Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

In Time WiP	By : AlliKyttn Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3703 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own neither Lord of the Rings, not Harry Potter and make no money from either fandom.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Chapter Three – Innocence Lost, Innocence Found
And so the Balrog Slayer did not wake from his dreams that night...nor the next. As he began his time on Earth, the Valar told of how Glorfindel ó Gondolin would protect his fëa pia [little soul/spirit], and how he anxiously awaited the day Eärendilmar [House of Eärendil] had need of him...
The passing of time normally held little concern for elves, save when it was marked by darkness. It lived and breathed in this neat little dwelling, focused on its youngest resident from many fronts. If one were to come in from the street, they would no doubt believe this to be the home of a nice little family of three: a hard working father; a devoted wife and mother; and their loving son. More picturesque a home you would not have found on Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
But as most are no doubt aware, there is no such thing as a perfect family. There are simply families that hold secrets closer to their chests than others. If you peeked beneath the shining surface that masked the Dursleys, you would certainly find them no exception.
Vernon Dursley was indeed hard working. He strove to provide the best for his dear wife and their growing son. It was unfortunate that a small bump in the road of their lives had presented itself in the form of his wife's nephew, the only child to her estranged sister.
Petunia Dursley née Evans was indeed a devoted wife and mother. When she had married Vernon, her life was perfect. He had a promising career and wanted her to keep their home in order and raise the children that they planned to have, which was all very reasonable and acceptable to her. She could spend her days basking in the envy of all the other women that had to work to help supplement their households and send their children off to be minded by a stranger. Yes, Petunia's life was perfect...until the day her sister got herself blown-up.
Dudley Dursley could loosely be described as a loving son. It was easily assumed since he was always seeking his parents' attention and begging them to pick him up, as if needing the comfort of their embrace. Really, he was just spoiled and had them at his beck and call. None of this changed when his aunt died and his cousin came to live with them. In fact, Dudley barely noticed there was anyone there but his parents for awhile...
Scratching the shining surface that was the Dursley's would move you, though not with pride and certainly not with joy. They were not good people. They were petty, cruel and vindictive. There was darkness in them. Darkness bred of prejudice, of ignorance, and of fear.
There was a fourth and fifth resident of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, though it could be counted on one hand the number of people who were aware of that. There was darkness in them. Though in comparison, it was darkness bred of experience, of injury inflicted by those who sought to diminish the intense light of their bright souls. Their presence was not to be recognised for a number of years, yet still did they reside there...

Inside the house, Glorfindel stood behind where Marcaunon was seated in the high-chair that his cousin refused to occupy, less he scream the roof down, eating the softened vegetables that the child-orc had discarded in favour of cut up bits of bacon and egg from his mother's breakfast plate.
The Balrog Slayer looked upon the scene with disgust. It had become an almost ever-present state of being since the morning after his appearance almost a month ago. It had been of little comfort to him, that first morning, to discover that Marcaunon was only kept in the cupboard space while the family slept on in their well-furnished rooms.
When the horse-faced woman opened the door to retrieve his fëa pia [little soul/spirit], he had noticed her brief pause at her first glimpse of the angry bruise colouring the babe's face and what could have passed for a flicker of sadness when she gazed into his wide green eyes. Then her face hardened and she snatched the carrier from the cupboard with Marcaunon in it and took him into the living room.
With deft hands, she quickly changed the child and returned him to the carrier and carted him into the kitchen and joined her family at the table, where her young son was in a temper at not being seated in his parents' lap, flinging bits of his much-loathed, chopped-banana breakfast onto the floor. “Ah, Pet,” Vernon greeted his wife from his seat at the kitchen table with an indulgent grin, pointedly ignoring the other child whom she sat in his carrier at her feet. “Our Dudders is a growing boy! He needs to put some meat on him. Now that he has all of his teeth, how about some bits of sausage instead of that banana?”
Glorfindel sneered at the man's own obvious preference for meat over fruit for breakfast, well observed in his over-large shape. Hard eyes watched the woman take what remained of her son's banana and put the bowl in Marcaunon's lap. “Eat,” she told the boy harshly before fetching a sausage out of the cooling pan on the stove and cut it into manageable pieces for her darling Dudley.
