Premise: How would the story change if Frodo had a brother? And what if that child was a reincarnated Harry Potter?

Credit: The Lord of the Rings belongs to the estate of J. R. R. Tolkien. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. No credit or money has been taken by the author for these creations.

Elvish of Potter Family Motto: Aras ir nelqin nath raw. (The stag at bay becomes a lion.)

Hendgelin

Lost

Harry closed his eyes for the last time, grateful for the darkness that was beginning to cover his senses. He was tired, far too tired to keep fighting a war which should have been ended long ago. When he had killed Voldemort, that should have been the end of it. But the Death Eaters had gone underground, and Harry had become an Auror, fighting to find them and protect the people that they would harm. He'd fought Voldemort from the age of eleven and killed him at seventeen. He'd been fighting Death Eaters from then to now, on the very edge of thirty-one. It was midnight, and it was now his birthday. His beeping watch said so. With his last breath, he said, "Make a wish, Harry." And then the darkness came, followed by blinding light.

Drogo Baggins was enjoying a pleasant afternoon fishing out of a small creek with is young son, Frodo. The boy was not interested in fishing, but was having a grand old time chasing a large frog that was hopping along the river bank. It was an adorable sight, and he found himself wishing dreadfully that Frodo's mother, Primula, had come with them to see it. He reminded him so much of her. but she had told him just to go on and spend some time alone with his son. She was taking the opportunity to clean their home top to bottom.

The creek was not shallow, and eventually it fed into the Brandywine River, but Drogo had no fear that Frodo would come to harm from frolicking around the edges of it, so for a time, he paid strict attention to nothing but his pole and his pipe, enjoying pleasantness of the weather and the quiet. Therefore, he was quite startled when Frodo shouted in surprise that he had found something. He perched his fishing rod where it wouldn't be dragged into the water if a curious fish took his bait, and left to go and see what had gotten his son's attention.

Seeing him coming, Frodo said, "Father! It's a baby! But he's as big as me!"

Drogo looked and saw that it was, indeed, a newborn child of the big people, nearly as large as his nearly-three-year-old son and covered in nothing but creek mud. His cord was still attached, so he had to be mere hours old. His mother had to be near, unless he'd been sent down river, and she might be hurt. "Did you see anyone else, Frodo?"

The boy shook his head. "No, father."

Drogo reached into the mud and picked up the child, careful not to snag the umbilical on anything. "Oh, he's ice cold. Let's get you cleaned up, little one, and then we can get something warm and dry on you." He shook his head in wonderment, his suspicions about the infant's mother getting worse. The child was perfectly healthy-looking, current condition notwithstanding, but he'd been put into the river like rubbish. Could a child, any child, actually be unwanted? Such a thing was foreign to the Hobbit, but he knew that it happened some times, especially among the race of men.

Frodo asked, "Is he okay, Father?"

He smiled down at his son, and then back at the baby. "He will be, son. I promise that he will be."

Harry couldn't understand what had happened. His mind felt so muddled, and he was cold and hungry. The giant child had gone screaming for his father; a natural reaction, he supposed, but their conversation had led him to a startling conclusion. He'd been made into an infant, a newborn, in fact, if that dangling from his belly meant what he thought it did. How had this happened? He'd been dying! Maybe he had died. Lily.

He'd left his daughter, Lily, alone and that thought saddened him beyond belief. That emotion translated to wailing tears because of his current condition of babyhood, though the person pulling him out of the mud took it to mean that he was cold, and hungry and uncomfortable. He said, "There, there, little man-child. We'll get you cleaned up, warmed up and drying by the fire in no time."

That thought satisfied his baby self quite a lot, but the part of him that was no child still cried for the fate of his daughter. The man who held him didn't seem to mind, and as he cleaned Harry up, tying his umbilical cord to keep it from getting infected, and placing him in a warm blanket, Harry cried himself out. He could do nothing for his child, being one himself, and though hunger still gnawed at him, he was physically and emotionally exhausted, so he slipped into sleep.

