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Tel’ Lindar 42

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Tracing the trails through the mirrors of time or Spinning in circles with riddles in rhyme

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Her classes were awful.

All of them.

It was if an evil fairy, with nothing but wickedness ingrained in its wings had invaded her classroom. The Slytherin 5th years declared war on the Gryffindor 5th years; Ravenclaw 3rd years decided they knew everything and everyone else knew nothing, including Professor Powell. The 6th year boys were busy slobbering all over the 6th year girls, houses be damned and as for the 7th years…

Bronwyn wished she had a television so she could let them watch war and horror movies. Blood and guts and endless Stephen King. She spent most evenings in the tub with bubbles and a glass of wine.

Thranduil skulked about. That Elf could teach a person a thing or two about skulking. Even Severus was impressed with the Elf Lord’s ability to just pop out of nowhere and scare the absolute hell out of a person. Bronwyn thought he took pleasure in it.

Amadeus followed her everywhere. Classes, meals, it didn’t matter. Normally friendly and gregarious with the students, he too slunk about, ears and tail down.

“STOP THAT!” She stalked between two 6th year students passing a note and snatched at the paper. “You!” She pointed at the female Ravenclaw, “move to that corner to that chair. You!” She pointed to her counterpart – a Hufflepuff – “over there.” She opened the note and began to read aloud. “What the fu---“

ck is up with Prof P? It’s like she hasn’t been laid in weeks. Maybe someone should drop a hint to Snape? Or Lupin? All of the Elves?

The entire class was looking at her expectantly; She folded it up and put it in her pocket. “Well! I appreciate that you are so concerned about my private, social life and feel the need to fix things that are not your business. Ten points each from both of you.” And then in a fit of uncharacteristic anger, she assigned the entire class a seven-foot report on the effects of the Great Depression in the United States during the 1930’s. As the class came to an end and they filed out, Bronwyn sank behind her desk, her head between her hands.

“Two fingers of whiskey for your thoughts?” Severus stood over her, a ghost of concern written on austere, serious features.

Bronwyn leaned as far back as she could in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “Dear God in Heaven, please tell me I have a long lunch and planning right now, this very minute, on my schedule.”

The Wizard turned her planning book around and perused the contents. “You have lunch and then a planning period. It looks as if you have almost two hours free.”

“You’re joking.” Without moving, she peered at the Wizard, catching his glare. “My apologies. I forgot you don’t know how to joke.”
“Nor am I God.” It was quiet for a moment and eventually, Severus sat on the edge of her desk. “Any word from that Elf at the museum?”

Bronwyn shook her head. “Not a peep. Has anyone seen Thranduil? Perhaps he knows.”

Severus rolled his eyes.

“I have been talking to my senschal.” At the mention of his name, the King of the Greenwood strolled into Bronwyn's classroom. He quietly shut the door behind him and approached Bronywn's desk. “I fear I bring sad tidings.”

“The Elf is dead.” Severus droned.

Bronwyn shook her head at the wizard and looked back at Thranduil. “Dead end?”

“So far, the emails came from a bogus account,” Thranduil whispered. “Most of the emails were sent from various coffee shops in the United States.”

“That is why we found nothing here,” Severus hissed. “Our wizard is American.” He snarled. “What is it about Ame-”

“Do not say a word!” Bronwyn picked up a pencil from her desk and began to tap it. “Now what? Any way to get into the records in the States?”

“I know nothing about the wizard population in The United States,” Thranduil offered. “He's not done,” he added. “There are still a few more that are giving him grief. Apparently, they rerouted several times, making them difficult to trace.” He shrugged elegantly. “They would be the more recent ones.”

“The ones that would be most important.”