“There you go, my baby,” she crooned to the much happier blond child as she plucked him out of his seat and into her lap where she fed her son with a child's fork, not wanting him to miss out on even one piece by dropping it. “Is my little Dudders enjoying his nice, warm breakfast sausage?”
At her feet, Marcaunon was nervously eating the leftover banana, his gaze darting between her and the other child, shooting longing glances to Glorfindel every so often. “Emya...?” he whispered the word in the golden-haired warrior's direction [mummy].
Glorfindel tried to shush him, but the whispered word had been enough to gain the woman's attention. Though spoken in Quenyan, it was close enough to the English 'Ma' that Dudley used for Petunia to interpret it correctly. “My sister is dead, and no thanks to you, you ungrateful brat,” was her biting comment to the tearful child. Carrying her son, she stood and grabbed a baby bottle from the sink and put a bit of milk in it from a carton. She thrust it at him with the command, “Drink this and be quiet. You won't be breaking any of my Dudley's nice cups or spilling milk everywhere.”
Glorfindel focussed all of his rage at the woman, but to no avail. Instead, he crouched down next to Marcaunon in the carrier and murmured to the boy reassuringly. “Eat, arimelda [dearest]. We must keep our hroar [bodies] strong. Your emya [mummy] is gone and her sister...” he indicated to the woman eating at the table, doing her best to ignore the child at her feet. “Her sister is scared and doesn't understand our ways.”
Marcaunon looked up at his emya's [mummy] sister for a moment with bright eyes. He understood being scared. He was scared of the bad man that hurt his emya [mummy] and made her and his atya [daddy] go away. He was afraid of the big man who yelled at him and hurt his face and arms. He wondered if she was scared of the big man, too. He was too scared to ask, though. Not while the big man was in the room to yell at him and hurt him again.
The little boy turned his head back to Fin, but didn't say anything. For now he would eat. He tummy was making growly sounds like his atya [daddy] and he was hungry.

That evening brought an unwelcome visitor to Privet Drive. Well, unwelcome in the Dursley's opinion. Glorfindel would, indeed, be very grateful to see their guest...
They had just sat down for dinner when the doorbell rang. “Who in blazes would bother us this late in the evening?” Vernon impatiently muttered as he reluctantly put down his knife and fork to answer the door.
The large man scowled when he opened the door to see a man wearing a pointed hat and what amounted to a dress, in his opinion. His gaze immediately went to the street to make sure none of his neighbours were out and about for an evening stroll. “Your kind aren't welcome here. Begone and leave us be.”
When he tried to close the door, he found himself unable to move it. His eyes narrowed at the wizard who continued to look at him with a pleasant expression. “I told you to leave us! Now release my door so I can return to my dinner!”
“Ahh,” the wizard smiled with hard eyes of his own. “I'm afraid, Mr Dursley, that I find myself unable to do as you ask until I have seen young Harry. I'm sure you understand.”
“I'll not allow you into my home!” Vernon whispered harshly, eyes darting once more toward the silent street. “It's bad enough the boy is here!”
Albus' sigh was weighted. “I see,” he said regretfully. “I shall have to find my own way in then, I suppose.”
With that, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot cast an unhurried confundus [confusion charm] in Vernon's direction. “Why, thank you for inviting me into your lovely home to speak to your nephew, Mr Dursley,” Albus told him cheerfully. “You will likely want to return to your dinner so that I may have a quick word to your wife.”
“Dinner...” Vernon drifted off in distraction. “Yes...I believe I'm hungry.” He slowly moved away from the door to return to the kitchen where his wife and son were eating.
The wizard stepped into the house and looked around with a critical eye while he followed Vernon at a much slower pace. Just as he reached the kitchen, he heard Petunia's...dulcet...tones.
“Vernon,” she asked curiously, as her husband took his seat. “Who was at the door?”
“Hmm?” he paid her only half of his attention, the rest clearly on his meal. “Oh, the door. Someone wanted to speak to you and the boy.”
“What?” she shrieked, her eyes shooting nervously to the entry of the kitchen just as Albus came into view.
“I apologise for calling so late, Mrs Dursley,” he turned a lovely, bright smile on her, though the hardness in his eyes belied his seemingly pleasant demeanour. “There has been much to see to this past month. However, I would like to see how young Harry is settling in.”
