Disclaimer: All recognizable (and copyrighted) characters and plots belong to their respectful owners. I'm just taking them out for a walk.

A/N: So it's been a while. An inexcusably long while, and while I could, of course, launch into a long and complex explanation for the absolutely abysmal wait, I won't. It'd just be excuses, and you deserve better. You also deserve an apology, which I offer to you now: I am sorry I let this sit idle for so long, and that I didn't keep up with it, as I have promised multiple times that I would. Just know, gentle reader, whatever happens, however long the wait I will not abandon this story. Period. End paragraph.

So, because of the long wait, I went back and did some minor editing on the previous chapters, to get back in the proper headspace. Nothing pivotal to the plot has changed, but my writing style inevitably has, and I made a few little corrections and edits here and there that may confuse the few of you still following this. So I encourage you to go back and reread the previous chapters to find those little edits, and refresh your memory (unless of course you have the memory of an elephant, in which case, carry on!)

As always, I thank you kindly for reading and please leave a review on your way out, even if it's to cuss me out for taking so long. I deserve it.

Chapter 15 – In The Dark of The Night

Rivendell after sundown was quiet in a way that Hogwarts wasn't, even after class. There was always someone moving about in Hogwarts, professors or ghosts minding the halls and keeping an eye on things, or the house elves tending to their duties, and there were always students sneaking out of the dorms to catch a quiet moment away from their dorm mates or a private one with a sweetheart. Students chatted late into the night, or stayed up late to do homework so there was at least the sound of turning pages and the scritch-scratch of a quill on parchment. It was peaceful, steady, unless of course certain three Gryffindors (or one of those Gryffindor's twin brothers) were out of bed and gallivanting about on a new adventure.

Rivendell was almost too quiet. There were elves wandering, yes, guards maintaining their posts and night owls enjoying the quiet, but there was no noise outside of the occasional call of a night bird or hunting owl. Stillness settled into the very foundations of Rivendell, as though it had been here so long noise itself didn't dare break the silence. It was so strange, the outpost was positioned in a deep valley and framed by steep waterfalls and rushing streams; there should have been more noise, like the sound of rushing water, the gurgle of a stream, or the howl of wind through the gorge. But there wasn't. For most it would be peaceful, comforting to rest in a place that was so still, but for Harry, Hermione and Ron, the stillness just felt like waiting.

The three of them had gone to bed not long after Draco, but none of them slept, and all at once got out of bed and left their private rooms as if by silent agreement. If they weren't going to get any rest, which really wasn't unusual for the three of them on nights like these, nights before adventures, they'd at least not rest together. Three doors opened simultaneously and Harry, Hermione and Ron glanced at each other with knowing, tired smiles before padding into the common area.

"It's just too quiet," Harry murmured, though it sounded like a shout, "it sets my teeth on edge."

"Has it been like this since we got here?" Ron muttered, settling into a seat and pulling a plate of fruit towards himself. Harry shrugged. Ron bit into an apple and the subsequent crunch made the three flinch.

Hermione, who had gone to the balcony overlooking Rivendell and was leaning on the stone balustrade, replied, "It's always been a bit too quiet here, but I never really noticed it before. Or at least it hasn't bothered me until now."

"Has it always been like this?"

"Ron, I just said-"

"No, I mean," he wiped apple juice from his chin, "even back home. Like, before we went after Quirrell in our first year? And then our second year when we were skulking about trying to avoid the basilisk? Was it quiet on those nights too?"

Hermione frowned in thought. "I know it had to have been, but…"

"I don't think it's ever this quiet at Hogwarts." Harry said.

"So it's not us?" Ron asked. He considered his apple, then returned it to the plate, deeming it too loud a fruit to munch on at the moment.

Hermione and Harry shook their heads. "No, it's Rivendell." Hermione said. "It must be something about this place in particular."

"Somethin' to do with the elves, you reckon?" Ron asked, picking up a few grapes.

Harry shrugged. "Must be."

"Well," Hermione started slowly, "they are immortal; and Stri -ugh- Aragorn -I am never going to get used to that- said that elves have their own sort of magic. Maybe since they've been here so long the magic has changed the very…" she paused, searching for the right words, "elements of the place, so to speak."

