A Wizard Transplanted

By kyjori

Summary: Harry Potter had no qualms doing whatever it took to destroy Voldemort. In the final battle at the Ministry of Magic, he managed to demolish most of the buildings in a final attack upon Voldemort, annihilating everyone in the vicinity. Harry however already held the Deathly Hallows, and was transported to Middle Earth rather than continuing on the next great Adventure. Immortal, intelligent, and a survivor, Harry perseveres, only to find himself in another conflict that cumulates to the War of the Ring, and Middle Earth is once again at the crossroads, and only destruction awaits all those involved.

I do not own either Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings, what a shame. I could do with the money.

(Elvish translation)

Chapter 2

Thwump, Thwump.

The sound of wings beating on the air was unmistakable. The Nazgul immediately halted their advanced and looked up, only to find the sight of a great eagle plunging down at them at breakneck speed. A shrill screech tore through the air as the eagle drew nearer to the group by the second. The ringwraiths were in a confused stupor, frozen in their tracks with no idea what to do. Right before the eagle crash landed into them, it morphed in the air into a human being with a gleaming sword in both hands drawn to the side. He slashed while still moving at great speeds and 5 nazgul who were beheaded emitted a shrill scream into the air before they vanished; only leaving behind their morgul blades and black cloaks. The horses they victims were mounted on quickly ran off in fright. The man with a mess of dark brown hair, landed in a kneeling position, while the remaining wraiths tried to keep their mounts under control.

By the time the horses regained their calm; the man had slowly risen and faced the remaining ringwraiths. The man held a wand in his right. In his left hand, was a yellow-gold sword; in which a blood-red ruby the size of a tennis ball was at the pommel, and the blade itself was reflective silver.

The Witch King of Angmar forbidding whisper pervaded the air, "Who dares stands in the way of the Nazgul?"

Harry Potter simply raised his right hand, drawing up the elder wand in response. "Harry Potter of Lothlorien. Fancy meeting you." A ball of fire materialized and swelled up to a size of a bowling ball at the tip of his wand. The next second, it was hurled directly at the Witch King. The wraith drew up its gauntlet in the path of the fireball as a shield. What shocked Harry was when it simply brushed off the spell with little effort. "Hmm… bugger." Harry quickly shot a wide cleaving curse at the horses, but before the spell even hit, he had already done a 180 and was sprinting towards Forest River.

The Nazgul was off the fallen horses and was beginning to give pursuit. Each had their morgul blades drawn as they followed the wizard into the Mirkwoods. The human they were pursuing was weaving in between the trees at a fair clip, but catching their prey was inevitable. The trees provided a canopy for its inhabitants: ringwraiths and the lone wizard were playing a deadly game of cats and mouse. The wizard, who looked not a day over 30, was doing his best to survive. It was quite apparent to see as he flew in and out of pockets of trees and changing directions randomly. His path was chaotic, and the forest only seemed to be getting denser as they moved into its depths.

Harry wasn't just idly running through the forest, dragging along his Nazgul pursuers. He was actually running on a mental track that carved an oblong shape that lay perpendicular to the border of the forest. While Harry was running, he was laying all kinds of traps all over the route: Transfiguration, Rune-based, and Charm traps all were placed strategically.

It was time to take a more proactive approach. Harry pointed his wand at the ground a few paces in front of the nazgul at the head of the pack. Vines transfigured immediately and sprouted towards the feet of the wraith. It gracelessly planted its face into the ground, and the vines expanded outwards like a sonar wave. Harry instantly responded with a dark cleaving curse that the Nazgul was unable to deflect with its armor, and was quickly beheaded. However, the magical barrier traps he had erected were useless, and the remaining ringwraiths finally managed to corner him. One of the cloaked figures stepped forward with purpose, bringing down its blade to slash his chest diagonally. Harry quickly parried the strike, only to spin around to face a second nazgul who had swiped to behead him. Before the sword lopped off his head, Harry ducked below the swing, and struck back with a wall of water that pushed the Nazgul back. However, it was next the Witch King raining down a flurry of blows. It caused Harry to abandon magic, and switched to using both hands to wield the Sword of Gryffindor to successfully ward off the relentless attack. Harry parried blows from almost every imaginable direction, but the Witch King did not relent one inch. While Harry was forced on the defensive, the other two ringwraiths had already commenced their own assault. He was literally dancing between the weapons of the three wraiths: sidestepping downward slashes, parrying stabs with his own weapon, ducking out of sideway swipes, and spinning out of the way when multiple blades converged upon him. The training with Haldir and hunting Orcs that braved the Golden Woods was finally paying off, but it was not something he could keep up indefinitely. Sweat poured down his face, and his robes were bogged down due to the perspiration it was absorbing after the strain of blocking blows after blows while his feet moved like a boxer.

I have to end this soon. He glanced behind one of his foes and noticed his final trap; his mage sight revealed the rune word for Dragon's Breath. Harry quickly whirled his sword in a circle, pushing back the wraiths for a second, and followed by charging the ring wraith that stood nearest to the rune. He bashed the ring wraith with the pommel of his sword before it could react, and launched him towards the trap. Immediately, a wand materialized in his right hand and triggered his final trap.

