Authors note: I know it's been awhile since I've written anything, but the idea came to me I swear! Updates will probably be whenever I can fit it in, I take hard classes…but I intend to finish this, and if I leave it for too long (a month or so) feel free to email/bug me.

This story is completely AU, so don't expect this to continue right after the sixth book, it won't even follow the first one…

As for romance, well…I was thinking slash here, so if that bothers you…too bad, I'm more then likely going with it, though it won't get to descriptive. Either way, Draco Malfoy will become a main character, but he won't be appearing until the fourth or fifth chapter (depending on if you count the prologue) due to the plot (Sorry, can't be helped…).

Oh, and the names are pretty random, but I actually wrote out a family tree for this…I was bored and without power.

In the year 1641 the last of the family Rothwood passed into the heavens, at the wise age of 80 years. The day that marked his passing was one of great celebration in the Ministry of Magic, for it meant one less non-human species to worry about. However, even as the Minister of Magic announced that the High Elves would never darken the world again, all were not happy.

For Hogwarts was in mourning. Not her students, no they could care less for the creatures that had passed, but rather the castle, herself, was in mourning. For with the passing of the last High Elf, the fifth Hogwarts house saw destruction, as house of Merlin had no use any longer.

The banners that had once flown for the house fell from the rafters, the table that had been seats for young elves burst into flame. The tower where they had once rested their heads closed off, seemingly never to open again.

But what even Hogwarts could not know was that Brenton Rothwood had a squib of a sister. Agatha Rothwood had married a muggle named Harold Smith, and hers was a line that was live on for twenty long generations before enough magic had returned to create even a witch in this squib line. Enough time for the world to forget, to turn a once great race into bare legend and myth.

However, the line was not to stay silent forever. With the union of Agatha's great-some-granddaughter, Elizabeth O'rien and David Evans enough magic was brought together to give their second child, Lily Evans, enough power to be a witch. Her birth in 1959 would start a series of events that could only be fate at work as she entered Hogwarts and met James Potter.

All who know anything know that Lily could not have been anything more then a powerful witch, for elf blood needs more magic then the average soul can provide. It is for this reason and this reason alone, that the Rothwood line was dormant for as long was it was.

Yet, when James and Lily married they could not have known the consequence of the actions. For James was of a powerful family and his new bride was powerful in her own right; thus any child born to them would be powerful. And so a marriage destined to be so short, and in a time of turmoil, would sire and birth Harry James Potter, the first High Elf born in over 400 years.

It was not Lily's rumored love that saved her child, for who was she to claim to love her child more then the next mother. No, it was his great-some Uncle Brenton's gift, his great-some-grandmother Marine's blood. It was in his blood for him to survive, and thus fate spared him.

And no one ever even guessed the truth.

But fate was far from done twisting her threads. Seven months after arriving in his maternal Aunt Petunia's home, she gave birth to baby girl whom she and her husband named Rosaline Lee Dursley, the second High Elf.

Over the next few years, the two children would see little that was kind. For while they both seemed perfectly normal, neither ever appeared so in the eyes of their kin.

Evidently, bottles were never supposed to float back to their owners.

And so with the disgust of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, both children found themselves being raised in a constant pain that no child deserves for even a moment.

Beatings became the food their so-called family would grant them; harsh words the water that would sustain them. They were raised in an attic that was too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer.

While these were conditions that would have killed any child, they seemed to thrive on them. Their wounds were bared as if they were nothing, the constant pain and hunger ignored. It was to the point were they were so crafted at their disguise, that their pain and fear would only be seen in two guarded sets of haunted emerald eyes, and the unkempt state their clothing was always in.

There were other signs of course, but unless one knew where to look, there seemed to be nothing wrong at all.

For these were children that his their lot in life, at first because they didn't know any other way, and latter because they knew without thinking about it that letting someone know could only make things worse. How they knew this, they had no idea, but the merely knew that silence was the best option.

Thus they grew as the freaks they came to believe they were: the freaks of home and school. But they still learned. Their minds were like that of a sponge, taking in every detail. Their memories had more film then even some of the best photographic minds the world had ever seen. Yet, even this was hidden from the world they regarded to be too cruel and uncaring to understand.

Now it came to pass that young Harry was to turn eleven. Anyone in the magical world could tell you that the eleventh birthday was meant to mark the age that a child became eligible for the great school of Hogwarts.

But that was not to be for either elf, for Hogwarts had long since lost the ability to track the unique pattern that made up and elves magical signature.

Pity that neither elf would ever be able to learn, eh? No, that was never to be, for you see something else happened that day…something unique, and down right magical.