There was a pause, as they considered the idea, then Harry said, "It must be very quiet to live so long."

Ron frowned. "How, all those wars and battles? Everything moving around you, changing, while you stay the same? It's probably noisy as hell."

Hermione shook her head, "But that noise is so brief to them. In the moment, battles drag on forever don't they? Remember when we fought the Death Eaters last-" she cut off abruptly, looking at Harry's mournful expression, then moved quickly on, "Anyways. It seemed to drag on, but now as I look back on it, it was all so fast. Think of it from an elf's perspective: that hours' long battle probably feels like seconds in hindsight, if it's remembered at all." Hermione looked at the stack of books she'd chosen to leave behind, and was reconsidering even then. "No wonder they write so much, it's so they remember."

"All those battles, all those wars and it just becomes white noise?" Ron asked. "Eerie."

"The whole situation is eerie, Ron." Hermione said, shivering and pulling her dressing gown tighter around herself.

Most elven clothes weren't made for cool nights, like this one, and Hermione had struggled to find dresses that weren't so sheer they were almost pointless. Arwen had been quite accommodating and had brought Hermione a handful of velvet and silk dresses that were more substantial, but it seemed elves didn't really feel cold weather. Hermione had given up entirely on finding a nightgown worth wearing and had settled on a dressing gown instead, though it still wasn't quite up to the task of keeping her warm. Arwen had also provided them with more travel appropriate clothes, made of sturdier material and with a better fit, for which Hermione would likely be eternally grateful.

After a pause, Ron said quietly, "Wonder what's going on back home?"

No one replied. It didn't bear thinking about. Surely by now everyone knew they were missing, and were likely panicking. While Harry was relieved Draco wasn't there to feed information back to Voldemort, some other Death Eater's kid likely would have by now, and with him gone, seemingly vanished out of thin air, Voldemort was sure to take advantage and make some sort of move. Dumbledore was the only person standing between Voldemort and his goals, but the wizard had seemed frail last Harry had seen him, that strange blackness on his hand clearly taxing him and sapping his strength. Harry had faith that Hogwarts would stay standing, but that didn't stop him from worrying about the friends and family he'd left back home. The Weasley's were surely beside themselves with worry, not to mention the Grangers. Harry's gut started to roil, thinking how worried Molly and Arthur must be about Ron and himself. They'd acted as surrogate parents to him ever since he'd met them, how kindly they'd always treated him despite the danger he seemed to drag Ron into once a year, if not more. He wanted to get home so badly it hurt.

"Bet Mum's thrown a right fit." Ron finally said, smiling wistfully, clearly missing home. "Probably settled right in Dumbledore's office while she's waiting too."

"My parents must be beside themselves." Hermione murmured, sounding close to tears.

Harry looked at Ron, who said, "I'll bet Mum's moved them in the house, Hermione, or had them help her storm Hogwarts. They're fine, I'm sure."

Harry glanced at the door that hadn't opened. "I bet I know who's actually stormed Hogwarts looking for their kid."

Hermione glanced up and her eyes got wide, "Oh Heavens, I hadn't even thought about… Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy will have likely torn the school apart by now."

"That'd be some team up." Ron said, looking pensive. "My Mum backed by Narcissa Malfoy, my Dad and Lucius working together…" He frowned, then looked at Harry, "You reckon Hogwarts is still standing?"

Harry grinned, despite the circumstances. That would be quite the image, fiery and passionate Molly backed by the cool and very well connected, not to mention wealthy, Mrs. Malfoy. He'd only personally encountered the latter once, but he had no doubt the Malfoy Matriarch could hold her own quite spectacularly if it came down to it, particularly if her son was involved. And he'd met Lucius a few times before; he knew what that man could do when pressed, and to team up with Arthur Weasley, husband to Molly and father to Fred and George… the school would likely be leveled by now, with Molly and Mrs. Malfoy sharing tea and crumpets as they planned their assault on the Ministry and Lucius and Arthur hashing out battle strategy over brandy.

