Hey everyone! I'm baaaack!

This story is dedicated to Andy the willow tree, who is one of the most fantabulous persons I have ever had the joy of receiving a review from. Everyone, give this person a round of applause, cause Andy has patiently waited for this story for quite a while. She/He had never complained, and has been a huge supporter for me. THANK YOU, ANDY! YOU'RE THE BEST!

Next, I would like to say that I do not know if I will finish this story. I will definitely get three chapters in, or more, so that I can include the sorting hat scene, but beyond that is anyone's guess. I want to finish it though, so we will see. (It's just if I do finish it, it will be a very elaborate tale, and I still don't know what my school schedule will allow. So I may have a lot of time, I may not, so just be warned.)

Last but not least:

This chapter contains mentions of mild neglect and verbal abuse! If this will trigger you or make you sad in any way, please do not read cause I don't want to hurt you and I want you to be happy in life.

Anywho, I hope you enjoy! :D

...

The envelope was pale, crisp, and neat, and scrawled upon the parchment were but a few simple words:

Mr. A. King

The Oak Tree in the Yard

3, Bruinen Road

Imladris

Rivendell

Were it any other letter, Aragorn would have already teared it open and examined its contents. But this was no ordinary letter, for there, sealing the envelope closed, was a very familiar insignia, which marked the letter to be no ordinary letter at all.

It was his Hogwarts acceptance letter, and Aragorn couldn't be more rejected.

He had been hoping, he guessed, that he would be able to avoid it. That he would turn out to be a squib, or a muggle, or perhaps he would be overlooked all together. He had hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with Hogwarts.

He wanted to avoid the stares. He wanted to avoid the belittling whispers and the scathing, judging looks. He wanted to avoid being the center of attention, because he hated attention, especially that kind of attention.

It was bad enough when people came to visit his adoptive father and met him, causing them to do a double-take and then look at Elrond with incredulous eyes, as if he wasn't actually in the room.

("Aragorn King? You mean the Aragorn King? Grandson of Isildur King?")*

And that was his defining trait, that he was related to a man he had never met. No matter that he wasn't even alive when Isildur betrayed the order and allowed the Dark Lord to rise to power, causing millions to lose their lives. No matter that his father was a good man who fought hard against the darkness, till his dying breath. No matter that the Dark Lord was dead now, dead and gone for the rest of forever.**

(He hoped…)

And now he would have to deal with an entire school of people doing just that. Staring and hating and judging him for crimes he had never committed and lives he could never save.

And he didn't want it. He just wanted to be normal…

"Estel?"

The brunette jumped at the sound of his nickname, but not enough to make him fall from his perch. With a small sigh- it appeared as if his time of thinking was about to come to an end- he looked down through the branches in order to spot his father.

"Yeah Dad?"

"Are you alright? You've been up there for quite a while."

The concern was real, not fake or mocking, and he was happier for it; at least he knew someone didn't care about his heritage.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just... thinking."

Elrond nodded, but did not push for further answers, which was something Aragorn appreciated.

"We'll be leaving for Diagon Alley tomorrow, just to let you know. Your brothers are most… excited.

Here the elder frowned, and Aragorn could not help but laugh. The twins were no doubt plotting some ridiculous prank, and for the first time since he received his letter that morning, he felt excited for what was to come.

With a flying leap, he jumped down from the oak tree and landed on the ground next to his father, who raised an eyebrow at his antics.

Aragorn simply grinned, deciding that he would deal with Hogwarts when he was at Hogwarts, and would enjoy the rest of his summer while he still could. Then he took off running to the house, calling over his shoulder that he was hungry for lunch.***

Elrond's eyebrow creeped even higher upon his face, but there was a smile in his eyes as he called for the boy to make his own lunch. Then he took off after his son, at a much more stately pace.

When Boromir received his acceptance letter, no one was surprised.

His father gave him a proud pat on the shoulder and ruffled his hair, telling him that they would hold a party in celebration. His brother hugged him tightly in excitement, his mouth babbling a hundred words a minute about all the various things he would get to do and all the different people he would get to meet, describing the different houses once more in an endless tirade that Boromir patiently endured, if only to make Faramir happy.

Later, his father took him to the side and explained to him how he was destined to become a prefect and head boy for Gryffindor, just like everyone else in the family. Boromir had nodded eagerly along until the man looked away, and then he had despaired; he was not of the intellectual sorts.

(All he really wanted to do was play quidditch.)