“Gentlemen?” Both men looked at Bronwyn. “I think we need to talk to Dumbledore.”

~~~...~~~

“Licorice?” The Wizard sat behind his desk and pushed the dish of candy towards the woman. The stress was pulling on her, aging her and it worried the Headmaster. Bronwyn took a piece and handed the dish to the Elf. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Bronwyn took a glance around the room. Sensing her unrest, Dumbledore flicked his hand, the wizards in the portraits moving away. “Thranduil senses what I'm looking for. He says it's here.”

Dumbledore smiled and sat up straight. “What are we waiting for?” His grin faltered when he realized the threesome before him were not happy.”

“She did not say he knew where it was. Simply, the elf senses its presence in the school.”

“You can't-”

Thranduil shook his head. “I simply sense it here. Somewhere. Not exactly where, not who has it. Its vibration will not get stronger as I get nearer.”

Dumbledore relaxed back in his chair. “But it is here. Surely, we can figure out where it is hidden?”

Bronwyn shrugged. “Someone was searching for it before I came here. Before Haldir died. A wizard.” Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “They sent their inquiries from the United States.” Bronwyn began to gesture in circles. “We know this wizard was not born here in Great Britain-”

“How do you know that?”

“Do not ask,” Severus hissed.

“Oooh.” Dumbledore steepled his fingers and tapped them together. He took a quick glance around the room, checking to make sure his portrait frames were empty. “I supposed you've done something I ought not know about.”

“It would be wise not to ask.”

“础丑.”

Bronwyn sighed and pushed on. “Is there a staff member here who does not hail from Great Britain?”

The elderly wizard shook his head. “What paperwork I have consists of credentials and licensing for teaching here.” His gaze fell on Bronwyn. “All of the wizards at Hogwarts graduated from our advanced teaching program.” He glanced at Severus apologetically. “Except Delores Umbridge.”

“Of course.” The Potions Master rolled his eyes.

“Would it be possible,” Thranduil spoke up, “to ask someone overseas? Someone who could allow us to make quiet inquiries?” He knew Bronwyn's gift for search, but had no idea how much the wizard across the desk knew.

Albus knew much more than he let on. “The Americans need and demand for privacy exceeds ours. To the best of my knowledge, they stopped keeping records some decades back and the places they kept records are numerous. New York City, Atlanta, Los Angeles, Boise Idaho-”

“Boise?” Bronwyn squeaked.

Shrugging was becoming habit with the old wizard. “The Witch and Wizard population is unknown in the U.S. Like here, there has been a rise in Neo-Paganism-”

and off he went, causing Bronwyn to lean over and bang her head on his desk.

~~~...~~~

For sometime after the trio had left his office, Dumbledore sat deep in thought. Several times, he referred to his books on the shelves, always to come back empty handed. At some point, he seemed to find what he was looking for, thinking hard, before pulling a strip of scroll and began to write. When he was finished, he rolled it up and called to his phoenix. Tying the cylinder to the bird's leg, he opened the window. “Take this to Gandalf, the White Wizard. Wait for a reply. Stay to the shadows.” He watched the bird fly out into the afternoon, taking care it was not seen by anyone. Once out of sight, he returned to his desk and pulled the thought and placed it in a hidden pensieve glamoured as a fish tank.