When Harry woke next, he was in a much different place. Instead of being outside by a river, he was in a cot looking up at a mobile of birds. He couldn't see them very well, but he could tell that they were birds. He was warm and dry, except for one place. He tried to frown about that, but his apparent age made it come out as a little whimper. His mind was intact, but he was a baby, and that meant he was going to be in some embarrassing situations, namely to do with his bodily functions. He'd changed his own children's nappies! He shouldn't have to have his own changed! But as he physically was newborn, he really didn't have any control, and wouldn't for the next year and a half or so.

A woman appeared over the edge of his cot, and he looked at her. Her face was so blurry! Idly, he wondered if he could get his magic to react into fixing his eyes. He knew that young children most often produced accidental magic when they wanted something or were stressed, and this was a little of both. He also knew how magic felt, so he focused on that and his eyesight and willed his vision to clear. He surprised himself when it did, and he giggled at the woman in joy. She grinned back at him. "Well, aren't you a happy baby? Let's get you changed and fed, sweet one, and then we'll go sit in front of the fire."

She was a lovely woman, really, with blue eyes set in a fair face framed and with tight, honey-colored curls. And she liked to talk while she worked, too. "You know, I could have handed Drogo's ears to him, bringing home a stray child like that. But I can tell, you're not going to be any trouble. You haven't even eaten your first meal yet, and you still don't cry all that much. How anyone could throw away a child, even if they were unexpected, I'll never know."

Harry frowned at that. He supposed it was a natural conclusion, given the nature of the human race and the way that he'd been found. But his mother had died to save his life, and he hated anyone thinking that about her. Inwardly he shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it, not until he got old enough to speak.

The woman had changed his nappy, and then taken him out into a warm kitchen. A pot of water was gently bubbling on the wood-burning stove, and he noted how quaint the feel of the whole place was. Small rooms, with country decor, but filled with light from hearth, lamp and window. Even Mrs. Weasley's house hadn't been this airy, though it had seemed as small. She took a bottle of milk from the ice box, which was a literal ice box and not a refrigerator, and placed it to warm in the boiling water. Then she took a leather glove and cut off the thumb, fixing it to the end of the bottle with a round clamp before poking a few holes in the tip with a sewing needle.

Warm bottle in hand, the woman picked Harry up, cradling his head expertly in her hand, and went to sit down in a rocking chair. He ate from the bottle, surprised when his infant instincts led the way, and at how good it tasted. Well, it had been quite some time since he'd been reborn, at least hours, certainly. She sang to him as she fed him, and he felt his eyes grow heavy again. She turned him and patted his back until a bubble of air presented itself loudly, then rocked him for a while, alternately singing and talking to him. Soon he was lulled back to sleep, his only thought for his full belly and his warm conditions.

It was a very uncomfortable position to be in. Harry knew who he was, and could remember things about his life, but he couldn't always think about them clearly. Concepts were clearest, like pain, hunger, and emotion, but direct memories of the events that caused them were very difficult to recall. He really was a baby, even more so now than when he first woke up. But he knew that wasn't always true.

New memories weren't as hard. Every moment since he'd awakened in the river mud was clear as a bell. But those memories were baby-friendly, too. He didn't think he'd forget, but that right now his young brain couldn't handle adult thoughts.

Drogo and Primula Baggins were wonderful, kind people. Many, upon finding an apparently abandoned child would rescue that child, and even get them clean, dry and fed. But not many would essentially foster that child while an effort was made to find its parents. Nor was there any apparent reluctance or resentment on their part for having to take care of a child not their own. Given his experience with the Dursleys, this was a relief. He liked their small son, Frodo, as well, the boy reminding him of the elder of his own sons, but with a gentleness that was purely his own.

Drogo had sent messages to all the villages near the shire where humans, or "big people" as the Hobbits called them, lived, inquiring after the family of a foundling boy, but in the time from his birthday and Frodo's, no response came. Not that Harry was expecting one; his mother here was the earth itself. He had no idea why or how, just a bone deep knowledge that it was true.