His gaze drifted downwards, to where the young boy in question was again strapped into his almost too-small carrier, faced partially towards the entry, his hands scooping some bits of meat and veggies into his mouth. Although, as soon as his gaze locked onto Albus, he abandoned his meal to beam up at the old wizard with a toothy grin. “Aba!” he greeted warmly, before seeming to shrink in on himself and look with wide, nervous eyes towards Petunia and Vernon.
The still-spry wizard bent over at the waist to grant Harry a genuinely fond grin. “There you are, Harry! And how is your dinner this evening?”
“Yum!” the boy smacked his lips together, then scooped up some greens from his bowl. “Fin...Pea!” came the triumphant explanation.
Albus came to the conclusion that Harry's protector must have been teaching him to identify his food, verbally or by sight. Possibly both. “Very good, Harry,” he chuckled along with the boy while surreptitiously looking about the room for sign of 'Fin'. He caught sight of Fin sitting just behind him with his hands rested on upwardly bent knees just inside the entryway, his view of Harry unobstructed.
Albus made no move to give away the elf's presence, but the tension in his body reduced slightly, allowing Fin the impression that he was a welcome sight.
When the boy went back to his peas, Albus straightened and stared at Petunia. “Where may Harry and I have some privacy? I wish to speak to him about what happened to his parents.”
Petunia pursed her lips, clearly not pleased with having to leave him to wander about her house unescorted, before pointing through the living room toward the staircase. “I have a small sewing room upstairs, the first door at the top.”
He gave her a single nod of acknowledgement before bending down to remove Harry from his carrier, scooping him up and holding him close with one arm. “Now, young man, how about you and I take a little walk? You may bring your peas so long as you don't try to put them in my beard as you once did the carrots your mother gave you last time I visited...” Albus told the boy sternly, though his smile gave him away.
“Peas!” he giggled, looking to the bowl Albus held in his other hand. He placed one of his tiny hands on the wizard's shoulder and another in the white beard to steady himself. “Up!”
“Up, indeed,” came the chuckle. “Off we go then.”
Albus turned on his heel with the child in his arms, noticing that Fin had stood from the floor and was following them. They quickly found themselves in Petunia's sewing room where Albus shut the door behind them and took a seat. He popped Harry on the floor with his bowl of peas before throwing up a ward to mask their conversation from any inquisitive ears outside the room. “Harry, I need to speak with Fin for a moment while you eat your peas, if I may?”
The boy looked up to where the warrior stood. “Fin!” he pointed before shoving several peas into his mouth with the other hand.
“Yes, Fin,” he agreed with a small smile before turning to the elf. “I'm quite relieved that you have returned. I was unsure of what had happened to you since you were not with Harry when Hagrid brought him to me following the attack.” Albus was careful in his words, still aware that Harry was in the room and may have been able to follow some of their conversation.
Fin nodded with solemnity. He gestured to himself and then made a pushing motion. “You were forced away?” At the second nod, Albus continued. “Were you present for the attack? Did you see what happened?” he asked with restrained eagerness.
He could see the pained expression on the elf's face as memories of the event apparently surfaced. Albus was rewarded with a final nod. “I see. That is both unfortunate and pleasing for me to hear...Fin. A assume that is your name, or at least as much of it as Harry can pronounce, I am sure.”
Fin gave him a look that Albus believed to be an indulgent wince, which was quite interesting to witness. He chuckled. “That look tells me that young Harry has butchered, what I would think, is a name you are quite proud of possessing.”
His slightly haughty look was destroyed by the scrunching up of Fin's nose. “Not proud then,” he smiled. “Ahh, well. I hope you don't mind me calling you thus, as I have no other frame of reference.”
The slow nod he received was acceptable. “Now, I am not sure if Lily and James ever made mention of a branch of mind magic called ligilimency?” He observed the thoughtful look on the elf's face before Fin shook his head slowly. “No? Well, it allows the caster to view the thoughts of another. Would you mind terribly if I attempted to view your memories of the event in this manner? I can't be sure that I will be successful, given that you are not physically here for me to cast a spell on, though your spirit can still communicate the thoughts and memories the spell would access for me readily enough. Nevertheless, it can't hurt to try. It will not pain you so long as you do not try to mentally keep me out.”
