A/N: Okay, I'm taking a step away from what I normally do to try my hand at slash. I didn't really like it at first but it kinda grows on you. I'll start out with some fluff. I don't really like touching the sexual element of it.

This is Elf!Harry, yes, but I do like those stories. Stick with what you like, that's what I say! I combined slash with that to make it seem a bit less daunting. And, it's Harry/Draco. That kinda grew on me too.

I got the names from a Common-to-Elvish website and I modified them a little bit to make them original.

Note: Italics are Elvish and Drow tongue.


Calasier Avamela

Chapter 1: A Rescue and a Chance

Harry Potter had many titles by the time he'd left Hogwarts after his second year: the Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of Hogwarts (on two occasions) but Prince of a secret Elven Realm? It was unheard of. All because he wanted it to be kept a secret and so did his parents. For, he did have parents, even though they were thought dead. Their aliases were once James and Lily Potter and had asked their son to use the alias of Harry.

The Prince's true name, while in the secret Elven land of Valivial, was Hari Valadhiel and his parents, the King and Queen were Jaurion and Lindilwen. Their home was the castle of Ariador and they too, like Harry, had spent time in the human world to, "...better our knowledge of our mortal cousins." Lindilwen had told him. In Hari's opinion, the only purpose of the human world was to find a life parter or Nienna (as it was called by the elves).

His father, the King, was proof of it. He had once been a mortal human and had fallen in love with Lindilwen, the Elven Princess of the time. They'd married in the human world and eloped to Valivial. The mortals thought that they had died at the hands of a Dark Wizard name Lord Voldemort, their only son with them. The reality was that they had fought and defeated Lord Voldemort who dared to hinder their departure.

There is nothing much to say about Hari's time at Hogwarts. He did not reveal his indentity to anyone except Dumbledore. He'd successfully pretended to be raised by foreign parents who did not know who he was and neither did he. Dumbledore had been a long time Elf-Friend (or Elenshar, in the elf tongue) and had kept Hari's secret. The story really begins when Hari had returned to Valivial after his second year.

In Valivial, the Prince Hari had many titles too but the one that was used the most was Calasier Avamela. The translation to mortal English is 'high one without love'. Hari left a trail of broken hearts behind him. He seemed to love no one or have any pleasure in any possible suitors in Valivial. The longest a relationship lasted was about a month and then, it crumbled one way or another. He was a serious High Elf and was hardly ever seen smiling. Most of his time was taken up with war. Battles against rebel Drows, Orcs, Trolls and other threatening creatures were fought with the Prince at the head of the Akhohr (the Valivi Army). As a consequence of it, he had great magical and physical strength and also many scars. The most distinctive of them all was a lighning-shaped scar on his forehead, the reminder of the battle of spells he'd waged with the last rebel Drow leader.

Jaurion and Lindilwen encouraged their son's enthusiasm with protecting their country but, still, they worried. Their son could not or would not love another. His cold demeanour had come out of nowhere and neither could remember when it started. So, they sent him to the mortal world in the hopes that he would take after his mother and find a Nienna there. After his first year at Hogwarts, they noticed a change in Hari. He became less focused and, during his free hours, he would often gaze into the distance. He was no more emotional but changed nonetheless. Then, after his second year at Hogwarts, he became even more so,

"It is a good sign, my Nienna." Jaurion commented one autumn evening, where, once again, they found their son daydreaming, "Perhaps he has discovered Meleniel in mortals after all." Meleniel was the elven deity of love,

"But, perhaps," Lindilwen added, worriedly, "this love does not give him the same favour. Do you remember when we were at Hogwarts?"

"I do." Jaurion grimaced a little, "You could not abide me. You preferred that Snape boy."

"He had his chance." Lindilwen sighed, "But, he grew too dark for me. He joined with Voldemort in the end. I could not possibly allow him to rule Valivial. Uteire and Athara would never forgive me if I made him my Nienna." Uteire and Athara were the words that noble elves used for 'father' and 'mother' respectively,

Just then, Hari looked up. Jaurion smiled and extended his arms wide, "My son! How are you this fine evening?"

This warm greeting was met with a cold glare, "Well, Uteire, as you know. I have been sent word of Drow activity in the North-East. I must depart tomorrow on the three day journey."