They took a break in their search to have Frodo's birthday party. Harry was yet nameless to the Hobbits, and far too small to participate in the party, but he learned a lot about the kind of people Hobbits were. Generally speaking, they were home bodies, much more interested in the states of their gardens and the latest gossip than what was happening in the rest of the world. They sought no adventure, and most would be horrified at the thought of it. They loved food, comfort and friends, as well as the occasional party, and a boy's third birthday was no exception. Frodo gave a toy to every child who came to his party, including a stuffed bird for Harry, who was perhaps more appreciative of it than a babe of his age should be, but no one noticed.

Home and hearth, food and family, and a healthy appreciation of the finer things in life was the way of the Hobbits of the Shire; the perfect place to raise children. But Harry was not one of them, and he knew that they would probably find him a human family to be with soon.

In the following months, Drogo and Primula did what they could, both to care for the child and to find his own people and mother. But though they left many messages in Bree and even Fornost about him, there was never an answer.

Drogo had occasion to speak to his cousin, Bilbo, the only Hobbit he knew of who had done any traveling in the outside world on a night when he had come to his home outside Hobbiton for a social call. "Hello, cousin. Aren't you looking well preserved this eve!"

Bilbo snorted at what was quickly becoming a very old joke in the Shire. "And I hear you've picked up something unusual." So Drogo showed him the nameless child he'd been fostering. Already, he was having trouble picking the child up, and he was only six months old! Bilbo thought the lad was absolutely adorable, and Drogo couldn't help but agree, but there were serious matters that needed discussing. "What are you planning to do with him?" asked the older Hobbit.

Drogo nodded. "That is precisely what I wanted your advice about. I've tried for six months to find his family, and with no luck. I'm afraid they must be either unwilling to take him back," and here he sighed deeply, "or are simply dead."

The babe began crying, and that was the first time he ever had in Bilbo's presence. Thinking him hungry, Bilbo went to the kitchen to begin warming some milk and butter in a pot. "I suppose I could ask Gandalf what he thinks."

Drogo wrinkled his nose at that thought. "No, no need to worry a great wizard about so small a thing as the disposition of a lost child." He sighed and pulled a feeding bottle out of his pack, which held the various things he kept with him for taking care of the child.

"I doubt Gandalf would consider it a worry." He watched Drogo closely as he asked, "What about finding him a new home among the big people, hmm? We can probably find someone to take him in."

Drogo stared deeply into the child's eyes, which were a marvelous bright green, made even more so by his crying. There was something in those eyes, something that made Drogo want to weep himself, and which he wished nothing more than to erase. "I'm thinking of keeping him, of Primula and I raising him ourselves."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the still-nameless child stopped crying, staring wide-eyed at his rescuer. Bilbo looked at the boy and at his cousin. "Is this the best thing for him? Or for you? I know what it's like to be considered different in our gossipy culture, and after all, he's not even a year old and he's almost as large as your three-year-old. Do you even have a room he'll fit in as he gets older?"

"I've got enough land on my property that I could expand my Hobbit hole quite a bit. I could easily build a room that would fit him as he grows, and after all, doesn't Gandalf fit quite nicely in your own living room?"

Bilbo nodded. "Aye, and alongside thirteen dwarves. All right. You'll have to inform the Mayor, of course, but I don't think he can legally stop you from keeping him. Making it official, even! Adopt him for your son! He'll be Frodo's brother in every way that counts." Bilbo paused. "But you must promise me not to do this lightly, cousin. If you adopt him, it must be with your whole heart. No child deserves less, no matter which race they were born to."

Drogo snorted. "Of course. He deserves a happy childhood, not a rushed decision that harms him later."

But Bilbo knew his cousins well enough to say that the big infant had already dug his way completely into their hearts. They boy was already their son, no matter what lack of legal proof there might be. Truthfully, the lad couldn't have fallen in with a better pair of Hobbits. He shook his head, a smile on his round face. "So, what shall you name him?"

Frodo chose that moment to pop his small head around the corner from where he had been eavesdropping. "Are we keeping the baby, Father? Will he be my brother?"

Feigning disapproval, Primula pointed at him and said, "You, are supposed to be in bed, young man."

"I know, Mum, but are we?"

Drogo looked first at Primula, asking her the question with raised eyebrows. She grinned at him, giving her consent. Then he smiled at is son. "Would you be alright with that?"