The warrior elf considered the proposal for a moment before nodding and giving him a questioning look. “Thank you, Fin. If you can think back to just before the attack started, I would like to see what you saw. As it stands, we believe that Voldemort is gone, but as there were no known witnesses to what occurred, we cannot be entirely sure. That scar on young Harry's forehead is full of dark magic. It is very troubling, indeed.”
Fin's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head and glanced down at the boy. Albus wondered if he, perhaps, knew something else that may have some bearing. “If there is anything else you think I should know, perhaps you could keep those thoughts close to the surface so that I may view them as well.”
He received a slow nod as Fin returned his gaze to Albus. “Shall we begin, then?” He watched as Fin seemed to steel himself, then nod. “Relax your mind and think of the events you wish to show me,” he told the elf gently.
Albus pointed his wand and silently cast the spell. He was gratified to effortlessly slip into the welcoming mind and found himself watching Fin and dark-haired twin elves conversing about the progress of their raids against the orcs.
Glorfindel they called him. Golden hair. He understood the elvish term as Fin did.
In the memory, Albus could feel panic grip the elf, and watched as he made his excuses before going directly to a set of rooms that the wizard believed to be his and quickly settled himself onto the bed. He continued to watch the scene play out as Harry screamed and first James, then Lily, were killed. Albus was curious to note Glorfindel's interaction with Harry, and him calling the boy 'Marcaunon', unsure whether the elvish word was a name, or an endearment. Neither of which was terribly interesting in the face of the shield that had emitted from the boy though...
Ah, yes. Now there was something solid to work with. Albus could almost feel the power coursing between the child and the elven warrior. He could not sense if the power belonged to one or both of them originally. At this point it did not matter, though it was food for later thought. Mere seconds passed before the killing curse found its mark in Harry and Albus was shocked to see the answering white light that blasted the room and decimated Voldemort.
All was calm, then, before Glorfindel moved to touch Harry and was unceremoniously thrown back into his physical body. The scene melted into another and Albus frowned as he recognised the interior of a small storage cupboard underneath stairs somewhere. It was a tight fit, both Glorfindel and Harry's carrier. The wizard wondered where they were. He noticed the angry bruise on the child's face and remembered him to be free of injury, save for the curse scar on his forehead, the night he was delivered to the doorstep of the Dursley residence. He did not like where this observation took him.
The thought faded to the back of his mind as he heard a voice speaking in what he somehow knew to be Quenyan, though it sounded as English to him. He listened as the voice, this higher being as he understood it, explained to Glorfindel that there was a time limit on his presence at Harry's side, though he did not understand the metric of it. He mentally drew back a moment later when reference was made to Voldemort's soul, and a bond that it had forged with Harry. Dear Merlin...he knew what it meant, where Glorfindel did not. It did not bear thinking of now, but would be something to speak with the elf about when he was done here.
The end of the conversation confirmed his earlier suspicions of abuse in the household that Harry had been placed in and Albus was pained to note that while the child was safe from the evils of the wizarding world here, he was not safe from the evils of the muggle one, from his own family. The wizard deeply regretted the necessity that had brought them here, and vowed to do something to temper the abuse before he left this place.
Believing that to be all, Albus was curious to note the memory melting into another. This one seemed to have no real purpose, though, as he watched Sirius Black play with young Harry on the floor, driving little cars around the play-mat Harry sat on with his wand. It saddened him to feel the warmth between the two, knowing the betrayal that must have occurred soon after.
When the memory went dark, Albus withdrew from Glorfindel's mind and sorted through his own thoughts pertaining to everything he had seen.
“Your homeland is very beautiful,” the wizard remarked as the elf blinked his eyes hard, trying to come back to himself after having someone in his head for a fair length of time. Harry had finished his peas on the floor and was watching Glorfindel curiously.
“Fin?” Glorfindel sat himself down next to Harry and murmured something to him that must have worked to reassure the boy, since he went back to playing with the now-empty bowl.
Albus waited for the elf's attention to return to himself before he continued. “From what you've shown me, I do not believe that Voldemort has been permanently defeated,” he told his companion in no uncertain terms, though it pained him to do so. “The implication of the conversation with your 'Manwë' is that Voldemort has accidentally created what is known to my kind as a horcrux; a container to house a fragment of the soul so as to grant a type of immortality. So long as the soul fragment is safely contained and away from the 'main' – if you will – soul portion, a wizard cannot truly die, though they may exist as a spirit upon 'death' until they are able to restore themselves to a physical body.
