Disclaimer: I do not own Silmarillion or Harry Potter. They were created and owned by J.R. and J. respectively.

This is unbeta'ed. And please, review. I'd like to know what you think of this, seriously.

Ch 6

Unknown to the students, the troll had been killed during Halloween, and it had caused a secret uproar in the teacher's area. The manner of the death itself was unsettling. It didn't help that neither Granger nor Longbottom had clear memories of what actually happened that night, or how Severus, Minerva, and Quirinus had found them unconscious and wounded in the girl's loo. There was some sort of wound marks that suspiciously looked like stab marks all around the troll's body. After a light inspection, both students had no weapons aside from wands – and they barely learned any transfiguration to turn something into a knife, much less conjuration.

A light Legilimency on Severus' part had told them that Granger never had actual experiences with sharp and pointy things aside from knives from the Hogwarts Potions set that required her to cut and dice her ingredients, while she was aware that there was quite a lot of martial arts using weapons in the muggle word. Weasley was incompetent with them, since knives and such were used only by his mother to cook, aside from his older brothers using them for their own potions. And another inspection on the troll's body revealed that the wounds were rather deep and created by arrows, or so it seemed.

It was strange, bows require a rather large space to actually hit the troll deeply and slow time to draw an arrow (from their point of view), and from the manner of its death suggested that the troll was quick to dispose of.

Out all of the teachers who knew why the troll was inside Hogwarts, only Filius who had a wild guess as of how the troll died. And that was not counting how the mystery troll-killer in question was able to enter Hogwarts when the school was the safest place around (ignoring the threat from within). Oh, he knew of creatures living in the Forbidden Forest just outside Hogwarts, but didn't Hogwarts have some kind of magic barrier that would prevent them to come inside uninvited?

Now that was a curious thing.

Blaise Zabini had always been an enigma, at least for his fellow Pureblood peers. Thanks to his mother's reputation of whoever would marry her, they would die and the Zabinis would get their riches, no one actually dared to get close to him aside from the children of well-known Death Eaters. It came to no one's surprise that he was rather closed-off kind of person. But it did came to everyone's surprise that he wasn't gloating his mother's success in raiding other people's treasures like Draco, the self-proclaimed Slytherin Prince liked to do. He was very quiet and observant, that it made others unnerved only by that.

No one really knew this, but the Hat itself had considered to put him into every Houses. Gryffindor for his boldness (that no one really knew of, it was of the past that not even his mother was aware of), Hufflepuff for his loyalty (for a family he once has, and fallen apart), and Ravenclaw for his knowledge – he was able to speak with beasts, and he still can do it in this time and Age. Yet he chose to be in the House of Snakes.

He had always been able to speak with animals. Understanding of what they spoke of, the news they brought from other places. It had been his ability that had come along with him before even the birth of his mother. He knew the language of beasts for centuries, for the Music had been imprinted in his very soul. Body, race, and blood may change, but soul may not. He was the same Tyelkormo Turkafinwë Fëanorion as he once was.

Yet, instead of choosing Gryffindor, the House that probably fit him, he chose to be a Snake instead. He had always been bold, not sly. Slyness fits his two younger brothers, and he was the bold one along with the twins. But perhaps his ways now was heavily influenced by his mother's ways. Zabini, she told him once, was a neutral family that was bordering on the Dark. She had drilled it unto his head that she would not tolerate him acting like a reckless fool, as he was her heir. He submitted to her will for he knew that he knew nothing of mortal world of this Age and he knew he could not gain any riches he had during the First Age, but he would gain dominance and perhaps – perhaps he would look for his family in soul, no matter how long it would take. The Makalaurion needed to be watched, as his name bore – perhaps – a fact or a hint that the Makalaurë he knew was his ancestor or parent.

The castle was huge, and there were many occupants in it. The rats were carrying words from the forest – the centaurs. Centaurs talking to the unicorns, and words spread from the happenings of the Forbidden Forest. And the news was both good thing and bad.

