Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter Series or affiliated books and movies. I do not own the rights to The Lord of the Rings or affiliated books or movies. I am not making money off of this monstrosity of unoriginality.

Here is my challenge to myself:

A completed LotR/HP crossover where Harry does not end up with Legolas (actually..he won't end up with anybody in all probability, I don't have the patience to write about relationships) or he comes into middle-earth as an elf.

Elves do not have all the fun. It takes too long to get them drunk.

(pssst…if you find one or have written one, please tell me!)

Prologue

He had heard some fishy things about the after-life. So that is why he was getting his drinking in now. Merlin knows it would be his lucky day in Heaven, Hell, Valhalla…whatever, to find that there is no Firewhiskey. Yeah, because that would be what he is denied.

His snort echoed through the stone ruins of what was the Ministry of Magic in another glorious lifetime. The clouds above him were rumbling back in reply.

"How poetic"

Not that anyone is there to hear the voice, let alone reply to the comment upon the weather. He was used to being alone. He longed for the days when a night like this would be spent on plushy armchairs in front of a roaring fire. The second years would act like they were twice as knowledgeable than the first years and the Prefects would tell everyone to quiet down because people were studying. When no one could go outside though, everyone was inside, together and making noise. The more noise, the more love. He longed to be in a noisy room, sitting in a chair and just watching people laugh. Silence was his stalwart companion though, the war saw to that. Hah…war…it sounded so honourable. He went down the names in his head and realized that no matter how they died, it never seemed justified. They deserved to live. He couldn't bring them back though.

Ronald Weasley died of a snake bite, the asp was commanded by the Dark Lord himself, it got his ankle from behind while he was shielding his mother. Molly, Arthur, Charlie, and Ronald Weasley's bodies were never recovered due to the magical fire that took over their property for three days. All that was left of the building once called home by so many was a crumpled pile of bricks remaining from the hearth. Four handfuls of ashes were released in the wind in a hidden ceremony. The public still had not acknowledged their deaths to this day, a whole three years later.

The Burrow had not even finished smoldering when the unexpected occurred. Voldemort took Hogwarts. A school. The ministry was not the first to go as the Order predicted, Voldemort wanted to crush the memories of his childhood along with the future of the wizarding world before going after its centre. It seemed absurd at the time that the takeover would start at a school, but by gathering the minds of children and destroying the souls that would not bend to his will early the Dark Lord ensured he would still win the Wizarding World even if he lost the upcoming battles.

Draco Malfoy died when he refused to kill the other students and tried to lie about protecting another student from the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord went to seek out the Chamber of Secrets while the takeover was being handled by his Deatheaters. On his way there he was stopped by Draco who offered to search the bathroom and report his findings. Unfortunately for Draco, the Dark Lord knew what was behind the door to the girl's bathroom on the second floor. After Draco was killed by Nagini, the Dark Lord pushed the rusty-hinged door open to reveal Ginevra Weasley and what was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Ginny Weasley was never one to stay put when told to do so. Her mother realized this when Ginny was three and had to use a sticking charm every time batty, old Ottis from Plymtree came to read stories to her children. This same sense of restlessness occurred when Neville Longbottom told her to stay put, and watch the map with Luna. Deciding that this was an insult to both her intelligence and Luna Lovegood's, she decided to something that was more useful than map watching. Experience, one of the hardest teachers, told her that the Slytherin Heritage was important to the Dark Lord, as were the 4 dozen odd Basilisk teeth inside the Chamber of Secrets. It was this thought process that lead to her destroying the chamber entrance with 25 fireworks, and bludgeoning hexes that were cast until exhaustion would not let her move her arm. She never realized the Dark Lord entered the bathroom until she heard the screams of rage. Her death came quickly, an unintentional kindness of Lord Voldemort.

Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood died within the hour of their friend. Neville was taken down with a quick "lacero" across his spine from a Deatheater that snuck up on from behind in an invisibility cloak. Luna died seeing her body at a new angle after Bellatrix Lestrange decapitated her while she was trying heal the arm that was cursed off of a third year Ravenclaw.

Those outside of the school soon suffered, Madam Rosemerta gave Harry, Hermione, and Ron a bottle of Firewhiskey as thanks for helping her transport refugees out of Scotland. She died two weeks later, the Deatheaters cornered her when she was buying milk in a muggle market for a family in hiding.