He then returned to his desk and folded his hands on the empty scroll. “Now, what was I doing?”

~~~...~~~

The weather turned colder, forcing everyone to stay indoors. It produced cabin fever and with it the animosity between the Houses escalated. Individual points as well as house points dropped with alarming frequency, causing the student body to grouse even further.

Remus said he'd never seen anything like it.

Sybil stared into her tea cup and tsked and tsked. Muttering about bad omens and evil signs.

Bronwyn bit her tongue to keep from telling Draco Malfoy to sod off.

Snape went through red quill after red quill, marking Gryffindor papers. He told them he was being 'kind'.

Bronwyn asked him point blank, in front of his 6th years to 'define kind'.

Severus and Bronwyn slept in their own respective beds for some weeks.

At least, Amadeus was happy.

Albus received a response to his missive to Gandalf. The response was one he expected. He read through it carefully again, before burning it at the bottom of Fawkes' stand. He then pulled another strand from his head and put it in his pensieve.

Crabbe came to Bronwyn's room without fail twice a week to draw. It seemed to be the only time the teen was at peace. As promised, Bronwyn kept his materials hidden away in her rooms, tucked into a safe place and when items began to run out, they magically replaced themselves.

“You know,” she quietly mentioned, late one afternoon, “you're going to have to nail your final N.E.W.T.S. in this.”

Crabbe chuckled, carefully shading in the edge of the woman's ear. “I've been paying attention and taking notes.” He tilted his head, examining the placement of his model's hair. “I don't stay in the common areas of Slytherin. I prefer the library these days.” It was quiet for a few minutes before he sighed loudly. “I've dreamed about her every night for some weeks. I wonder who she is?”

Bronwyn came and took a closer look. “You've been dreaming about her?”

Crabbe nodded.

A chill ran up Bronwyn's spine. “She looks very much like Catherine Howard.”

The student began to tap his lip. “Henry VII's fourth wife.”

Bronwyn smiled and shook her head. “Close. Henry VIII's fifth wife.”

Vincent's shoulder's slumped. “Dammit. Why do they have so many Henry's?” Bronwyn patted his shoulder as she walked around his desk. “Will it be on the test?”

“Remember, the Eighth had six.” Bronwyn thought, rolling the O.W.L. And N.E.W.T.S. through her mind. “As for your question, no. Henry's second wife will be. Look her up.” She thought again and whispered. “Don't tell.”

The teen smiled and continued to draw. “Perish the thought.” He snarled. “Why would I be dreaming of a dead woman?”

Bronwyn wanted to know the answer to that as well. “Perhaps while studying in the library, you've come across a picture of her?”

“Maybe.” He continued on his task, silently watching as his professor moved away. “But I don't think so.”

~~~...~~~

Halfway through the Second Years class on Friday, it began to snow. Bronwyn immediately knew it had because their attention span went from nine minutes, to zero.

“Guys,” she whined, “We have twenty minutes left. Surely, you can give me that.”

Every eye reluctantly focused on her, but within minutes, had wandered back to the windows, showing the fluffy drifts.

“I could just assign you a five foot scroll on the original 13 States and their capitals.” Five feet was an excessive amount, especially for second years.

“Really?” One little absent-minded second year piped up. “You would just let us do that?”

Slowly, all of them began to nod in agreement.

“Well,” Bronwyn huffed, “NO! I can't!” Each child looked completely dejected. “Don't look at me like that. I'd like to go out too! You!” She pointed to the tallest child sitting on the 4throw. “I know there are blinds and curtains! Shut them!”

The young man threw himself up from his chair and began to close the shutters, much to the disgust of his classmates.

“Couldn't you have just waved your wand and done it?”

Everyone groaned.

It was the longest 20 minutes ever in the history of the world.

~~~...~~~

“Professor Powell?”

Bronwyn's head was in her hands. The second years stampeded from the room, last class of the day and headed to the outdoors to scream and yell and do whatever it was second years did when turned loose to the oxygen and snow. “What?”

Ron Weasley slid into the room, his friends pushing slightly. When Bronwyn looked up, she could see the seventh year Griffyndors, a few Ravenclaws, more than a handful of Hufflepuffs and as she stretched her neck to peer through the door, pretty much all of the Slytherins standing in the hall. “We were wondering if you knew the spell to the color-coded snowballs.” He was very earnest and gave her his best smile.

“Do I look magical?”

The smile fell, as did many shoulders. “Uhm... no ma'am.”

She felt a tad sorry for the young man. “That would be Professor Snape's creation.”

All the shoulders and heads went down. “Yes ma'am.”

There were thundering footfalls as the Slytherins ran into the Potions Laboratory.

“Professor Snape?”

There was no red quill, but Severus was put out and tired, dealing with Fourth Years who wanted to go outside. He had Remus' potion to do this evening and he had a headache, caused by That Woman. “What?”

Malfoy stepped to the front. “House-dyed snowballs-”

“Told you no, did she?”

Malfoy's grin became snarky. “No sir. She told Weasley no. Said it was your domain.”

“础丑.” He pulled his wand out, along with a quill and a small roll of parchment. “Do beat them, this time.” He then began to dictate.

~~~...~~~

“Why are there so many Henry's?”

“Why did he have so many wives?”

“The seventh had eigh.... no....the eighth had seven. The eighth had sev-.”

“Henry VIII had six wives, Crabbe.”

“Why is this important?”

It's on your fucking N.E.W.T.S., but I'm not supposed to know that.

