#daervunn

It’s perhaps counterintuitive to sling Daervunn over the shoulder that is actively bleeding, but at least that job doesn’t require quick response time. Halbarad holds his sword at guard and ready in his uninjured left hand, its blade already bloodied from four goblins that tried to stay their retreat.

Nan Amlug East is a sparsely wooded area. Small lakes, grass, and gorse exposes the rest of it to surveying eyes, and Halbarad’s back itches with the knowledge that he and Daervunn are visible for miles. They’re miles away from Esteldín, the distance compounded because Halbarad doesn’t dare to aim straight for it.

To her surprise, the first person she found wasn’t a Ranger, but Glorfindel, his hood pulled up over his hair in a way he usually only bothered with for serious expeditions in enemy territory. He was perched on a low-hanging tree branch, legs swinging idly as he grinned at her, teeth flashing in the low light. “Mae govannen...what name are you using at the moment?”

She grinned at him in return. “I’ve been Bronach for over half my life, that’s who I think I’ll be now.”

A slight rustle in the brush, and two more familiar forms stepped out, forestalling her question as to why he was here, if he’d sailed decades ago. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the familiar faces of Halbarad and Daervunn under their hoods and cowls.

“How?” she whispered, stilling. And then bits and pieces filtered back to her, of dreaming, walking in what could only be the Gardens of Lorien with Irmo as he asked her if she had ever thought about going back to fix everything that had gone wrong in her life. She’d answered honestly, certain that such a thing could never happen, but there were two dead men and an elf lord who’d sailed for Valinor standing in front of her.

“My lords Irmo and Namo asked a favor that I was only too happy to agree to,” Glorfindel said, glancing to his left at something likely only he could hear. “I was told that there would be another four or so arriving, though I know not when. But I would not linger here; there is a foulness in the air that I do not like.”

“Where are we?” Halbarad asked, glancing about. “Namo came to us, telling us that we would return to you at the pivot.”

“It’s not just where,” Bronach whispered, options flitting through her mind like butterflies. “It’s also when.”

She pushed through the undergrowth, quiet from practice but not as silent as she could be if she paid attention. Still, unless someone observant was in the woods, what noise she made would be mistaken for an animal moving through the undergrowth. Behind her, she could just hear the others following her, but she didn’t stop until she came to the edge of the wooded area.

The others joined her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the decaying house perched atop the hill in the distance.

“You know this place,” Glorfindel stated from behind her, and when she finally looked away, his face was grim.

“It’s where everything began, the second time,” she whispered, closing her eyes briefly before turning to the graveyard below them. “It has already begun.”

“What do we do?” Daervunn asked, coming to stand beside her. “We’re here to help you.”

“We need to get to the graveyard.” Her lips felt numb as she spoke, plans pushing through the fog in her brain. She’d never quite forgotten the night of the Third Task, and the memory had lost little of its potency. “A boy...a boy is already dead.”

Now that she was paying attention, she could feel the fetid taint of necromancy rising from the graveyard below. Down there, Cedric was dead and her younger self was tied to the headstone of Tom Riddle Senior, watching as Voldemort rose from the cauldron to terrorize the wizarding world.

Suddenly, she was furious.

“The pivot,” she said flatly, remembering Halbarad’s words. “Halbarad, Daervunn, when we get down there, you’ll find a girl, young, nearly fifteen, tied to a stone. Get as close to her as possible, be ready to free her and get her out of there on my signal. Once it starts, follow me, and no killing unless absolutely necessary.”

She started off down the hill, resolute and ready, fingers flexing where they would have grasped her staff. Why it was not with her, she could only hazard a guess, but it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not when she was brimming with magic in a way she hadn’t been in centuries.

As an afterthought, she threw a universal translation charm at each of her companions. The dunedain, at least, would need to be able to communicate their intent to help her younger self.

Glorfindel kept pace with her as Halbarad and Daervunn peeled off, clearly approaching the graveyard from the far side. From her vague memories, Bronach thought they would be positioned well to free her younger self from the gravestone, but she narrowed her focus as she hopped the low wall dividing the graveyard from the strand of trees behind it.

“So, what will we be doing?” the elf lord asked as they slunk between the graves, towards the faint blue glow growing stronger as they approached.

“I’m going to raise the dead,” she hissed, already seeing the dark form of Cedric’s body, the cup lying just beyond it. “And you’re going to watch my back as I do it.”

A brief pause, and then Glorfindel said lightly: “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“Cedric Diggory did not have to die this night.” The ground heaved slightly under her feet, but Bronach ignored it, falling to her knees next to Cedric’s body, eyes staring up at the stars blankly. Gently, she closed them, straightening his limbs and wrapping his cooling hands in hers, resting them on his heart.

“Doomsman, I want a word,” she hissed.

The Pivot Point begins during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament but mostly takes place during Order of the Phoenix. It’s most assuredly an excuse to bring a bunch of favorites from Arda to the Harry Potter universe- eventual Glorfindel/fem!Harry, but the dimension-hopping crew from Middle Earth will grow to include four others.