With that, he rose and marched away, somber dark robes and hair sweeping behind him. Jaurion sighed, "It is his thirteenth hundred birthday next year and still he has a heart of ice. Whatever shall we do, Lindil?"

"Be patient, my Nienna." She said, sweeping back her red hair, "Things can change when we least expect it."


The next morning, they watched their son ride from Ariador in the front line. The elves of Vilivial called messages of farewell and good fortune, "May Turil and Ortherion be with you!" Turil and Ortherion were deities of war and often prayed to in need of victory. Hari's previous lovers were seen calling messages to the prince of their own, "My heart will weep until it sees you again, my Prince!" but he ignored them.

Prince Hari did not speak to any of his wellwishers while the rest of his army waved and accepted their messages. He scowled as one of his captains received a small bunch of flowers from a young girl. Such weakness to be taken in by females. He thought, bitterly. Ridiculous. These thoughts remained with him for the whole three days it took to reach the enemy encampment.

The plans were laid. They would attack by day when drows were weakest (and most noticeable). The only problem was that they seemed to have prisoners. The scout came back with reports of people in metal cages in the middle. If they attacked, they would probably kill the hostages. When the scout mentioned that most of them were humans, Hari's head suddenly shot up, suprising the people in the tent,

"Did you behold their faces?" He asked, a hint of unusual urgency in his voice,

"Yes, my Prince." The scout nodded, surprised at the Prince's strange behaviour, "Some of them. There was one particular boy that remains in my mind. He looked just like a cherubim with pale features and of wealthy background, I'd wager. He was English-tongued and bore a silver ring."

"Can you estimate the age?" The Prince's face grew more and more - there was no better word for it - frightened with each description,

"About thirteen years, your Majesty." Hari's green eyes widened alarmingly and then, he whirled round to face his commanders,

"Take rest for a few hours. We attack at first light! Now!" Everyone hastened from the room, leaving Hari in the room alone. Sitting down, he tried to calm himself. Come now, Hari. It may not be him you are thinking of. But, if it is...

He placed his left hand upon his heart, a common gesture for praying elves. O, deities of grace, protect him! O, long-neglected Meleniel, let your grace pass to him and protect my love! Laying his head on his arms, he sighed. He thought he must be one of the most ill-fated Valedhiel in the history of High Elves. After denying love for over ten thousand years, it hit him much too suddenly and much too impossibly.

Hari wondered whether this was a punishment from Meleniel for brutally breaking all those hearts and denying her prescence for so long. To fall in love with such a beautiful yet inaccessable mortal was such a torture for him. He'd heard many stories of unrequited love but none came close to describing the pain and hopelessness he felt.

Not only did that special one dislike him, no, he hated him. He insulted him, cursed him and made him feel unworthy of existing. For a Prince, this was an extremely disheartening feeling. I should hate him. I should curse every fibre of his being. Yet, I still love him and cannot hate him. He is too perfect to hate. Yet... The plan he'd been subconsciously crafting formed clearly in his head,

"Your Majesty?"

Talethion, his servant, poked his head through the tent flap. Starting, Hari's head shot off his arms, "What is it?"

"You should take rest, Master. The sun will rise in three hours."

"I will take rest when I will." Hari snapped, "Begone. My mind requires no disturbance."

With a bow, Talethion left. Hari never liked him. He was a small Fire Elf who had lived in the small island of Lindaria about fifty leagues across the sea from Valivial. He'd been a bard before, playing a lute in bars before Hari had picked him up. He'd shown some talent in battle, magic and servant duties but he had the annoying habit of sticking his head in where it wasn't wanted. Some elves would call it overenthusiasm. Hari called it being irritating.

Still, he could not send him away on that cause and he was a good worker so he had to keep him. Pushing Talethion out of his mind, he turned back to the plan. If the boy was injured and unconscious, his chance would come.


Hari did not sleep for a second. He stayed up all night, ignored two more interruptions from Talethion and armed himself ready for the assault. His sword was sharpened to its limit, his armour was polished and hardened and the Akhohr was prepared. There was no battle-cry from their Prince. He always went into battle silent and dignified. The only action he made was to push down his visor and silently point his sword directly at the encampment.

