Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 1 - Soulless

The only emotion Hadrian Charlus Evans of the House of Potter felt when the Dementor sealed its mouth over his in a soul-sucking kiss was relief. Even if this was a fate worse than death, he couldn't help but feel that it would be better than the past few years - or, more accurately, it couldn't be worse. He no longer had it in him to hope for better.

He had defeated Voldemort at the age of seventeen. Remus and Tonks were dead, as was Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Severus Snape and so many others who fought against Voldemort. Not long after the Final battle, he'd had to go and make reparations to the goblins, where he was informed of his inheritance as the Lord of an old pureblood House, though thankfully not an Ancient and Noble House - the Ministry had stripped the Black line of that title after three Black family members committed 'acts worthy of Azkaban' within a ten-year period. Even after he was hailed as Britain's Saviour, he hadn't been able to prove Sirius's innocence. He also saw his birth certificate for the first time and learned that his name was not, in fact, Harry Potter, but Hadrian Charlus Evans of the House of Potter.

He had, however, succeeded in proving the innocence of Severus Snape, who was posthumously awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class for 'braving torture and acts of evil for the good of the Wizarding World'. Harry couldn't help thinking that the man's reaction to the award if he'd lived would have been beyond amusing. His snarling and constant insults to the Minister would be quite the sight to see.

About a month after the Final Battle, the Sword of Gryffindor appeared in a sheath on his desk, and no matter what he did, kept reappearing there. Eventually he gave up, and decided that since he had the sword and it wasn't going to leave him alone, he might as well learn to use it.

The new Minister was a short, plump man with a pin-striped suit and a sickening blue bowler hat called Tobias Fudge, a cousin of Cornelius Fudge and a distant relative of the Snapes'. Harry disliked him on sight, but hid it behind a polite smile and a quick handshake. He'd had enough of the press turning on him in the past, and wasn't willing to invite them to slander him again.

After discovering a whole world of politics and power after receiving his inheritance, Harry also started discretely putting out enquires as to how he managed to go so long without knowing anything about his heritage - it wasn't exactly restricted knowledge. Muggleborns received a pamphlet outlining the government system, yet Harry had been shown round Diagon Alley by Hagrid. Not that he had anything against the half-giant, but Hagrid did have a rather simplistic view of the world, and it probably wouldn't even occur to him that Harry would need to know about his status as the heir apparent of House Potter.

As far as he could tell, Dumbledore was the one behind his ignorance of Wizarding customs, (and didn't that put Sirius's lack of a trial in new light?) but he couldn't have done it all on his own, he simply didn't have enough interaction with Harry on a personal level to ensure that no-one mentioned the importance of Harry's position to him.

Ginny had approached Harry not long before September asking if they could be together now Voldemort was gone, but he turned her down. After everything that had happened, he just didn't want to have a commitment to someone else. He wanted to be able to do what he wanted to for a change.

He went back to Hogwarts to retake his seventh year and pass his NEWTS. Without Voldemort hanging around and no good chances to have death-defying adventures, everything went much more smoothly and he was able to spent a good amount of time reading. Hermione was there as well, but Ron had, unsurprisingly, opted to help George run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ginny was also there for her seventh year, and was so persistent in her belief that she and Harry should be dating that he took to avoiding her completely, and after gentle but firm refusals throughout the year, was finally forced to tell her in no uncertain terms that he was never going to be in a serious relationship with her during graduation.

He spent the next four years catching up on things he should have had all along. He went back to Muggle school and passed GCSE's in Maths, English, Science, IT and French in the first year, and then went travelling. Tourist spots in London, most countries in Europe, and America, both Muggle and Magical. Over the course of that time he learned Occlumency (determined that a repeat of the Department of Mysteries fiasco would not happen, even if Voldemort was dead), improved his handwriting to the point that most people would call his letters elegant rather than an almost-intelligible scrawl (he made a point of learning that in part because it was expected of the Lord of House Potter, and in part because Snape used to write paragraph-long scathing insults about the readability of the essays he turned in), and mastered the Animagus transformation (he didn't register. Sirius would be more than proud).

His mastery of the Animagus transformation required a certain degree of proficiency in wandless magic, and although it was hard at first, he found he enjoyed the challenge now that he was free from yearly attempts on his life. He continued to practice long after he had done what he needed for the transformation, finding solace in the knowledge that he stood a chance at protecting himself without his wand, should the need arise.

All the while Ginny kept sending letters to him, approximately one a month. He never replied, but once or twice he sent a polite letter to Mrs Weasley asking if she could convince Ginny to move on without him.

He came back to England not long after turning twenty one, and was back for no more than a month when something utterly unexpected happened.