The bottle she handed them was the one he was drinking now. The three of them promised each other that they would split the bottle when Tom Marvolo Riddle and all his followers were eliminated. How naïve they were then. He wished he was still naïve now. Two years of hunting Deatheaters taught him that tomorrow doesn't exist. The past two years seemed like one long day since he woke up from his death. Voldemort was shocked by the turn in events, he didn't realize the depths that Harry had fallen to to destroy the Horcrux's. No sword, no Basilisk fang, he had to destroy the darkness with darkness. Learning Occlumency never turned out as well as Dumbledore had wanted it to, but Harry was able to retain some parseltongue abilities as well as the control he learned to destroy the cup, locket, and tiara. Nagini was the last to go, her destruction showed Tom Riddle that he was no longer dealing with a 14 year-old schoolboy. Tom Riddle died upon the Dark magic that he coveted and the Elder Wand he lost to an eighteen year-old with cold green eyes and a cause. He only came back from death to ensure that others won't be killed by Tom and his followers. He almost wished he stayed dead.

But here he was, twenty years-old and newly appointed Most Wanted Criminal in England by the ICW, in the remnants of the Ministry of Magic drinking himself into oblivion. If Hermione could see him now...

"They're not dead"

He yelps and jumps at the whisper in his ear. Well, it isn't so much a jump as a stumbling roll. He looks up from his back and sees where he is for the first time as a hint of moon shines through the clouds. The light filters through the cracks and holes of the ceiling baring evidence of spellfire, age, and an end to the magic holding it together. The rays cast a ghostly light to the edifice in the middle of the room.

The veil.

Years ago, he would have cried. Now he just couldn't do it. There was too much to cry for. The wound of Sirius Black's death on his heart wasn't healed so much as cauterized with the many deaths that followed. He wondered if he would cry if the following deaths never happened.

The sky was an angry palette of black, purple, and brown. The ozone was thick in the air. It will rain soon. But he doesn't see the clouds…only the thin silver veil that flutters in the storm winds with the moonlight fading across it.

He smiled, and serenely said to himself "I can't believe I hadn't thought of this sooner."

He picked up the wand with Elder berries carved into the surface, pointed at himself and said with full purpose:

'Avada Kedavra'

Silence rang through the chamber. He opened an eye.

Pulse. Check.

Wand in hand. Check.

He wasn't dead. Why in the name of Morgana's left tit was he still alive?!

After 3 more trials, it was decided that this was not a fluke. A person cannot kill themselves through the Killing curse apparently. Irony is such a pain in the ass when it finds you.

He wasn't going to let the laws of magic stop him, he was a master of working his way through loopholes by now. How else was he supposed to see everyone he knew and held dear? He was the only one left behind. They were all dead. He could no longer summon his parents, Remus, Tonks or Sirius with the Stone. Wait...Sirius….

Sirius.

The veil.

He turned around, the moon no longer shone on the veil, make it appear more black than silver. He looked at the bottle, whiskey was half gone. He sat down and leaned against the veil. Might as well finish the whiskey before taking a dive.

A stone rolls across the floor, quicker than a cobra he points his wand at the cause of the disturbance.

A jackdaw.

The little bird hopped across the floor and tries to pick up the pebble that stopped at his feet. The bird let out a cawing of protest when it couldn't pick up the rock, and began to hop about looking for something else to take. The bird's agitated hopping escalated to a metallic caw that echoed through the cold chambers. Nothing shone without the light.

So the bird was looking for something shiny to put in her nest. Silly bird. He reached into his pocket and pulled out 2 Knuts and a Daily Prophet clipping of wanted wizards, he started at the clipping and realized, that he wasn't wearing his own robes. He had picked up the robes to fend off the chill of early October. The robes he wore were of the Deatheater that taken to hiding here, Amycus Carrow. He was the last one on a long list of Deatheaters that went into hiding after the death of Voldemort. It was ironic that the Deatheaters were now in hiding. Unfortunately for them, no one was willing to risk getting milk for them. He dropped the clipping and saw his face next to Carrow's, well at least he was finished with his self-appointed mission of eradicating the last of Voldemort's force. It wasn't a satisfying thought.

He tossed the knut to the frenzied bird that nabbed to shiny copper coin and flew off like hell on wings. It almost looked like a thestral if he squinted, black wings and white eyes...maybe you needed to do something to see jackdaws too. He shook his head, he was starting to sound like Luna. He looked up and was treated to a fat raindrop in the eye. It was at times like these he missed glasses. The battles, fights, and hiding forced him - well forced Hermione - to research alternatives to glasses. A potion made with ingredients gathered from an apothecary storeroom that was attacked and abandoned healed his vision better than expected; Hermione had used substitutes to a basic potion in lieu of absent ingredients. Leave it to Hermione to create an elixir out of table-scraps.

