still remembered the name, though.
Harry.

.
Harry had a secret.

A real one. Not just the "Boy-Who-Lived" or “Freak who sleeps in a cupboard.” No. This one was his alone. It started when he was four.

He had been crying. The cupboard was dark and cold. Aunt Petunia had just screamed at him for something he hadn’t done. He thought maybe he’d go mad. But then, one day, a paper appeared. And a quill.

He thought it was a mistake. Thought it was a joke. But when he wrote just one word—Hi? It replied.

And just like that, Harry had a friend. A secret one. One who lived in a world full of stars and trees and light. Fëanáro was his name. Dramatic. Weird. But kind, in a sharp way. Funny. Sarcastic. Protective.

Harry poured his heart out into those letters. About the cupboard. About the bruises. About the loneliness.Fëanáro taught him about pride. About fire. About how stars were born in silence and burned anyway.

They never saw each other. Never knew what the other looked like. But it didn’t matter. It was real until the Dursleys found the paper and burned them. Harry screamed until his throat was raw and that was it. No goodbye. No last letter.

He carried that silence into Hogwarts. Through every year. Until one day during the Triwizard Tournament, when everyone turned against him, he found himself hiding from Hufflepuffs in a strange hallway and the wall opened.

The Room of Requirement had shifted and he stood in a familiar space. A tiny room. With cobwebs. Dust. And a familiar, battered piece of parchment waiting on the shelf and Harry cried.

He didn’t know if it would still work. But he sat down. Picked up the quill. And wrote:

“Are you still there?” and it replied.

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN.”

He laughed. Through the tears. Fëanáro was still there. His friend. His brother. His strength.

Through the war, they wrote. Fëanáro didn’t know everything anymore. The timelines were broken. But he gave advice. Support. Rage and Harry, in turn, told him everything. About Sirius. About Dobby. About pain and hope and nightmares until the end came. Harry returned to the Room. Sat down one last time and wrote his goodbye then left.

Fëanáro: HARRY??!!

Fëanáro: HELLO?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN GOODBYE?!

Fëanáro: YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE. THAT’S AN ORDER.

Fëanáro: HARRY POTTER, DON’T YOU DARE GO SILENT ON ME AGAIN!!!

Fëanáro: ANSWER ME—YOU—YOU LITTLE STUBBORN MORTAL TWIT—

Fëanaro: ........

Fëanaro: No...No..No

Fëanaro: Inhale...Exhale...

Feanaro: Think..Feanaro ..think......

Feanaro: ......

Fëanaro: Nerdanel won’t mind another son. Right?

Feanaro: ......

Fëanaro: The boys will be fine. They like chaos. He’ll fit right in.

Feanaro: .....

Fëanaro: Now where is Nolo and Ara...?

Chapter Text

Title: Rise of Ingwe

What if the MOD Harry was suddenly thrown to the Silmarillion world after Eru ask for a favor to guard his most troublesome creation?

Harry Potter, Master of Death, had long given up on the idea of peace.

After the war, after the deaths, after carrying the weight of prophecy and people’s hopes for far too long, all he wanted was to rest. No more expectations. No more battles. No more saving anyone.

So when a blindingly radiant being that introduced itself as Eru Ilúvatar appeared before him in the misty space between life and death and said, “I have a favor to ask,” Harry didn’t even let him finish.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do it,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. “Just let me sleep after.”

He didn’t expect to be launched into a new world. Literally.

He landed face-first into soft grass that smelled like sunlight and magic, groaning as he sat up. There was something weirdly… floaty about him. Everything looked brighter, purer, shinier. And his hair his hair fell into his face in a cascade of shining gold.

Harry scrambled to the nearest reflective surface conveniently, a pool and stared.

“…Malfoy?” he muttered. “No. Worse. Malfoy after ten hours in a hair salon and bathing in moonlight.”

That was the first sign something was wrong.

The second came when people started bowing to him and calling him “Crown Prince Ingwë.”

Harry blinked. “Crown what now?”

Apparently, Eru had dumped him right into the body and life of the most goody-goody elf prince in all of Aman: Ingwë, heir of the Vanyar, golden boy of Valinor, literal sunshine with legs.

Harry wanted to scream.

He tried to summon his magic, just enough to maybe, maybe Stupefy a bird. Nothing. The full force of his Master of Death magic? Gone. Sealed. Limited. All he could do was basic Elvish energy stuff and not even the flashy kind. A few light spells, maybe. Maybe a healing touch on a good day.

