This idea started with "why are there no elfling!Ron stories?" and escalated from there. I'm sorry.

My 20th birthday is in two days, so in the manner of hobbits, here's a gift for all of you!

(if you're really lucky and I get over the bit I'm stuck on, you might get another Harbinger's Song update too!)

Hermione woke up pint-sized, naked, and in the middle of a forest. "Oh no," she sighed, sitting up and examining her tiny, pudgy little hands. She looked about and found two children sleeping within arm's reach. One was red-haired, the other black-haired, and both as naked and tiny as she. Scowling, she reached over and pinched the black-haired one on the soft flesh of his side.

"Wake up, Harry!" she said. "I don't know how this happened but it undoubtedly had something to do with you!"

Harry, for it was he, startled badly, rolling away from Hermione and into Ron (the other sleeping child). "Ugh, what?" he groaned, sitting up. He froze, eyes widening comically as he realized what had changed. "Uh…" He examined his hands with a kind of fascinated horror. "What?"

"That's precisely what I want to know," Hermione said primly, looking around for some kind of cover to preserve her modesty.

On Harry's other side, Ron mumbled groggily and rolled onto his stomach. "Five more minutes, mum."

Harry regained himself at that, reaching over and shoving Ron's shoulder. "Get up! We're not in the Burrow, we're in trouble!" The redhead sat up as Hermione stood and toddled over to a nearby bush, intent on making herself a little skirt of some kind.

"Oi, what!" Ron exclaimed, examining himself. Almost immediately, he rounded on Harry. "This has something to do with you, doesn't it!"

Harry reared back, his expression twisted in offense. "Me! What, you think I did this?"

"No, but you're the one with ridiculous luck!"

"Boys!" Hermione snapped, now clad in a functional if not particularly attractive fern-skirt. "We can yell at Harry later," (here Harry looked offended) "but the important thing is getting back to civilization. I don't have my wand, do you?" The boys both looked around and shook their heads in the negative. She sighed. "Well, I'll try to apparate then."

Hermione straightened, squaring her now-tiny shoulders in determination, and focused hard on the Burrow. She stepped forward and turned sharply.

Nothing happened.

"Bugger," the witch muttered.

"I guess we'll just have to walk," Harry said. "But first… er," he pulled his legs up to his chest and flushed crimson from his nose to his toes. "Do you think you could make two more of those skirts?"

Fortunately, it took only a few minutes of walking before they came upon a merrily bubbling stream. "Excellent," said Hermione, pleased. "We can follow this downstream to civilization."

"How far, d'you think?" asked Ron, thinking longingly of his mother's cooking. His belly rumbled loudly. "I'm starved."

Harry shot him a mildly annoyed look. "Weeks, maybe," he said blithely, badly suppressing a grin when Ron shot him a horrified look.

"Oh, not that long," corrected Hermione, waving a (tiny) dismissive hand. "Well, probably not," she amended, and Ron's expression went from reassured to horrified again. "Come on. The best way to find out is to walk."

The day waxed hot as the three intrepid baby wizards hiked, staying at all times within sight of the stream. Hermione was insistent on getting as far as possible, but there was only so much that willpower could override the natural inclinations of their new bodies. By noon, they sleepily admitted defeat and settled down to take a midday nap, curling up in a pile beneath the sheltering branches of an enormous willow tree.

That was, perhaps, inadvisable, but fortunately for them the forest itself was enamored with the unexpected bounty of babies. Specifically, the unexpected bounty of baby elflings, though how those three had managed to miss the new points on their ears or their strange, unearthly glow was a true mystery.

So, the forest was more than happy to sing over the children, keeping them safe from all harm as they slept.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on whom you asked), it was this singing that drew the elves.

Hermione snapped awake, startled and disoriented. Harry was pressed against her back, and her head was resting on Ron's shoulder. She sat up, rubbing groggily at the crust in the corner of her eyes. A yawn split her face, and she didn't bother to cover her mouth.

Then she noticed the eyes.

