Simple Spells
KEYnote: The name Êlúriel pops up but from what I can tell, it’s fanon, using it anyway but I maintain that Tolkien never wrote about her. Thank you, Nauze!
Chapter 6 - Simple Spells
The first years were perhaps his favourite, his first chance to get to meet them and inspire both fear and love for magic.
And as was traditional, the first spell he taught them was Expelliarmus.
His class was separated between Gryffindor and Slytherin, he would pair them between the houses after seeing who disdains who.
Harry made it a point not to put rivals together, never wanting anyone to sabotage their partner on purpose.
And as always, he took the loudest student to step forward before the class. He liked to build on their strengths. If a boy or girl was loud, he taught them how to speak, not how to boast. If a student was quiet, he would ask them questions in front of smaller groups during class, rather than putting them on the spot before the entire class.
So as another class began, another Gryfindor boy stood before him, bold as brass, with his knees knocking together beneath his uniform.
“The disarming spell,” he said, “One of the most important spells you can learn. The most important thing you can learn in a fight with another is how to get out of it, or how to stop it.”
Some laughed, mostly the Gryffindors who had been raised in wizarding households. One even muttered, “So his true colours shine.”
Harry hid a smirk, he meant of course, green and silver as only Slytherins ran away. Harry knew Draco hated that no one believed anymore that he had originally been a lion and not a snake.
Harry smiled at them all, “And yet it is the spell I used to kill Lord Voldemort.”
The class fell silent and the bold boy before him gulped.
“Ready?” Harry asked.
The boy nodded, holding his wand out and Harry caste, “Expelliarmus,” with deliberate exaggeration.
It was a simple spell, an easy spell, one he could cast without a wand.
But today was different, and Harry watched in horror, time slowing yet moving too fast for him to strike back.
His magic surged, and the power of the ill balanced spell, and was forever grateful that the spell blew backwards at him and not his students.
Harry’s hand smarted, the wood of his wand cutting into his hand. He was thrown with such force, he had no time to brace as the glass shattered around him.
As he fell, glass shards suspended around him, he had two thoughts.
Hermione would find a way to resurrect him so she could kill him herself if he had the nerve to go out like this.
His second thought was to wonder if death would take him to Luna.
Harry was nowhere close to the ground as he shifted to his kestrel form and soared back up to his classes.
Harry landed with a flutter of feathers and on human feet, “Second lesson of the day, always expect the unexpected.”
His class looked at him in horror, their faces pale and several students were crying.
Perfect start to the new year, Harry thought with a long sigh. Bones was going to murder him.
Gandalf had given the troop their instructions but as he told his tale and the dwarves came into Beorn’s home in pairs, the shifter became ever more impatient though less hostile.
Still, by the end of his tale, Luna had still not shown.
Beorn asked, “Who is the last of your company then?”
“Her name is Luna-”
“A dwarven female travelling on this sort of quest? Or are you to tell me there is another halfing?”
Gandalf sighed, “She is human.”
All the amusement left Boarin’s face as he went very still to listen, and Beorn growled, “She is with my ponies.”
“Now wait a moment-” Gandalf cautioned but Beorn was already stomping out the back door.
Gandalf had his hand on his staff, ready to defend the youngest member of their company, only to find Beorn rendered frozen at the sight before them.
Gandalf walked to the shifter’s side, watching as every equine Beorn had, even the foals gathered around the fair child.
He thought he would have to say something, however, one look at Beorn’s softening expression let him know all he needed to know.
He turned back the barn, leaving the two kindred spirits time to get to know each other.
Luna had never met such beautiful horses and ponies. The elven horses had been most fair, but these... there was something wild and loved about them. They belonged to the land and the land belonged to them.
But they were not predators, yet they were so curious. They came to her hands, and soon she found herself in their midst as they bumped her shoulders.
She heard them shift before she felt his presence; she knew before looking at him that he was their protector.
The horses didn’t just like him, they loved him.
She curtsied to the giant of man, or being, she needed to stop assuming people were human here.
He raised a hairy brow at her, “Aren’t you afraid of me, child?”
Luna reached out to the nearest black and white horse who met her touch with flapping lips, “They are not afraid of you, and I’ve always found horses to be a fine judge of character.”
He huffed, laying his hand on one of their backs, she realized then, that even the largest horse was too small to carry him. Which meant he raised them for love of them, not as beasts of burden.