He also discovered that he had no memories of Ingwë’s actual life. None. So, of course, he faked amnesia.

That worked for about three minutes until he got dragged into a formal council meeting and nearly mistook a sacred relic for a very shiny doorstop.

Now he was stuck playing elf prince, attending balls, politely refusing romantic advances from very persistent elf nobles, dodging overly affectionate relatives, and worst of all, having to act nice. Sparkly. Pure.

Harry wasn’t built for this.

The Valar, who were apparently his “no-contact nephews” or some weird cosmic family extension now, kept hovering around. Manwë in particular had this weird glimmer of suspicion in his eyes whenever Harry opened his mouth.

Harry decided to avoid them too.

He kept telling himself he’d find a way back. That this was temporary. That he could fix this.

But days turned to weeks. And weeks into months. And now…

Now he was standing in a hallway, dressed in ceremonial robes so white they sparkled under the light, trying to remember why he agreed to this.

Harry: You so—

Indis: Brother, you here?

Harry: Of course I’m here, sis. Is there anything wrong?

Indis: Oh! Mother said dinner is ready!

Harry: Okay! Go tell Mother I’m coming.

Indis: Okay! Bye, Brother!

Harry: Bye, Sis!

Harry: …Where am I again? Oh, right…

Harry: You son of a bitch!! #%#%#^@

Finwë, Olwë, Elwë, Nowë: Who witness the whole thing

Finwë: Did the Crown Prince just curse the sky?

Olwë: I think he cursed Eru.

Elwë: I like him.

Nowë: …We’re all going to die.

Chapter Text

Title: Shadow Kin

What if, after Snape died during the war, he didn’t pass into Death’s embrace but instead found himself in Middle-earth, bound as Maeglin’s ShadowKin?

From the time Maeglin was an elfling, he had a strange shadowkin. Unlike any other he had ever seen, this one was remarkably sentient—more intelligent even than his father’s shadowkin. Maeglin never told his father about it, sensing that it was neither evil nor hostile. In fact, it became his only true friend: teaching him, healing him, playing with him, and shielding him from his father’s cruelty.

He began to believe, as the race of Men sometimes spoke, that the being was a sort of guardian angel. So when his parents perished his mother sacrificing herself to protect him during their escape, killing his father in the process his shadowkin, once his best friend, became his only parent.
.

.

Severus Snape had expected to find Death waiting for him. Instead, he awoke tethered to a strange, pointy-eared child, an elfling which he later learned, where he was, what the child is and what he had become.

With no way back, Severus resigned himself to being the child’s guardian and companion karma, he figured, for how he once treated Potter. Over time, his unease around the child’s father deepened; something about the man set his instincts on edge. And in the end, his suspicions proved true: when the mother and child attempted to flee, the father tried to kill Maeglin. The mother gave her life to stop him.

It was official Severus Snape, dead Potions Master of Hogwarts, was now a single parent in Middle-earth.

Meanwhile, in the Halls of Mandos, Námo sensed a strange, unfamiliar presence. Curious, he consulted Manwë, wondering if this was simply one of his wayward Maiar, going through a rebellious phase and sneaking off to Middle Earth, Manwë, sighing, agreed to send someone to fetch Namo's "runaway child."

Now Maeglin and Severus, elf and shadowkin struggle to survive in a world full of orcs, meddlesome elven relatives, Valar who mistake Severus for one of their own, and accidentally breaking oath along the way.

Namo: Child, it's time to return home

Severus: I'm not your child! And leave me alone!

Namo: I see your still in your rebellious stage.

Severus: $@*##^#&@#^×%#

Chapter Text

Title: The Traitor and the Coward

What if Harry and Draco had been reincarnated as Maeglin and Salgant in The Silmarillion?

It had always been the same in stories—Harry Potter reincarnated into the world of the Silmarillion. But what if, this time, he wasn’t alone? What if both he and Draco were pulled into the tale, reborn not as heroes, but as two of its most infamous figures: the Traitor and the Coward. Maeglin and Salgant.

It all began one night after another successful mission. Harry and Draco were at Grimmauld Place, celebrating the end of a grueling undercover assignment in Russia.

