Chapter Two

"Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure." – Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince

"If this is peace, I might have bet on the wrong horse," Harry grumbles as he dodges another arrow shot his way by one of the large, and extremely ugly, creatures covered in some sort of armor and colorful paint. The next one skims his shoulder causing him to hiss. The wound bleeds slowly and there's a throbbing sting that racks over his shoulder and down his back.

"Catch him!" the largest yells, most likely the leader. "He's fresh meat!"

"Why do I always end up in these situations?" Harry grunts, turning sharply to avoid colliding with one of the large wolf-like creatures.

Just an hour ago, he was walking around a relatively quiet forest trying to figure out where he is. He came across a river and nearly fainted at his reflection. Harry has never been the type to think himself handsome or even remotely good looking. Such things weren't important when you're on the run from a Dark Lord hell-bent on killing you.

But at that moment, Harry is surprised and happy; for lack of a better word, when he stared at his reflection. His hair stayed the same deep - nearly black - brown, but the mess of his hair only grew in length. A few good feet down his back, in fact. His hair curls around his face now, framing it in an innocent-like way. To avoid having it in his face, he tied it back in a relatively high ponytail with one of the strings kept to tie up his booted feet. Doing so brought forth the next shocking discovery. His ears are pointed. Pointed ears were something else, but that's when he noticed how much better he could hear. His ears carried him to that river when he stopped to really think about it.

His skin is still the same dark tan, his sight is perfect (he didn't wake up with his glasses anyway), and he's taller. Everything was fine until he heard a snap and a group of creatures and their wolf-hybrids were upon him. With his elder wand, he manages to stun a few but more started popping up left and right.

He groans when a thick branch catches his shoulder, causing him to stumble momentarily before he straightens himself and dodges a snarling mouth from one of the wolf-creatures.

"Don't let 'im get away!" A large one yells, a set of arrows ready to launch his way. They are released a moment later, heading for his face. Harry drops down and casts protego in front of himself. That didn't, however, stop one of the wolf-creatures from knocking into him from behind. He hits the ground with a grunt. A growl ripples near his ear. Blinking, he is suddenly face-to-face with a snarling, saliva-dripping mouth. Big teeth and all.

"Ain't had no elf in a while," the rider says, his large L-sharped sword held over his shoulder ready to strike.

"And you're not having any," Harry raises his wand and yells, "CONFRINGO!"

There's a loud shout as a bright blue light shoots out of his wand and hits its target directly in the face. There is a wail of pain and the creature and the rider are gone, but Harry has no time to relax. Just as he moves away from his place on the ground, another is in its place.

Harry moves, much faster this time from a burst of adrenaline, and mentally thanks the dream voice for giving him a lighter body as this new lightness to his feet gets him across the opening and near the river again. He turns and scans the area. There are at least forty closing in on him fast. With a deep breath, he gathers his magic for a final spell.

Looking dead ahead, he raises his wand and shouts: "FIENDFYRE!"

A burst of fire leaves the tip of his wand, taking the form of a very large phoenix, and it covers the entire distance between him and the trees. The wolf-creatures and their riders screech in pain, making attempts to get near the river and ultimately fail. Harry watches with cold eyes as they fall to the ground and quickly burn to ash. When the last of the enemy is gone, the fire disperses.

Then his shoulders sag and he sits down on a fallen tree next to the river. He mentally curses himself for being so careless in this new world. He cases a minor healing spell on the cut on his shoulder, but it only stops the bleeding (for how long, he doesn't know). Harry stares at it in confusion, but as the pain dulls, he doesn't think much of it. He rips off a piece of the cloak he's wearing and does his best to bind the wound. The cloak, now damaged, was found on his person when he woke up.

He had his other things too. In fact, he woke up with a small pack that consisted of his invisibility cloak, the elder's wand, his shrunken firebolt, and the gold he put in an endless pouch along with one of the two-way mirrors. Underneath his travel cloak, he wears a black tunic, matching leggings, and black boots with steel heels. He kind of feels like one of Robin Hood's men in those books he'd sneak from Dudley's room when he was cleaning upstairs.