The rain began to pour heavily and pool in cracks and pockets in the floor formed by absent flagstones. His hair clung to his face, the rain began to blur his vision. Leaning his head back he wondered why he was still there. His answer was not the sound he was expecting: hollow gratings…like stone upon stone.

He spun around and saw the pillars of the Veil with the stone he leaned against pressed into place. For a tense moment he held the Elder wand he won from Voldemort at the Veil. Nothing. He walked towards the dark fabric and wondered where the shine it held moments ago came from. In answer to his question, the moon peaked through the rain.

He paused and took in the moonlight, glistening in the raindrops and puddles, and couldn't believe he saw light vein and crisscross on the pillars. The light was a silver blood drawn upwards in fine capillaries of the stone. Time seemed to freeze as the jackdaw flew, dropping the knut which clanged in the midst of what felt like a silent thunder reverberating in his bones.

As the thunder was drawn rapidly into the veil, an unholy screech thrashed out of the veil and as wind whipped through the chamber.

Oh, sweet Circe, now he'd done it.

The wind picked up the water and formed glass like tendrils in the rain. He was in awe of the magic around him so much he hadn't noticed the cyclone surrounding him. He was thrown to the ground by the sheer force of the gale and was dragged to the awaiting veil.

He clung to the pillars as his body was dragged in. With the knife-like wind, shrieking echoing through the chamber, and the jackdaw's lifeless form ten feet in front of him, the thought of suicide seemed out of place. Why did he want to survive? Everything he wanted five minutes ago he could have now. He just had to let go.

Everyone was dead, no doubt partying it up in the great unknown, and he was late. Why was he still here hanging on for a lonely life?

The question was never answered as the rock he was sitting on twenty minutes ago flew towards him and struck his arm numb. Surprised, and with a cry of pain, he flew backwards into the Veil.

Light. Bright, undiluted, blinding light pierced through his eyelids as he tried to protect his corneas. Then everything was dark, with a furtive glance he peeked out…and gasped. Stars of all shapes and colors surrounded his floating form, millions, no, billions of stars were out there. He whipped his head around surprised, someone was out there.

"HELLO!, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

No answer came back. He could have sworn he had heard a whisper. The whispers grew in magnitude and volume, but even when the whispers seemed like a violent roar, he couldn't understand a word.

"Why aren't you answering me?!"

He continued shouting, screaming, and pleading until the voices grew to such a din that he couldn't hear his own yells. Covering his ears he looked around for an escape, anywhere was better that here. The stars began to vibrate in the noise..or maybe that was is brain shaking in the sea of sound. The light each grew until they blended, no longer individual points of light, but a mass of white surrounding him, piercing his clenched eyes. Wind whipped through his hair, hot and cold and he smelled the ocean heard the roar and then it stopped. He was falling.

He tumbled from the hurricane of light and space and landed with a soft whumph on the cold mossy ground.

Wait.

Moss.

He looked around and saw he lay upon a moss covered boulder in the middle of a forest. He was no longer in London…or Scotland. He took stock of the situation. Still drenched, wait..Why did he smell like salt?. Still drunk…Was the ground supposed to shift like that? He could still- no…wait…WHAT?!- he can't apparate back to the veil, Surrey or Hogsmeade.

Wait…are those hoofbeats?

Oh. Crap.

Well...At least he still had his Firewhiskey.

A/N: I am am a busy student, updates will not occur during the school year. They will occur around Christmas, Spring, Easter, and Summer, because that is when I do not have school.

That said, I will try. I have the entire story outlined. I know how this ends. I am looking at about 20 chapters for each book. The chapters are unfortunately shorter than I would like. The time consuming part of writing this is meshing the styles of LotR and HP, thus I need to lean on the movies of LotR more than the books in some cases. I also like to include little tidbits from the books outside of the main story, be it 'Fantastic Beasts' or 'The Silmarilion'. I also try to use online sources such as interviews with J.K. Rowling or The Encyclopedia of Arda at arda/ (an amazing site and source for Tolkein fans). I unfortunately do not have a good background in elvish, but I think I'll live because I always forgot to look for the translations in the footnotes when I read fanfics, so I probably won't bother with those.