Their target had been an illegal black market network dealing in ancient magical artifacts, most of them hoarded by wanted criminals. This mission’s prize was said to be especially dangerous: an ancient tome rumored to hold the secrets of magic powerful enough to grant wishes—immortality, unlimited strength, forbidden arts that wizards only whispered of.

The job had nearly killed them. Harry had come out bleeding, Draco cursing every second of the fight, but in the end, they succeeded. The book now lay heavily warded and protected inside Grimmauld’s study, waiting to be delivered to the Unspeakables the next day.

Neither noticed the faint shimmer on its cover as they retired for the night. The blood they had spilled in battle had soaked into the leather binding, vanishing into its veins as if the book itself drank it. Slowly, the tome pulsed with light, its title shifting into one Harry would have recognized instantly, had he seen it: The Silmarillion.

Its pages fluttered open on their own, turning and turning until they stilled on one passage. The Fall of Gondolin.

The next morning, Harry woke to a world that was not his own.

The bed was not the one in Grimmauld. The chamber was carved from white stone, elegant in its simplicity, far removed from the shadows of his old home. The air was sharp and clean, touched with mountain winds. But what startled him most was the reflection he glimpsed in a polished mirror nearby.

It wasn’t his face.

Dark eyes stared back at him, sharp as flint. His hair was black, his features too angular, his skin too pale.

Harry’s stomach dropped. He knew this face.

“Maeglin,” he whispered, horrified.

The traitor of Gondolin.

Not just a character from a story—the character who would ultimately deliver the city into ruin.

From that moment, Harry lived in a constant state of tension. He forced himself to act as Maeglin would, cold and distant, hiding his confusion beneath a mask of aloof silence. He dared not slip out of character. What if this world had consequences? What if history itself rejected him if Maeglin suddenly behaved differently?

A month passed in this excruciating way, until the dreaded monthly council meeting. Harry braced himself, unprepared for what Maeglin would normally say, unsure how long he could keep up the charade—

And then he saw him.

Across the chamber sat Salgant. His plump form was unmistakable, but it wasn’t the elf’s body that caught Harry’s attention. It was the smirk. That smug, familiar smirk.

Harry froze.

Draco Malfoy.

The recognition was instant, but neither dared react. They endured the meeting in silence, ignoring each other under the weight of so many watchful eyes. Only afterward did Draco—still looking absurdly like Salgant—stride forward, grab Harry by the arm, and drag him out of the chamber.

They didn’t notice the sharp gazes that followed them as they left.

In private, after much swearing and disbelief, they pieced together what they could. They were inside a book—The Silmarillion. Reincarnated into Gondolin. And not just as any characters, but as Maeglin and Salgant: one the traitor who would destroy the city, the other a coward despised by his peers. Both infamous villains. Both very, very bad roles to play.

Worse, they each bore strange glowing numbers etched into their wrists. Numbers that ticked steadily downward, with no explanation. A countdown. But to what?

The questions piled higher, and neither had answers. Why them? Why these roles? And most of all—should they attempt to change Gondolin’s fate, or would that only bring about something worse?

Their uneasy partnership grew tense almost immediately.

Salgant: “Blo—”

Maeglin: “Ahahaha, look what a beautiful day!”

Salgant: “Bit—”

Maeglin: “Bright! Gorgeous!”

Salgant: [was about to curse again when Maeglin knocked him out cold]

Maeglin: “Nothing to see here.”

Maeglin: “Just friends bonding…”

Maeglin: “So… shoo, shoo!”

Maeglin: “WE ARE NOT HERE!!”

Maeglin: POOF

Turgon: “???”

Idril: hmmmmm… strange…

The Rest of the Lords: “What the fuck???”

Chapter Text

Title: Switched

What if Fëanáro suddenly switched places with the elfling version of himself his adult self sent to the past, and the child version of him thrown into the future?

Fëanáro had never expected such a thing. He had been healing in the Halls of Mandos, repenting for his sins, when Námo appeared and told him he was finally allowed to return. Yet Fëanáro knew he had no one to return to, no home to go back to.

His wife refused even to look at him. His sons had distanced themselves. His nieces and nephews turned their backs on him. And Fëanáro could not blame them; it was all his fault.

So he lived in silence, never announcing his return. After all, who would want him now? He lived alone, in solitude, until one day careless and distracted he slipped into a river. Submerged, he opened his eyes to find himself in a strange place.

There were no trees, no greenery. Instead, something disturbingly familiar rose before him: the old city of Tirion. Not as it stood now, but as it had been long ago.

