Chapter Text
It was a dark, blustery winter evening; clouds muddied the sky and the lights of suburbia stained them bloody. Snow half-formed and then wetted the ground, splattering inelegantly against Harry's hunched form as he scurried homeward against the wind. He'd spent the evening at the local library, trying to experience some form of freedom within the limits that had been set by the Order. He wasn't eager to be getting home.
It was during this reluctant progress that the sound of metal clashing against metal came to the Boy Who Lived, muffled by the wind and rain as it was. He hesitated by the dark alleyway from which the sounds emitted, curious against his better judgement, then jumped horribly as the first thing his peering eyes registered was a body slumping to the ground with limp force.
Green eyes blinked, taking in the rough circle of prone bodies surrounding the only remaining upright figure who, half-turned towards him, looked up sharply as if sensing his gaze. Mutually they froze, staring at one another, impasse born of both surprise and... something else. Common sense suggested that Harry should be at that moment running and screaming for help, for someone to come and put away what was obviously an insane and dangerous man. But something stopped him. Whether it was the weary slump of the man's shoulders, the ragged clothes... or the glint of a hunted, watchful eye from between strands of almost burgundy hair he couldn't know for sure.
Cautiously he stepped forward, somehow unsurprised that his increasing proximity caused the stranger to relax, rather than tense to fight further.
"Are... you alright?"
The man knelt slowly, not taking his gaze from the approaching teen, blindly wiping the crimsoned blade of his sword on the robes of one of the dead men. Only, it registered then, that they weren't men at all. They weren't human. And as wine tinted hair fluttered in the wind, Harry could see the warrior wasn't either.
Each being was long-limbed, long-haired and athletically built in a manner that spoke of a lifetime of toil, eyes exotically wide and slanted, inhumanly jewel bright. The clincher of it all however was the ears. The wind caught those burgundy locks revealing glimpses of them once more – slender, elegant and pointed. Harry had never seen anything like it.
Those same fascinating ears were studded and adorned with silver and various charms – feathers, fangs, strange scales from exotic creatures and small roughly cut jewels that glittered in the dim light. A full-length sinuous metal dragon curled through one ear, then up and around to hook over where the top of the ear joined the head, grasping in its jaws the end of a dark swathe of slightly translucent material. The matte cloth hung around and down the being's face, concealing the details of the features beneath – presumably the sharp angle of a cheekbone, the smooth curve of lips and the lower portion of an elegant nose.
In his musings, Harry missed the movement which brought the man closer the teen, and was only startled to awareness as the obviously old but well-maintained sword slid home into its scabbard with a soft click. Beneath the dirty, ragged cape was battered leather armour, covering the being almost head to foot.
The flimsy black material that concealed the being's face fluttered as it breathed, and an unsettlingly vivid dark turquoise eye stared out from a lightly tanned face, the other covered by an eyepatch.
"I am well."
The words were spoken in a deliberately careful manner which suggested unfamiliarity with the language, but the deep, smooth voice was assertive... musical too and - dare Harry say it – magical. The teen shivered and swallowed convulsively, feeling irrepressibly drawn to the individual before him.
Tentatively the being moved forward, careful as if wary of startling some untamed animal, and a frown decorated his brow.
"Your face... it is familiar to me. As if I have dreamt of it..."
The being came within a metre of Harry then stopped, still frowning, evidently disconcerted,
"...and this feeling..."
The tall male tilted his head, a gloved hand pressing to his chest. Harry shifted, hunching his shoulders unconsciously as that unnerving single-eyed gaze burned into him. Anxious for a distraction the Boy-Who-Lived cleared his throat, blind to the carnage surrounding them still,
"Who... what are you?"
"I am Serorian, an elf of the High Kingdoms."
"I... I'm Harry. An elf? You don't look like a House Elf."
Serorian broke from his staring with a startled blink, and then he tilted his head back and laughed in delight. The lyrical sound was akin to no other that Harry had experienced within his short, hard life, surpassing even the few phoenix songs he had heard. The urge to let his legs crumple as they were begging to do was almost unstoppable. Such a laugh – even flavoured with misuse – was unbearably beautiful. The teen wizard felt his magic somehow croon beneath his skin, his very soul shaken by the unexpected sound.