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. She froze, hardly daring to breathe as she stared into wide, startled blue eyes half-obscured by foliage. Slowly, she reached back blindly and touched Harry's side, shaking him awake. As he snuffled back into consciousness, a tall, impossibly beautiful (glowing?) man emerged from the brush, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

The man was dressed in some of the oddest armor Hermione had ever seen. It wouldn't have looked out of place at a Renaissance Faire or Fantasy convention, what with its impossibly graceful lines and detailed nature motifs—except that it looked really real, like the suits of armor in Hogwarts. A sword (also real?) hung at the man's side, but he didn't draw it. Instead, he slowly knelt a good distance away, palms still raised, and spoke soft words that Hermione couldn't understand.

"W's'at, 'Mione?" Harry mumbled sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"We have a visitor, Harry," she said tightly. Harry and the man both startled visibly at her words, though for different reasons.

"Sindarin?" the man murmured in confusion as Harry exclaimed "WHAT!" Before Hermione could so much as blink, Harry was between her and the man, arms stretched out protectively.

"Easy, easy," soothed the man, this time in English. "Can you understand me now, little ones?"

"Yes. Go away," Harry said, straight to the point. Behind them, Ron mumbled something about spiders, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Hermione didn't bother to wake him up. She would have attempted to explain their predicament to the man and ask for his help, but his strange appearance made her uneasy. Harry seemed to feel the same way.

"Where are your parents, little ones?" the man asked, inching closer and completely ignoring Harry's demand.

"Dead," Harry snapped, taut as a bowstring. "Go. Away."

The man wisely stopped moving. "Ah," he breathed, sorrow clouding his expression. "You have my sincerest condolences. Tell me, where are your minders, then?" His eyes flicked down to their makeshift fern-skirts, as if to say do you even have minders?

"Nearby," Hermione lied quickly when Harry faltered. "Go away. We're not supposed to talk to strangers."

The man's mouth curved into an amused smile, revealing freakishly perfect, pearl-colored teeth. In fact, Hermione slowly realized, everything about the stranger was freakishly perfect and inhumanly beautiful. A Veela? she wondered.

"Well, my name is Glorfindel," the man said. His eyes flicked to Harry. "Yours is Harry if memory serves, but what is your name, little maiden?"

"Hermione," she said reluctantly. "Now please, go away!"

But Glorfindel shook his head and settled onto the ground, crossing his legs comfortably beneath him. "I cannot leave such little ones alone in the forest. I will wait here until your minders return." The gleam in his eyes suggested that he knew Hermione was lying, and really, it was rather obvious. She herself wouldn't have left them alone with such transparent falsehoods.

Hermione growled quietly and pushed her unruly hair behind her ears. She scrambled to come up with some kind of excuse or distraction, but over and over she drew a blank.

"Uh, Hermione?"

"Not now, Harry," she hissed, chewing frustratedly on the nail of her thumb.

"Hermione!"

"What!" She looked up, annoyed. Harry was pointing at Glorfindel, who was in turn staring at them with wide, shell-shocked eyes. Except no, Hermione realized, he was staring specifically at her.

"Ai Elbereth," he breathed. "You are… an elfling?"

"A what?" He was staring at her ears. Why was he staring at her ears? Hermione reached up and brushed her fingers over the rounded shell of her ear—except, it wasn't rounded. It was pointed. "Merlin, I'm Dobby!" she blurt out.

Harry, as if by reflex, reached up and touched his own ears, which were covered by his messy black hair. His jaw dropped in horror as he discovered his own newly-pointed ears. "I am too!" he wailed. "Wasn't the shrinking enough? Now we're house-elves!"

"One... two," Glorfindel counted in a slow, dazed voice, his eyes so wide that the entirety of his irises was exposed.

At that exact moment Ron sat up, his also-pointed ears completely unhidden by his short red hair. "What'd I miss?" he asked groggily.

"Three," Glorfindel finished, and fainted dead away.