Bronwyn inhaled deeply. Her throat was scratchy due to being inside for many days. It was cold, the snow was wet, she suspected the walls were becoming moldy again...

“I am aware that many of you will have as little to do with the Muggle World as possible, however, at times you will have to enter their world, even if it's to get from point A to point B. The majority of you will reside here in England and it's important that you know the rich history of the British Isles. Not to mention,” she smiled spuriously, “it was on the objectives I was given to teach you. It's in your syllabus.”

Take that, you whiny, snot-nosed, entitled imbecile! Definitely honey lemon tea in your future, old girl. And maybe some of Severus' magical cough syrup that made me drunk.

No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, Thranduil strode into the classroom. He held a delicate teacup and saucer and was followed by Bobbin carrying a small, steaming cauldron. If the tall elf was aware that every female in the room (including Hermoine) – and a few males, as well – sighed divinely as he passed, he didn't show it. He set the teacup gently on her desk and motioned for Bobbin to pour from the small pour spout. “I passed by and you looked a bit peaked, so I took the liberty of having your house elf brew you up some tea.” Bronwyn nodded and took a sip, almost choking at the strength of the whiskey involved. “I had him add a bit of... pepper up?” His smile was insolent. “Something to make you feel a bit more lively.”

“The eighth had six, the eighth had six, the eighth...”

“Henry VIII,” Thranduil turned slowly “had six wives. Six, beautiful, intelligent women and he mistreated every one of them.” He held up a finger and nodded to Bronwyn. “Save Jane Seymour, but she died before he could tire of her.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She was the least intelligent of them all.”

“But she gave him that son he so desperately wanted.”

“True.” He wagged a finger at the professor. They had discussed this due to Crabbe's artwork, so he came prepared. “You know, I met his second wife. I was part of Henry's court during the early part of that affair.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I left when the winds changed. It was... an unhealthy place to be.”

“Second wife.” Crabbe narrowed his eyes and focused on the tall Elf. “Anne Boleyn.”

“Yes!” Thranduil warmed to the teen. “Feisty, intelligent.”

Crabbe's smile was evil.“Argumentative and not very submissive.” The King of the Greenwood, and the outcast Slytherin nodded in tandem.

“How do you know so much about Muggle History?” Draco scoffed.

Goyle was scowling. “He's here extra, twice a week. I think he likes her better than us.”

Crabbe's smile was snarky, as if he'd learned it from the Potion's Professor's knee. “I am going to pass this class, even if you don't.”

Sensing a brewing fight, Thranduil animatedly began talking about the unfortunate young queen.

“Excuse me,” Draco interrupted, his voice nasally and flat. “Why are you teaching this class and not her?” He pointed his thumb rudely at Bronwyn.

Bronwyn took the last sip of her tea and set the cup down. She lowered herself on the edge of her desk and willed herself to not lean. She placed both hands at her sides and gripped the edge of the furniture in an effort to stay upright. The tea was quite laced. She could get fired for this. “First person perspective.”

“奥辞迟?”

“First person perspective.” Thranduil repeated. “I was there. I have an insight and knowledge Professor Powell can't have because she wasn't there.” He half-smiled at the smart ass Wizard. “it's not a detriment to her teaching. It's simply added knowledge one would only know if they saw it. As for your unasked question about my ears, I wore hats and made sure my collars and hair covered them. I was part of the palace courtiers and I knew Henry and Anne. He desperately wanted a son as he didn't want a daughter to inherit. She would be at a disadvantage and he knew that. He divorced his first wife for that very reason. Sadly, Anne didn't produce the necessary heir fast enough, so Henry had her beheaded for treason.” All of the students, especially the girls, looked at each other in shock and disbelief. “He married his third wife, ten days later. She got it right, but she didn't survive long after the birth.”