And then, even later, when his father had gotten drunk and yelled at Faramir again, Boromir had quickly picked his brother up- he was rather strong for an eleven year old and his little brother was rather small for a nine year old- and tucked him into bed, shutting the door in hopes of blocking out the noise.

When Faramir had asked for him to stay, Boromir happily complied, cramming himself into the tiny bed with the younger. Then he tucked the blond head under his chin and talked of the faraway school and all the various things he was going to do there. About how he would send sweets and letters back home every single day and how he would play pranks on his teachers and make mistakes on his homework because his genius little brother wasn't there to help him.

And when he had at last talked Faramir to sleep, he did not leave. He laid there, listening to his father's drunken slurring and worrying about what would happen when he was no longer there to protect his little brother from it.

And then he slept, tugging Faramir close and hoping that an answer could be found in his dreams.

The Shire was a lovely place to be in the summer. The grass was always green and bright, the brooks bubbled merrily through the rolling hills, and flowers blossomed in a rainbow of colors as far as the eye could see.

The people were rather lovely as well. They were kind and hospitable, and a smile was always quick to their faces. They tended to their gardens and their potions, and enjoyed the pleasantries of muggle appliances.

For the Shire was not a wizard community, nor a muggle community, but a squib community.

The town had developed over the years, squibs from all around finding a home amongst people who were just like them, where they were not ridiculed or treated as less. Where they could make a life for themselves as themselves, where they would not have to pretend to be a muggle but would not have to pretend to be a witch or a wizard.

It was a small, bustling community, and the squibs were not bitter towards their magical relations. No, not at all.

(At least, most were not. Or some. Or a few…)

So there the people lived with no magic but awareness of magic, and that was how it always was, with a few notable exceptions.

It was here, amidst a large orchid, that some of those notable exceptions were placed. They were clambering up the trees, daring each other to climb the highest or the fastest, when something interrupted their game.

Four large birds swooped down from the sky, landing in front of the four boys, in their claws four identical looking envelopes.

Now, the sight of letter-bearing owls was not too peculiar. Squibs had families and friends who they corresponded with, and the birds always were the most popular choice for communication amongst the wizarding class.

But still, having the owls arrive at the exact same time was very strange.

Eagerly, the boys grabbed the letters from waiting claws, their eyes getting wider and wider as they read further and further into the note.

There was a moment of silence once they finished reading, the children looking at one another with bated breath.

Then cheers of excitement split through the air, loud enough to scare off the birds.

"We're going to Hogwarts!"

"We're going to Hogwarts!"

"We have to tell Bilbo!"

They ran through the village, their cries of triumph shattering the peaceful silence there. When they at last reached the familiar green door, they stormed in without even a knock, for Frodo- one of the lucky boys- lived there with the wizard, and the house had become their stomping grounds.

"Uncle Bilbo!"

"Bilbo! Look!"

"We got our letters!"

"We're going to Hogwarts, Sir! Just like in your stories!" ****

Delighted laughter interrupted their enthusiastic chatter, and they could not help but join in, for their cheer was overflowing and their joy was infectious.

Bilbo was a short man, and the only proper wizard in all of the Shire. He had long told stories of his life in the wizarding school- both as a teacher and as a student- and had many a parent hunt him down for putting tales of magic and mischief into their children's heads.

"That's great, lads! I can't wait to see you all there! Your parents must be so happy-"

Upon seeing the boys alarmed expressions, he paused his thrilled speech and crossed his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow as he did so.

"You have told your parents, right?"

Merry and Pippin glanced at each other simultaneously, eyes wide, and then turned on their heels and ran to the door- letters still grasped tightly in their hands and brown curls bouncing upon their heads- yelling over their shoulders their apologies and see-you-laters.

Sam stood stock still for a single moment, before he too excused himself in order to go and tell his own father, though at least he had the decency to give a proper goodbye and to not slam the door on the way out.

When at last the two were alone, Frodo looked up at his uncle with a confused look.

"Uncle Bilbo, you do know that their parents wouldn't have minded them telling you first, right?"

The herbology professor looked down to meet his nephews brilliant blues, his own brown eyes filled with mischievousness

"Yes Frodo, I know, I just wanted to see their expressions…"

They laughed, their happiness bright, and went over what the new pupil would need to get in Diagon Alley, when would be a good time for them to leave, and if they would like to get the materials with the rest of the new students, which was a definite yes.

