A/N: Hello all!

So I had to write an Elfling!Harry fic. Only It's The Wrong Harry (Gromit!)

As the genre says this is parody through and through. If you're looking for a deep comment on life, the universe and everything... this isn't the place to look. Some strong language (Harry's understandably unhappy at being dragged to Middle-earth), it gets toned down a bit later.

This fic has a singular purpose, catharsis. Chapters are shorter (I can do one of these chapters in a couple of hours if I want to chill out) and will be a bit random in timing. It shouldn't eat into the posting schedule of my other fics.

Meddlesome Anthropomorphic Personifications

Death looked on.

Through the ages the being known as Death had seen many men come and go. They were temporary, ephemeral. Their existence was the merest speck amid the vast majesty of the universe.

Yet Death watched.

Why should Death watch such beings, so small and weak? Why should anything in the universe care about such utterly inconsequential nothings? The universe did not care, why should Death care?

Death did care.

The race of men, so weak and momentary, had a single thing, a single spark, that piqued Death's interest. They knew Death. They realised the inevitability of Death, the certainty. Yet they carried on regardless. They understood that their existence was merely a prelude to Death. They were wheat before the scythe, the beasts to slaughter. Yet still they strived.

Or, one man did.

The Master of Death.

Death did not understand.

Death was not cruel. When life became too much to bear, Death would be there to lighten the burden.

This man was beyond the help of Death. He did not need it. He understood the full weight of existence and life and stood bowed, but not broken. Still, though, Death wished to help.

Beyond Death's own universe stood another, where Death's power was not so complete. Where beings lived that called themselves 'immortal'.

A burden shared is a burden halved.

The Master of Death, this being who had achieved a true understanding of the one true inevitability, whom Death could not unburden of life, could find company through the turns of eternity in this world.

Death would give what help Death could. Death always did.

o-o

"Morgana's saggy cunt!" Harry attempted to growl. His voice was high and pure, it tinkled like a sparkling spring stream. Entirely unsuited to menacing growling. "What the fuck is this?"

Harry Potter, Master Auror, Order of Merlin 1st Class and the most feared dark wizard hunter in the last half millennia was pissed.

He had been asleep at his house. Asleep may be pushing the term, he'd been resting. Harry barely slept for more than a couple of hours each night, and when he did he always slept with eyes open and more defensive wards set up than Buckingham Palace. Anything larger than a flea would find itself frozen, zapped, chained, caged and stunned in moments should they try to enter his abode. Then things would get worse as they would then come face to face with the most feared man in the world.

None of his traps had triggered. None of his alarm animals had called. He hadn't seen or heard a thing.

So how the fuck did he end up in a fucking forest. More importantly, how in the name of Dumbledore's wrinkly ball-sack had he been completely divested of his clothes and transformed into a child without noticing? He was no bigger than he'd been when he'd first gone to Hogwarts!

If they weren't dead he'd suspect Fred and George, the twisted geniuses that they were. But they were dead. Very definitely dead. Raining down on Diagon Alley in little chunks dead. Unless they'd found a way to prank him from beyond the Veil, Harry was fairly sure they were blameless in this.

Someone was to blame and as soon as Harry found out who that someone was they would be in for a world of hurt. If it was Fred and George then he'd just have to find some way to resurrect them for his vengeance.

He looked around, taking quick stock of his surroundings. There wasn't much to see really. Harry, despite a long jaunt through every woodland in the UK during the war, was useless at nature.

He recognised trees. Definitely trees. And some bushes. And green stuff that might be moss, but he wasn't sure.

No threats.

That pretty much summed up his assessment. A quick check confirmed that there were no significant latent magics in the area. Magic felt a little thicker than usual in the air, but certainly nothing out of the ordinary. No anti-travel charms anyway.

He decided the best way to deal with this would be to apparate to a safehouse and then figure out the transfiguration portion of the joke.

He twisted on the spot.

He fell over.

"Fuck."

So despite being unimpeded, he was unable to apparate. That was impossible. Harry was capable of apparating clear around the planet if necessary. He sincerely doubted he was stuck on Mars or anywhere else. He didn't pay that much attention to such things but he was fairly certain Mars wasn't known for its lush forests.

Maybe they'd done something to his magic to 'prolong the hilarity'?

A quick gesture caused the Elder Wand to materialise in his hand and another sent a shower of sparks into the air above him.

His magic was fine. He was now very confused. Fred and George were going to suffer. There was no-one else this could be. Someone had found a way to block his Apparition… without blocking it. He'd once tried to Apparate to the moon as part of a drunken wager. It felt like that.

But he was on Earth.

Probably.

Shit. What if he wasn't on Earth? No, that was stupid. The trees were trees, the grass was grass, the bushes were bushes and the sun looked suspiciously like the sun. If this was another planet it was the splitting bloody image of Earth.

