Prologue - A Stargazer

Harry Potter, age ten, liked the stars. If you asked him why, he'd say something like that the Sun was too loud while the Moon was just kinda silly, waxing and waning and rising at strange hours. But the stars were constant. They held their spots in the heavens, like little beacons far far away.

His favorite star wasn't technically a star; he'd looked it up. The Morning Star, Venus, always caught his eye. Sure, it wasn't a true star, but it peeked in the window every day as he balanced on a stool to cook for his Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin. It was almost like family; certainly more so than his actual family.

One morning, Aunt Petunia had walked in on him cooking, and asked, "What in God's name are you staring at?"

He pointed at his companion light. "Venus."

"Lucifer?" she asked, eyebrow drawn absurdly high. "Appropriate."

Sure, his favorite star was identified with the Devil, but it had other, better names. Jesus and John the Baptist, he thought, balanced out the whole Satanic connotation.

His favorite name, however, was one he'd found in an essay by some dead Oxford don by the name of John. He was a Anglo-Saxon expert, apparently, and he once was talking about a poem named Crist, in old English. Éarendel. "Luminous Wanderer." It had a certain charm to it that Latin names, like Lucifer and Venus, just didn't carry.

Harry arose early on Saturdays. Yesterday, he had managed to get out to the library and borrow a copy of Crist. Maybe he could read it to the star-planet. He opened it up gently, taking care to make no noise to rouse the Dursleys and their anger. "Éala éarendel engla beorhtast, ofer middan-geard monnum sended." Sent to men, huh? Well, he was glad it was sent to him, at least.

He looked back up at the star, which he could have sworn was brighter than usual.

Seconds later, he knew no more.

1550 T.A.

Harry blinked as he returned to realty. He...wasn't sure where he was anymore. He certainly wasn't at the Dursleys; there were vibrant green leaves above him, blocking a bright sky. Groaning, he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. He really had done a number on his back, collapsing or whatever he did, as it hurt quite a bit.

He looked around, and lo and behold, there was a person nearby. Now, Harry had a single thought when he saw the person: Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would despise him. He was dressed in gray, with an unmistakable wizard hat on his head. He almost looked cartoony. The man turned, and - much to his lack of surprise - the man was rather old looking. To be fair, was a young wizard even a wizard?

"Ah...hello." Harry wasn't sure what you said to wizards. He was fairly sure "Back, demon-spawn!" - what the Dursleys would say - wasn't correct, but that was about it.

After quirking an eyebrow, the man spoke. "Curious!" His English had a strange accent, one Harry had never heard before. "An enchanting tongue. Saruman would be delighted to discover it." There was a pause. "My apologies, child. May I ask your name?"

"Ah...Harry, sir. Harry Potter."

"Harry, hmm? Not a bad name; a bit short and not quite euphonic, but suitable. Suitable, indeed. Carries with it a sense of a high destiny. In this tongue, my name would be Dreamer, but you may call me Gandalf. 'Elf of the Staff,' in your tongue." Elf? This man looked like no elf. Weren't they little fey-like creatures, tiny sprites with pointed ears? Gandalf had none of those traits.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Gandalf." Harry wasn't quite sure he was telling the truth, but whatever.

"And you, Harry. Now, from where do you hail?" From where? Really?

"Surrey, sir."

"Surrey? And where might this 'Surrey' place be?" Harry was a bit surprised that this person didn't know what Surrey was, being as he spoke English. Maybe he was a Yank?

"South of London, sir." At the man's lack of a look of recognition, he added, "In the United Kingdom?"

"United Kingdom? Silly boy, the united kingdom died with Elendil and Isildur."

There was a long, awkward silence. "I'm sorry, sir, but who are they? Are you an American?"

"What is an American?" Well. He wasn't in Kansas anymore, as it were. He'd never actually been to Kansas - thanks to the Dursleys' famous magnanimity, or lack thereof, he'd never been much of anywhere - but if he had never been, then he certainly wasn't there now. "Forgive me, the word doesn't translate well. It gives a connotation of a land to the west... Are you referring to Westernesse, what the elves called the Kingdom of Númenor? That fell many centuries ago."