And then Bilbo was pulling the boy along to his study, his eyes bright, and leaning in close, as if to tell a secret.

"I'm about to give you something, Frodo, something that I found in my own school days at Hogwarts."

The younger eagerly opened his palm, but his face changed to confusion when he saw what was placed there.

"It's a ring?"

Indeed, it was, a simple gold ring with no decorations or designs. Plain and non-descript.

"Yes. It is, but it's a magic ring. Go on, put it on."

Frodo did, but nothing changed for him. Frowning, he looked up at his uncle.

"Look down, lad"

When the boy did so, he could not help but yelp in surprise, for his body was no longer there. When he understood the implications of what the trinket could do, he smiled brightly and took it off, slipping it safely into his pocket. Then he leapt upon Bilbo and gave him a fierce hug, his excitement bright and his laughter mingling with the elder's.

All was well.

For now.

Gimli received his letter in the middle of a quidditch match.

He had been flying through the air, Quaffle in hand, and was about to make a score when a large barn owl had landed upon his head and made him swerve, off balance and blinded by feathers.

He crash landed, and then the bird had jumped off and landed in front of him, giving him a nasty look, as if it was his fault that they went down.

Still, when he saw what was grasped in the owl's claws he forgot all about lost victories and unexpected falls. He eagerly grabbed the envelope and went back into the air, yelling with all his might and proudly showing off the paper to his older cousins, Fili and Kili, when they flew over to have a look.

They had congratulated him and insisted that they go and show the parents, to which Gimli had happily complied.

Entering the large stone house with letter held high ignited an instant response, and he soon found himself surrounded by his family. His father slapped him on the back and Dwalin growled out a congratulations. Bombur somehow concocted a huge array of food, and Bofor brought out the butterbeer and the firewhiskey, and Gimli's acceptance into Hogwarts deteriorated into a party.

But that wasn't so surprising; in his family, everything somehow deteriorated into a party.*****

Legolas was looking out his window, hoping to see a familiar flash of white in the dark horizon, when his father abruptly opened the door to his room, making him jump.

"What are you doing, Legolas?"

Legolas glanced back outside, now hoping not to see a familiar flash of white in the dark horizon. His Ada couldn't know, not until it was too late.

"Nothing Ada. Just… thinking."***

Thranduil did not look convinced, raising an eyebrow in questioning manner.

"Hmm? What about?"

Legolas sighed and curled into the window seat, eyes straying to the world outside once more.

"Not anything in particular, Ada."

His father was silent for a few moments, and he feared that Thranduil would try and pry once more. But he did not, simply leaving the room as silently as he entered.

Legolas slumped even further against the pane the second he was alone, letting his relief out with a single gust of air. His secret was safe, for now.

Suddenly, the blonde sat up straighter- a smile lighting up on his face- for there, in the distance, he could see a speck of white, rapidly moving closer.

As fast as he could, he dashed to the door and checked the hallway. Once he saw it was all clear, he ran back to the window and opened it wide, waving his hands in exaggerated motions in order to attract the speck's attention.

With a swerving movement, the white spot changed course and headed to Legolas, growing form a meaningless dot to a large snowy owl, which landed in front of the youth in a dramatic flurry of wings.

He smiled, reaching out and gently stroking the soft feathers, crooning out compliments and praises as he did so.

"That's a good boy, Arod. You did so well… C'mon, let's get you something to drink, and I got some treats for you!"

Arod cooed appreciatively, pecking lightly at his master's ear in affection, and flew over to the large cage in the corner of the bedroom, where the promised treats were waiting.******

As his owl ate, Legolas carefully untied the letters from it's leg and took them to his bed, where he sat and opened the first envelope, a green one addressed with only his name. Quickly he read through it's contents.

Dear Mr. Greanleaf,

This letter is a response to the one you sent requesting your studies take place in Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While it is unusual for us to accept a student outside of our assigned lists, I see no reason for you not to attend, as long as your parents or guardians agree to the change, of course.

Along with this letter, I have sent our customary Hogwart's Acceptance Letter, which includes all the supplies you will need to acquire before school starts.

There are two ways you can come to Hogwarts, either by the Hogwarts Express- which leaves Station 9 ¾ on September First- or you may have a parent or guardian drop you off on the premises.

If you do choose to attend Hogwarts, please have your parent or guardian send an owl that states you have their full permission.

Looking forward to your possible attendance, and hoping to see you next year,

Gandalf Grey

Headmaster *******

Legolas pumped his fist in the air, resisting the urge to shout in triumph. It had worked. His plan had worked! He wouldn't have to go to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic after all!