‘Oh dear… I may have gotten myself into trouble again.’

Meanwhile, Naro..the child he had once been was running away, clutching a small bag over his shoulder as he hid in the bushes. He wanted nothing more than to escape the palace. Why should he return to a place where he was unwanted?

His father claimed to love him, but every broken promise, every avoidance, told another story. Still, Naro tried.

He studied hard, hoping to earn even a word of praise, even the smallest awkward compliment. That would have been enough but everything shattered when he overheard his father confess that he never wanted him that he wished his first wife had lived instead.

That was the moment Naro broke.

He ran, weak body stumbling, until he tripped and fell into a river. The water closed over him as he struggled until a stranger saved him. A kind stranger. Only later did Naro realize he was no longer in the past, but in the future.

Neither Naro nor Fëanáro knew that their disappearances had caused panic across the land. The loss of Curufinwë reopened deep wounds and old griefs. Secrets long buried began to surface. And as both child and adult Curufinwë began to uncover the truth of their strange exchange, they realized they were caught in a greater design..

One they would need to unravel before it was too late.

Feanor: No one loves me!

Naro: No one loves me!

Finwe: Nonsense! Atar loves you

Feanor and Naro: LIES!!!!

Miriel: FINWE!!!!!

Chapter Text

Title: Rewrite the Story

What if Harry was reborn as Túrin and changed the whole story?

Harry didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of a forest much less as Túrin. The most miserable character in The Silmarillion. But here he was.

He woke as a child in this strange place, confused, until a stranger called him “Túrin.”

That was when Harry remembered a book he once skimmed and quickly abandoned because of the sheer amount of angst in the story that had traumatized him snd now, he realized, he’d landed in a crossover.

He was shocked—he had become Túrin, possibly the most tragic character in The Silmarillion. Anger surged in him.

Wasn’t his life as Harry Potter miserable enough? Now fate had dumped him into another cursed life? Harry flipped fate the middle finger and decided he would change the script.

Determined, he befriended Mablung and declared himself Beleg’s biggest fan (because, duh, Beleg was awesome).

The plot still tried to play out as written, but Harry refused to let it swallow him whole. He didn’t kill anyone by accident, and when he chose exile, it was out of the realization that the story would always try to corner him. By sheer stubbornness and luck, he managed to avoid killing Beleg. But it cost him his life.

When death came again, Harry wasn’t surprised only resigned. But instead of fading away, he suddenly found himself thrown into the Fourth Age of Valinor, reborn as an Elf. Now he had to hide both his past and the truth of his identity as Túrin… especially from Beleg, who still believed him long gone.

Túrin!Harry: “Listen here, you blasted Orc—”

Follower 1: “My lord is doing it again.”

Follower 2: “Amen.”

Followers: sigh

Mablung: “Get down this instant, you brat!!!”

Beleg: “Not again…”

Thingol: “???”

Chapter Text

Title: Wanderer

What if Harry is Olórin… also known as Gandalf?

Harry never expected to travel between worlds, let alone universes. He especially didn’t expect to be mistaken for kin by a stranger calling him a Maia.

After his death—not in battle, but peacefully of old age—Harry took on the mantle of Master of Death. At first, he imagined his job would be something cool, like collecting wandering souls, punishing those who’d cheated death, or maybe acting like a ghostly judge with an ominous hood.

Instead? Paperwork.

Mountains of it. Stacks that could bury a giant. Death had only smiled while Harry stared at the piles in horror, muttering darkly about being scammed.

So, Harry decided to go on vacation.

He drifted between realms until he stumbled into a strange land where spring never ended. He also discovered he now had wings—pure, white, angel-like wings. Harry was rather proud of them.

Peace lasted all of five minutes before someone barged in, called him “Brother,” and dragged him away.

That was how Harry learned he’d been mistaken for a Maia. Apparently, wings were a dead giveaway. The Maiar also had a habit of appearing from “thin air,” so everyone assumed Harry was just a long-lost one. Harry, left speechless, decided to roll with it. Honestly? It was fun. He spooked Námo (Lord of the Dead), made friends with a future Dark Lord in training named Melkor, and generally caused mayhem across Valinor.

Time skip… Fourth Age

Rumors began to spread. Somewhere in Valinor, there was a mysterious storyteller whose tales were absurd yet strangely convincing.