"I think it would be 'nnnderful!" Frodo loved the word "wonderful," but had trouble actually saying it.

He grinned more widely at his son's enthusiasm. "So do I. What do you think we should name him, then?"

"Green?" the boy asked innocently. Bilbo let loose a hearty laugh at the answer.

Chuckling a little himself, Drogo said, "Well, he does have marvelous green eyes, but I'm not sure he'd like me hollering it at him when it's time to come in for supper." He scooped Frodo up and started tickling him until he let escape the tinkling of his infectious laughter.

Bilbo thought it was a perfect name, though. It just needed some trimming. "Well, what about Gelin, then? That's Elvish for green, and it's not quite so blunt."

Primula smiled and nodded sharply. "That's perfect. I love it!"

Drogo turned to the newly-named boy. "What do you think of that, hmm? Gelin Baggins!"

Gelin giggled and reached out to Drogo, asking to be picked up. It was the perfect reaction, as if he were really agreeing with the choice, never mind that he was too young, and Drogo picked him up with a wide grin. "Then we'll celebrate the whole week being parents again! Welcome to the family, little Gelin, my son!"

Harry couldn't believe it. Gelin, now. Someone not only wanted him, but was making it official! The last person to do that had been Ginny, and this was different. This was the family and the childhood he'd never had the chance to have, and as his new father tossed him about in celebration, he let his joy at the thought ring out in laughter.

Yes, he still missed his adult self's family. He was yet mourning his wife and sons, and couldn't help but think of the daughter whose fate he would never know. But though he would never forget that life or those people, he now had a second chance at a real life, and he vowed then and there, though silently by necessity, that he would not waste it.

Gelin never forgot who he was. From the moment of his new birth in the mud of the creek, he'd had a full memory of the thirty-one years of his first life, the life of Harry Potter, and he'd not forgotten it or a moment since as his now-childish mind developed. This made him a somewhat serious child, with the weight of so many years and battles in his memory, but it also made him appreciative and biddable. He was not bored easily, as a child of few years might be, finding his new world wondrous, and exploring it at every chance.

Nor was Gelin a man in a child's body. His youth allowed him distance from the horrors of Harry Potter's existence, keeping that life from being the torture it might have been, while giving him a unique perspective on life. Things which seemed ordinary to the Hobbits around him were surprising and delightful to the young-like human. Their traditions of giving instead of receiving birthday gifts, their intense love of food, and their readiness to throw a town-wide party were all so different and wonderful that the Hobbits found him a joy to be around.

Gelin loved to make things for people. He retained his love of cooking, and he tried to help Primula in the kitchen as often as she'd let him, once he was no longer too small to do so. For his fourth birthday, he gave everyone teacup-cakes with mint buttercream on top. For his fifth, he made toy figures of Hobbit children from river clay, and Drogo helped him bake them before he painted them, and these were the gifts he gave. His parents loved to help him learn new ways of making things, and lauded his artistic streak.

He and Frodo both tended to socialize with the same friends, not because there weren't plenty of children his own age, but because the brothers were practically joined at the hip and didn't want to play without each other. Their friends didn't mind that Gelin was so young because his size made up for it. He was also uncannily able to get them into and out of trouble without getting caught, which made him fun to be around.

He also retained from Harry his sense of justice. The one time Gelin ever got into a scuffle with any of the other children in Hobbiton was when he was five, and it was with a much older child, one who was as close to a bully as Hobbits ever really got. Robin Smallburrow had been picking on Frodo, who was a year younger than Robin, by using a small reed like a blowgun and shooting rocks at Frodo's ears. He was a decent shot, and the smaller boy's ears were bleeding.

Being just as big as Robin, Gelin struck him under the chin with a balled up fist. Robin would have come back at him, but Gelin said, "It doesn't feel so good to be on the other end of it, does it! Do it again, and you'll answer to me." Robin never once bothered the brothers again, nor acted the bully in their presence.