There was a bit more than the meaning of American lost in translation, apparently. Like, what in the name of God a Westernesse or a Númenor was. He swallowed. The Dursleys would probably murder him dead for asking a stupid - and magic-implying - question like this. "Sir, are we on Earth?"

"Are we on earth? On soil? But of course. Does it look like we have delved with the dwarves?" Oh. If this man truly was unfamiliar with English - which, much to his dismay, Harry was starting to believe - then the confusion made sense. Also, dwarves?

"I mean, are we on the planet Earth?"

"Is that the name of the planet you hail from? Curious! Another planet, without the Valar? Puzzling. Another creation of fa- of Ilúvatar? Hmm. I shall have to think. No, child Harry, we are not on a planet called 'Earth.' This we call Arda in the tongue of the Elves. Like yours. Synecdoche. We simply call it their word for 'place.'"

Harry was getting a bit tired of the speed of the man's speech; it blazed by a million topics while Harry was simply trying to wake up. So, in order. He was talking to a man named Gandalf. Gandalf seemed to be a wizard, and spoke English like he'd never spoke it before. Harry was not on Earth. He was on a planet that decidedly was not Earth. It had elves and dwarves and probably goblins and unicorns. "Am I dreaming, sir? I think I'm crazy."

Gandalf shrugged. "You seem sane, Harry. And, please, call me Gandalf."

"No no no! Anar is Sun. Aran is king." Harry wanted to scream. These Elvish languages were ridiculous! Gibberish! And Gandalf insisted he learn two; not just the Elvish lingua franca, Sindarin, but also what seemed to be Elf Latin. And then Gandalf also was trying to teach him Westron, Adûnaic, so Harry was on the edge of losing his mind.

However, it was better than being at the Dursleys. The food was amazing, better than anything Harry had cooked. Lembas, Gandalf had called it, Elf-bread. While begrudging, Harry would admit that he was happier than he'd been in quite a while.

"Take a break for today, Harry. Your mind seems elsewhere." He sighed. "Dwelling with the elves of Lothlórien may help you with learning more than my aid can." Gandalf had been on his way to the Elvish haven, apparently, when he encountered Harry. Something about a meeting. Apparently, they were only a few hours' walk from the place.

"Hail, Mithrandir!" A musical, feminine voice rang out from the trees in Sindarin - he'd gotten pretty far in understanding the language, even if some of the vocabulary was still puzzling - before a shadow dropped down. She landed with nary a sound, and walked over to Gandalf and Harry. She paused for a second, then looked at Harry. "May I ask your companion's name?"

"This is Harry, a wanderer like myself."

The woman shrugged. It was strange; every single thing that the woman did seemed polished and effortlessly noble. "Any you trust, Mithrandir, is welcome in Lórien. Well met, Harry."

"Well met, miss."

"Falathiel, would you perchance carry Harry to Lórien? I imagine he is already rather tired."

" of course." All of the sudden, she lifted up Harry, and jumped. Harry was - was he flying? "Hold on, child."

"This...is...amazing!" He'd never gone this fast before! He felt as if the whole word was his own! The elf lady just laughed in response, the bell-chime of her laughter ringing as they flew through the trees.

It was only minutes later when the near-flight ended as swiftly as it began.

"Welcome to Lóthlorien, Harry." It was...beautiful. Magical. He noticed he'd been using that word a lot lately. Dursleys would be livid, but apparently they were beyond even the stars. Harry couldn't say that he was annoyed by that.

Another elf approached, a man. "Hail! Our Lord and Lady request your companion's presence. I shall take you to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel."

They walked at a much slower pace than when she carried him. This was probably a good thing, as Harry was mesmerized. The trees...they were so alive! So green and so... He couldn't put into words the beauty. He could see why Gandalf said it was the fairest of all the havens of the Elves.

Finally, they came to a large building, crafted from the most beautiful wood, forming a majestic oval hall with a tree through the center. Falathiel opened the door, and they stepped in. Shaded by the tree at the center were two seats, a man in the left and a woman in the right. There were others scattered around, but Harry knew instantly they were Celeborn and Galadriel. They rose as Harry walked over with his two Elvish companions.

"Eärendil shines on this meeting, young one," spoke Galadriel, a look in her eye that spoke nothing. It was true; it was evening now, and Harry had noticed his star just before they entered the great hall. "What evil have you brought here?"