“Voldemort's soul fragment,” Albus continued, “seems to be residing in that rather remarkable curse scar.”
Albus waited a moment as Glorfindel digested the information. His teeth were clenched at the violation of the boy. “The soul is not such fragile thing, as you may be aware, Glorfindel. A very regal name, by the way,” Albus smirked at the elven warrior who blushed at being called 'golden hair', understanding that Albus' time in his head told of the meaning.
“One's soul is not predisposed to seeking refuge in another should death not be of their choosing,” he continued without pause. “I would be inclined to believe the child is not the first horcrux Voldemort has made. Given the ease at which a soul fragment was created, I would hazard a guess to say that he was not even the second. Though how anyone would willingly carve pieces out of their soul once, never mind twice, I am unable to comprehend.
“Glorfindel...” Albus halted the monologue for a moment, knowing there was no delicate way to put this. His eyes drifted down to the boy who was using Albus' robes to help him crawl into the wizard's lap. “I am unaware of any method to remove this soul fragment that does not result in the container's...destruction...shall we say.”
Albus could only imagine the cry that seemed to be torn from Glorfindel, as he still could hear nothing of the elf's voice. “Take heart in your Manwë's words, Glorfindel,” he interrupted. “I cannot believe that one such as he would direct you to re-establish your soul bond if there was no safe way for you to do so. It is simply a case of finding it. I will do what I can, of course.”
Glorfindel looked grateful and Albus could not imagine being in his position. “Now, you are here for five cycles, yes? Do you happen to know how long that is in years?” The elven warrior held up his hands for a moment, palms open and facing Albus with the fingers on both hands spread, before closing them and opening them again with one palm open and the other showing only the index finger.
“Sixteen years?” he checked. At Glorfindel's single nod, Albus let out a small, relieved sigh. “That is something, then. Once we reaffirm your bond, I shall not have to worry about the boy quite so much. I was disturbed at the glimpse of his life here.”
The elf's accusing look was damning. “Yes, it was I who left him here, though I wish I had a better option...” His musings were cut short as Glorfindel gave him a look and pointed to his head. “I don't understand.”
Glorfindel frowned before indicating first to Albus' head this time, then to his own, then their eyes. “You want me to look into your mind again?” He was met with a slow shake of his head and pointed to his own head and Albus' eyes again and made a hand gesture to his left.
The wizard's bushy eyebrows furrowed for a moment as he considered what the elven warrior was trying to communicate. “Back? Before?” The elf nodded and pointed to Albus' eyes and his own head again. “Something I saw before when I looked into your mind?”
There was an emphatic nod at that statement. “Surely you aren't referring to Sirius Black, Glorfindel?”
The nod was repeated, accompanied by a fist held over his heart for a moment before he pointed to young Harry who was falling asleep, curled up in Albus' lap. “You don't know, then,” the wizard's tone was full of regret and sadness. “Sirius Black was the one who held the secret of Lily, James and Harry's location. Sirius is the one who betrayed them to Voldemort. No...Sirius is where he should be, in Azkaban, the wizarding prison.”
Albus wasn't surprised at the sudden furious look that came over Glorfindel's features, but was startled at the sudden violent shaking of the elf's head and rapid movement of his arms. He was unable to follow the silent means of communication. “Please, slow yourself, Glorfindel.”
Glorfindel paused at Albus' words. “Now, you are angry at Sirius' actions, yes?” The elf shook his head. Albus frowned, his eyes showing his surprise. “You're not angry at Sirius? Then who are you angry with?”
He was met with Glorfindel's finger pointed in his direction. “Me? I don't understand. Sirius was their secret keeper. I was only the one to suggest they go into hiding, Glorfindel. They had no chance of surviving any other way.”
Again the elf shook his head. Albus was struggling to understand his companion's point of view. “Was there some other way we hadn't considered?”
Glorfindel shook his head and looked frustrated. Albus was feeling the same frustration, but after a moment of reflecting on the rest of his earlier statement, a cold feeling passed over him. He sucked in a breath and asked another question. The answer that he was both dreading and hopeful of. “Are you saying that Sirius was, indeed, not the secret keeper?”
