Disclaimer: Not mine.

I realise that I don't usually put an author's note at the top, but I forgot to reply to a comment about a review for Chapter 1. This comment basically said;

- Why does everyone feel the need to turn the Elves into prancing, feel-good ninnies?

- Harry hasn't suffered nearly as much as the Eldar, from Morgoth to Sauron.

- It took Luthien dying and then lamenting to move Mandos, and that was Luthien whose song charmed even the Black Foe of the World.

- Why bring Harry to Middle-Earth? The Elves have bigger things to worry about.

My answers are below, in order;

- They won't be like that. Yes, they're going to care massively about Hadrian because he's an elfling and it's a part of their culture, but I am also aware that elves are "fucking badass", to quote. Hello, Galadriel in the third Hobbit movie, anyone? I have a couple ideas about orc-killing, and elf-dwarf tension will be pretty obvious when I get round to the Company being in Rivendell.

- No, but he's suffered a lot compared to the people in his world, and words don't really do justice to the 'having your soul sucked out' bit.

- This is the point I'm actually most irritated about; you don't actually know what Severus, Regulus, Lily and the loyal Marauders did to convince Mandos to help Hadrian. Hell, you don't even know how long it took them - Hadrian had no perception of time when he was soulless and the only clue you have to his age is that his body is still alive at the time of him becoming an elfling. Since I don't think canon ever stated how long a body would live without a soul, for all you are aware he could be a hundred. Not to mention that even if canon did put a time limit on body-life after the soul is removed, you don't know for certain that time doesn't move faster in the halls of Mandos.

- Ever thought that once Hadrian grows up by about a hundred years, he'll be able to help them? He will still have his magic, and although he won't be as powerful as an Istari, his spells have more variety from what I have seen. For all you know, Mandos agreed to send Hadrian there knowing that his hero-complex would get him to do something stupid like taking on the Balrog so Gandalf wouldn't die, thus benefitting the Fellowship.

So, now that that is over with, on with the story.

Chapter 3 - Lines Of Communication

Hadrian watched as the two people he'd heard talking emerged from the trees. The first was an old man wearing grey robes and a staff, with a pointy hat. At first glance he looked like Dumbledore, but when he looked closer, the differences were obvious; Dumbledore's grandfather persona was well-cultivated, the image of a wise but dotty old man. This wizard - and Hadrian had no doubt he was a wizard, because the taste of his power seemed to blend into the rocks and grass and air like it was a living thing itself (not to mention the staff) - did look old and wise, but his robes were ragged and had seen better days, his hat was drooping and his beard tangled. He did not try to give off a certain impression, he simply was. He clearly could care less about appearances.

The other thing that caught Hadrian's attention about the wizard was how real he seemed; Dumbledore had always appeared untouchable, powerful, like he was something more than an ordinary person. Dumbledore would not lower himself to fight Death Eaters, no, he would only get involved if Voldemort himself fought. This man, however, had a sharpness, a seriousness about him that told Hadrian that the wizard here was far more involved in the realities of life than Dumbledore had ever been.

The other man had brown, messy hair hanging down to his chin, and a noble sort of face, if covered in stubble. He too, seemed serious as though he had seen many hardships, and looking at the sheathed sword on the man's belt and the knives strapped to his forearms, Hadrian didn't doubt that he had. He had a tiredness about him that the wizard did not, for all his greater years; the younger man's clothes were stained more heavily with mud and grime and - Hadrian squinted - some kind of black substance that appeared to have dried on the man in splatters. Perhaps the man had been travelling for longer?

The other thing that Hadrian noticed was that the younger man did not have pointy ears, and he didn't think that the old man did either, although it was hard to tell through the thick grey hair. He was suddenly inordinately glad that he'd hidden his ears beneath a strip of cloth. The Dursleys had showed him exactly what people who were afraid of differences could do, and he had no way of measuring the intentions of these people, since he no longer had a wand.

He glanced down at the thin white scars in the shapes of runes that were carved into his hands and arms; they would help with his casting, but they were not meant to channel magic. He would have to channel a little bit of magic through them gradually so they would adjust to the change; if he tried to channel too much magic too soon, the runes would not be able to contain the power properly and would therefore begin releasing energy in the form of light and heat in a effort to prevent being overloaded and thus exploding. Long term effects would be the damage the heat would do to his arms and hands. He would not be permanently injured, but he wouldn't be able to cast while he was healing.

Hadrian sighed silently; if his emotions hadn't seemingly been dampened by his stint as a soulless person, Hadrian would be so bloody angry about the destruction of his wand and the spite that went into the carving of these runes into his skin it wouldn't even be funny.

Hadrian wondered if it weren't for the better that he couldn't feel anything intensely; if he could and was still in his world, he might have killed someone. Probably Ginny. Followed by the judge who sentenced him, then Rita Skeeter and all the reporters who slandered him, then ... well, pretty much everyone else.