Gelin had not told his adoptive family about his previous life because he was afraid of how they'd react. He couldn't help but think of the Dursley family, and their utter disdain for Harry because he was different. But the part of him that was older and wiser knew that a time was coming when it would be unavoidable. He was already having accidental magic, and soon one of them was going to see it. Wouldn't it be better if they already knew? He was struggling with it, just too scared to lose his family yet again to say anything. Something would have to give, and soon.

Gandalf was coming for his seventh birthday party, and the news had spread through Hobbiton like a wildfire. The wizard was coming to visit the Baggins family, old and young, and to enjoy the celebration of the youngest's birthday. Frodo was beside himself with excitement, and regaled Gelin with tales of magnificent fireworks and storytelling. Frodo had never seen these things, mind, but Uncle Bilbo had, and it was all quite fascinating to the two children.

Frodo and Gelin met Gandalf as he came near to the Bywater Bridge, spotting his wagon on the road and cheering. The Istari grinned under his pointy hat, and welcomed the youngsters up into the wagon. "Now, don't touch the fireworks, lads. They've got a bite for the unwary." Keeping his attention on the mule who pulled the wagon, Gandalf said, "Now, as it's your birthday, Gelin, why don't you come up here and sit next to me, hmm?"

He was quite excited by this, never having met one of the wizards of this world, and climbed right up. He looked up into the face of the wizard. It was a kind face, but one which had seen many troubles, and which might see many more. "Well, you're certainly a tall one, aren't you! If I didn't know you were a man-child and not a Hobbit, I would think you were twelve or thirteen."

Not sure how to answer that, and struck by how much he reminded him of Albus Dumbledore Gelin said, "Yes, sir?"

Then the wizard looked at him, almost looking through him. In fact, he'd almost say it had been a Legilimensy scan, but it felt different. Gandalf had not looked at his mind, but at his magic. He blinked. "Goodness, but you are a mystery."

Gelin smiled nervously, knowing there would be a long conversation in his and Gandalf's near future since he'd found out about the boy's ability. "Maybe where I come from is a mystery, but I'm not. I'm just Gelin."

Gandalf snorted at that. "No one is just anything. Every thinking being has the potential for good and evil. It's the choices we make that define us."

Gelin nodded, his smile gone and replaced by solemn knowledge. "Yes. And I choose to be just Gelin. I think he's a pretty good kid. And when the time comes, he'll be a decent man. But that is in the future, and for now being Gelin is enough."

Gandalf looked at him. "There's a story in that."

"One that can wait until after the party?"

Gandalf chuckled at him. "Very well. All right there, Frodo?"

The young Hobbit jumped, realizing he'd been caught eavesdropping. Gelin giggled at him, his good humor restored.

The party was wonderful. The fireworks reminded Gelin of Fred and George Weasley, being magical explosions resembling fanciful creatures, and even a dragon. Gelin gave presents to every child in the Shire, and most he'd made himself, wooden toys he'd carved with the pocket knife Frodo had given him on his own birthday. He even gave one to Gandalf, because, he said, "An old man is just a child in reverse." Of course, he'd also given one to his father and Uncle Bilbo, and they all laughed heartily at Gelin's joke on them.

Gandalf made no mention of Gelin's mystery during the party, nor did Frodo, everyone favoring fun over furor. But when the fireworks and gifts were all done, the food eaten, and the guests gone home, Gandalf asked Drogo if he could visit them at home, along with Uncle Bilbo. Drogo accepted. Frodo looked at Gelin, who nodded. It was time to reveal his secrets to his family. He only hoped they remained his family after they found out what he was.

Drogo and Primula sat on their couch, Bilbo and the two boys on chairs liberated from the dining room and Gandalf on the smaller couch that was just right as a chair for him. He began by saying, "I've noticed something out of order with young Gelin, something I truly did not expect. The boy has an inborn ability to use magic."

The Hobbits all looked at the human child in surprise, but with none of the mistrust that Gelin was afraid he would see. He hoped it would stay that way, but knew he had to tell his whole story now. He took a deep breath and waded in. "This is not the first time I have lived, Gray Pilgrim. I don't know how it was done, or why, but after my death, I woke in the mud of the creek, just where Frodo found me. In my first life, I was called a wizard, but let me be clear; I was not and am not Istari. Call me a witch-man. warlock! My magic is different from your own, tied to the earth, and I cannot yet use it much. I've noticed a few things, started having accidental magic, but it will be a few more years before I can really control it.