For a moment, Hermione and Harry gaped at the insensible figure. Hermione was the first to recover. "Ok, come on, let's go!" she said urgently, pulling Ron up. "Before he wakes up!"

Together, the confused baby wizards ran, following the curving path of the stream. Within minutes they heard a great cry behind them, one of alarm and disbelief.

"There's more of them!" Harry gasped, already feeling fatigue in his stubby limbs. "Come on, we can't outrun them, we'll have to hide." As if in answer, they came upon an ancient tree with enormous roots that gnarled and snarled and thus created a series of perfectly-sized cubby-holes for them to crawl into.

"This is unbelievably suspicious," Ron commented as they frantically shimmied in between the roots.

"It's not like we have much of a choice!" Hermione snapped, cramming herself into the farthest corner.

"Quiet!" hissed Harry, taking the closest position to the outside. His expression was grim, though it didn't quite work on his tiny, cherubic new face. "I think they followed us."

They huddled together behind Harry, Hermione frantically recalling every bit of wandless magic she knew and Ron wondering how much damage his tiny fists could do if worst came to worst. For a long, tense moment, silence reigned.

Suddenly, feet appeared in Harry's line of sight. He caught his breath, rearing back in silent alarm and crowding Hermione and Ron further away from danger. One golden boot shifted as the person knelt, and then another weirdly-beautiful man was peering straight into their hiding space.

Profound relief crossed his face. He turned briefly and called out "here!" before turning back to the mini-wizards. "Hello, little ones," he said softly, settling into a more comfortable position on his knees. "I am sorry if we frightened you." He reached up and removed his shining helmet, revealing long brown hair braided in a circle around his head.

It also revealed the dramatic points to his ears.

"We're all Dobby," Ron whispered.

"Will you not come out?" the (apparent) elf asked gently, holding out his free hand. "I will not hurt you."

An awful suspicion had begun to grow in Hermione's mind, settling into her gut like a cold, dead weight. She swallowed hard and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, cutting off his response. "Harry," she whispered as quietly as she could. "I… I don't think we're—" she stopped and cast the elf a look. How good was his hearing? "I don't think we're, ah, home anymore," she said.

"What?" Harry asked, turning and matching her whisper. Ron perked up in interest as well. "What d'you mean?"

"Well… us, first off. But also everything feels different, and of course—" she cut her eyes back to the elf, who was watching the little powwow with undisguised interest "—them. They don't feel… normal?"

The boys both paused to consider her words. Harry shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, as if tasting the air for the changes she had pointed out. "You're right," he murmured. "Bugger, what do we do!"

"Well…" she mulled over their options carefully, noting how others had begun to arrive in the clearing outside their hiding space. Many others. "They do seem to be, um, Dobbies as well." She drew in a deep, steadying breath. "We don't have resources or knowledge, especially not like this. We may have to take a leap of faith."

"You can't be serious!" Ron hissed. "They're clearly barmy, 'mione, just look at their armor!"

Hermione offered him a scathing look. "And just what do you suggest, Ronald? That we fight our way out? That we outrun them?"

Ron shut his mouth, scowling mulishly. "Well, I'm not coming out!"

Unfortunately, the decision was made for them when the tree gave a sudden, loud creak and kicked them (gently) out from between its roots. The three miniaturized wizards yelped as they tumbled unceremoniously out into the open, landing in a heap.

The elves were upon them in an instant, cooing worriedly and asking 'ai Elebereth, are you alright?' or 'are you hurt?' or 'what happened to your clothing?' Blankets were produced, seemingly from thin air, the elflings wrapped securely, and before any of them quite knew what had happened they were each ensconced (read: restrained) in an elf's arms.

Ron squirmed around in his holder's arms to glare at Harry, who had slumped resignedly against his own holder's chest. Hermione, carried in the arms a bemused-looking Glorfindel, was already busy asking rapid-fire questions in as innocent and childlike a voice as she could manage.

"This is all your fault!" Ron hissed. "Merlin, what next! Dogs?"

Harry snorted. "I wouldn't tempt fate if I were you."