He had always been a hunter, and he would know if there was a new hunter in his hunting place. The word spoke of the survival of Elven kind – it had him relieved that there was still a small resemblance of what the world he used to live in as Celegorm. He wasn't pleased to be (re)born to a mortal race. He supposed it was better to born as a Man rather than Dwarves that his brother was so fond of, however. He didn't want to be forever short. Another word, however, spoke of murder. A dark shadow was roaming in the lands of Forbidden Forest, and it had been eating up the population of the unicorns. Silver blood of the unicorns had been spilt.

And it was unforgivable.

Unicorns were divine beings (speaking of which, he had considered himself as one back then), and blood spilt had meant that the one who spill their blood was cursed. And no creatures had it in their minds to kill such a divine creature.

Except if their very being had been corrupted.

Or acromatulas, if one was to think about it. They were probably the descendants of Ungoliant. And Ungoliant ate divine creatures. Just look at the Two Trees!

But the words had spoken – that there were no webs around the body.

It should be a mortal who had done this vile thing, he supposed to himself as he eyed the teachers sitting in the High Table. But which one was it? A few people seemed to be fit with his criteria of unicorn murder.

Then Draco demanded for his attention. He pushed the thought away and spoke of what he knew the young mortal was expecting him to say.

Martur, despite his shy demeanor, created a bit web of friends and acquaintances here and there within Hogwarts quite easily. Mostly it was due to them being entranced with his music that they would like to hear it more and more – and eventually learning about each other's profile and so. He knew that it was not the healthiest way to make friends with others, but it was the only way he knew of, from the way he had sang and played his instruments in his family's inn.

But the closest one to him, aside from Penelope, was probably Anthony Goldstein. He was the only one who had actually shown interest of his music and it's meaning (and him being one who's a lot like his atto, had taught the other Ravenclaw about it little by little, and that he didn't mind teaching it to others since it didn't really involve his family history – but instead, his talent). It was a well-known open secret in Hogwarts of his generation that he was the brightest Ravenclaw despite his absentminded ways (at times) just as Hermione being the brightest witch, and that Dudley Dursley was the biggest bully; almost as if he was a younger, Gryffindor version of Marcus Flint of Slytherin. All of them were muggle-borns, they would say. And of course, it was of the First Years' open secret. Anthony had taken to himself to escort him from one place to another just as other students made their own groups – ever since he had heard from their professor to stay away from the Gryffindors for the moment.

It didn't take long for all of the Ravenclaws to take the clue of that was really saying that: to stay away from the Gryffindor (and Slytherin that was leaded by one Draco Malfoy, who was perhaps one of the few noted students of his year) bullies and go in groups since safety came in numbers. But they were not as friendly to each other like the Hufflepuffs due to their competitive natures, that they were separated in small groups instead of one big group as they're supposed to be. Boys with the boys, albeit separated, and the same went to the girls.

His friends and acquaintances of other Houses ranged, from the First to Seventh Year, Gryffindor to Slytherin. It did not include the bullies since they were mostly envious of his somewhat popularity with people thanks to his music that they would try to sabotage his plays at times and called him names. Most of them though, knew few to nothing about music, which was a shame, really. The only people knew of music were in professor Flitwick's extracurricular lesson of both muggle and Magical music – or more precisely, a choir.

But then, they would ask for some advice to him rather than sabotaging him.

But then again, there were choir people who didn't take his singing – and apparently professor Flitwick had taken a shine for him to use him for an example, even if he wasn't in his class, like ever (except if, if the small professor asked him personally) – well, that they often tried to out-sing him that ended up in them having sore throats and heavy breathings. Something about wanting to be soloist of the choir instead of some other person in the choir when he never came to the said choir practices. Quite pathetic, to be honest.

"They're really unto it, aren't they?" Martur asked Anthony quietly after one of those singing competitions that the jealous choir members had dragged him into. It was probably a good thing that choir members weren't jealous enough to ruin his voice with some spell, if such spell existed.