Probably a good thing he was no longer on earth, then, Hadrian concluded. He couldn't say he was going to miss it very much, not now Ron and Hermione were dead.

Looking up, he refocused on the situation at hand. Namely, two unknowns approaching with unclear intentions.

Hadrian's left hand crept down and gripped the hilt of his sword. Just in case. He held absolutely still as the younger man finally noticed him, some small, almost-forgotten part of his brain that was very aware of his new weaknesses insisting loudly that if he moved, it would attack.

The younger man spoke, obviously asking questions from the tone of his voice, but the language was nothing Hadrian understood, although it seemed somewhat like German to Hadrian's inexperienced ear, because several of the sounds were harsh, bordering on guttural. Harry simply stared at him blankly, wishing fiercely that he could remember how to move his face to display emotion. Confusion would do, but fear would be better; it seemed to pull on the heartstrings, the sight of a child afraid, and if they were undecided about what to do with him then looking afraid might have convinced them to help him rather that hurt him.

Still, he couldn't remember how to do that, so he didn't bother thinking about it much; it would not help him now.

The younger man started to walk towards him slowly, deliberately making no sudden moves in his approach; the old man seemed content to let the other take the lead for now and followed a few steps behind, but Hadrian was not fooled by his more peripheral role. The old man's magic was alert, watchful - not maliciously so, but unnerving all the same - and his eyes were sharp, scrutinising Hadrian and cataloguing his actions.

When the duo got about three meters away from him, Harry stood to his full height (which was, regrettably, not what it used to be) a took a single step back, stating clearly that he didn't want them to come any closer. The younger man heeded his unspoken warning and stopped approaching, instead kneeling down to Hadrian's level and asking another question, concern evident even to Hadrian who didn't understand the words.

Hadrian simply tilted his head to the side in a silent question. He could of course talk to them in the language he did know, but there was no guarantee that either of them knew Sindarin and anyway, speaking the language would give away his new race. Besides which ... he really didn't want to talk. He'd been completely silent in Azkaban, even during nightmares (which really freaked the guards out, because everyone screamed or cried or did something ... it had been one of the few bright points in Hadrian's day) and now he hadn't talked for so long, he didn't particularly want to ... it was spite in a way, Hadrian could admit that much; the Wizarding World as a whole hadn't given Hadrian a chance to talk when he most needed them to listen, so now he wouldn't talk when they were ready to listen.

Of course, he wasn't in the Wizarding World any more, and they had no idea that he was innocent, much less that he wasn't talking. Hadrian suspected that this was the kind of situation the muggle saying, 'cutting off your nose to spite your face' came from. The Wizarding World didn't know or care of his fate or that he was no longer talking because of them; meanwhile not talking to people who had nothing to do with his incarceration and subsequent Kiss could potentially harm him. Therefore, his actions gained him nothing.

Nevertheless, Hadrian no longer felt a need to speak.

The man in front of him asked another gentle question upon Hadrian's continued silence, before reaching behind him slowly, ignoring Hadrian's suddenly tense frame and pulling out something that looked to Hadrian remarkably like a chunk of bread. He held it out in front of him slowly, extending it out as far from his body as possible without overbalancing. Hadrian eyed the food hungrily but made no move to take it.

Aragorn held out the bread to the still child in front of him. His gaze was shuttered, his face blank of emotion, but Aragorn could tell from the way the child had looked at the bread when the ranger had pulled it out of his pack that the child was hungry, a fact that Aragorn had suspected since noticing the boy's thin frame, emphasised by the bands of fabric the boy had used to keep the obviously much too large clothes from falling down. Despite that however, the boy still refused to come closer.

Aragorn slowly lent forward, placing the bread down on a relatively clean rock before standing up and taking a step back. *We should set up camp here, let him become accustomed to us. We will not be able to travel onwards without him so we will not lose any time by waiting.*

Gandalf nodded. *Very well.* They moved a little way away, Aragorn moving off into the trees to collect firewood as Gandalf set down their packs and pulled out the bedrolls for them to sit on. Before long Aragorn had returned with the firewood and a couple of rabbits and soon the smell of roasting meat was filling the area.

Aragorn watched discreetly as the child sat on a rock, seeming content to watch them for signs of danger rather than eat the bread they had left for him. The ranger wondered where the child had been, for one so obviously hungry to not immediately seize any food that was offered or found. And yet, the child showed no obvious signs of discomfort or pain that accompanied lack of food. Either the child did not get a lot to eat (hence his thinness) but had eaten a little recently and so was not suffering from hunger pangs, or he was simply used to not showing discomfort or hunger.

Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing which it was until the boy decided to talk to them, if he ever did. Aragorn couldn't help but hope it was the first possibility. Any harm against a child was grievous, but the first option seemed to him to be less grievous. Aragorn moved towards Gandalf to see what he thought of their guest.

Gandalf had come to much the same conclusions as he had, Aragorn concluded, with the added observation that the child seemed remarkably self-contained, showing neither fear nor panic at their approach and ignoring the bread they had offered him despite his probable lack of food.

Once the rabbits had finished roasting Aragorn and Gandalf divided them up into three and put it on plates along with some berries that Aragorn had picked up on the road earlier that day, as well as some bread for himself and Gandalf. Aragorn picked up the third portion and a spare waterskin and walked slowly over to the child, gently setting the items down next to the bread that he had left earlier.

*If you do not eat it soon it will go cold, little one.* Aragorn said gently, before backing away to the fire and giving the child his space. Hopefully, he could come to trust the two of them, at least enough to eat.

Hadrian watched as the two older men sat by the fire and sat in a comfortable silence, having finished their food. Hadrian himself was uncomfortably aware of his own unhappy stomach. He hadn't eaten in too long, and eaten well for longer. The smell of the meat was practically divine, but he ruthlessly squashed the urge to fidget, let his eyes wander to the food or otherwise give away his longing.

The wizard was puffing slowly on a pipe, clouds of smoke occasionally darting off in the shape of dragons and horses and butterflies before finally dispersing and the younger one had taken off what looked to be protective gear and was treating it with some kind of solution, presumably to make sure it didn't break or become weak. Neither of them seemed to be paying him much attention at all, although Hadrian knew that wasn't true. The younger man seemed to be aware of his surroundings and was keeping Hadrian in his peripheral vision. The wizard wasn't even looking at him, but Hadrian could sense his magic keeping watch on the elfling. The old man's magic seemed to have relaxed from the intense scrutiny of earlier though, thankfully, and now felt far less sharp, dangerous.

Knowing that both of them would notice as soon as he moved regardless of how quick or stealthy he was short of a disillusionment charm or a summoning charm (both of which Hadrian was almost certain Gandalf would sense anyway) he didn't bother trying to be sneaky when he stood and walked to the food. He picked up the bread, rabbit meat, berries and waterskin and returned to 'his' rock, all the while watching the men to see if they were going to move. When they didn't do anything, he slowly broke off a piece of bread and started to eat as slowly as his self-control would allow, not wanting to have to show weakness in front of strangers by throwing up.

When he was very small before he'd started Hogwarts, Vernon and Dudley had sometimes given him food - a chocolate bar, a packet of crisps, whatever - and just when he'd thought they were actually being nice to him, they'd take it away again. That had worked up until he'd told the teacher how he was being treated at home and Vernon and Petunia had lied their way out of it. They punishment for that was one of the worst he'd ever received, and he'd finally gotten the message - they were never, ever going to like him, for any reason.

These people, however did not seem like that in the least. Of course, it didn't mean that they were nice, but it was a point in the duo's favour; they had given him food when they didn't have to, in return for nothing.

Gandalf let his magic keep watch on the boy sitting meters away from them as he stared into the fire. He had finally picked up the food they had left him; that wasn't what concerned the Istari now. What was concerning him was the reaction his magic was having to the child.

Most of the time, his power was spread out through the world around him; the rocks, the trees, the plants and the air, stretched out like a living thing, but centred on his staff; it was the same with the other Istari. Now, however, some of his magic seemed to be gravitating towards the boy sitting a little way away.

It was not the child's doing, of that Gandalf was certain. He didn't even seem to be aware of it. Nor did it disadvantage him in any way, so it likely wasn't a plot to make him less of a threat by the Enemy (or if it was, it wasn't a good one) not to mention Gandalf had no idea how someone would draw his magic without his permission, which didn't make that scenario likely.

What bothered him most about the situation was that his magic resisted his every effort to draw it back from the child. He'd always privately believed that his magic was alive separately from him in it's own right, but this was ridiculous. He had relied on his magic for years and years; what would happen if he couldn't rely on it for the years to come? He, like the other Istari, had felt a stirring in the deep, even if Saruman did pretend it wasn't happening. Was his magic going to change even more?

Turning his mind away from the unsettling topic, Gandalf thought about the boy they had found. He was a puzzle, that was for sure. How did a child of Man find their way into the Old Forest anyway? Not to mention the sword he carried, which appeared to be sized for the child. The clothes he wore were for adults, although he'd rather cleverly stopped them from falling down with the excess material. He ate his food slowly, which not only showed that he hadn't eaten in long enough that his stomach had shrunk, but that he knew eating too fast no would make him sick and he had the willpower to eat slowly anyway. Gandalf could think of a few situations in which a child could learn that kind of restraint, and none of them were good.