He witnessed Glorfindel's suddenly peaceful expression, followed by the dreaded, and hoped for, affirmation. “Who, then, Glorfindel?” Albus leaned forward and whispered harshly, furiously, careful not to wake or jostle the now-sleeping Harry. “Who was their secret keeper?”
Albus slipped into Glorfindel's mind then, knowing that it was not an unwelcome intrusion, though sorry for it, all the same...
“Peter, we really need you to do this...” Sirius's tone was coaxing as he, James and Peter sat around the kitchen table in Godric's Hollow. “I'll be the first one they come looking for, surely. It's no secret that James and I are joined at the hip most of the time.”
Glorfindel was seated in a vacant chair next to Sirius, staring at Peter with suspicious eyes. Both Sirius and James looked at the smaller man without hesitation and with great expectation. Albus could tell that this choice worried Glorfindel.
Peter looked first at Sirius, then at James, then back to Sirius, as if unsure of who was asking this of him. “What about Remus?”
Sirius and James shared a look, then. They were obviously deeply troubled over this. It was James that spoke. “We love Remus, Peter, but we think that Voldemort may be able to get to him through his lycanthropy...”
“I won't take that chance,” Sirius said severely, though his voice broke part way through. “It's James, Lily and Harry's lives that are at stake. I can't take that chance. It has to be you, Peter. There is no one else we trust completely that isn't already in danger.”
Peter reluctantly agreed to the plan and stared down at the table top, gnawing at his bottom lip while James called in Lily to perform the charm that would lock the secret of their location in Peter.
Glorfindel did not once take his eyes from Peter, Albus noted. Yes, the elven warrior obviously had grave reservations about this arrangement. Reservations that had been warranted, he agreed, now watching Lily perform the charm as the others stood witness.
“Thank you, Peter,” Lily whispered to the smallest of the Marauders, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek before embracing him quickly. “I know it's terrifying, but I'm so glad that we have such good friends as you...”
Realising there was nothing else notable about the memory, Albus withdrew from the warrior's mind once more. He could not move for a moment. The gravity of the situation was weighing on him. “Sirius is serving a life sentence in the worst prison known to wizarding kind. It will not be easy finding a way to get him out, I fear. Peter was killed by Sirius after the incident at Godric's Hollow. I can only assume that Sirius' temper had hold of him at the time.”
Glorfindel's eyes closed slowly at this revelation. The true culprit was dead, murdered by the one believed guilty of the deed. “I will do what I can, Glorfindel,” was Albus' promise.

It was not too long after that Albus descended the stairs with Harry asleep in his arms, Glorfindel a spectre at his back. The trio reached the living room to find Vernon and Petunia watching television, dinner long over and Dudley asleep in Petunia's arms.
The woman stiffened when she noticed Albus and Harry. “Ahh, Petunia, I'm afraid I tired the poor boy out,” his smile was rather strained. “Where is his cot? I wish to put him to bed before I return to Hogwarts.”
“Do not speak of that place in my home,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “You can put him back in his carrier in the kitchen. He will be fine in there.”
“Can an old man not tuck a young boy into his bed?” he questioned. “I assure you, I am well used to doing so, having been a frequent guest in your sister's home.”
Petunia scowled at him. “My sister is dead thanks to your lot. Put him in his carrier.”
Without so much as a blink, Albus slipped into her mind with a silent ligilimens [spell to delve into a person's mind] and saw why Petunia was so insistent on the carrier. “I see. I had hoped that Harry would find at least some semblance of a familial bond in your home, Petunia. I well remember how much you loved Lily...once upon a time.”
“Lily chose your world over her own blood!” Petunia spat at him from her seat, passing the sleeping Dudley to her husband, who was staring up at the wizard interrupting his television-watching, the earlier confundus [confusion charm] doing its job. She quickly stood and stormed over to him, defiance and hatred clear on her face. “From the moment she boarded that train, she was no longer my sister! Now you expect me to take care of a boy I don't want because my sister had the bad taste to get herself killed!”
“Lily did not choose to leave you,” Albus told her sadly. “It was simply the path she had to follow. Being magical was not of her choosing, nor was she at fault for making the best of the life she had been given. Just as young Harry will do once his time comes.”
