A.N. Hi guys, so this is my first update on any of my fanfictions in ages and I do apologize for that. I will try and update something else during the Christmas holidays but please bare with me.
Chapter 2: Harry
Harry's heart beat loudly in his chest as he approached the fifth room on the fourth floor. The tray in his hands was heavy and the dishes and potions bottles on it rattled and clinked with every step.
The door wailed in greeting and Harry decided that it sounded eerily similar to the wails that moaning myrtle unleashed on the world at regular intervals.
His palms were sweaty as he struggled with the weight of the tray, and part of him wondered what his headmasters reasoning had been for sending him when there were many more people in the house who were a lot more qualified than he was when it came to taking care of the sick or wounded. He also wondered what Legolas' reaction would be when he saw him again.
Said blonde was sitting up in the bed when Harry entered, the storm grey gaze fixated on one bandaged hand, the other was fisted in the bed sheets. He didn't appear to have noticed his presence.
"Legolas." Harry called softly. The elf jumped and looked up, tensing and shying back from an imagined hit before relaxing when he realized who had called him, his shoulders visibly sagging with relief. "How are you feeling?" He asked as he approached, placing the tray on the bedside table before pulling up one of the chairs that were lying around the room and sinking into it.
"Fine." Muttered the elf, his voice rough and quiet as if he hadn't spoken to anyone but Harry in the past several months, with the exception of screaming. Which if his suspicions were right, was probably the truth of the matter.
"Liar." Harry teased, smiling as the elf blushed. Harry could see raw red welts peaking out from underneath the overly large night shirt the blonde had been given and knew from experience how much they must hurt. "Can you stomach some food?" He gestured to the tray next to him, the contents (pumpkin juice, plain porridge and toasted bread) seeming basic next to the large full English being eaten in the kitchen. He understood the reasoning behind it, years spent at the Dursleys had taught him enough to know that going from barely eating to rich greasy foods would do more harm than good.
Harry laughed when he caught Legolas pulling a face.
"You'll want to eat something, believe me. I speak from experience." Harry assured the elf, picking up the porridge and offering it to him.
"Why?" Legolas looked unconvinced at the bowl, keeping his hands firmly at his side.
"They sent me in with healing potions." He stated as if that explained everything, gesturing vaguely at the glass vials and their colourful contents still sitting on the tray. He sighed when all he received in reply was a confused stare. "They'll help you recover quicker but it's not recommended to take them on an empty stomach."
Legolas gave the vials a mistrusting glance before accepting the bowl.
"Will you stay?" Legolas asked uncertainly, starting to eat with slow movements and small spoonfuls.
"Of course." The teen replied, choosing not to mention that he was supposed to in order to make sure he took the potions. He watched as the blonde swallowed several more spoonfuls before getting fed up of the silence. "Where do you come from?" He asked.
"Mirkwood." Replied the elf, pausing slightly in his meal in order to answer before returning to the porridge. Harry sympathised with the other, watching as he struggled not to let his hunger show in his actions. Despite his earlier reluctance to eat, his hunger had prevented any hesitation and he now ate as if he had been without food for years.
"Is it nice there?" Harry was eager to hear the other male's voice again and to find out more about his past.
The blonde nodded before launching into an enthusiastic description of his home. Harry found himself listening intrigued as the elf described the trees and paths of his woodland home, of how in the summer the elves would bathe in the creek that wound its way through mirkwood near his fathers palace. Legolas told him of how Mirkwood used to be called Greenwood before it had been taken over by the necromancer and spiders had come to live there. The elf's voice was enchanting as he spoke fondly of his home, it was still rough and quiet but Harry could hear the emotion behind it and found himself captivated by the vast array of feelings Legolas conveyed to him through his tale.
Before they knew it an hour had passed and the porridge and the toast had been eaten with neither of them noticing.
It was when Legolas finally paused, that Harry remembered the potions waiting on the now empty tray. He glanced apologetically at the elf as he poured out the first vial into a glass that had been provided.
He offered it to the elf, who took it gingerly, staring at the deep red liquid it had been handed. It looked almost like red wine but it was thicker, almost like honey in its density.
"It's better to try and drink it in one go." Harry advised seeing the wariness in the other's eyes. Legolas paused, looking up to meet Harry's eyes before nodding and raising the glass to his lips. His face screwed up as he was assaulted by the smell before he threw his head back and gulped the potion down.
The blond shivered, hunching over slightly as he fought to keep the potion and his breakfast down. Harry rubbed his back with one hand, his other hand pouring out the second potion, this one a nuclear green. He glanced at the trembling elf worriedly and then at the potions remaining.
There were only another two after this next one but still, looking at the reaction of their guest to the first potion, a blood replenishing potion and undoubtedly the nicest potion that had been on the tray, it would be quite a long process just trying to make sure the potions stayed in the elf's system long enough to have an effect.
He waited until Legolas sat back up again and nodded to show that he was okay.
"What was that?" He questioned, halting Harry in the action of handing over the second potion.
"That? That was a blood replenishing potion I think." Harry paused uncertainly, come to think of it, whilst he had been almost certain of what it was earlier, now he wasn't so sure. It may have been a pepper up potion.
"Are they all like that?" The blonde grimaced in remembrance. He elaborated when Harry shot him an uncertain look. "The taste, I mean."