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?" He took a step back in confusion.

"Sit, child. You are no servant of the Enemy, nor of his foul servant in the North, but the Great Enemy overshadows your soul." Celeborn spoke calmly, his eyes less stony and forceful than Galadriel, but no less nobly. If Harry didn't believe they were royalty, he would now. He obliged, taking a seat a few feet away from the two Elves, who took their own seats again.

"My Lord, he is a Man; why wouldn't the Great Enemy affect him?" Falathiel began.

"You are too young to remember," Galadriel responded. "I remember when the Great Enemy still loomed over Beleriand. It was not simply cruel, like that which is too often found in the heart of Man. No, it was...something else. Hate. Pain. Evil incarnate. He bears it upon his brow like the the Mariner does the Silmaril."

Falathiel's face was white, and she looked like she'd seen her own death. "Varda And Lúthien Tinúviel protect us!"

"Worry not. There is nothing to fear from this Man-child. But..." Galadriel sighed. "Child, what is your name?"

"...Harry Potter, my Lady." Gandalf had taught him the proper forms of address.

"Greetings, Harry." She turned to Celeborn, and they seemed to be communicating without words. "Follow me."

They stood on top of the highest point in Lórien, from what Harry could tell. "My vision...sees far, child. Further than most of the Wise. But there is little I can see of your future. You have a high destiny."

Harry paused. "Gandalf said the same."

"Mithrandir sees into the hearts of Man and Elf better than anyone in Middle-Earth. His judgement is correct." She sighed. "These are dark times. You are from beyond this world, are you not?" Harry nodded, surprised. "As I said, I see far. The past moreso than the future. The evil on your brow chases you from your past; what is, though, is beyond my sight. Elrond Half-Elven is probably the only one in Middle-Earth who can help you identify it.

"Until you are free, however...evil will haunt you. It is only the mighty hatred of Durin's Bane that protects you from the sight of the Enemy's foul servant in Angmar. I fear the hatred on your brow could draw you into the service of the Enemy. However, you will be hunted by all the forces of Evil that see you."

Well. That was a lot to take in. He was...doomed to fight evil for as long as he was here?

"But take heart. As I said, your destiny is great! As great as brave heroes of the First Age." Then she dropped the bomb. "You will never return to that from which you hail. Search not for a path there. That will only take you into the grasp of the Enemy. Instead, stand strong. You will have a home here in Lóthlorien for as long as you so desire."

Harry nodded. "May I have a moment to think?"

"Of course, young one. You are protected from the darkness here, and may think as long as you please."

She started walking away, then turned. "Though so much of your future is obscured to my vision, I see two truths. When armies march on the Enemy at the end of this Age, and when armies march on the Great Enemy at the End of Days, in the Battle of Battles, your name will be on their lips and your songs in their heart. Take heart, Harry Potter."

Harry never would have thought that he gazed upon a sky identical to the one that mesmerized the Eldar even long before the Sundering. Of course, ignorance is no excuse when destiny comes into play, and - no matter the universe - Harry always has had a destiny that shines brighter than the Two Trees themselves.

This story started with and continues to be written with one simple thing in mind: I just want to have fun. I'll let the story take me where it will. This will be no serious affair, though it will have serious moments.

Also, yes. I will indeed be reaching into slightly obscure corners of the legendarium, though I'll try to briefly note them.

Eärendil the Mariner - a character from The Silmarillion. Sails to Valinor (the Pure West where Frodo et al go at the end of LotR) to beg the aid of the Valar (basically archangels) against Morgoth (basically Satan). Later takes a Silmaril (super precious gemstone that radiates light) with him in a flying boat that becomes the Morning Star.

Crist - real book, real quote. Inspiration for Eärendil in Tolkien's Legendarium.

Númenor - Westernesse, where Aragorn's ancestors are from. Basically Atlantis.

Illúvatar - God. Created Gandalf as an Ainur (angel), which is why Gandalf nearly calls him "father."

Great Enemy - euphemism for Morgoth.

Varda - Vala of the Stars

Lúthien Tinúviel - Most beautiful elf ever. Her romance and adventures with a Man named Beren are a big part of The Silmarillion.

Battle of Battles - Dagor Dagorath in Quenya, the end of time/apocalypse.