The results were immediate. A blazing inferno shot skyward that disintegrated the wraith trapped within the perimeter of the trap. Harry was already moving, before the other two could react. He lunged with the pointy end of his sword stabbing the faceless void under the hood of the wraith. But the Witch King was already in action; his morgul blade swiftly slashing down on his outstretched arm holding his sword. Harry had to drop his sword to draw his arm back quick enough to avoid losing an arm. Suddenly disarmed, it was obvious that he had drawn to short stick of the bunch, and with no weapon to deflect any of the physical attacks, panic was setting in. Harry weaved between the swings, jumped backwards to slashes, and nimbly dodged thrusts, but it was just delaying the inevitable. He needed a plan, and he needed it ASAP.

The leader of the Nazgul was feeling confident. He was insuring that he always stood between his opponent and his fallen weapon. It was only a matter of time now. With the constant stream of attacks, he didn't give the strange Istar a time to cast any spells, and besides, he was much too close for effective spellcasting. "It is futile, Istar. One does not defy the will of the Nazgul. Now you will die." If he could smirk, he would have flashed his widest one at his foe.

While the Witch King was talking, Harry appraised the situation. He realized they were near the border of the Mirkwood, and he only had one way to survive this conflict. "I don't think so," Harry managed to mutter out. Immediately, he darted behind a tree as his enemy overextended one swing, and cast a spell. An unnatural fog pervaded the forest of Mirkwood, and Harry bolted like a cheetah, towards the Celduin, the river that bordered to the east. Footsteps crashed through the forest behind him, though he could see nothing, it spurred Harry to run even faster. After what seemed like forever for the wizard, he could hear the running waters of the Celduin. There was finally a break in the forest and Harry leapt toward the opening. In mid-air, Harry transformed into his animagus form, and quickly climbed into the air.

The Witch King of Angmar stood at the edge of Mirkwood, and stared up at the retreating great eagle. "Your demise will be at my hand Istar. It is far from over," he whispered.

The Golden Woods were finally underneath him. It was a long journey that he was shocked to have made it this far. However, Harry felt conflicted. On one hand, he had survived the successful ambush of the Nazgul, but at the same time he had lost his sword. The Sword of Gryffindor was lying in either in the Mirkwood, or even worse, the hands of the Witch King. But above all, the constant strain of exhaustion was ever present. Even though Harry had reached the safety of his homeland, he was on the verge of collapse.

"What is wrong my child?" Galadriel whispered into his mind, her voice filled with motherly concern.

"Tired…" Harry muttered in his mind before the darkness took him.

It was impossible for the sentinels not to notice the great eagle that crashed through the canopy. The squad of elves quickly converged on the landing site and immediately noticed the adopted son of their lady. "We must get him to Lothlorien immediately." A makeshift stretcher was constructed and whisked their valuable patient home.

When Harry awoke from his slumber, he was immediately greeted at the sight of his adopted mother, standing above him. "Harry, are you feeling well?" Galadriel greeted him upon waking. Harry stretched his limbs like a cat, and tried to sit up. However, the Elven lady lightly pressed down on his chest. "Please, don't get up for me. You should rest more child."

"How long have I been asleep?" He asked while he observed his surroundings, and immediately noticed the partially hidden chair where his cloak of invisibility rested indicating that he was resting in his room.

"It has been 6 days and 5 nights dear." She gently cupped his cheeks with her hand. "I am glad to have you home again."

"Me too mother. At least Gandalf won't be hindered by the enemy on his mission." He takes a deep breath

Galadriel pecked Harry's forehead before standing up straight. "Make sure to rest more Harry." She left the room and allowed Harry to be alone with his own thoughts.

Galadriel and Harry were walking through the forests, flanked by unseen guards. The mission that she had sent her adopted son on was harrowing and nearly fatal for him. While they both knew that it was vital for the success of Gandalf and his mission to the Lonely Mountain, it was a task she desired not to send him on again. Stopping the Nazgul alone was foolish, and she should have known better than to pit a single wizard against the nine. However, fortune smiled upon them and Harry had made it home safely.

The loss of the Sword of Gryffindor weighed heavily upon Harry's heart. It was a piece of his past, one of the only relics he still carried from his old world before he was spirited off to the world of Arda. Galadriel sensed the turmoil and immediately moved to reassure him and drew him into her arms. "It is a tragedy that you have lost your sword, but I am rather glad that I have you back home uninjured, without. I am happy you did not take unnecessary risks to obtain the artifact."

Still in the arms of the elf, he nodded slightly against her. He knew she was correct in her conclusion, but it didn't take away the pain. She finally let him go and they proceeded to trek through the forest, talking about topics from the inane such as the weather, to what her home was like in Valinor. Harry wondered what would happen when it was time for her to return home. He knew that she would stay until the threat of Sauron was dealt with, but if it came time to leave these lands, would he be allowed to join the elves or stay here in Middle Earth. He pulled away from Galadriel's arms and continued wandering the Golden Woods.

Galadriel via communication with Elrond knew that there would be a culmination in matters regarding the enemy in the near future. They knew not the manner of how the matter would unwind, but they must be ever weary and prepared for the conflict. She was reluctant to admit it to herself, but her son would soon play a pivotal role in the fate of Middle Earth. All she could do was to insure that Harry was cared for and prepared for the eventual onslaught of violence.