If only one half of the team up wasn't Death Eaters, then they'd really get somewhere. Although, while the Malfoy's were greedy and self serving, even Harry knew how devoted they were a family, and with Draco's involvement causing him to go missing? Maybe they'd gone turn-coat, or turned spies? Not likely, but still, it was interesting to wonder.

"If it is, Madam Pomfrey's likely been kept busy." Harry said, and Ron snickered. Hermione, however, was looking thoughtfully at Draco's door.

"I wonder how he's holding up." Hermione said.

"How'd you mean?" Harry asked. "He's been doing alright. For, you know, Malfoy."

"I imagine this is the first time he's ever been in this sort of situation. Draco usually keeps himself firmly out of danger, it just makes me wonder if he's alright."

"I'm sure he's fine. He's a big boy, all grown up and all." Ron said crossly. Harry looked at Ron in bewilderment, wondering where the tone had come from, but Hermione just lifted an eyebrow in cool disapproval.

"I seem to remember a time not too terribly long ago, Ronald, when you had me finish your homework for you because the assignment was, how did you put it? Too hard?"

Ron scowled, "So? What's that got to do with-?"

"I also," Hermione interrupted, "seem to remember Draco complaining that the same assignment was too easy."

"Oh, come off it-"

"So, Hermione!" Harry interrupted a little too loudly, "You've got a map right? Do you know where we're heading in the morning?"

Hermione and Ron stared at each other angrily for a moment before Hermione turned away, nose in the air, and moved to their pack to produce a worn paper map to show Harry. While he was interested in where they were going and wanted to know more about the surrounding area, his first concern was obviously keeping the peace between his friends. Their tendency to bicker at the worst possible times was well observed by anyone who spent any length of time in Gryffindor Tower, and while it always turned out okay at home, they had to be a bit more patient with each other here. Besides that, Harry didn't necessarily want Draco hearing they were fighting about him, particularly not when Hermione was, somewhat oddly, standing up for him. Harry doubted he'd try to pull any stunts here, but when they got home? It was too soon to tell what would happen when they got back. Best the Slytherin be kept at a bit of a distance for now.

Harry needn't have worried, though. Draco wasn't listening to the three of them. He wasn't even in their cottage anymore, let alone in hearing distance. Not long after he'd suggested they go to bed, he'd found himself unable to sleep and had decided to talk a relaxing walk around Rivendell, and had ended up in Lord Elrond's study by complete happenstance. Well, no, actually he'd planned to eavesdrop and snoop, but he had an excuse ready should he get caught again. He was starting to get quite good, actually. He'd managed to listen in on a conversation between Arwen and Aragorn a few days ago without getting caught, and normally the elves were the first ones to point him out, what with their sharp hearing. Maybe she just hadn't noticed; they'd been having a somewhat heated discussion, after all. It was a good job Draco wasn't a gossip.

The trick, he'd learned, was to try and look like you weren't up to anything at all. His father had already shown him that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, even if you didn't, you could get away with quite a lot. Now it was just to add on to that; it wasn't just acting like he belonged somewhere he didn't, it was about blending in so you weren't noticed at all. Having an alibi handy was helpful, but this lot didn't miss a trick, and also none of them seemed to trust him. Oh, they all trusted The Golden Trio, of course, but not him. He was the odd man out. He was the suspicious one. Not for the first time he wondered if maybe The Dark Mark was tattooed across his face instead of his arm.

He pulled back his sleeve to check it. It hadn't tingled or even itched since they'd arrived in The Shire, and the last time he'd thought to look at it was Weathertop, but he'd been checking it quite a bit more recently, since The Council meeting, in fact. When Frodo had set The Ring on the dais, The Mark had started itching unpleasantly, and Draco had very nearly swallowed his tongue. Normally it only tingled or itched when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was around or gaining power, meaning it had been near constant when he was home, so it had been quite a relief when they'd come here and he'd found the connection severed, and had very much enjoyed the peace. For the first time in months, though, The Mark had reminded Draco it was there, and the sheer panic born in that moment had left Draco dizzy. It'd subsided, of course. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wasn't here. Wouldn't be for quite a while, it seemed. So the only reason for The Mark to go off like the most unpleasant timepiece in the world was because of The Ring.