"Oh!" Harry exclaimed in realisation. "No," He gave an apologetic smile when the elf looked relieved. "That was one of the better ones. I've had most of these," He gestured at the tray. "At least one every year, as it happens, and nether has one appealed to my taste buds. In fact, no potion seems to taste good to the best of my knowledge. Just be glad that Polyjuice potion isn't medicinal." He handed over the glass before Legolas could ask any more questions.
The other accepted it gingerly, swishing the glass experimentally and pulling a face when it made a sound reminiscent of something coming into contact with swamp water.
"Are you sure these are safe to drink?" He asked eventually, looking up from the green goo and Harry found himself biting back a laugh despite himself, something which only became harder when the grey eyed beauty pouted in the most adorable fashion.
"Certain. A friend of mine claims that the more horrible they taste, the better they are for you and that if it tastes like cherries, chances are, it's poisonous." Legolas giggled, which should have been strange, coming from a fully grown male, but was oddly endearing and Harry found himself enjoying the sound. It was with a heavy heart that he pushed the green glass up towards slightly parted lush lips until the blonde noticed the glass and gathered his courage to drink down the contents.
The process was repeated with the remaining potions, with Legolas attempting to distract Harry so that he would forget about the remaining oddly coloured medicines and Harry steeling himself against puppy dog eyes and pouts to insist that the next potion was taken and swallowed. With each concoction the reaction became increasingly worse until with the final potion Harry was rubbing Legolas' throat as the elf gagged and chocked on the vile mixture. It was hard to watch and unbearable to listen to but Harry knew the alternative was so much worse; to have to see this gorgeous male forced to lie in this miserable bed alone and away from the rest of the houses' occupants for an indefinite amount of time, his features permanently scarred.
He couldn't bare to think about how miserable the elf would be, unable to return to his family, race and the home he spoke of so fondly so instead he grit his teeth and did his best not to listen to the harsh pants coming from the figure now lying almost completely limply on the bed, the exception being one pale and too thin hand which gripped at Harry like his life depended on it.
Harry waited until Legolas' eyes closed and his grip loosened before reluctantly pulling back, settling the hand which had been gripping him before retreating from the room. He lingered for a moment, watching the relaxed figure on the bed before allowing the door to swing shut.
He sighed as he leant against the wall, trying to get the memory of Legolas' reaction to the potions out of his mind and allowing his eyes to wonder around the hallway in search of a distraction.
The fourth floor was rarely used, with little on it to encourage people into coming up past the third floor. There were a few clusters of black hair here and there, tell tale signs of Sirius running around in his animagus form, but besides that there were only large packs of dust bunnies. Curtains in varying states of disrepair were still hanging over certain areas of the wall where once there had probably been portraits of blacks from ages past.
These curtains must have been stuck onto the wall with the same charm that was preventing them from removing Mrs Black, he mused, for them to have escaped being taken down by Mrs Weasley the last time she had been up here.
Allowing his curiosity to guide him he pushed off of the wall and started to wonder through the hall, trying the doors cautiously as he came to them. The order had already been up here and checked for curses on the doors but other than strong locking charms on some doors, this floor had been declared clean of anything dangerous, unlike the door leading into the study down on the first floor.
About half of the doors Harry tried were locked tight and he left those doors, afraid of what might happen if he tried to force one. The rest of the doors were creaky, with rusting hinges and dusty handles. The rooms behind these contained little more than old and bleak guest rooms, broken portraits and furniture as well as some more house elf heads like the ones hanging in the stairwell.
It was the last room he came across that attracted Harry's attention, just as he was about to turn back. It was different from the others, with a space in front of it that was clear of dust, suggesting that it had been opened recently. The brass handle, too, was clear of dust and when he pushed down on it, the door opened without noise or resistance.
He entered only to find himself in a room that reminded him strongly of the store rooms in use at Hogwarts. Long shelves stretched in back of the room, disappearing in the shadows. Each shelf bore a variety of objects and Harry perused each of them curiously, wondering if these were objects they had been unable to remove from the house or if they were items grabbed during raids.
There were tomes and grimoires bound heavily in seals and half concealed under blankets of grey dust that had been allowed to settle. Strange orbs and whirring trinkets reminded him of the displays present in Dumbledore's office. It was all interesting, even though Harry couldn't even begin to guess as to the purpose of more than half of the objects stored in the room. He made a game out of it, guessing what each item did and, once he had decided that this must be a dump for the order after raids, where they had been snatched from.
After a long period of time, however, he found himself almost at the end of the shelves, the items on them now in sparse groups as he reached spaces which had yet to be employed. He was contemplating going back to the more interesting parts of the room when he noticed something glinting in the corner of his eye, reflecting the shaky candlelight that had managed to pierce the darkness from the doorway.
He turned towards it squinting to make out the shape of it in the darkness, slowly coming to realise how slim the chances were of him seeing it as it seemed to have been discarded hastily in the very corner of the storeroom, almost completely hidden in the darkness. He bit his lip nervously before breaking his self inflicted no touching rule and reaching out to grab it.
The item was small and cold in his hands, a green coloured gem, roughly the size of his hand, shaped like a star, which was hanging from a thin silver chain.
Against his better judgement he pocketed it and left the room quickly, shutting the door firmly behind him in the hopes that no one would notice he had been in there.