The taller boy nodded curtly – as was it was his nature to do things quite quickly and necessarily. And yet there was his curiosity… "They don't take it well; you having better voice than them, though you did not boast it or anything." He said. "People are just competitive, though with the way you've spoken of your family inn, I've been wondering how your father hasn't got any competitors yet…"

"Oh, he certainly has many competitors." The young musician answered. "But they knew their limits, what's with atto's voice; I mean, even if atto's only speaking to other people, there's something in his voice that makes people be entranced by it, you know? They're only competing for fun, in his case. He told me that his actual competitors for singing skill are in the other side of the world, and he was living a life in this part of the world, so…" He shrugged.

"Your father's actual competitors are in America?" Anthony spluttered. "I thought that with that voice you're singing, your father – who's probably your teacher – is a classical singer of sorts, and many classical songs come from either Europe or Asia, not America!"

"Oh yes." Martur nodded. "But it's their job in some music school, atto mentioned to me." He decidedly did not mention anything about America. Let his friend try to sort it out by himself, since he hadn't trusted his friend enough with the information of his father's more accurate information or anything, not to mention that he didn't know if his friend had already shielded his mind. He had been told that there was such technique to look at people's mind, after all. And while he was taught by his father to shield his mind, he could almost feel the other's mind's noisiness. But it might be his magic or something speaking rather than his elven sense.

Anthony hummed. "Isn't your father getting lonely then?"

Martur shrugged. "There's my twin uncles…" He left his sentence hang.

The other boy paused. "Ah."

Of course, not even them, who weren't Slytherin, were left alone from the pranks of Weasley twins. At least their pranks weren't damaging his harp, though… Perhaps it showed them that the twins considered their victims' feelings too? – that they weren't malicious pranksters? Probably.

If he didn't know any better though, he might've thought of them to be some kindred to own his twin uncles, like his atto's twin little brothers whom Martur would never meet in the near future. But still – it's been told that male twins would grow up to be pranksters. There was Weasley twins of this generation, and he had read something about Prewett twins of Hogwarts of their days…

He hadn't mentioned to the other boy, but the generations of twins in the line of his great-grandfather (that were probably the only record of twins in elven – albeit royal – line) were mostly mischievous too. Just look at Ambarussa and his twin uncles' father and uncle! From the stories of his atto, anyways. He had read somewhere of some Doriath records about Elured and Elurin before the attack from three of atto's brothers about their mischief too…

So yes, the answer would probably satisfy Anthony's concern. With his experience with the Gryffindor twins, it was pretty much self-explanatory.

"I pity your father for that then." He dead panned.

Martur only hummed. His atto had experience in raising twins – his younger brothers first, and his foster children second. The third one shouldn't be as hard as the first two since he was used to it. Well, he had managed it before he came to the picture – but it didn't stop him to having a longing to go back to that picture…

Sensing the change of mood of his companion, Anthony decided to change the topic, lest his younger companion would go into depression. It wouldn't do for Ravenclaw's resident star student and song bird to go into that kind of state… "By the way, how did you get into professor Flitwick's good side?"

That was probably the biggest mystery in the Ravenclaw – not that Martur was aware of it.

Professor Flitwick showed an absolute favoritism to their smallest member even before the lesson started. There were times when the tiny professor would come to the Ravenclaw just to bring their smallest member personally for something that he didn't speak of – but with his face expression, he definitely enjoyed it. There was a theory of them being having the same ancestry, but with many of them imagining their songbird as a quarter goblin didn't sit well with them that they discarded the idea immediately after they thought of it. For one, goblins have rough and scratchy voice and not even as melodious as Martur. And while it was possible that his voice came from the side that was pure human, but he didn't have semi-claws like their professor had or any characteristic of goblins. Only that shortness. But it was possible too, that the shortness came from some wizarding disease that allow the victim to grow much more slowly than normal wizards with normal growth rate.

Martur shrugged – a bad habit he had gotten from his twin uncles whenever they got into trouble (almost all the time) and were looking for some excuse. "Through atto, I suppose. He and professor Flitwick's people has quite a history, if I'm not mistaken."