Now, Draco was ready to admit he was not nearly as clever or well read as Granger, few besides Dumbledore could claim that honor, but he was far from stupid or illiterate. They just read different books. The collection his father had in their private library would have left Granger in tears of joy, (not an image he wanted to see, but that was neither here nor there…) even if most of what they had were either extremely rare, and therefore valuable, tomes in languages Draco couldn't read (and frankly doubted his parents could either) or were about The Dark Arts. Most of those weren't his parent's, but Aunt Bellatrix didn't really have anywhere to store them, and they made for an interesting read, if you were objective, and Draco had been, for a while at least.

The point was he knew more about the subject than he probably should, and while he was no expert by any stretch of imagination, he could see a connection where one was obvious. The Ring was an artifact of great evil belonging to a currently living Dark Lord, and his Dark Mark was an unpleasant and near constant point of connection between himself and a Dark Lord from the future. That was a whole lot of darkness in one area, it was no wonder his arm had felt like it had been set ablaze when that idiot dwarf had tried to axe The Ring into oblivion. He'd been able to mask his pain in the confusion, and besides, he'd always been good at compartmentalizing. It made him one hell of a talent with Occlumency and Legilimency, that was for certain. Potter, however, was not. Clearly he'd been feeling something in that scar of his when The Ring was out and about, which made some sort of roundabout connection to himself and The Golden Boy. And that's all Draco needed, was to be some sort of conduit between The Dark Lord (theirs') and Harry freaking Potter, said Dark Lord's target.

Draco was giving serious consideration to just amputating the bloody arm.

That's why he'd made his way to Lord Elrond's study, and was currently attempting to locate the private, likely more useful, portion of the Elf Lord's collection. It was risky, undoubtedly, but if this information could sever the connections growing between Draco's Mark and The Ring, it might sever the connection between himself and The Dark Lord. That done, he could get his family in hiding, and wait until Potter did whatever he was supposed to do, and they could all get on with their lives. Sure, it was unlikely, but he had an opportunity here, and he'd never been one to waste an opportunity.

The problem was it was too dark to properly see the titles of the books, and most of them were in Elvish anyways. He didn't dare light his wand, lest he got caught, but it was even more suspicious if he got caught without one. No, really, I promise I'd just been taking a midnight stroll, trying to clear my head, and just ended up in Lord Elrond's study. What's that? This door was locked? Oh, that's strange, the door opened right up for me. Say what? Private collection? Well, someone should have locked them up, it's not very private, all out in the open like this, now is it…? and then he wouldn't have to worry about amputating his arm, as they'd likely amputate his head from its body. Pity, he'd gotten rather used to it being there.

He slid his sleeve back down his arm and leaned in close to try and see a few titles when someone cleared their throat behind him. He froze, planted a half-sheepish smile on his face and turned to find Legolas behind him, face expressionless and unreadable.

"Oh, evening Legolas. Didn't hear you come in." He glanced at the door to the study, which he had closed behind him, and had, in fact, moved the table next to the door slightly in front of it so the door would hit it if opened. It wouldn't have blocked the door, but it would have given him a few seconds to either hide or prepare, stalling the intruder. How Legolas had managed to slip inside and close the door behind him without upsetting the door or alerting Draco was a mystery, and more than a little unnerving. These elves were a strange lot.

Legolas lifted an eyebrow. "I should think not."

Draco kept his own face bemused, but inwardly scoffed. Well, aren't we just pleasant as punch?

There was a pause, and the back of Draco's neck started to itch. "So you couldn't sleep either?"

"Why are you in Master Elrond's study?"

Well, we'll just skip pleasantries then. "Oh, just looking around. I was taking a walk, trying to clear my head," it sounded lame as it came out of his mouth, but his own brand of stubbornness wouldn't allow him to abandon the story, "and ended up here. I thought maybe reading a bit would settle my nerves." He shrugged.

Legolas didn't budge. It was unnatural how still some of these elves could be, like statues or images from paintings. "You are unnerved for the journey tomorrow."