There was a chime, signaling the end of class. Her Seventh Years jumped up, anxious to leave. “Hey! Before you leave, I want ten feet-”

GROANPROFESSORPOWELLTENFEETWHATTHE-

“-due in one week on all six of Henry VIII's wives, plus the next four monarchs. That would be Edward VI, Lady Jane Grey, Mary Tudor, and Elizabeth Tudor! Names, birth and death dates, highlights of their reigns. Marriages. Look how nice I am,” she shouted at the departing backs. “Giving you their names and what not!” She didn't miss that Hermoine Granger and Crabbe were still in the room, scribbling the names down. “Bonus points for the two of you,” she whispered.

The room emptied.

It was silent while Thranduil poured her another cup. “I believe that was your-”

“What is going on?” Severus flew through the door, slamming it behind him. He made his way around the desks, flicking his wand and putting them in order for Monday morning's class. He slid the wand in his sleeve holder and pressed his fingertips to Bronwyn's temples. “Your headache is killing me.”

“It's just a bit of a sore throat-”

The wizard shook his head. “I will not have you sick again.”

“I've taken the matter into my own hands,” Thranduil nodded to the tea cup and the still steaming cauldron, sitting on her desk. “It is well laced with peppermint, lemon, ginger and... pepper-up.”

Severus scowled and picked up the cauldron, sniffing it. The strength of the whiskey made him shudder. “That is whiskey, not pepper-up!”

“I am well aware of that. Her students did not need to know.”

Severus was already backing up. “Wait here.”

And off he turned and swept from the room, robes flying.

“I want his robes.” Bronwyn admitted jealously. She sat on her desk. “They whoosh. Mine won't.”

It was quiet for a few moments before the Elven King spoke. “Bronwyn, we need to find your bow as quickly as possible. I want to go to the Undying Lands. I will not, as long as we are searching and it is returned to you, but I tire of of useless-”

“You're tired?” Bronwyn's voice was low and it sent frightened shivers up the back of Legolas's father. “What do you think I am? My husband is dead and I'm stuck on this earthly plain with the snarkiest, crankiest wizard to walk in God's creation. At least, you can go home! I cannot go to the Undying Lands although my children and family are there and it is my home! I get to grow old and die. Here!” Her finger stabbed at the floor. “Alone!” She inhaled to continue her tirade, however there was the sound of returning footsteps outside her room.

Severus reentered the room, several clear crystals in the palm of his hand. He ignored the suddenly cut-off terse conversation between Elf and woman. He dropped them into the small column and with another flick of his wand, reheated the small vessel, stirring it until the crystals melted. Once it was done, he poured another teacup full and handed it to her. “That was your last class of the day.” He turned and wandered toward the back of her room.

“And it's Friday.” She turned heavy eyes to the Elf. “Aaaaaaaaaah don't wanna work. I just wanna bang on de drum all day.”

“Might I suggest?”

Bronwyn snickered into her tea cup. “Suggest? Please do.” She nodded at Thranduil. “I know what he's going to suggest.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Dinner in my rooms.”

Severus continued as if he hadn't heard her. “I will inform Bobbin we are taking dinner in your quarters-”

'Hot bubble bath.”

“I'm sure you would appreciate a hot, steamy bath.”

Her voice raised. “An audio book would be nice. Love Poems or something tawdry, read by a man with a deep, baritone voice.”

The King of Greenwood's smile was evil. “I would be happy to read something tawdry to you while you bathed.”

Growling under her desk, a white, furry nose snapping close to the Elf's shoes.

“I suppose not,” Thranduil dead-panned. The snarling continued. “Sorry Amadeus. I forgot you were there. Perhaps, you'd like me to read something tawdry to you? Love Woofs. All my sexy whiskers.”

Snarling turned to snapping.

Bronwyn finished her tea and sliding off the desk, she grabbed the small cauldron and headed towards the back of her classroom to her apartment door. “Amadeus, come.” She reached the back corner and turned. “Why are the two of you so mean to him? He doesn't do anything to either of you and the both of you are just heinous to?him!” She addressed the recessed door. “Franz Liszt.” She stepped through the doorway. “I think I'd just soon eat alone.” The door slammed shut and the sound of wards clicking in place were heard.

“Well. I think she wants to be alone.”

Silence.

“I have a suggestion.”

“Suggest away.”