He spoke of worlds with flying brooms and wizards, of mortals carrying godly blood, of wars against serpents and tyrants who sought immortality. Most dismissed them as tall tales. But some whispered the stories felt too real.

Elladan, newly arrived in Valinor with his twin after the passing of their sister, grew curious. His parents and extended family including the infamous Finwëans shrugged when asked, brushing it off as nonsense.

But why did this storyteller speak as though he knew them? Why did he scold Haru Finwë like a naughty child? Why did he tease Haru Olwë, Haru Elwë, and even King Ingwë with embarrassing familiarity?

Elladan decided to find out dragging his family into a wild goose chase after this mysterious figure.

Meanwhile…

Melkor: “I want to become a Dark L—”
Harry: (flashbacks of Tom Riddle) “Shhh, child.”

Harry: “Change it.”

Melkor: “No!”

Melkor: “Who even are you anyway?!”

Harry: “Your greatest nightmare.”

Harry: “Bwahahahaha!”

Námo: “???”

Manwë: crying “Big Brother finally has a friend!”

Eönwë: long-suffering sigh “He’s doing it again…”

Chapter Text

Title: Dobby! The Fëanorian

What If Dobby was actually Maglor who was cursed?

Harry had always known that Dobby was a strange house-elf. Stranger than most, even by wizarding standards.

For one, Dobby was hot-headed far too outspoken for a house-elf. He spoke his mind, argued back, and had an uncanny sense of pride that didn’t quite fit his kind. And then there was the fact that Dobby could play musical instruments.

The first time Harry caught him humming a hauntingly beautiful melody on a broken harp he found in the attic of Grimmauld Place, Harry had nearly dropped his wand.

Dobby only blinked and said, “Music soothes pain, Harry Potter, sir,” before pretending nothing happened.

There were other oddities too! Goblins, the same money loving Goblins is respectful to the House Elf making Harry jaw dropped.

He never seemed bound by the strict magical laws that controlled other house-elves. Sometimes, when Dobby grew quiet, Harry swore there was an old sadness in his eyes, one that didn’t belong to any creature of this world.

Still, Harry didn’t care. Dobby was his friend. His savior. His family.

He didn’t care if Dobby was strange or different because Dobby was the one who freed him from misery, who taught him kindness when the world offered none.

So when Dobby died saving him… Harry broke.

He buried his friend by the sea, his hands trembling as he carved the simple headstone:

Here Lies Dobby, A Free Elf.

And as Harry knelt there, whispering a choked goodbye, the sky split open.

A blinding light descended, so bright that Harry threw up an arm to shield his eyes. When the brilliance faded, a figure stood before the grave tall, radiant, and impossibly beautiful. His long dark hair shimmered like starlight, and his crimson robes bore an emblem of eight-pointed stars.

Harry’s jaw dropped.

“...Dobby?” He croaked.

The stranger turned toward him with a faint, gentle smile.

“Hello, Harry.”
______

Maglor Fëanorion hadn’t expected this.

After walking the shores for endless ages, cursing himself for his sins, he had finally sought oblivion throwing himself into the sea, seeking the silence of the waves.

But Eru had other plans.

When he awoke, he was no longer an Elf. His reflection showed a creature small and frail, with enormous green eyes and bat-like ears. A house-elf, as he later learned.

Bound to a family called Malfoy.

It was humiliating and yet… he bore it. He told himself this was his punishment.. a fitting fate for a kinslayer until he met the boy.

A small, messy-haired child with emerald eyes that struck him like lightning that looks like a lost kin as he looks like the carbon copy of his father and brother.

Something ancient within him stirred.

“This child…” Maglor whispered to himself.

“He must not fall as I once did.”

And so, Maglor now Dobby swore upon the light of the Trees he could no longer see that he would protect this boy, even if it meant blood upon his hands again.

Harry: Wow! Dobby is the best!

Maglor (smirking): Dibs!

Harry: Dobby!

Maglor: Besides, he’s an orphan. That means no one owns him. Take that, Nelyo!

Harry: Dobby?

Maglor (grinning maniacally): This child is mine now! Bwahahahaha!

Somewhere in Valinor…

Maedhros: …I feel a disturbance. A familiar one.

Maedhros: A very very familiar....strange..

Elrond: …I sense I have a new brother.

Dead Elros: NEW BROTHER!

Elrond: What gift should I get him…?