Ron and Hermione, who had been married approximately a year after Hermione's graduation on one of the few short days Harry spent in England before leaving again, were found dead in their home. The initial Auror report said that it looked like they had been arguing, Ron's temper got the better of him and he killed Hermione by accident, then killed himself in remorse, but closer inspection revealed that it had been staged to look that way and the murders had actually been committed by a third party.

That was when a tearful Ginny had faked a letter from Harry stating his desire to rekindle a relationship with her and to meet him at Ron and Hermione's house and gone to the Ministry saying that Harry had killed Ron and Hermione in front of her because they had blackmailed him into not going out with her.

Harry's trial had been little more than a sham, and Harry knew without doubt that if he had not been so public a figure he probably wouldn't have received a trial at all. His defence attorney had argued every point in Harry's favour, but the evidence against the Saviour had been overwhelming. His last effort had been to appeal for Veritaserum, but the plea had been overturned by the Minister because 'when the evidence was damning, it was because the accused was guilty. Using Veritaserum on a trial as clear-cut as this would be little more than a waste of public resources that could be put to a far better use'.

Harry had wanted to punch him, but all throughout his trial he had remained stony-faced and silent, knowing that nothing he said would change anything and determined not to provide any of the idiots here amusement by losing his composure.

Harry's only supporters amongst the jeering public was Mr and Mrs Weasley, who knew he would never do anything of the sort, along with Bill, Charlie, George, Neville and his wife Hannah and Luna and her husband Blaise. Percy wasn't taking a side, Fred and Ron were dead, and Ginny was testifying against Harry.

The outcome of the trial was easily predicted. As the last of the House of Potter they had to keep him in custody (read:Azkaban) for three years to allow any new evidence to surface, after which they were legally allowed to administer the Kiss.

As he was dragged away by the Dementors to suffer his sentence, he saw Ginny Weasley blowing him a mocking kiss from the stands. He silently cursed the fact that while his animagus form would be perfect for ripping her throat out (the intimidation factor also didn't hurt) there was no way he'd be slipping through any bars in it, malnourished or not.

Now, here he was. Twenty four years old, half-starved, half-dead, and having his soul sucked out. Having his life taken away only a few brief years after he thought he was free to live as he wished.

His life had never been a happy one. After so long being royally screwed over by just about everyone, Harry was just glad that it was over.

As it turned out, having your soul sucked out was worse than death. Worse than the Kings Cross Station he'd seen, anyway.

If being in the presence of a Dementor caused you to remember all the worst things that happened to you, then having your soul somewhere inside the Dementor was a thousand times worse. It was like marinating in despair so much deeper than your own, drowning in it till everything you were was crying out for an end, any end. Even not existing at all would be better than this.

Instead of feeling like you'd never be happy again, you forgot what happiness was.

Harry despaired. He didn't know how long it had been; it could have been seconds, or it could have been years. Even knowing he was innocent did nothing to give him peace from the torment. How could it, when he had forgotten what peace was? When he was no longer aware that this torture was not the only thing left?

Somewhere ... else, Lily Potter was oscillating between absolute rage and tearful despair as she, James, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Severus and Regulus watched Hadrian Charlus Evans of the House of Potter crumple to the floor, soulless and completely unaware of the world that continued to turn around him. Being dead, they understood the torments that a soulless person would suffer with far more clarity than the idiots in the Ministry, and were appropriately horrified, not just because they loved him but because he was innocent.

James looked like he wanted to punch something, badly, but underneath that there was a sense of despair. Severus's eyes glittered with some unknown emotion, gears in his head turning as he sought to think of something they could do to help the brat. Regulus looked on with sorrow, but not knowing Harry himself and only being there for Severus meant that he was mostly concerned for his brother. Sirius looked like he wanted to kill the Minister (Even death didn't heal all wounds, and Azkaban still left its mark) and he didn't have the same edge of despair as James. Remus was actually growling, low in his throat, and Tonks had her hands wrapped in his, her hair cycling through a series of colours as her mood fluctuated.

Severus, who spent a great deal of time soaking up as much knowledge of his surroundings as possible so he could be prepared for any eventuality (one did not spy on two major powers without being cautious) narrowed his eyes a little as a possible course of action which could help Harry occurred to him.

"I wonder," he mused. "The realm of the dead is ruled by the Lord of the Dead. He goes by many names, but I believe the most commonly used one is Mandos. He is also renowned for being fair. There is a chance, however small, that he may be able to help Harry in some way."

The attention of everyone there was riveted on him. James stepped forward. "Well, where is he?"

"Gryffindors." Severus muttered, before speaking as normal. "It isn't as simple as walking up to someone and asking for directions, Potter..."

After an indeterminable amount of time, Harry became aware that things were changing. The despair no longer pressed on him so heavily, and he began to remember the parts of his life that had been forgotten, the times where he was happy.