Severus shook his head. He couldn't believe he was about to suggest this. “She likes the werewolf. It is not a full moon.” Remus's potion could wait another night . “Why do I not send him down to babysit and you and I go into Hogsmeade to Rosmerta's for dinner and spiked butterbeer. We can use my floo.”

Thranduil looked at the Guardian in mock horror. “Great Illuvatar! I believe that is the best suggestion I have heard fall from your lips since I arrived.”

“Do not get used to it.” Both males headed towards the hallway door when it eased open, the squeak of the hinges loud and painful. The littlest Ravenclaw stood there, with several books in her clutches, so large, she could barely contain them.

The one in the back slid and headed towards the cold, stone floor.

Thranduil was closer and he deftly caught it inches from its unplanned destination. He flipped it so he could read the cover. “Legends and maps of Ley Lines and other Mystical Myths.” He eyed the young student. “Heavy reading for one so young.”

Garundeve stared at the Elf until Severus cleared his throat angrily. Mentally jostled from her shock, she cleared her throat. “They are for Professor Powell. She was interested so-”

“Professor Powell has retired for the night.” Severus almost told the girl her Muggles History Professor would probably stay in her apartments all weekend, but decided the child didn't need to know.

“Oh.” She looked crest-fallen. “Where should I put them?” She nodded to the tall Elf. “I don't want to lug them back upstairs or put them in my rooms or-”

Seeing the child's discomfort and not being the old meanie the Wizard in the room was, Thranduil took the rest of the books from her. For a moment, she reminded him of Legolas as an elfling and for not the first time, he yearned for the Undying Lands, not to just see the home of the Elves, but to meet with his son and his grandchildren.

And his wife.

He dismissed the child and after she left, Thranduil started to take the books to Bronwyn's door, before remembering she had warded the doors against them. He shrugged. “I will take these to my rooms, and then we shall go to Rosemerta's.”

Internally, Severus screamed. He was having dinner with an elf because she was in a snit.