The Drow had expected them. They were not, as suspected, the magic-wielding, clever Drows but the ape-like drones with long arms, bony bodies, bent backs and bandy legs, specially bred to protect a fort when the powerful Drows were away. All of them were trained to scramble into enemy horses and attack the rider; a trademark skill of drones. The only good thing about drones were that they all had poor eyesight and could not use arrows or projectiles. This meant that arrows could be used effectively before the battle.

The army shot about thirty of them before they began spilling out of the fort, armed to the teeth and screeching. Then, knowing that a head-on charge would be better than keeping the position, he gave the signal and the Akhohr charged. Hari barely noticed the soldiers falling all around him. All he was interested in was beseiging the fort single-handed if necessary to reach the hostages and find whether he was one of them. The horse trampled the Drow, breaking their fragile bones and leaving them in a heap.

He fought off a drone that tried to unhorse him, then another. The third that caught him unawares threw him off his horse a second before he was impaled on Hari's sword. The horse was far too good to be used by a Drow drone and he gave a silent prayer to Rochendil, deity of war animals, that it would survive the battle. He continued on foot towards the centre, using fire magic to set the wooden buildings he checked through in the fort ablaze. Hari thought that they must use wood as an excuse to cut down Valivial's beloved forest and the hatred of the Drow within him burned. Elves loved forests and a sure way to make them your enemy was to fell them. Hari hated having to burn the wood but Drows hated fire and went mad with fright whenever confronted with it.

The Prince had long left his army behind at the gates and he could hear the battle behind him. He didn't care. All that mattered was to get through to the heart of the fort. He killed about ten Drow drones before he finally reached it. The hostages were all in cages, as stated, hung on gallows by chains. There was only one Drow present and Hari knew he was the leader. He was the most ape-ish, had the most ropes of fangs and bones around his neck and even carried a roughly hewn wooden staff. This Drow obviously knew some magic. To his horror, he did have him. The boy was out of his cage, almost naked due to the many slashes made to the clothes. He lay motionless in front of the Drow leader, which filled Hari with icy cold terror.

By now, Hari had a freely-bleeding arm and his armour was covering in white drow blood. Still, he was strong and had the will to fight. As long as he wasn't dead...

"So, you are the High Elf Princling?" The Drow leered in his own tongue, "We have something very precious of yours here. I was about to kill him before you arrived as payment for your attack."

Hari was thankful for the visor since his face betrayed anger and hatred, "You will do no more harm to him while I stand!" With that, he lashed out with his sword. This collided with the staff and cleaved about halfway through the wood. Sparks and dark magical energy spilled out and his fingers tingled unpleasantly with it. Pulling the blade from him, he watched as the enchantments on his sword clashed with the weak magic of the staff and shattered it.

The Drow's leer had vanished, "You'll pay for that!" He made to the boy, who was weakly opening his eyes. This was immediately prevented by Hari's sword, that flashed onto the Drow's chest armour and sent him flying back. Hari blocked one attack, then the second. The Drow tried to chop off his hand but only succeeded in making a scrape on the armour. His third swipe of the sword caught the gap between the chest and arm armour and the Drow's arm was lost. The boy was staring at the fight like a little owl, following the progress of the swords.

It was all over when Hari drew his dagger from within his armour and plunged it into the fragile neck. Armless in more ways than one, the Drow leader fell dead. Hari could hear his soldiers approaching. They were pushing back the Drow. The day was won for sure. But Hari did not care. Instead, he sheethed his sword and dagger, tied his staff back in place on his back and knelt beside the boy.

The mortal boy's wounds were not deep but he was covered in blood. Hari whispered soothingly in Elvish. He knew the boy would not understand but Elvish was always very calming to mortals, "Do not fear, Draco. I am your lover. I will take care of you." Draco gazed up at the Prince, seeing nothing but a helmet and visor. Then, his eyes closed.


The noise around him was dying. The Drow drones were heard being put to flight among the trees. He could hear the Akhohr shouting a victory call but he barely heard it. The buildings burned all round him, making the air hotter and denser. A small noise alerted him. Looking round, he saw his faithful horse, limping slightly but unbeaten, "Helin." He patted her shimmering grey head thankfully and used a small healing spell to get rid of the arrow wound on her flank. She knelt down obligingly and allowed Hari to mount with Draco held in front of him. Once she had risen, soldiers were running to the scene,

"Your Majesty!"

