July 25, 1987
7-year-old Harry Potter sat on a log, swinging his legs back and forth, sighing in boredom as he watched his cousin play in the surf while his aunt and uncle watched on proudly. Dudley Dursley was watched with a careful eye and his mother - Petunia Dursley - would dash in and drag him out if he even stopped waddling around for a few seconds. Now, I say waddling because young Dudley Dursley was rather ... large for his age while Harry Potter looked more like five years compared to his actual seven - nearly eight. In fact, Harry had been forgotten by his 'family' after being told to "Sit there, boy, and don't do anything freakish." 'Freakish' referring to his magical parentage, but that was something that Harry Potter didn't know. All he knew was that his 'family' hated him for a reason that they refused to tell him the one time that he had ever asked.
Now, as Harry sat there, he heard a strange yet beautiful song drifting from behind the dunes. He glanced over at his uncle, hoping Vernon Dursley wouldn't tell the singer to be quiet, but after his uncle had glanced over to ensure that it was not Harry himself making the noise, he grunted and looked away. Harry's eyes flicked from his 'family' to the dunes and then back at his 'family,' debating the wisdom of going to see what was making the music. After a short inner-argument, Harry hopped off the log and quickly made his way around the sand dune. Formally hidden from his view; a man wearing tattered clothing, his only other possession the harp he was currently playing in accompaniment to the haunting melody that was passing from his lips. Harry watched, fascinated, until the song ended. Then he began to tip-toe back to the log, hoping that his uncle hadn't notched his absence or else he would be locked in his cupboard without any food for a week at best. Apparently, he had been making too much noise for the singer whipped around and cold gray eyes bore into emerald green. Terrified by what he saw in the stranger's eyes, Harry turned and fled back to the safety of his log. Surprisingly (or maybe not so) Vernon Dursley hadn't noticed his nephew's disappearance and when it was time to leave, said nothing to Harry Potter other then "Let's go, freak." As they drove away, Harry watched the beach until it disappeared behind them, half wishing that he hadn't run back into the not-so-welcoming arms of the Dursleys.
Nine Years Later
Department of Mysteries
Harry watched in helplessness as the horribly familiar green light spiraled towards his godfather.
At what must have been the last possible second - almost right before the curse hit - a man that seemed vaguely familiar to the fifteen-year-old Harry Potter almost appeared in front of Sirius Black. The deadly curse hit him full on, killing him instantly. The body dropped to the floor and for a moment, everything was still. Then Sirius took advantage of the distraction to send a body-bind curse to the cousin who had tried to kill him only minutes. The Death Eaters were taken into custody and the Ministry Officials arrived just in time to watch Voldemort disappear.
Harry stumbled over to where the body of the strange man lay. The gray eyes that had terrified him as a seven-year-old now only made his heart ache, understanding to a small degree what the man must have gone through to turn his eyes so cold and seemingly heartless. Harry Potter slowly reached out and closed the man's empty eyes.
"He looks like he could be sleeping."
Luna's matter-a-fact comment awoke Harry back into the present. He stared at the man and slowly shook his head. Somehow, it didn't look right(1), the almost sleeping body with eyes loosely closed.
The man had saved Sirius' life by sacrificing his own and as Harry embraced his godfather, mindlessly and uncaringly sobbing, he realized that he didn't even know the man's name.
Now, as for all those who weren't killed; they wondered why the man had given up his life for someone he didn't even know. For after all, isn't a long and wholesome life something we all desire? But, what no one knew was that Maglor had lived for much longer then even Voldemort even dared dream and was truly sick of life. And if it comforted anyone. Maglor had wished for death so many times over and over again only to be denied that one small comfort. And if he'd known - but he could not have for only Eru can remember when the world shifts and when places are torn apart - he would have been glad to fall where he did, his tired head falling in peace where his father had lain in his dying moments. It just seems fitting somehow. And now Maglor could finally be at peace.
A/N 1: Taken off of the fact that elves sleep with their eyes open