At least her headache was subsiding. He left to find Remus.

~~~...~~~

We'll drink together
And when we drink
we'll drink together,
not alone!

For some time, the snow outdoors was various colors and hues. There was laughter echoing in the yard. At some point, the older students made their way down to the Quidditch Field and soon, it too shown of green and red and yellow and blue.

But eventually, the dreariness of the weather settled into the very bones of the inhabitants and into the stones of the castle. Bronwyn always hated the time after Christmas, when the bright, cheery decorations had been put away and all that was left was the bareness of the walls.

Bobbin worked overtime, fighting the mold and mildew that threatened to burn Bronwyn's lungs.

Bronwyn was aware time was ticking. The students were bucking rules and disciplinary actions. Time was marching towards N.E.W.T.S. and O.W.L.S. and as children were want to do, they chose to ignore the inevitable and make their lives stressful, all the while blaming their teachers. Unbeknownst to the wizarding world, she and Snape knew that much on their final exams were nothing that was given to them in their original standards, so both were having to use creative ways to get this information passed off in back-handed manners. Bronwyn suspected that Draco knew that much was on that test was designed to not fail the students, but fail her. But she also wondered if he knew what was supposed to trip them all up.

Bah. It didn't matter. At the moment, she had an Elf Lord who had either been involved in history or was willing to lie and say he was, in order to slide extra-curricular information their way. She hoped that even if the Slytherins balked and failed, the rest of her students wouldn't and therefore allow her to tell her detractors – well, everyone else got it right! Isn't that interesting?

And someday, pigs would fly.

Well, they could bitch and moan all they wanted. She was an honorary Slytherin and Slytherins were cunning and devious.

“And there was no one in the world that was as cunning and devious as me!” the diminutive professor said aloud to herself. She looked down at the white wolf reclining between her and the fireplace, blazing and crackling merrily. There was a knock on her door, one that made Amadeus growl. As Bronwyn rose from the sofa, she noticed the time on the hourglass. “Dammit. I forgot!” She opened the door to the Elf Lord. “Thranduil. I forgot!”

“'Tis no excuse,” he intoned. The elf was dressed in fighting leathers, his sword by his side. “Get your highest heels and your sword.”

Amadeus was already up the stairs, yipping peevishly. While she waited, Bronwyn grabbed a hair elastic from the bowl in her office and quickly braided her hair back. By the time Amadeus returned with her heeled boots, she had pulled her sword from the umbrella rack.

“Really?” Thranduil looked put out. “With the umbrellas?”

“Who would think to look for it there? I should hang it on the wall? Besides, it's a good place for it!” The boots were pulled on in a matter of seconds and the sword was strapped to her belt.

It was Sunday, the halls were quiet as Elf and woman made their way to the tourney hall. As they entered the room, Thranduil went to the far side of the joust aisle.

“Why are we doing this again?”

The look he gave her was almost comical. “You know why. You are losing your grip, becoming sluggish-”

“You don't know that!”

“I do know that. You are becoming complacent in their world and that world is about to come crashing down on you.” He mounted the elevated stage.

She followed on the other side. She drew her blade and moved purposely towards the center. “So you say, so you say. Rules?”

The elf smiled. Damn, he was beautiful and he knew it. “This is just warm-up. No nicks, no cuts, no death lunges. Just formations.” Both swords came out with the practice guards on the edges. “For every attack, there is a counter-attack. For every offense, there is a defense.” At that point, the two saluted each other.

Neither one saw Severus enter the hall.

Or Dumbledore with Remus.

There was a loud ring as Thranduil's sword came down, Bronwyn blocking it. For some time the two clashed back and forth, moving in a dance.

“You fight like a Rohirrim.”

“Thank you.” Bronwyn spun, her sword going up to block the downward swing.

“They were rather inelegant.”

“They were horselords. Everything from the saddle is a downward hack.” She moved forward, forcing him to back up and move to the defense.

Thranduil didn't stay on the defense for long. Quickly, he changed the direction of his swing and pushed her backwards. The cuts were quick, the air whistling between the two. “You are slow, Bronwyn.”

She pushed back. “I'm keeping up with you.”

“Ceri-cin nifred?”

Bronwyn stopped. The disbelief on her face was evident and Amadeus, who had been sitting on the floor in the middle began to growl. The elf repeated it. “Tye ruce?”

“I'm not afraid of you!”

Thranduil was the superior swordsman and his measured strokes proved this. He allowed her to come close, so their swords locked and they were nose to nose. “I do not speak of me, Baraermin.”

She drew up at the endearment and pulled back. With a yell, she attacked, fury obvious and he allowed it, allowed her to drive him, silently marveling at her strength. “Cin ceri-ú-ped-i! Cin ceri-ú-nall-nin i!”

He was at the back line when he blocked her again, her breath labored and angry. He leaned towards her and whispered, “Cín hén occupui an.”

Amadeus stopped growling. Severus strained to hear the whispered words between elf and human.

Bronwyn pushed back, anger released, now wide-eyed. “Occupui... an?” She released his hold and stepped back, her weapon now dangling loosely from her fingers. She reverted to the ancient, formal Quenya. “Tye ar tanca? Tye sinte sina?”