“Why do you smile, child?”
“I am not a child,” she stated.
“How old are you?” he asked smugly.
She smirked, “I’m eighty-nine years old.”
He stared at her then smiled widely, “So you aren’t human.”
She shrugged, “Gandalf tells me I was blessed by the Valar.”
“What do you believe?”
She leaned against a horse’s spotted shoulder, “I’m not sure yet.” She turned back to the ponies, “Will you introduce me, then?”
The giant bear-like man laughed, “You ask for their names before mine?”
She smiled, “The wizard said you had a temper.”
“Not for guests who value my herd above themselves. You asked for their names before you asked for shelter.”
“I seem to be the only one among the company content to sleep in the trees beneath the stars.”
He looked at her for a long time, before saying, “Katniss is the one you’re leaning on.”
He introduced the entire herd to her, telling her stories of each of their preferences and quirks.
Only when the sun had set, did he introduce himself as Beorn.
He made her dinner and she fell asleep that night beneath the stars, curled into the warm side of a great fuzzy bear.
If she had any doubts about belonging in this world, it was put to rest by the number of friends she made, at how readily she was accepted here.
oOo
“Thank you, Beorn,” Luna said holding his hand, which was really more like holding his finger as she perched bareback on one his largest horses. “I am truly honoured and grateful for this gift.”
“Come visit me anytime you like, little star,” Beorn said, “I may even gift you some of my foals that you may one day start a herd of your own. If you ever settle.”
Luna couldn’t contain her smile, “I can think of no better life.”
Beorn grunted but she did not miss the happiness and pleasure in his dark eyes. He raised his hand toward them before disappearing into the treeline, but she knew he would follow them.
As they started on their way to Mirkwood, she found Gandalf staring at her.
“What is it?” she asked as Bilbo and Thorin brought their ponies up to them.
Gandalf met her gaze, “Do you know what that offer means? An offer Beorn has made to no other in Middle Earth.”
She smiled, “Likely better than you do,” she leaned forward to run a hand under the soft fur and warm neck under the mare’s mane.
“Do you think so?” Gandalf asked her, tipping his head back to look at her fully from under the rim of his hat.
She nodded, “I do, because they mean more to me than they do to even you.” And with that, she urged the horse forward, and together became earth rising to meet the horizon as they sped over the green grasses.
The dwarven king looked at Gandalf, “Wizard, have you ever met anyone like her before?”
He sighed stroking his greying beard, “No, no I have not, but then, she is the first Dragonologist I have ever met, and the first person from the Lands of Exile to return to Middle Earth I know of.”
Even as he said this though, Gandalf couldn’t help thinking how much she reminded of an elf child.
Except that was impossible for a number of reasons, mainly, because no elf child would ever go unaccounted for. She was too young to be a child of parents who had survived a war, and no children were born in Valar.
He supposed she could have been conceived in the Lands of Exile, but even that seemed so unlikely to him.
Elven children could only be conceived in love and want for a child, such things seemed unlikely to be in the Lands of Exile.
Bilbo spoke, “Do you think we will find her people in the East?”
Gandalf sighed, “For her sake, I hope that we do.”
“She can come home with me if we don’t,” Bilbo stated.
Gandalf smiled at him, “I think she values your friendship, Bilbo Baggins, more than you will ever know.”
Bilbo looked away, heat rising to his cheeks at the compliment.
Luna looked up at the great forest and felt its sickness, felt the creeping darkness like a stain on a white gown.
“Don’t unsaddle my horse,” Gandalf called.
“You’re leaving us?” Fíli asked.
“I have business, I will be with you before you reach the mountain,” he said, as he turned back to remount his horse, “Do not stray from the path, or you shall never find it again.”
Luna tried to hold onto those words as they entered the green woods.
But the woods spoke to her, called her name, reached out to her, and sang in such sweet melodies.
She was lost before she remembered to take so much as one step off the path.
She should have been scared, if not for herself then for her friends.
But the trees…
Oh, the trees.
She felt as if she had been looking for home all her life, and now, here she had found it.
She had always been good at climbing trees, but now, it was trees were arms holding her up. She touched their bark, felt how they were connected, felt where they were strong and where they were weak.