The child himself seemed fairly normal as children went, although Gandalf ruefully admitted to himself that he hadn't much opportunity to mix with children of any race, and of all of them, he probably knew Hobbits the best, which this child definitely wasn't. He seemed fine-boned, thin and without an ounce of spare fat on his body. He had a mop of messy black hair that was filthy and completely tangled - the wizard suspected it might be better to chop it off and let it grow back than try to fix it. His eyes were green - very green. Almost luminous, and definitely piercing - Gandalf had felt the boy staring at both Aragorn and himself almost as soon as they had stepped into view, and he hadn't stopped since, even when he finally retrieved the food and began eating. It was just another thing on a list of curiosities about the child; most would have become bored by now, no matter how untrusting they were, and as they became bored their attention would start to wonder. Yet this child showed no signs of that.

Gandalf puffed on his pipe harsher than normal and blew out a thick cloud of smoke in frustration. It had been so long since he found something that he didn't understand at all, he had simply seen too much to be completely taken by surprise by something. It was part of the reason he had a reputation for being relentless when something caught his attention that he did not immediately understand; he enjoyed finding things he had never seen before. And yet, he had obviously forgotten the annoyance of a puzzle he could not solve; the child sitting not far from them was doing an excellent job of tying his mind up in frustrated and annoyed knots.

Aragorn glanced sideways at Gandalf and his eyes crinkled as he noticed the wizard's ire. *How does it feel to be baffled like the rest of us lowly mortals?* Aragorn questioned quietly, understanding what was troubling the Grey wizard.

Gandalf huffed at the Ranger. *You're hardly a lowly mortal, Aragorn son of Arathorn.*

Aragorn grimaced a little but nodded in acceptance. *Are we setting a watch tonight?* He asked.

Gandalf paused thoughtfully but shook his head, being careful to speak low enough that the boy could not hear him. *He may not understand why we would be keeping watch, and these woods are safe enough. Besides, something tells me he won't sleep until we aren't awake - he doesn't trust us at all.*

Aragorn frowned a little. *Might he not wander off in the night? He has no reason to stay.*

*And no reason to go.* Gandalf reminded him. *He seems to have no food of his own, and that is reason enough for him to follow us. Not to mention that if he choses to leave, there is little we can do to stop him. We cannot kidnap him, Aragorn. Better he does not get the impression that he is a prisoner and tries to leave sooner.*

The Ranger remained silent, but nodded in agreement.

*Now, I advise we get some sleep. Night is falling and the sooner we get to sleep the sooner the child might. Not to mention you've had a busy few weeks; you could do with some decent rest yourself.* Gandalf said cheerfully.

Aragorn grumbled as he moved to the packs and pulled out his own blankets as well as a spare set. Of course he needed some decent rest; he'd been heading home to get some when Gandalf dragged him on another journey.

He set the spare blankets down near the child and retreated to the fire, where he stamped on a bit of ground to make it as flat as possible before tossing the blankets down and climbing inside. Not far from him, Gandalf was doing the same, deliberately leaving space for a third person, in case the boy got cold enough to not care about the threat they presented, even if they knew they would never hurt him.

Before long, the two of them were sound asleep. Because of this, they didn't see the Hadrian pick up his own blankets, a conflicted expression on his face. They didn't see him place the blankets down again before going to the river and, after casting a silencing spell and completely ignoring the faint burn in his runes as he did so, preceded to wash himself thoroughly (as much as he could without soap) spending painstaking minutes pulling out the knots in his hair. He then risked dunking his clothes in and sending a scrougify at them. It was with great relief that he pulled his clothes on again, including the band around his head that hid his ears, even if he was sopping wet and freezing cold.

Once he was certain that the duo were asleep he crept up to the fire and waited until he dried off a bit before returning to the blankets that the man had left out for him to use. He glanced longingly at the fire as he set them out, wanting to move closer to them warmth, but definitely not wanting to sleep near two strangers. In the end he settled for a compromise, and dragged the covers halfway to the fire before wriggling inside (it was much too big, presumably meant for an adult) and finally allowing himself to drop off into a peaceful sleep.

Of course, it was mostly peaceful because he had his right hand wrapped around the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor under the covers, but whatever. It wasn't like he was going to use it unless they startled him awake, anyway...

So this is chapter 3. Someone complained that nothing much actually happened last chapter in the reviews, and I suppose that's technically true, but it's hard to skip over this stuff. I mean, Hadrian has been repeatedly betrayed by basically everybody; he's not just going to go along with Gandalf and Aragorn now because some weird light people things said he would be safe.

If you're waiting for action, though, you won't have to wait for long. The elves are going to do their best to ensure that Hadrian doesn't need to fight anyone once they know that he's an elf, and I'm determined to get in an Orc attack before then.

Enjoy this, anyway, despite the wait. Shib. :)