His father was a good man, of this he was sure, but he was also the most overprotective person he had ever met.

And he knew, he knew, that Thranduil just didn't want to lose him. That his father did what he did because he was scared of losing him, like he lost his wife. That he should really be grateful that his father cared so much, even if the way he cared wasn't the most obvious.

But it was getting ridiculous. Too extreme. Legolas couldn't even go outside- into his own backyard- without someone following him, hovering just a few steps away. He wasn't allowed into town, muggle or otherwise, without a full-blown escort, bodyguards included.

And wherever he went within the house, someone always somehow found themselves in the same room, whether it be the butler dusting a dustless vase or a maid shining spotless cutlery.

The worst part was that despite all the company, Legolas always felt so alone. No one really talked to him, and the little conversation he instigated were always filled with short, curt answers and an endless amount of Master Greenleaf 's and Mister Legolas's and Sir's, and so many tones of formality and polite toleration that it offered no comfort.

And Legolas' father, despite putting the staff up to his constant surveillance, was rarely in his life at all. The man was always busy with work and business, always sending out messages and always signing permission forms and rule agreements, and that was during the summer, when his father was not being headmaster over in Beauxbaton. During school months, Legolas wa lucky if he talked to his father for more than a minute at a time.

When he turned eleven the subject of schools started to pop up, and it was decided- decided for him- that he would attend his father's school.

And Legolas loved Beauxbatons, he had practically grown up there. (The professors used to joke that he was the school mascot.) He loved the elegant stonework and the carefully manicured gardens. He loved his dorms there, which he shared with his father, and the students who had doted upon him.

But the idea of being stuck there- trapped- for the rest of his childhood. Always being watched, never being alone (but always being alone at the same time). Always being someone who was different, always someone you had to be careful around, because he was the headmaster's son.

And he couldn't. He didn't want that. He wanted to make friends, he wanted to talk and laugh and tell silly stories without the fear of being watched. He wanted to be free to make his own choices, to go outside and climb a tree without ten adults suddenly appearing to try and persuade him to come down. He wanted to not be special or important or treated differently, but accepted and belonging and welcomed.

And he would never be able to do that in his father's school.

And so he had sent a letter to Hogwarts, asking- begging- for them to allow him to attend. He had prepared himself for declination, but they had said yes. They had said yes. And now all he had to do was convince his Ada to let him go, and he was set.

And he could do that. He could.

With a joyful smile he hugged the letter close, his happiness bursting out of him with a brilliant laugh. Suddenly, his excitement was too much to keep still any longer, and he leapt from the bed, dancing around the room with his hands high in the air, reaching for the nonexistent stars.

Upon seeing his master dancing, Arod quickly joined in, flying around the blonde in graceful swoops, occasionally joining the gleeful cries with his own loud screech.

And then Legolas was laughing, taking a flying jump to his bed and landing on his belly, sliding a few feet on the silky sheets.

Still giggling from excursion and glee, he quickly reached out and grabbed the second letter, the one with elegant blue script, and gently broke the unfamiliar seal.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...

...

And so it begins... :D

Notes:

*I know, I know, not a very creative last name. I hope you can survive.

** I might have skipped a couple of generations between Islidur and Aragorn... Oops?

*** I based this off my little sister, who's 11. She sometimes does this, be all sulky and philosophical and then run off with cheer and a craving of food.

**** Can you tell who said what? :)

***** Not a lot of screen time for Gimli, sorry Gimli, and all Gimli fans. He'll get more screen time later. Also, I feel that the Dwarf family will celebrate everything after all they've been through- which none of you guys know nothing about, sorry- don't judge.

****** Yup, Arod is an owl. A big white showy-offy snowy owl.

******* My friends, writing Gandalf Grey instead of Gandalf THE Grey gives one of the weirdest feelings I have ever had.

So there you go, my take on a Harry Potter/Lotr crossover! This fic will NOT include any characters from the HP books, at least I'm not planning for it, and it will mainly draw story elements from Lotr, not HP.

I hope you all liked this chapter, and I hope it wasn't something you have read a thousand times. I think my favorite bits are the shire being a squib community and Arod being an owl. I find that amusing. I hope you all found it amusing too!

To Andy the willow tree, thank you again for being so kind and generous, and I really hope you enjoyed! :D

Till next time,

The Mashpotatoe Queen