Anthony thought that it was Martur's family and professor Flitwick's goblin kin were quite close. It was probably the most logical conclusion. He must say that he was curious though… "Eh… I never thought that there's a family that has close ties with goblins without them having goblin blood." He stated.

"That's close, what you've said." Martur mused so quietly his older friend almost didn't hear. The taller one noted of that statement, unknown to the shorter one. "But no, atto is most respected in goblin society." He said, confident about it.

Anthony raised his eyebrow. "Your father is respected in goblin society…?" He looked amused as he spoke. "This erases the possibility that you're a muggleborn."

"I'm a half-blood at best." Martur stated wryly. And it was true – at least half of his blood was elven thanks to that blood transfusion/adoption those years ago… (He didn't know it, but when he was still a pure-human, he was a half-blood in the eyes of wizard society, so…) "Why did you guys theorize about my origins anyways?" He asked, genuinely curious.

Anthony snorted. "Oh – you didn't even know half of the reason just why, Martur…"

The sound of footsteps was almost unheard, if it wasn't thanks to the person who walked that intended for his footsteps to be heard. The long, endless, and hollow hallway that he walked was lifeless, devoid of sound of laughter or even the sound of fountains (which had dried long, long Ages ago) that was set just outside the building.

In Gondolin, the dead and hidden city of the Eldar in the mountains, he had dwelled since he had finally found it – in secret, behind the machinations of mortals he once took part in a few centuries ago. He had not ruled, as that part belonged to the Sindarin King – of mortals politic too, he supposed – and the minstrel who had fallen from grace who was of royal – albeit forsaken – blood of Fëanor. All that was left from Gondolin was her white walls and white towers that were covered with plants, almost made him think of Elu Thingol's whereabouts – or so he was informed from the books Maglor sent him (did the minstrel had foreseen of his boredom that he had asked him to help him to translate, out of all things?). And of course, the white birds that once inhabited the city came back – complete with their songs that were sweeter than lullaby.

It never ceased to amaze him how Arda's geography could change so drastically. Since Gondolin was located in the middle of Atlantic Ocean, out of all places. He supposed he would never cease to be both amazed and terrified by the power of Valar and Eru. The way Gondolin and other realms aside from Lindon in Beleriand were almost completely destroyed, drowned and then lifted as separate islands… It was a good thing too, that Gondolin's remains weren't as damaged as he thought, after so many years being a battlefield of the War of Wrath, drowned and being home for sea creatures… Wasn't as damaged as Númenor, at least. Númenor – or what mortals now called as Atlantis, was now could be barely said as a remains of a big civilization as it once was. Perhaps it was the difference between mortal and elven work? Though Gondolin's seven gates had been almost completely demolished. Only remaining gates – though it was deformed, were of Silver, Gold, and Steel.

But of course, it wasn't why he walked inside the House of Tower of Pillar and the Tower of Snow. Penlod, he recalled, had often boasted of how huge his library – it was as big as King Turgon's within his House of the King, at the very least. Yet, miraculously, she was the least damaged among all buildings in Gondolin, and the House of the King bore most damage – as a mockery to their King.

House of Tower of Pillar and the Tower of Snow… Her emblem had been long lost – as did Ecthelion's and Elgamoth's respective Houses, unlike the others of which emblems had barely survived through the Ages, just like his House emblem of golden flower upon green field.

Library of this House however – achieves, books, and scrolls were destroyed, burned, scattered, that it was no longer legible to be read or fixed, and lastly, drowned. Everything in this library, he had Imladris transfer her books – for Imladris held the least percentage for surviving this Age of Men, by the hands of mortals themselves. There was no longer Elven Rings of Power, for the knowledge of how it was made rests with Celebrimbor and his smiths during the Second Age and the power of Narya, Nenya, and Vilya had disappeared as Sauron fell during the Third Age. There was no longer mystical power to protect the now non-hidden Imladris, though she was still filled with a few occupants who embraced too much of the past – just like he was currently. Even if they had the magic to protect Imladris, it would not last forever since they were no smiths or Lore-masters who were skilled with magical creations, nor would minstrels be able to sing forever. But Gondolin was now an island out of many islands that were scattered in Atlantic Ocean that mortals would have difficult time to look for – if they knew what to search. People would see that it was a barren island thanks to the mountains that surrounds Gondolin were barren and rocky.