"Okay, Potter. Think," Harry mumbles to himself. "What's your next move?"

He glances at the sky, noting the sun just barely starting to set, and sighs. He didn't want to camp out in the forest for the night. The memories of his time on the run with Ron and Hermione confirming his need to find some sort of shelter because he has no tent. Maybe a village or town or whatever? He stands up, hoisting his pack over his shoulder once more, and starts off alongside the river in hopes of running into a place to stay. And even if he didn't find a place, the river would provide him enough for the night. Water. Fish. And he'd make do with everything else. Transfiguration is one of his best subjects after all.

The longer his walks along the river, the further into the forest he seems to be going. The atmosphere starts dropping, the air dry, and the aura surrounding himself is utterly dreadful. But still, he follows the river. A few yards later and Harry starts noticing something off. Something or someone is watching him. Not with curiosity nor fear, but something darker. Something evil. Something deadly. He finally takes notice of the large cobwebs and pauses.

"Oh, please no," Harry whispers. "I hate spiders." As if hearing his hateful declaration, a large spider shoots out of the clearing up ahead charging at him with a killer's intent. Harry watches it for a moment while silently berating himself for jinxing himself. It is just his luck to have giant spiders coming his way with the intent of eating him.

Raising his wand, Harry yells out, "DIFFINDO!"

He watches with mild satisfaction as the legs of the spider are, quite literally, ripped from its body by an unseeable force. The unholy screech the spider emits causes Harry to wince. It falls to the ground, alive, but unable to move. He only watches it wiggle for a moment before taking pity on the dark creature and ends its misery with a silent cutting hex.

Elder wand gripped firmly in his hand, Harry continues on. He's on guard. He scans the area every few minutes while keeping his ears peeled for any sort of noise. The cobwebs appear in abundance the deeper he goes into the forest. But still, he follows the river (even though his mind is telling him to retreat). As the rush of the water grows more vicious, Harry starts walking a little faster. Something isn't right. A sort of dread fills the pit of his stomach. The trees are thick now. Even with his improved eyesight, it was difficult to see through them.

Another screech, much like the one he heard a bit ago, pierces the air. Harry freezes before taking off running away from the river, heading towards the branches most thick with cobwebs. He can hear shouting, but could not understand the words.

He happens to find the source of shouting a moment later. In a clearing, surrounded by thick trees and ghastly cobwebs, are two people. And they are surrounded by more than 10 spiders. There is a blond one and a redhead. Both tall. Both dressed in dark green tunics and leggings, only the blond has on a sort of armor Harry would associate with nobility. Both have swords drawn; the blond with twin blades and the other with a single long, and oddly shaped, sword.

Without thinking, Harry casts Expulso three times taking out the two spiders near the blond and the one near the redhead. They see him standing there, with his wand held up, but don't say anything. Some of the spiders notice him and head towards him in a rush. Harry decides to deal with them much as he did with the other creatures.

Pointing his wand at them, Harry yells, "PROTEGO!," followed by, "Get down!"

When the two don't drop immediately, he motions for them to drop to the ground. The two strangers share a look before hitting the ground and covering their heads. He feels a twinge in his arm, an icy-hotness sweeping across his shoulders and down it. Harry ignores it. Gathering his magic, Harry casts Fiendfyre and watches, with odd satisfaction, as the spiders are consumed by the same fiery bird much like his enemies earlier. He barely sees the blond look up before dropping his head again as the fire swept over them, although not harming them. When the fire disperses, Harry leans heavily against the closest tree, not paying any mind to the bits of cobweb falling on his clothing and hair.

His arm hurts.

He thinks of his wound. An arrow barely nicked him, but it was most likely poisoned. Cursing his bad luck, he doesn't notice the two approaching him cautiously until they're just standing a few feet away from him. He focuses on the blond whose hair is casting over his shoulders neatly, pale blue eyes looking at him curiously. He's pretty. He slowly looks at the other. The red hair reminds him of the Weasleys. He closes his eyes briefly at the thought of his friends. But her green eyes stand out to him. Red hair and green eyes remind him of his mum. And when his eyes sweep over both of them, he takes in the pointed ears.