"In that life, I was born Harry James Potter. My father was James Charlus Potter and my mother was Lily Evans-Potter. For a year and three months they raised me and gave me love, but they were betrayed and killed. The man who killed them tried to kill me, but failed, and was turned into a mere shadow, but that would not be the end of him. I was sent to live with my mother's sister, who despised magic and all things unusual. She and her husband hid what I was from me, and I didn't find out until my eleventh birthday.

"From that tender age until I was nearly eighteen, I fought the man who killed my parents, his shadow, his agents and himself. When I killed him, that was supposed to be the end of it."

Gandalf looked sadly upon the boy in front of him. "It's never so easy, is it?"

"No. His agents hung on, and for the next thirteen years I fought them. I was in a war gone cold, until finally someone came after me directly and stopped killing the people around me. They had killed my wife and my sons. My daughter was lying in a hospital bed, barely clinging to life. And I was gutted by a cutting hex, lying on the ground with my insides beside me. My time piece was set to make a sound at midnight, and it was at midnight that I became thirty-one years old. In a fit of gallows humor, I made a birthday wish, and then I died.

"I woke in the creek mud, a newborn of the earth. I remember my old life, but I have not been Harry Potter these seven years. I am a child again, and I have been at peace. You have all been my family, and I cannot help but be grateful. I never had a real family before this. When Gandalf looked at me so closely, I knew that I needed to tell you all the truth, but do not think that my past life negates what you have done for me in this one. Harry Potter never had a real childhood, and he was never allowed to be just Harry. He was the Savior, the Enemy or the Blessed Warrior, expected to be great because of something his mother had done to protect him. That is what you have given me. Here, I'm just Gelin, a seven-year-old boy who happens to be a warlock, too."

Drogo spoke before Gandalf had a chance to. "Why didn't you tell us any of this before now?" He sounded hurt and confused, but he didn't sound betrayed or angry, and Gelin took that to be a good sign.

"At first, I was just a baby. I couldn't have told you anything until I could form complete sentences, and by then I was so happy that I didn't want to ruin it. For me, your knowing will change nothing. You are my father and mother. Frodo is my brother. Bilbo is my uncle, and a far better one than I've had before. In that other life, that other world, people always judged me for being Harry Potter. I was really hoping that wouldn't happen here."

Before anyone else could say anything, Primula stood and walked over to Gelin, kneeling beside him. "You are my son, Gelin. I did not bear you, but you are mine, and nothing you are can change that. I love you and Frodo alike."

With tears in his eyes, Gelin said, "I love you too, Mum," and he stood to hug her. The others joined in their embrace, Frodo promising that he didn't think any worse of Gelin, and all the others agreeing.

The emotional moment past, Gandalf said, "I didn't mean to cause you any worry, young warlock. I expected to help you in solving a mystery. You see, the wizards of this world were sent by the Valar. None of us has ever been a child, and so you were an anomaly, and possibly one who would need a great deal of guidance in the use of your gift. I was also afraid that you might be used by the shadows in the future if you weren't given careful steering. But I see that this will not be necessary. I will, however, offer my assistance. If at any time in the future you need advice or help in using your gift, I will come to your aid without hesitation."

Gelin smiled at the older wizard. "When I turn eleven, I will begin making my wand. I'll need two things; a magical core and a length of holly, straight and supple. The holly tree should be easy enough to find, but I have no idea what magical substances are available in this world. If the core comes from a living creature, it should be freely given, not taken by force. I think it might take the four years between now and then to find something, so if you might be on the lookout during your travels?"

Gandalf nodded. "With pleasure."

The rest of the visit was spent with Gelin telling the family and their guest of the world he had left behind, from a cupboard under the stairs to a castle on the lake. He got no further than the view from the boats, though, before Primula decided that little boys had been up long enough. She sent them to bed, and Gelin promised to tell them the rest over the next few days.