He continued to stare breathlessly as the elf spoke again, deep turquoise eye blazing warmly with humour,
"You are a Wizard then. I should have known, but it has been so long since one of us saw your kind. I believe 'House Elf' is a name invented by Wizards who long ago sought and woefully failed to enslave us, the true Elves. The name was intended as an insult - to us and your 'House Elves' alike - given to the only beings from the Elvish Realms that they could seemingly capture, but it amused us. House Elves as you call them are of a race much more ancient and powerful than humans know. They allowed themselves to be enslaved, because it was to their advantage. After the war with the Wizards the Elves withdrew to their realms and barred the way in, so the House Elves were trapped and have likely become... domesticated. Even so, they hold powers your kind cannot fathom."
Harry absorbed this soundlessly, taking in a stuttering breath as the elf took another half step forward, something of the intensity of his expression softening,
"Elves of my kind are too proud to become enslaved. Too intelligent to need to use other species for their gain. Too superior to live easily alongside humans. Or so they would like to believe."
As if enraptured Serorian blindly tugged off one of his gloves, revealing an almost impossibly elegant, pale hand that was crisscrossed with scars. Even so, as the calloused, marked fingers brushed against Harry's jaw, they were incredibly soft and gentle,
"We are flesh and bone as much as you are. Just as warm-blooded."
Indeed the hand that cradled Harry's cheek emanated heat, warming his chilled skin. The touch was somehow affectionate and caused his magic to sing once more, rendering him unable to do anything except watch and listen, heart pounding like a drum,
"We Elves are born with incomplete souls, and so we usually seek for the Unity fated to us by the Mother Goddess amongst our own kind. Only, occasionally some imperfect souls are needed elsewhere, and so their hearts seek completion beyond their own realm. Unfortunately, in their long-lived anger, the Elves condemn all other humanoid races, but none more so than humans and Wizards."
Serorian took another half step forward, and Harry found he had to look upwards to meet the warm gaze he was being afforded with, feeling his whole body thrum ecstatically with the proximity. The elf's lyrical timbre dropped to an intimate murmur, careful fingers smoothing a lock of sodden black hair back behind Harry's ear,
"So those, like myself, who's Fated belongs to those condemned races - who's betrayal is written in the stars - One who is prophesied by the elders to bring about a great change, bring his kingdom to war... with his soul-bonded Wizard by his side... They are taken from their parents' arms and locked up like criminals, forced to believe that they were born with a wrongness within themselves. They have no control over it, yet they must be punished because it is discordant with the beliefs of society. When such an individual realises that his treatment is unfair, he is punished further for protesting, for defending himself and those like him. When he escapes he is chased, throughout countless kingdoms - he is attacked, vilified, hated and condemned as if he were worse than a murderer. And he keeps running. Ever searching, ever learning, ever living on for that tenuous chance that one day I might escape the prison of my realm and finally find... you."
Harry blinked sluggishly, feeling as if he had been drugged, limbs heavy with some emotion that he couldn't quite understand,
"Me?"
"Yes, Beloved. It is you I have searched for. It is the calling of your soul that I have followed into the human realm. Can you not feel it?"
Harry frowned slightly, trying to summon up all he was feeling. But where he rationally expected confusion, and maybe even fear, he found utmost certainty. His heart lurched in an almost painful manner as he vaguely identified what had made his limbs lax. It was only now that he felt startled,
"I feel..."
Serorian sighed and dropped gracefully to his knees, mindless to the dampness of the ground beneath, and pressed his face against Harry's upper abdomen in an almost child-like gesture - seeking comfort. A strong arm wrapped around the Wizard's waist as the knelt male hoarsely finished the other's sentence,
"Safe. Loved. Complete."
Harry paused, trying these words against the feelings swelling in his heart, and smiled when they fit perfectly.
"Yeah..."
Hesitantly he raised his arms and then looped them over the elf's shoulders, bringing him into an odd, protective embrace. Pressing a kiss into the burgundy hair, soft and damp against his lips like sodden silk, he realised that it really was love causing his heart to all but glow. Utmost certainty emanated from his soul, his very magic even, and he knew it must be true. This man, this elf whom he'd never had the even vaguest idea of, was inconceivably his.
"...Complete."