"Are you both okay?" he asks. The silence is getting to him and he gets the feeling that they shouldn't linger longer than necessary.

He doesn't expect to see a look of confusion shared between them. Do they not understand? The blond one says something slowly in a sort of flowery language, his voice is smooth. He is cautious and rightly so.

Harry shakes his head. "I don't understand what you're saying."

And again, they share the same confused looked.

"Can you not speak elvish?" the female asks, speaking slowly as if she were a child.

Harry tilts his head to the side before shaking it.

"And elf that cannot speak elvish?" the blond muses out loud. "How strange." There's a bit of hotness to his voice and Harry is instantly reminded of Malfoy. Scowling, he nods. At least this confirms that he's an elf. Gazing at both of them, he thinks of Dobby. His brave little friend who sacrificed himself to save them. Dobby would probably get a kick out of meeting elves so unlike him.

He makes to reply but stops short when a burst of pain flares at his shoulder where his wound is and he only manages a quiet hiss between clenched teeth.

"You're injured," the red-head says.

Harry would have made a sarcastic remark if his eyes didn't suddenly blur.

"I'll be fine in a moment," he mumbles. Then he pauses, debating what to do next but ultimately just slides down the base of the tree to sit completely. The grim from the tree sticks to him like glue but he can't bring himself to care. A sort of tiredness creeps up his body despite the burning sensation in his arm. It starts to feel heavy.

"Hardly," the blond replies before a pair of hands descend on him. He feels hands tug at his badly dressed injury until the knot gives way. Harry hears the slightest sharp intake of breath and then the two strangers begin speaking rapidly to each other in their language.

Harry tries to focus, but a heaviness is overtaking his body. He manages to hear "orc" before dropping his head against the tree. His vision is blurred. His muscles...weak. His arm is on fire.

"So much for peace," he whispers to himself, not caring if the other two hear.

"We will take you to a healer," he hears. It's said in a hurry.

Harry feels himself being moved, shifting into an upright position, and then he's on someone's back being piggybacked to wherever. His pack is taken from him but he can't put up much of a fight to stop whoever takes it.

"I hope we don't run into any more spiders," Harry whispers instead. "I really hate spiders."

"You're babbling," he hears from his left side. "A side effect of the poison. Your Highness, we must hurry."

Your Highness? Great, he is being piggybacked by some king or prince. How embarrassing.

Their speed picks up and Harry doesn't appreciate it. The fast running makes him feel sick. He can't even feel his arm now. He closes his eyes and breathes in the earthy smell of the blond carrying him. It's pleasant enough. He feels them slow down eventually, thanking whoever up there that they don't run into any more spiders.

He falls unconscious to the rush of flowery language—

—and wakes up to a soft voice speaking.

He doesn't understand a lick of it. When a hand comes upon his forehead, he shoots to a sitting position. He blinks rapidly, a hand coming up to rub at his eyes. He shakes off a hand that touches his shoulder gently.

"Peace, peace!" a voice cries.

Harry blinks once, twice, and does his hardest to focus on something, anything. He feels a thin sheet beneath his fingers. A bed, then. When a hand comes to his shoulder again, he shrugs it off.

"D-don't touch me," Harry says, throat dry. He grips the sheet.

He still can't focus on anything.

"Why c-can't I see?" he manages to get out.

"Be calm," the voice says much more gently. "It is a side effect of poison. Your sight will return to you soon enough."

Despite this, Harry rubs at his eyes again and blinks.

"Drink this," a cold glass is pressed into his hand.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Water. We would not save you from poison only to kill you."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Harry mumbles before taking a sip. The cooling freshness of water soothes his throat and he downs the whole thing. There's no reply to his comment. "What about my arm?" Harry asks as he holds out the glass to be taken back. He feels a hand press ever so slightly against his wound and grunts. Well, at least he can feel his arm again.

"It will be tender for a few more days. It only required a few stitches."

"Well, that's good."

There is silence and then: "From where do you hail?"