Albus crossed into the kitchen and gently laid Harry into his carrier, careful not to wake him. He conjured a warm blanket for the boy, infusing it with a feeling of love and comfort. When he was satisfied, he straightened himself and turned back to Petunia, who was watching like a hawk, not having moved from her place in the living room.
“I would strongly advise not taking you grievances with Lily out on young Harry, Petunia,” he told her pleasantly. “You will find that I have little tolerance for those who would...abuse...another.”
She allowed her glare to speak for her, her hatred an arrow in his back as he saw himself out.

Glorfindel wondered if the warning was all the wizard had planned for the moment. He suspected not...he hoped not. Marcaunon already suffered daily at their hands and the elven warrior was loath for it to continue.
Isil [moon] was high when Albus returned. He simply appeared in the entryway, not far from the cupboard where Glorfindel sat with a sleeping Marcaunon.
“Glorfindel?” he heard the call from the other side of the cupboard door. He quickly stepped out and saw Albus standing in the centre of the living room, watching the doorways. Glorfindel noticed that the wizard had not quietened his voice, the reason for this was made known to him a moment later.
“Ah, there you are,” Albus greeted him with a curious look. “What on earth were you doing in there?”
He looked at Albus sadly and guided him to the door of the cupboard. The wizard opened the door and Glorfindel could see the clenching in his jaw as he saw inside the cupboard that was Marcaunon's room, recognising the interior from viewing the elf's memories earlier. “I see.”
Albus quietly closed the door and placed a monitoring charm on the sleeping boy who was, once again, strapped into his carrier. “I placed a heavy sleeping charm on the Dursley's from the street before I popped in,” he informed the elf as he took himself up the stairs, Glorfindel close behind. “We will be undisturbed for what I am about to do next.”
Glorfindel looked on curiously as Albus opened a door at the end of the hall that led to the main bedroom where Vernon and Petunia slept. Thankfully, the couple was clothed in their nightwear, so there were no unwelcome surprises when they finally stood beside the bed.
When Albus faced him, Glorfindel shot him a questioning look. The wizard paused for a moment, as if considering his words before he spoke. “I am a great believer of allowing others to follow their own path, Glorfindel,” he began with a tired sigh. “Be it for good, or for ill. Though, there are occasions, rare as they are, that I feel it necessary to act contrary to those beliefs.
“Though...” he continued. “One might consider that I also believe that no harm should come to a child. So perhaps I am only ensuring that the stronger of my beliefs guides my wand this night.”
Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow, one that Albus caught with an answering smirk. “Yes, I do believe that we understand one another quite well. In this case, the path that these two lovely examples of human decency are taking would possibly do more damage to the young boy downstairs than Voldemort was able to do with all the magic at his disposal. It is, indeed, unfortunate that he must live here until such time as he can protect himself.
“I had good reason for placing him in this place, Glorfindel,” Albus confided to the elf standing across from him on the other side of the bed. “Before you showed me your memories of what transpired the night Lily and James were killed, I would have said I had the best reason in the world for placing him here. Before they went into hiding, Lily conducted an ancient rite that allowed for anyone of her blood to be protected if she met her end protecting them. A sacrifice born of love, if you will, kept strong by her blood, Petunia's blood...”
Glorfindel glanced down at the woman who slept on, unaware of their presence, nor their discussion. “I fear there is no love to be found here, Glorfindel. Not from Petunia, in any case. It may prove to weaken the protection born of Lily's death. Though the only way to test the theory would be to send a wizard or witch here who bears Harry ill will and allow them to attack.”
The wizard began waving his wand gently over Vernon and Petunia's sleeping forms. “No, I believe this to be the best option for now,” he informed Glorfindel. “At least until we know for sure that Lily's magic is not protecting Harry. In the meantime, I will attempt to have Sirius released, though this may take some time, as I will need evidence greater than my say so.”
The tip of Albus' wand was pulsing with a small blue light. The elf observed curiously, wondering what the wizard was doing to the sleeping couple. When the light faded, Albus continued his monologue. “I have placed a minor compulsion charm on them both. It will prevent the worst of their crimes, but they still will not treat him as family, I fear.”