Felt the spider nests that grew in them like a cancer. Felt the dwellings of the elves like their heart, their touch and song like veins bringing life’s blood to the forest.
Yes, the woods could survive without them, but it would not be the same, just as the elves would not be the same without them.
Their branches and leaves stretched up toward the sun and from the elves, they had even learned to reach for the moon, for the cold distant light of starlight.
She followed the leaves, climbed to the canopy above. Black butterflies with velvet wings danced there.
Go along the East Road and you shall find your people.
Was it silly that she felt the trees were her people?
She had found one of the tallest trees and as she looked around at the horizon, at the landscape of Middle Earth, she saw far in the distance, a lone mountain, like a shadow striking out against the sky.
The Lonely Mountain.
It was as if the sight brought reality crashing back down on her, drowning out the sound and call of Mirkwood.
Dwarves.
Hobbits.
Wizards.
Humans.
Goblins.
Orcs.
Shapechangers.
Elves.
She knew now to whom she belonged. Or rather, who her parents had belonged to.
Luna was more ready to accept the trees than the elves.
Would the dwarves hate her?
Would she be able to find her father? Discover why her mother had left him?
She still didn’t fully understand Valar, she only suspected that it was a place of rest and that to want such a rest was to pass on the desire to raise one’s daughter.
Had her birth father felt the same? Was he dead?
She pushed these concerns aside as she asked the trees to lead her to her friends. And lead her they did.
Anger pooled in her gut as she saw the elves surrounding her friends with arrows knocked at them.
Luna did not have much magic left in her, but she had enough.
She crept above the branches, even higher than the elves in the trees.
One elf saw her, raising his bow, his blue eyes met hers, and for a second, she felt a moment of vertigo. His eyes were the same shade as hers.
She was like him and he was like her.
But she was from the Lands of Exile.
She had gone through hell, and she had been hated, and loathed, and outcasted, and she had had so few friends she could count them on one hand.
That was not a world these people knew among their own kind.
She had been told that elves were ageless.
But Luna had known time, knew decay and loss as well as she knew the lives of the creatures and beings she tended to.
She let that fuel her magic, let her pain and fear she kept deep inside flow to her hands.
The elf who had spotted her hesitated.
His mistake.
She dropped, his arrow whisked over her head, and she spun, hair hands throwing sparks and blaze. She aimed over the dwarves head and the elves called out in shock, and the elf who shot at her looked panicked as she landed in a crouch directing a blaze at him.
The dwarves let out a battle call and chaos unfolded.
Wand practice with Harry Potter made her one of the fastest duelists in all of Britain. So even without a wand her motions were precise.
She didn’t aim for death shots, she aimed for the bows, for the fletchings bundled at their backs.
The elves cried out in surprise or fright, many spinning to drop their arrows and used their bows to block the dwarves' axes and swords.
She got most of the arrows and the elves resorted to their own swords.
“Stop!” the elf that had shot at her called in Basic. He had his dual swords crossed at Bilbo’s neck.
Luna Lovegood had rarely hated any one person so much.
“Put down your weapons,” he commanded.
Thorin growled, but was the first to throw down his sword. The others followed, but Luna jumped the elf who had put down his swords to bind Bilbo.
Caught off guard, she was able to tackle the bigger male to the ground, she told Bilbo to run as he rolled out of the way.
He was able to get behind a tree and the other elves signalled to one another as Bilbo escaped inexplicably past them all.
Luna continued to fight the elf to get him to drop his swords, but she was unwilling to use her gifts.
The war had changed her, and she never wanted to truly hurt anyone again.
She never wanted to kill again, and she had the freedom to choose not to kill.
But she had deduced that this one was the leader, and the longer she distracted him, posed some kind of threat to him, the others would be more focused on her than on recapturing Bilbo.
The elf figured out that she wouldn’t use the fire on him pretty quick, as he rolled them. He was clearly better trained in combat because he flipped them and she somehow ended up on her knees with him tying her hand behind her back. He placed some type of stone in her hands as he expertly tied her hands securely around it.
“That’s a fire starter,” he told her in Basic, “If you use fire, you’ll cause a small explosion.”
She tossed her head back so her hair fell back from her face, “Quick thinking.”
He stared down at her for a long moment, “I appreciate you not hurting my people.”
She gave him a half smile, “I can’t say the same.”