Harry snorts and flops back down on the bed. He doesn't answer right away because he doesn't know where to start. How do you explain to a stranger that you aren't from their world? How do you explain to strangers that a strange voice in your dream had the ability to send you to different worlds? They'd quicker call him crazy before he'd even finish his tale. Probably. Besides, he didn't really want to talk about it right now.

He settles for, "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Why do you say that?"

"I can't go back so it doesn't matter."

It's a clear sign to drop the topic and Harry silently thanks whoever is with him for not replying. He came to a new place to create a new life for himself, not wallow in self-pity and guilt. It becomes so quiet that Harry assumes that the person has left until a pair of hands gently touch the area around his wound, just barely tugging on the bandages.

"I have to change these," the voice cautions. "It will feel sore but your wound is ridding itself of the poison."

Draining. He means draining.

Feeling his face twist in disgust, he merely grunts, "Disgusting."

"Quite," and those hands, deft in their movement, set about to cleanse his wound and replace his soiled bandages.

And he was right. The pressure of a cloth wiping away at his injury does increase the soreness. Harry closes his eyes and stifles a groan when the cloth is removed and fresh wrappings replace the old ones. Throughout this transition, the hands remain as gentle as possible and for that, Harry really appreciates it. It's different than staying in the infirmary under the care of Madam Pomfery who, Harry sometimes suspects, gets the occasional kick out of students who suffer from minor injuries.

When his arm is released, Harry lets out a sigh. He slowly opens his eyes again, blinks twice, and sighs in relief. His vision is returning to normal. He waits a few more seconds and closes his eyes again.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't think I'll manage more than something light - like bread - if you have any."

"I will see what I can round up. Don't leave your bed," he hears someone walking away and a door opening. "I will be back momentarily."

The second the door closes, Harry opens his eyes again. His vision has fully returned. With his good arm, Harry brings himself to a sitting position and looks around. It's not the infirmary like at Hogwarts, but it gives off the same feel. There are five other beds in the room aside from the one he is in. Upon gazing at the walls long enough, he concluded that he's either in a very large tree or whoever owns the place really likes going with the forest theme. The walls look like tree bark. There are lights around the room in small glass balls attached to the wall, their glow not too harsh. The color scheme, he likes. Cream, light brown, and green. It's inviting.

He looks at the large double doors to the right of him, several feet again, and admires the elegant design carved into it. It reminds him of the fairy doors in the books Hermione sometimes brought to Hogwarts to show Ron how muggle's perceived some magical creatures.

Hermione...

Ron...

He really missed his best friends. He really missed Sirius and Remus.

Loyal friends. Order members.

All soldiers in the travesty called war.

Harry's time to mourn over the loss of his family is cut short when the door to the room he's in - infirmary? healing ward? - opens and two people, elves, walk in. One is holding a tray of assorted fruits and bread while the other is carrying a change of clothes.

"Can you see us clearly?" the one with the tray asks.

Harry recognizes the voice and nods.

"That is good. I can now properly introduce myself," he places the tray on the small table beside Harry's bed. "My name is Galtara. This is my apprentice, Luthrin." The other elf greets him with a dip of his head and places the clean clothes at the end of the bed and stands back.

"Pleased to meet you both," Harry replies. "Can one of you tell me where I am?"

Galtara bends down and folds the sheets back. Harry stares at them. They are folded perfectly.

"You are in the House of Healing of Mirkwood."

Harry blinks at him. "And...that's in...Endor? Right?"

And much like the two he met before passing out, Galtara and Luthrin share a confused look.

"We were told you only speak the common tongue," Galtara replies. "That is very strange. But yes, Mirkwood is in Endor."

"I don't know what you mean by 'common tongue' but I'm speaking as I normally do."

Luthrin says something while directly facing Harry, all three wait, and when Harry doesn't reply, Luthrin says something to Galtara. It sounds playful. Harry gets the impression that he is being teased and huffs.

"What did you say?" Harry asked as the tray of food is removed from the bedside table and placed in his lap where he's advised to eat slowly.

"I merely informed Galtara that he will have his work cut out for him."