He still despaired, but it no longer consumed him.

Eventually he realised that he wasn't still a scrap of thought but lying on the ground. He could feel a couple of rocks digging into his back, could feel a breath of wind on his skin, could hear birdsong and, for the first time in forever, he was aware of his own breathing.

He didn't move. He had no desire to.

The land around him seemed peaceful, or so he thought; he hadn't bothered to open his eyes to check. After a while the peace of it seemed to seep into him. He began to relax, and started to wonder where his was, since he was sure that he'd been worse than dead. Still, he could not muster up the will to care enough to get up and look around.

The despair still held him in it's grip sometimes, till it was all he could think about. However as time seemed to pass, those episodes happened less and less often, and with less intensity.

Finally, his desire to know where he was outweighed the idea of simply continuing to lie there, soaking up the fact that nothing was happening.

He opened his eyes and stood smoothly, not wobbling at all despite the length of time he had to have lain there, not doing anything. He was in a garden of some kind, with a little stream trickling a few feet away and flowers dotting the ground. Harry didn't have time to take in more that that because even as he watched, the land disappeared into a kind of white blankness. Then there was a sense of someone watching him, and before Harry could become suspicious of the feeling, soft voices greeted him.

"Hello, little one." They greeted him in English.

Harry stared at the four vaguely people-shaped lights in bewilderment. His emotions - fear, uncertainty, confusion - seemed far away, muted. Like he'd felt only despair and hopelessness for so long, he couldn't feel other emotions with as much intensity.

"You do not have to speak." The voices soothed. "Just to listen. You were sentenced by the court of the magical world on your Earth, but you are innocent. Your family, your parents and their friends appealed to the Lord of the Dead, Mandos, to aid you, for your suffering was unfair."

One of the beings of light rippled slightly, and Harry got the feeling that he was Mandos.

"Mandos gathered us and asked us to help him aid you. We brought you here, gave you a place of peace to recover from some of the pain that was inflicted on you. However, your physical body on your earth still lives, and you cannot pass into the Halls of Mandos until you are truly dead."

Harry curled in on himself slightly as he realised that he wouldn't be able to see his family yet after all.

"It was at this time we decided that if you need to be truly dead to pass into the Halls, you should first live. There are many worlds, with many forms of life. There is one in particular that we feel would suit you. Middle-Earth. They have a race of elves there who are protective beyond belief of children from any race, and they are skilled at healing, in both body and heart. They would help you."

Harry was sure he looked as confused as he felt. He wasn't a child. He didn't think he'd ever been a child.

"Oh, little one." They sighed. "We would turn you into a elf to ensure that you would be protected. Elves age approximately one year to every three they live until they reach the age of thirty and look about ten. After that they age one year to every five until they reach the age of eighty, looking about twenty. After that, they barely age at all. When we turn you into an elf, you will appear to be around eight."

Harry thought about that for a minute, before shrugging. It didn't much matter to him. What was the worst that could happen, he could die? So long as they didn't have Dementors in that world, he was happy. There was one thing he was a little curious about, however. He held up his hand, palm up, and focused, hoping that he could still use wandless magic after going so long without practice. After a few seconds, a dim, shivering light appeared there, although it went out again almost immediately.

"Yes child, you will keep your magic, although it is not the norm for your race. The Wizards on Middle Earth are few, and more powerful than those of your world. You will not have a wand - yours was destroyed by the Ministry ... we are sorry." They added, as Harry flinched remembering the fate of his wand. "You will still have all of the wounds and scars of your old body - we cannot help it. This does mean that you'll still have the runes the Ministry carved into your palms and arms to spite you, though; they will help you cast without a wand. We will also send with you things which you value most; the Sword of Gryffindor, the Potter signet ring, things like that."

Harry felt the light wrap him up, felt it seep into his mind and show him letters and words he'd never seen before, felt the new knowledge fill him up.

"English is not spoken on that world, so we are giving you knowledge of Sindarin, the primary language of the elves. We cannot decide exactly where you will arrive, only the area, but we will always watch out for you. You will not come to harm." The light pulsed around him again, and Harry left his world for another.

Just to clarify a few things, italics is English and normal writing will be Sindarin, because most of the story will be in Sindarin and I don't want to have to keep pressing the italics button.

No, I haven't told you everything about what Harry went through because of the Ministry, like the runes carved into his hands and arms. We'll get to that.

Yes, I'm starting another story. My ninth. I mean, really. But who can resist writing a story where Harry is a child and gets treated like one, but has suffered as more than most adults and has had to end a war? Not to mention the whole Azkaban/betrayal thing.

Please, please review. I have a lot of unfinished stories and I pick which one to write another chapter for by the amount of reviews on the latest chapter barring writers block, so any and all comments is appreciated.

Enjoy, Shib. :)