“You hurt her, pointy ears, I will personally kill you!” Thorin threatened, ignoring the elf stripping him of his hidden weapons.
The elf was almost gentle as he helped her up, the other elves looked at her warily.
“How did you do that?” the elf asked.
Thorin and the others all looked at her as she answered, “A wizard taught me.”
“Who?” the elf asked.
“Harry,” she said, raising her chin, “Harry the Black.”
His eyes narrowed, “I know no wizard by that name.”
She smiled at him, “Surprising as that is, you don’t know mine either.”
He smirked, “What is a daughter of man doing with a bunch of dwarves?”
She batted her eyes at him, “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“You’re in our forest.”
“It’s not yours,” she told him, “no one owns them,” she looked at the trees around them and he followed her gaze before meeting her eyes, “you belong to them.”
We belong to them.
He stared at her, then spoke in elvish to the others and they were led away into the forest.
Kíli and Fíli came to bookend her, but the elves never faltered in their guard.
They were brought to the heart of the forest, to a fortress of sorts that the elves, Woodland Elves, Gandalf had called them, had built for themselves.
She couldn’t help but find the place beautiful.
More lovely than Imladris and the falls were winding architecture grown from the trees.
The elves spoke in their language that was also different from the Imladris elves, and it spoke to a place inside her soul.
Each step she took, she came closer and closer to the person, to the being she had been meant to be.
She should have never been raised in Britain, should have never gone to school at Hogwarts, lived in cold castles and dreamed of magical things when she belonged to these trees.
There was no greater magic than this forest.
She should have been raised under these leaves and these stars.
Luna felt the spell that had been placed on her, became away of the illusion that had protected her in the Lands of Exile.
Her ears were as pointed as the elves around her, their blood was her blood. She was stronger than a human, and the elements did not harm her as they harmed humans because she was of the air and sky. She was a part of the life in trees and that which was given life by them.
She stood before a king with a crown of autumn leaves interwoven with gemstones and silver, as if the branches and leaves were as valuable as the cut topaz and rubies.
Luna heard a low humming, as if she stepped too close to a forcefield, a spell on the precipice of breaking.
The Elven King, King Thranduil of Mirkwood spoke to Thorin, offering his help in stealing from the dragon in exchange for a percentage of the treasure, specifically white gems.
The elf she had wrestled with spoke after Thorin refused Thranduil’s bargain, Luna was unsurprised by this but Balin sighed heavily, muttering, “We are never getting out of here.”
Whatever the elf with hair as blonde as the King’s, as white blonde as her own for that matter, a white-gold colour that would be as snow or silver beneath the moon turned eerie eyes to her.
“You are fire touched.”
She looked at him and asked, “Do you know the name Êlúriel?”
Every elf froze. Thorin and the older dwarves flinched.
Thrandruil stepped forward to menace over her, and she did not back down.
She had met the Dark Lord, she had been tortured by Death Eaters, by Bellatrix Lestrange herself. This pointed-eared man that looked too familiar, who looked too much like her in the shape of his eyes, the curve of his lips.
He pulled his sword on her, laying the edge against her throat as he asked, “You speak of my wife?”
The words were so soft.
But the intensity of his face gave meaning to his words: You dare to speak of my wife?
“Why did she leave you?” Luna asked.
Thranduil pulled his sword back, his nostrils flaring, she braced herself for the slash of metal, so she was thrown off her feet as his hand came around to backhand her.
Thorin threw himself over her and swore at the Elven King, before growling in Basic, “ Curse all elves!”
The spell that had been ready to break, the illusion Luna could have brushed away with a mere thought, she wrapped tightly around herself, enforcing it.
She was an elf.
She was a woodland elf.
More than that really, she was an Elven Princess of Mirkwood.
But she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to claim this angry and greedy King as kin, as her father. She didn’t want to lose the friends she had made.
So she was not insulted as she and Thorin were dragged to their feet by the guards, as some muttered the word witch in the way that no-majs spoke of things they did not understand.
And she even smiled in challenge as Thrandruil roared at them, “They will never see sunlight again!”
She and Thorin shared a glance in perfect agreement.
They might indeed be caught.
But in a kingdom of armed elves versus a single overlooked halfling, her and Thorin’s bets were on the hobbit.
AN: Thoughts, ideas, kestrels, or reviews, pretty please?