"We've beaten them back!"

"Free the hostages!" Hari commanded, "Those with horses shall transport them! Search for the wounded! Make a record of the dead!" With that, he left the smouldering fort with the unconscious Draco held in front of him. At last, a chance! Carefully, he made his way to the camp and was first to arrive back there, "Any trouble here?" He asked the guards on duty,

"None here, Your Majesty. We saw the surviving Drows flee to the North."

Hari nodded and continued into the camp. After depositing Draco in the Healer's tent, he returned to his own tent and sat down. He'll be safe for the moment with the Healers. It is custom to keep any humans in the Elven Realms in an enchanted sleep until we decide their fate. He thought of the humans that had settled down as elves in the past. Others had got homesick and asked to be returned to their world. They would have to forget about their time in the elf world, of course, but they were happy to be back.

Then, a new problem arose. Draco had a comfortable life back in the human world. He seemed to have every luxury his loving family could offer. There is a chance that Draco would refuse to remain here. He does not know of the difference in time between the world of the elves and the human world. The time difference can sometimes fluctuate and be inconstant but it is estimated that a hundred years of elven world time is about one year of human world time.

Even if he had the desire to remain, from what I know of human love, a male loving another of the same gender is not looked upon kindly. If Draco has such views on those with non-magical parentage, he cannot imagine that he will accept my feelings or even like me. Hari began to worry. Already, old hurts were starting to sting and he could not bare to imagine what would happen if Draco rejected him. That would be the final blow. If that happened, he vowed to himself that he would never go back to the human world again. He would not bare to face Draco after such a humiliation.

The tent flap opened. Thinking that it was probably Talethion with news, Hari looked up reluctantly. It wasn't Talethion but a captain of his army. Her helm was under her arm and she had a scroll in her hand, "I have the record of casulties on our side, Your Majesty."

"Speak on." Hari thought that this would at least distract him from the uncomfortable thoughts of the flaws in his plans,

"We have had around thirty fatalities but we dealt the Drow a more severe blow. We do not know the exact number but the bodies are being counted as I speak. There are twelve hostages, eight of them human, only half of which is in adulthood. All are safe in the Healer's care. The humans are under enchantments of sleep."

"Where is Talethion?" Hari asked, "He ought to give this report, not trouble you with this task."

The captain suddenly looked grim, "You have not heard, Your Majesty?"

"I would not ask if I had." Hari answered, coldly,

"Talethion Caradel is dead, Your Majesty."

To say that Hari was not startled would be untrue. Still, he felt no significent grief, since he'd had felt nothing significent towards him in life. After a half-second pause, Hari stood, "I shall pay my respects as his master and leader of the army. Lead me to his body."

"It shall be done, Your Majesty."

With that, Hari was led through the camp and into the tent he knew from the black owl symbol of Garthal (deity of death and rebirth) was the morgue tent. Sure enough, when he entered, there were bodies of the dead soldiers lying across the floor on white cloth with their weapons and possessions laid around them. Around the end was Talethion. According to the witnesses, he'd been stabbed through the chest by the same Drow-drone that had unhorsed him. Hari spoke a word of farewell and then rose to give the orders of what to do with the bodies,

"Many of these who lie dead are of Valivial yet there are a few who are of other lands. If they are of Valivial, we shall take them to their families and I want volunteer soldiers who will bare the soldiers of other regions to their people."

Hari never involved himself with the dead. He never liked to stay in a room with lifeless bodies. So, instead, he marched out and entered the tent with the white dove symbol of Fallena (deity of healing) above it. He found Draco among the humans. All were asleep, even if uninjured. Draco was looked like the youngest of them all and most injured. Hari knelt beside him and looked down at his face.

It was washed clean of blood but it only served to highlight how pale he was. As Hari gazed at him, he knew that he would never allow Draco to leave him.


A/N So, how was that? I know, not much slash in this but I do like to tell a good story. This was just a bit of setting the scene. Reviews will be much appreciated and go easy on me!