Thranduil's sword dropped to his side. With a deep sigh, he sheathed it and stepped forward, unarmed and no physical way to defend himself. He took her own sword from her and sheathed it as well. “On a second look, there were three emails Lialidruil received that were not as well masked. The earliest ones,” he whispered. “They originated in the far north of Scotland. The last two that were masked, came from there as well. His... specialist does not have the exact coordinates as of yet, but they will soon.” His face was serious as he leaned in closer. “You do not have much time to hone your skills. You will need every one of them to beat this foe.”

Bronwyn stared at him. “You mean I fight him alone?”

Thranduil rocked back on his left foot, arms crossed and smiling angelically. “No. None of us would send you in alone, but believe me, that wizard will be aiming for you. He will not be ready for the army at your side.” He leaned closer as his voice dropped. “Cin baur na n-húrin!”

Bronwyn stepped backwards, before turning and jumping from the raised aisle. She didn't see the handful of students crowding the doorway until she was almost on top of them. She put her left hand around the sheathed pommel, her thumb caressing the tip of the engraved head, and held it close to her as she swept between them, the white wolf close behind.

Crabbe lost it. “Professor Powell? That was awesome!”

Malfoy elbowed him in the side. “Shut yer cake-hole.”

Crabbe started to retreat, but then thought better of. He straightened his shoulders. “She was awesome!” he yelled, hoping she heard.

“Crabbe's right!” Weasley joined in. He leaned towards the hall at the retreating back of the Muggles Studies professor. “Good show, Professor Powell!” He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Bloody good show!”

Draco drew up, a recognizable scowl on his face. “Just wait until my fa-”

“Your father what?” The teen found himself staring up at the ElfLord. “How old are you again?” He shook his head sorrowfully. “And still running home and tattling.” He tsked behind his teeth, his disgust obvious. “At least, my beloved ion had outgrown that ugly habit before he was your age.” And with that, Thranduil slid between the teens and followed Haldir's wife down into the dungeons.

Dumbledore followed, appearing out of nowhere at the ElfLord's shoulder. “Impressive.”

“I have seen her in better form.” He turned to look at the elderly wizard. “She will need to be and she does not have long to get to get there!” He turned his back on Dumbledore and followed Haldir's beloved down the steps into the dungeon.

To her classroom, her quarters.

He saw her sweep into her apartment before calling to her, “Do not lock me out!” Seeing she was about to slam the door, he rushed forward, putting his hand on door. “I said-”

She slung the door wide open, causing him to stumble forward. Her face was red with fury. “You did that! You did that on purpose! You made a show of me!”

“I showed you your weakness!”

“Severus tells me I'm weak enough! I don't need you to add to the mix!” She snarled. “And in front of an audience... children!”

Thranduil stepped into her quarters and slammed the door shut behind him. “That wizard loves you as much as your husband does!” He pointed backwards, as if the Wizard were behind him. “He would gladly step into the fire-stream-”

“Because I annoy him and drive him to grief!”

Amadeus was growling.

“Because,” Thranduil lowered his voice, “he loves you. Have you not noticed how quickly he comes to your aid? How quickly he discerns when you are ill, angry, joyful? He stands between you and an angry populace of students and parents.” He paused for a short moment. “He defends you.”

“I task him.”

Thranduil shrugged elegantly. “You task everyone. Truly Bronwyn,” he continued jovially, “you are at times the most disagreeable creature I have ever encountered! Dain Ironfoot! Thorin Oakenshield! They were disagreeable beings! Almost as disagreeable as that wizard who loves you so-”

“Stop! Saying! That!”

-much.” Either the ElfLord hadn't heard her or was determine to be heard by her for he continued. “You are soft! You've wallowed in your grief long enough. You have ignored the inevitable, allowed time to march slowly! This battle is coming sooner than later. Weeks, if that! ” Both were unaware the door behind them had opened. “You do not have time to sit! Arm yourself! Become familiaragain with your weapons! I remember Haldir's Baraermin! Somewhere,” and with this he poked her hard, “she still resides here!”

“I would not do that again, if I were you.” Severus stood behind the Elf, Albus and Remus at his side.

He took a breath and gentled his voice. “Im am ú- húrin an cin na accompanui cín herven.”Thranduil did not turn, did not look over his shoulder. “Think, Bronwyn. What weapon does your child hold over you?”

“He has magic I don't.” There was a pause. “The last Balrog. He knows where the last Balrog hides.”

Thranduil sneered. “He cannot control a balrog. True, it would be dangerous if he released that demon, but that is not what he holds over you. His finger rests on the one button that will set you off into an insane fever pitch that he will use against you! One that you must be prepared for!”

“And that is?” Severus asked.

Thranduil's voice dropped into a sensuous whisper, one that made many a woman and man over thousands of years crawl willingly into his bed.

“叠补谤补别谤尘颈苍.”

And with that, he turned and strode between the wizards, leaving the scent of the forest in his wake.

~~~...~~~

Cín hén occupui an – Your child lives north.

Cin ceri- ú- ped- i! Cin ceri- ú- nall- nin i!?? You do not say that! You do not call me that!

Tye are tanca? Tye sinte sina????You are sure? You know this?

Cin baur na n- húrin - you need to be ready!

Im am ú- húrin an cin na accompanui cín herven- I am not ready for you to join your husband