Lindir was a fool, but he – Glorfindel – too, was a fool. He just had to admit that to himself.

While with Age came wisdom, they said, many times did the wise could be called as a fool. Lindir was younger than him, yet their thinking clashed with each other, that they had many disagreements about living arrangements within the Modern Age of Man. So here he was, in the ruins of Gondolin, covered with a lush of green that it was difficult to see the outlines of the old kingdom while surrounded by mountains, and alone. Most of the warriors of Imladris he had trained had either fallen or sailed, for their loved ones were in Valinor and safe.

He was now walking towards the library Penlod so fond to talk of, to correct a few things he had found in a book of a so-called author of Gondolin's history. Now he knew how Erestor, his dear friend who was probably the same seneschal as usual in Elrond's house in Valinor, always felt whenever there's an idiot writing about many things they didn't actually research before writing – he supposed. He was a warrior first and foremost, that of many Ages ago, he never had anything to do with the library – except for those times he had to collect Erestor so that the little bat wouldn't forget to eat supper as he often did. As that seneschal descended from the House of the Fountain, he certainly only have the looks of his sire instead of the expected similar personality and love of silver.

Hm… Speaking of which, perhaps he should have that little minstrel to come more often for his studies in Gondolin dialect – and a lesson of truth and false within a book. Not to forget his swordsman lesson too. That school of his was really degrading, he thought. Perhaps he could ask the old minstrel for a proposal for physical education in that school. But then he'll need a help from Thranduil's people to maintain Gondolin like what he was doing – just so Gondolin won't have more damage from the plants of which roots have already ingrained deep into the walls and that the plants would be enough to cover Gondolin from mortal eyes.

Hiding in plain sight, was one of the best hiding techniques he knew of.

And of course, for the school – Maiar were too high of a name for those kinds of arrogant people who probably thought physical was of no use, even if it was of their own body. They did not possess fëa of Maiar, too, as far as he could tell. But wait – Istar was still too high of a name; he'd call them Sorcerers.

Yes, that fit the mortals with magic of this Age. Istari he knew of – they were of high power who could manipulate nature itself instead of practical, weak use that made them forget that they could do the same using their body. Not that he underestimated their ancestors, however. That Godric… He was worthy of a swordsman and the name of Istar, though he did not possess the fëa of Maia.

Ah – such a good thing that the library was located in the highest tower of Penlod's House! He could see almost see the sea – or so he think to himself. The air of the sea was marvelous and – was that an owl?

What an owl was doing, flying towards a barren island? – oh wait. He really should have be used with the Sorcerers' method of communicating by now, since those years ago of which the Sindarin King who-probably-didn't-have-much-to-do-in-his-free-time had introduced him to 'wizarding methods'. Just look at that floo system he had installed to the House of the Harp and the vanishing cabinet in his personal rooms.

But wait. Why Maglor used an owl instead of that floo?

Just as he let the disgruntled owl into the library and fed it one of a few snacks he had brought for himself, he opened the letter and felt his face reddened.

Dear Laurëfindil,

I must say for the behalf of us Eldar living in the Mainland that you should check the vanishing cabinet and the floo in the House of Harp more often. There have been complaints about you from the majority of our people living in here about your ways of sudden isolationism and you not responding their letters. It wouldn't do that a hero of many songs to distance himself with his kin and peers, or so they say. We have so many news we have to share with you, as does your young pupil after we last seen you – which was a few months ago when you gave him a book about Gondolin in our mother language.

And if you receive this message, then I am thankful that you're still alive, little flower.