Harry's mouth twitches upwards, just slightly, and picks up a unique looking berry. He rolls it around between his thumb and pointer finger before popping it into his mouth. It tasted nice, but not something he'd eat often. Instead, he moves on to the bread. Even from the tray, it smells heavenly and it's warm to the touch. Fresh bread is always nice.

He takes a bite and sighs in content. It's honey flavored and slightly flaky and absolutely delicious.

"This is probably the best thing I've ever eaten," Harry says after he swallows.

Galtara and Luthrin share an amused look. Harry leans over his tray a bit and a lock of his hair falls over his shoulder. Harry pauses in his eating to look at it hard. It's filthy. He looks down at the white sheets, then back to his hair.

With a sigh, he shoves the tray away. "I can't eat this."

"Is it not to your liking?" Galtara asks while frowning. "It is fresh."

Harry shakes his head. "It's fine, but I hate being dirty. It distracts me from eating."

A chuckle escapes Luthrin's mouth. He says something to Galtara who grins in response.

Harry huffs. "What did you say?"

Luthrin grins at Harry. "I said you remind me of the prince. He, too, hates to eat while dirty."

Harry's eyes widen. "The prince?! That woman mentioned said something like 'Your Highness' or whatever while I was being brought...here. Are they okay?!"

Galtara frowns at Luthrin. "Woman?"

"I believe he means Tauriel," Luthrin replies before turning to Harry. "Tauriel is no woman. She is an elven warrior and the captain of the royal guard. She and Prince Legolas are fine. They shared a rather interesting tale regarding you."

Harry sags in relief. "That's good. There were giant spiders. I hate spiders."

"The king will want to speak to you as soon as you are taken care of."

Harry sags even further, clearly nervous. "I've never met a king before."

Galtara smiles kindly. "The king is grateful to you for saving the prince's life as well as a prized captain of the guard. We all are."

"I would have done it for anyone," Harry replies quietly.

Galtara shares a concerned look with Luthrin before lifting the tray from the bed and placing it back on the small table beside it. "Since you will not eat at the moment, we will help you clean up. There is a hot spring attached to the room."

Harry throws back the rest of the sheet covering him and places his bare feet on the floor. It's slightly warm, to his surprise, and rather soft. He slowly stands but sways just a bit. He allows himself to be led through a door he didn't originally notice on the other side of the room. When the door is opened, hot moisture smacks his face. The hot spring looks inviting. There are jars and bottles of various shapes and sizes sitting on a flat stone right next to the steaming pool of hot water.

The heat is calling to Harry.

"Because of your wound, I will help you undress. Luthrin will help you with your hair."

Under different circumstances, Harry would have been very uncomfortable about stripping in front of two strangers, but something in his gut told him he'd be okay and that they wouldn't cause him any harm.

He nods. After that, Galtara's deft fingers undo the binds on his tunic and peel it away. His leggings soon follow. Harry doesn't know where his boots are but he hopes he'll get them back. Naked, Harry keeps his eyes forward lest he starts blushing. He frowns at the grittiness of his hair scraping his back. He couldn't wait for it to be clean.

"Mind your shoulder," Galtara warns as Harry steps into the pool and sinks down. The hot water laps at his skin, the feeling amazing. They let him soak for several minutes until the hair around his face curls even more and sticks around his temple. With a huff, he flicks it out of the way only for it to fall back in place.

"Let us begin," Luthrin says. "Tilt your head back."

Water is dunked on his head, but not a single drop slides down his face. Not even a drop of sweat from the heat rolls down his face as far as he can tell. When his hair is thoroughly wet, the scent of something berry-like fills the air. Luthrin sets about cleaning his hair with practiced ease. And it feels so nice to Harry that he sinks just a little more under the water, a sigh of content escaping his mouth. Fingernails scrape along his head and shudders.

"Your hair is very thick and long. I will need to do this in parts."

Harry feels his hair be split into sections. As soon as hair is thrown over his uninjured shoulder, careful of his wound, he hears two gasps.

"By Valar..."

If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-love-sakura

Edited (09/27/2018): I hope this reads so much better now!