Draco almost said something sarcastic ('no, not at all, I'm just unnerved about all these hobbits running loose!') but bit his tongue. Legolas wasn't just an elf, he was an elf prince, meaning he had oodles of resources and power to throw around without much concern, not to mention the armed guard that accompanied him, though he appeared to be alone for the moment. Draco could end up beheaded before this journey even got started, and besides that, Legolas would be a far better ally for the foreseeable future than enemy. It would serve Draco to bite his tongue and play nice, if only temporarily.

Legolas didn't wait for a response. "You should be. The journey will not be easy. It is likely you may not survive."

And on that note, Draco'd had enough, "Well, thanks for the encouragement, I'll just-"

"Perhaps it would be best if you and your kinfolk were to remain here?"

Draco stopped dead, and looked at Legolas with as deadpan an expression as he possibly could. "I beg your pardon?"

Legolas blinked impassively, and cocked his head to the side, for all intents and purposes looking like a cat stalking a mouse. "You are not of this world, you are unfamiliar with its dangers, and we cannot risk Frodo's journey to protect you. It may be safer for you to remain here, and help in some other manner."

His tone was flat as a board, but there was something icy and cold in Legolas' eyes. He looked young, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, but he was likely many hundreds of years older, if not more, and the proof was in his icy blue eyes. There was something cold there, something old. Twelve year old Draco would have pissed himself, but sixteen year old Draco has been marked by a man so evil he'd somehow managed to defeat death, and besides he doubted Legolas wanted to hurt him. There was no ill will in those eyes, just something so old Draco couldn't read it. No, the elf prince was trying to scare him. But why?

"I think we'd be better off helping Frodo along the way, just like we have been." Draco said evenly.

Legolas smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, or even really his face at all. "You have done much good, Istari, but this world is bigger than you know. There is no shame in taking rest. We will carry Frodo safely." Ah, there it was.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You don't trust us, do you?"

Legolas didn't flinch, and Draco hadn't expected him to, but his thin smile dropped like a dead fly, and his eyes narrowed. "No. I do not."

Shocker, that. "So Elrond's word isn't good enough for you? Or Gandalf's?"

"I do not doubt them. I doubt you."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, conscious that his wand was tucked up his sleeve, and within easy reach. "Just me, or my friends as well?"

Legolas hesitated, but was firm when he said, "None of you, though there is something dark about you in particular." Draco wondered briefly if Legolas had caught sight of his Dark Mark when he'd been examining it a moment ago, but then the elf was talking again and Draco lost the train of thought. "Whatever you are, wherever you call home, it is not of this world. You do not belong here."

"No, we don't." Draco agreed. "We told you we don't, and we've told you we want to go home, but we don't have leads except for The Ring, so where it goes, we go. Unless of course you know of some way to send us home, and we can forget the whole thing?"

He was trying to keep his temper in check, he only ever really lost it with Potter, but the blockhead had a particular talent for pushing his buttons and making him lose his cool. That would only solidify Legolas' opinion of them, and that might through the whole plan into the pits. He had to play as nice as possible, but he sure as hell wouldn't roll over.

Legolas sneered such a fine, arrogant sneer Draco almost applauded. It was near identical to his mother's when she was forced to cohabitate with Bellatrix. "You may be Istari, but you are not prepared for the road ahead. You and your friends will turn back to Rivendell before the end."

"Only if Frodo does." Draco replied shortly, before turning and marching from the room. He'd have to find another way to sever the growing and intertwining connections before they got too strong.

Make the most of it? Right Granger, sure, Legolas certainly seemed ready to make the most of it by using them as target practice. He was going to throttle her when he got back to their rooms.

Draco grumbled and muttered the whole way back to his room, but by the time he'd returned Harry, Hermione and Ron were back in their beds giving another go at a proper night's sleep. After cursing a little while longer he summoned some books to his preferred chair by the balcony and tried to do some research, but all he ended up with was a bad night's sleep and a crick in his neck come morning. He never once considered the fact though, as he ran over his conversation with Legolas to properly fuel his foul mood, that he had not only defended The Golden Trio, but when he was literally backed into a corner, he had actually called them friends.