I Have To Wait How Long?
Harry was awoken by a scream.
Having become something of a connoisseur of screams he recognised it immediately. This one was, "Aargh, I'm being attacked by a door and my hands are melting!" It was easy to tell, there was a frisson of uncertainty overlaid on the normal gut wrenching horror and then it was beautifully finished with a slight downturn in tone and a very slight bubbling sound.
For some reason the Elves thought it was entirely reasonable to walk into people's bedrooms. He realised that 'bedroom' was a rather grandiose term for what he'd been granted but the sentiment was the same. It may be a sorry excuse for a bedroom, almost as if the Elves didn't even know what they were for, but by Merlin it was his. They couldn't just waltz into his room, well they could try but then they'd end up in the aforementioned biting-door-hands-melting scenario.
He sighed in exasperation at the manners of some people and rolled out of bed. He noticed that he was curiously well rested. Ordinarily he barely got three hours of true sleep in a night and it was true last night too. Despite this he felt more cheerful than he'd felt in a long time.
Or perhaps it was just the sound of the Elf outside being slowly turned into a puddle with lovely hair. For some reason the Flesh Melting Curse didn't do hair. He'd never found a way around it and, truth be told, rather preferred the result anyway.
He ambled over to the door and wrenched it open. Ordinarily he would have plastered a thunderous look on his face but his new body was utterly unaccommodating in that area and didn't seem to be capable of producing any reaction but further protective fussing.
Blondie was rolling on the ground flailing with his rapidly diminishing arm stumps, around him were more panicked and horrified Elves. For some reason some of them were carrying a bizarre selection of items between them.
A negligent flick of his wand later and the twin fleshy pools that had once been Blondie's forearms leaped from the ground and reformed as if nothing had happened. It took the Elf a few seconds to realise he was no longer melting and now had his arms back. When he did he was completely lost for a moment as he stared at his arms in wonder and confusion.
Harry went back to looking at the motley collection of items that was seemingly being brought to his room. A large number of books and quite a few sketches and paintings. Plus a bunch of things Harry did not recognise but which probably weren't weapons.
By now Blondie had stood up and say apparently rather annoyed that Harry had the gall to put defenses on his own bedroom. Harry simply raised a single eyebrow at the guy. That was one thing this new body could do, it had beautiful eyebrows for raising. Much better than his old ones which had been burned off more times than he cared to count.
He then let himself into Harry's bedroom, an act that would have gone badly for him had Harry not quickly deactivated his more serious defences before he crossed the threshold. The little tribe of still obviously terrified Elves following him dumped the stuff they were carrying on the table and scrambled out the door again in positively unelvish disarray.
All that were left was Blondie and Weasla. Eventually, after a lot of sitting down and poking at his arms to ensure they were still there, Blondie picked up one of the books. He pointed at it and said, "parff." He then gave Harry an expectant look.
Oh. Language lessons. Just what he wanted.
Blondie learned quickly. After the first day he did not try and walk straight into Harry's room. Instead he would use a long stick or staff to rap on the door. It was lucky he'd thought of that really, because had he knocked on the door with his hands then the whole melting Elves saga would have been repeated and Harry had already been told off for that.
Probably, he wasn't really paying attention and none of the words made sense. But he'd taken the time to notice what the subject probably was, so that was really rather charitable of him.
He still wasn't lifting the protections on his door. Only a moron with a death sentence slept unprotected. He was already stretching his rules by staying in a place the location of which was known to others. He figured he was in a new world, it was time to be flexible.
It didn't take long for Harry to explain to Blondie that he was far too old for this baby level shit. Well, he perhaps didn't explain. He did however make it quite clear that he was 28 and could Blondie please fuck off.
He didn't of course. It took until the end of the week for Harry to understand why. He'd initially assumed it was because the guy had a death wish but it turned out that wasn't the case. Or not the sole reason anyway.
Harry was actually physically 28. Finding out that Weasla was hundreds of years old and Blondie thousands was eye opening. Had he had one of old Moody's fake eyes it might have fallen out. He wondered how many 'G's would have to be prepended to 'GILF' to describe her accurately. Even more importantly though, if he was interpreting Blondie correctly, which wasn't entirely certain, then Harry had another 72 years to wait until he came of age according to the Elves.
That did not go down well with him at all. A large problem immediately presented itself. Through the use of some rather explicit charades, using Weasla as a prop of course, he managed to ask when he'd be able to get some action.
When he was 100.
That was a longer dry spell than even Dumbledore had seen. That wasn't cricket at all. Oh and Weasla felt the need to chip in, through some very imaginative gestures, that apparently fucking someone was a one-way trip to marital hell.
No matter what universe he was in being an Elf was undoubtedly the greatest curse any man could endure.
He had to escape. That wasn't hard. The problem was doing it without simply getting lost in Mirkwood again.
He'd been here now for two weeks. Blondie and Tauriel, formerly known as Weasla, had done good work and with a few language reinforcement spells he had a pretty good grasp of Sindarin and could get by in Westron. In a rare act of charity Harry had decided to use Tauriel's actual name. Mostly because she seemed to enjoy watching him wind up Blondie as much as Harry enjoyed doing it.
And she wasn't a credulous moron. And was also seriously hot, GILF or not. And apparently not entirely annoyed with Harry's continuing attempts at sexual harassment. He figured he might be in with a chance there… On his hundredth birthday. Fuck Elves. His blue balls were going to be legendary.
He had discovered that the Elves thought him some kind of Chosen One who was going to cleanse Middle-Earth of its Dark Lord and then lead them against their old one which apparently they had left kicking about somewhere and was expected to come back some day.
Now while Harry wasn't opposed to this per se, an opportunity for a gigantic fight was always a good thing, he wasn't too fond of the Chosen One thing. Call it an allergy. It only had one useful feature, and that was getting ridiculously enthusiastic women to have sex with him anytime and anywhere. Except the sex thing was off the cards in Middle Earth which was about as sexually liberated as McGonagall's underwear drawer.
Then he found his ticket out. A bunch of Dwarves had come to Elftown, it wasn't actually called Elftown but the 'Halls of the Elvenking' was much too far up its own arse to bother with, and were now planning on leaving.
By a rather unusual route.
Barrels dropped into the river that ran through the caves and then they seemingly planned to simply hope that the Elves didn't just stick them full of arrows. It was a ridiculously stupid idea.
So naturally Harry was going to join them.
As the even shorter dwarf with an invisibility ring prepared to dunk his charges Harry snuck into one of the remaining barrels under a Disillusionment Charm and decided the best plan of action was to simply hide in the Barrel with a Waterbreathing Charm applied. He poked his head out of the barrel just before the short-arse with the fluffy feet pulled the lever and Harry quickly placed a tracking charm on him for good measure.
These guys were sure to go somewhere more interesting, and hopefully less prissy. And it might even be exciting.