At Glorfindel's incredulous look, Albus explained his reasoning. “The stronger the charm, the stronger their need to fight it. While muggles generally have little resistance to wizarding magic, I still must return regularly to keep the charm strong. If I am ever delayed and the charm should fail, their behaviour will not have been altered enough for them to suspect interference and take retribution on Harry, as the only magic-wielder present. I am loath to do more at this stage, as there are terrible repercussions to any form of controlling magic.”
With one last glance, Albus led them back downstairs to where Marcaunon still slept. Glorfindel noticed the occasional wand movement as they walked.
“I perhaps may have also cast a few charms and hexes about the place,” Albus informed him, sporting a rather innocent look. “Petunia may find Harry's current location a little inconvenient. This, of course, may lead to her relocating him to somewhere a little more acceptable.”
There was a look of slight admiration on his face, Glorfindel knew. As Albus was about to leave, he gave his companion one last piece of information. “I will return on the first of every month to reinforce the charms I have placed here tonight. Please do what you can to minimise their emotional impact on the boy, Glorfindel. I will do what I can to provide another solution.”
With that, the wizard disappeared. Apparition [magical teleportation], he believed it was called.
Now that the Dursley's were taken care of, he needed to turn his attention to the soul fragment, or hó [spirit/shadow] as he preferred to call it, that was squatting inside his fëa pia [little soul/spirit].

After several weeks of Petunia being inconvenienced by cleaning products and devices that never seemed to be found where she thought she left them, and the baby carrier overnight becoming too small to hold him, Harry was now occupying Dudley's old portable cot in Petunia's sewing room. As promised, Albus had also returned twice to renew the charms on Vernon and Petunia.
On another matter, it had taken some time before he managed to 'tune in' to the hó [spirit/shadow]. He'd heard the term in reference to communication devices, so it seemed an apt description. Manwë's words bid him find a way to reaffirm his bond with Marcaunon without injuring him.
Thus, his first thought was to see if he could speak with it...but first he needed to gain its attention.
He had tried to speak to it directly, the same way he would Marcaunon. Of course, he quickly realised that it was parasitic in its current form, so was not in possession of Marcaunon's body and would not be able to answer him that way, even was it so inclined.
Glorfindel's most recent attempt at communication had yielded a result, though it had taken awhile. He had been seeking out a connection to Marcaunon the way he normally would, believing that since it was another bond obstructing their normal one, if he tried to communicate with it directly, as he would Marcaunon, he should be met by the hó [spirit/shadow].
The warrior had been correct in this, though it had been long in the attempt, the hó [spirit/shadow] wary and distrustful of him. Glorfindel would need every ounce of the patience and diplomacy that he was little known for, though was indeed possessed of it.
The hó [spirit/shadow] was a terrified thing, he discovered. It could not communicate with him verbally, in the way Elrond or Lady Galadriel were able. All it could give him were impressions, at least at the moment. Glorfindel had no idea if the hó [spirit/shadow] would eventually be able to exert some influence over Marcaunon's thoughts or actions. The possibility was concerning, but for the moment he needed to concentrate on the task before him.
Glorfindel thought it positive that the hó [spirit/shadow] was acknowledging him, though it was steeped in fear. He would need to heavily consider his next steps, he knew. Truly terrified creatures were the most unpredictable of beings, and required careful handling lest more damage be done to them, and, in this case, possibly to the host.
A tactic such as threats or outright force could serve to push it out. Glorfindel believed the opposite more likely, that the fragment would just burrow deeper into Marcaunon and cause it to want more active influence over him, if not out-right possession.
Instead, he talked to it as he did his fëa pia [little soul/spirit], coaxing it to distrust him less...to distrust Glorfindel's bond with Marcaunon less.
He could almost believe that this fragment of Voldemort's fëa [spirit/soul] was made up entirely of the wizard's fear, which made him wonder if each broken off piece of fëa [spirit/soul] was essentially a copy of its owner, with all thoughts, feelings and beliefs of same, or rather was it an entity all of its own, made up wholly of unwanted memories and emotions. Glorfindel could believe the latter after what he had observed of the hó [spirit/shadow] thus far.
Where fear existed, though, there usually was a seed of courage. Glorfindel wondered if this would hold true of this hó [spirit/shadow] of Voldemort's. Only time would tell...
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