He cursed again under his breath. He'd have to go 'exploring' as he was sure the twins would gleefully have been crowing if they weren't already entirely dead.

Probably.

No, they were definitely dead. Alive people generally were not of the consistency of sausage filling.

He had to work out just what the fuck had happened. And to do that he needed to know more. And to know more he needed to beat the bloody fuck out of someone until they told him.

He smiled. That, at least, was familiar.

Picking a direction at random he started walking, an idle flick of his wand conjuring fine emerald robes about his body. Emerald was stealthy in a wood, right? The robes were as fine as silk and included a raised hood to keep the chill at bay.

The wood was very quiet. Indeed it was suspiciously quiet. If he'd been in a group he was sure some idiot would have felt the need to supply that it was 'too quiet'. Probably a few seconds before having their face introduced to some curse or other. Actually, it wasn't really that green either. It was thick, but the trees looked like they might have some kind of disease. More than that he couldn't say. Perhaps these trees were meant to look like someone had thrown up on them?

After hours of walking his situation didn't seem to have changed. The sun was hidden behind the thick and impenetrable canopy but the bare little light filtering through was dimming further, dusk was coming and Harry had made no headway. He was almost certain that he'd seen one particular tree before. It had a massive spider's web hanging from its branches like a hammock. Surely there couldn't be five identical trees?

But Harry was nothing if not persistent. Bloody minded might be more accurate.

Much later after much walking and much much more swearing the light finally failed and Harry conjured a bright point of light to lead him on his way. He was surprised to see the light was much dimmer than usual and even flickered uncertainly painting his surroundings in dancing shadows and half seen shapes.

Bugger that for a laugh. He re-cast the spell and didn't piss about this time. He might have over-cooked it though as the light almost blinded him at first, but at least it wasn't flickering any more. He grinned malevolently and a watcher in the trees would say he looked positively adorable. Weird Buggery Forest - 0 : Harry Potter - 1.

It was not long before someone noticed the little nova he was now walking around with.

A sweet and pure voice, like it was dipped in honey, cried to him from nearby. He didn't understand the words but they were the least of his concerns. Some fucker had managed to sneak up on him. He spun and lashed out with a spell and it would have gone badly for the newcomer if he hadn't had the reactions of a sodding doxie and managed to leap out of the way.

They raised their hands in front of them in an obviously unaggressive gesture. Well, probably unaggressive. Harry had heard of some tribe in Africa that performed that same gesture before they attacked. Something along the lines of 'These are the hands at which you will meet your death'.

He didn't lower his wand.

The unknown, tagged in Harry's mind for now as 'Pretty Boy', spoke again in what he probably thought was soothing tones. Harry merely found them annoying. Any idiot who thought this was an OK situation obviously deserved a stay at Palais Dementor in his opinion.

That said Harry thought the guy might be a bit deficient anyway. He looked like he was LARPing or something as he was wearing an effeminate green tunic very pretty looking weapons and had the most utterly fabulous blonde hair Harry had seen this side of Lucius Malfoy.

"Listen mate," he said, trying to be as civil as possible. "I don't understand a word you're saying. No speaka inglesi?" he tried.

A frown crossed the blonde ponce's face, a simple expression that could probably have brought a classical painter, or Dumbledore, to tears. Harry just thought he looked constipated.

Blondie came closer, or tried to anyway, Harry's still raised wand started glowing alarmingly at his movement. Well, alarmingly for Blondie at least. Perhaps he did have a brain knocking about between those stupid bloody ears of his because he stopped immediately.

He spoke again, as if Harry would suddenly understand what he was saying after a few words exchanged. Moron. Everyone knew it took at least a couple of weeks to assimilate a new language. And that was assuming it was an actual language and not just some Klingon bullshit made-up on the spur of the moment.

He seemed to want Harry to follow him. Also it was possible that his name was 'Legolas'. Harry didn't much care but decided that he would henceforth be known as 'Legless the Fabulous.

Following him wasn't a bad idea, much to his chagrin. He was lost. Well and truly. He needed to find civilisation. Hopefully someone there would speak English. At the very least he might find someone with a few more functioning brain cells to rub together than the legless wonder.

Finally, Harry lowered his wand and decided to give the guy a name.

He held his hand to his chest and said, "Blondie's a moron." It didn't have to be a real name.

Mr. L'Oreal nodded and said, "Blondie's a moron." A bright smile graced his infuriatingly flawless features and revealed teeth so white Harry was sure the guy had gone and had whitening treatment. That shit wasn't natural.

Still, it gave him a source of amusement. And surely that was why he was here?

The man then turned, gesturing for Harry to follow and then fucking pranced off into the woods. Harry just stared at him for a moment before he sighed, shook his head and followed heavily. It was going to be a long fucking day.