It was true that he rarely opened the vanishing cabinet or even visited the House of Harp, but that minstrel shouldn't have reprimanded him as if he was an elfling (although it was refreshing for a change and that the minstrel was truly the oldest Eldar in Middle Earth with him being the not-so-close second in terms of being born in the Age of Two Trees since that old coot actually taught him the art of using harps during his childhood, but he wouldn't even speak of it)!

What I am sending you is urgent, yet I don't think I have the time to go personally to Gondolin. I myself did not know the way or where you are due to the largeness of the city (or as large as my son told me once) as I'm only looking for only one person inside a city that I never came before.

A troll was unleashed within Hogwarts.

And… A troll within this Sorcerer's school?

And Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest school, or so they say. These mortals were so inaccurate of their safety estimation process, don't you think?

Now this statement just made him to decide that: these sorely lacking-in-defense young Sorcerers needed an instructor to do things that they should do if they're faced with such situations. Just how such a violent and dark creature did entered a school that was said to be the safest place? Even mortals with no magic had better security than this school. Safe – Morgoth's teeth. Those mortals lacked common sense. And his youngest student happened to be in that place.

Be prepared, Hogwarts. Glorfindel was coming to set your priorities straight, amongst other things. For he would protect whoever it was under his charge, including the kinslayer's son.

Once he had gotten Maglor to write a proposal to the headmaster, anyways. He had never one for politics and books, and this editing Gondolin dialect? It had been pushing his buttons, never mind that he would probably the only one who could translate it to mortal language these days or the fact that it somewhat brings back those glorious memories of Gondolin. He should try to teach the other Elves of Gondolin dialect, lest he'll be drowned by the bane of all warriors that existed in this plane: paperwork.

Somewhere in Valinor, a Maia whom later would be Oromë's chosen one to be sent across the Sea along with other First-born, frowned as he re-read the message that his fellow Maia, Eonwë gave him earlier in that day. It was unusual for him to be chosen to do anything, out of every Maia his Master had in his halls – since his role had been fulfilled, and Eru had saw it fit to change everything slowly for the sake of His Second-born.

Just for that very reason, both him and his partner had not been steering their respective vessels of the Moon and Sun ever since the middle of the Fourth Age. It wasn't him to steer the Moon, but it had been his own Music that had given the Moon a force – a movement – by making it walk by itself instead of him needing to do just that, around the world with uncertain pace. And it wasn't his partner who steered the Sun anymore, for it was with her own Music that had Arda to move around her former vessel.

He was otherwise known by most, if not everyone who were living in Valinor as Tilion – the Maia who once steered the Moon.

Yet there in his hands was a proof of the existence of his services being needed once more by Lord Oromë, the one who he served. He didn't disapprove it, since life without doing anything had proved to be dull, and his partner had shared his sentiment with him – that she dwelled much more often in the House of Aulë to do more things rather than nothing at all. But he was a lover of silver and a hunter first and foremost, that he spent his days in the forest that Lord Oromë had around his abode.

He just had to say: he needed an adventure. Never mind if it's just steering the Moon around, he got to see many other silver stars that Varda had set on the night sky much, much closer! It would make the First-born envy, if he had read them right. But then, there could be a tidbit about mortals landing on the Moon… He wondered if he was still up there on his former vessel and the mortals came. What would they react?

He should say that he envied the other five Maiar that were chosen to go to Arda, back in the Second Age of Sun and Moon – since he himself could not do that. And that's not to say anything about his friend Eonwë's role during the First Age of Sun and Moon. Why did he not think of the consequences of being the one to steer the Moon in the first place?

Well – he was Tilion, and he was known as one of the most reckless Maiar, was he not?

He accepted the request of his Lord without further thinking of the matter. He needed an adventure – and it was probably the only reason why he chose to be Lord Oromë's follower. And he would answer his requests and orders without question for anything that came from his Lord will create an adventure by its own. He was confused as of why most of his fellow Maiar who also served Lord Oromë would betray him though…

Arda had better be prepared for him, that's for sure.