Alright, I hope this chapter is not too horrible...you can thank Erin and L, my two lovely betas for this chapter getting done. looks nervously at Erin, who is threatening her with Fiction boot camp Oh, the girl who shows up in this chapter is a PLOT DEVICE. Meaning, she will NOT, in all probability, be showing up again, unless I desperately need someone to accidentally do something. She shall not turn into a Mary- Sue, I swear!
Chapter 7: Missions and Meetings
Dean Thomas would have helped anyone that had sprained their ankle on the stairs (except, perhaps, a couple select Slytherins), but the fact that this particular girl was as cute as a button was an added bonus. Disregarding the voice of McGonagall, that boomed down the halls, insisting that everyone report to their houses immediately, he and the fifth year Ravenclaw limped towards the infirmary, the girl leaning heavily on his shoulder.
The trip was rather quiet, which, as he later mused, was the reason that they were able to overhear the end of conversation taking place in the infirmary.
"-an elf." Dean recognized the voice as belonging to his new Defense against the Dark arts teacher. Several snorts of laughter followed his words.
"Aragorn," The sharp voice of Professor McGonagall cut through the laughter. "This is no time for humor." Professor Telcontar's voice was as grave as McGonagall's when he replied.
"I'm quite serious, Minerva. This is an elf, untouched by the curse that holds the majority of his kind in its grasp today."
"That is silly. If it is a curse, why haven't those who study elves found out about it? I have certainly never heard of elves being 'cursed' before I walked into this room. The scientists at the Ministry would have already found such a thing, and broken it, if that were true." Snape's voice was cool and logical, but Dean was certain that he was sneering.
"They would have found if it was a wizard's curse, yes, but who ever said wizards are the only ones with the powers of magic?" Replied Aragorn. Dean's imaginative mind had no problem in envisioning the two wizards standing face to face, glares flashing even as they spoke in kindly tones to one another.
Dean was torn away from the conversation by a persistent tug on his sleeve. The Ravenclaw who he had been escorting was quite pale, and looked about to burst into tears. Dean apologized profusely, pushing open the door to the infirmary, leading the girl in.
The teachers all turned to look at the pair as one, halting all discussion. "Oh dear." Murmured Madame Pomfrey, instantly fluttering over to inspect the girl's ankle. "Help her sit down, dear, there's a good lad." Dean stepped back as the healer took over, turning his attention to the group of teachers, who Dumbledore was dismissing. McGonagall left with a 'humph' and a small glare at the Headmaster, while Snape merely sneered and stomped out. Soon, Dean could see the bed they had been surrounding.
Laying on it was a boy, most likely around 18-20, if Dean had to guess. His hair lay about his head in shoulders in a messy bunch of silvery- gold that reminded the teen sharply of Veela hair. His face, to any artist's view, such as Dean's, was of strange proportions that managed to balance each other out perfectly; it gave Dean the goose bumps. Most disturbingly, however, the boy's large eyes were half open, staring blankly into space, like one too many of the corpses Dean had seen in newspapers and books. He shivered, turning away, but before he walked out, he caught the last of the conversation between Dumbledore and his DADA professor.
"Albus, I must ask if I can be allowed to stay. I want to make sure that he does not get startled or spooked and think that we are keeping him hostage." There was a long pause, then, "Certainly, Aragorn. Perhaps it shall be for the best." Dean hurriedly returned to Gryffindor tower, eager to share the news with his fellow classmates.
as he became aware of sunlight in his eyes. No wonder it took humans so long
to get up and about in the morning. It took him a while to remember what had
sent him into such a sleep, and when he did, he sat bolt upright, suddenly
alert to every little noise his ears could capture. Wind outside. Mouse
skittering under the bed. Scratching of quill in the room to his right.
Faded footsteps outside of the room, retreating. An owl's hoot. A loud snore
to his left.
He snapped his head sideways to examine the origin of the snore, taking in
the fact that he was in a long, open room lined with beds on the way.
Suddenly, he felt quite cold, another new experience to add to his quickly
mounting list. 'Let 'not believing my own eyes' be added to that list as
well.' Murmured the still functioning part of his brain.
If he had not attended the funeral of Elessar Telcontar personally, and
seen his lifeless body forever held in a cold sleep with his own eyes, he
would have sworn the man in front of him was none other than Aragorn, son of
Arathorn.
He made no sound audible to any mortal ear as he climbed off the bed,
approaching the sleeping man like a child does a strange dog, ignoring the
pain flashing through his side and chest. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as
he reached out a long hand. Just before his fingers brushed against skin, a
strong, tanned hand secured itself around his wrist, halting all progress.
Ten seconds later, a surprisingly quiet wrestling match was in full order.
Aragorn's drowsy mind did not take well to being awoken by instinct, and
was having an issue figuring out just who he was wrestling, and more
importantly, why. By the time it did, he was pretty sure he had a few
bruises forming.
"Legolas! Halt!" He demanded in the Elvish tongue. Hearing the fair
language of his people, Legolas did as he was commanded; however, whether he
did it out of Aragorn's tone of voice or shock of hearing Elvish was unsure.
There was a moment's pause, before the elf snapped back, "Who are you?"
Aragorn chuckled, standing, and dislodging the elf in the process. Legolas
copied his actions, leaving them standing face to face, Aragorn amused,
Legolas glaring.
"Do you not recognize me?" He asked, spreading his hands out in front of
him in the universal sign of peace. He spoke in a calm voice, like one
who is talking to a spooked stallion.
"I recognize who you pretend to be." Replied the elf, voice steady, though
his hands were shaking.
"Legolas," reprimanded Aragorn gently. "I pretend to be no one. I am
Aragorn, your friend. We met in Rivendell, remember, when I bowled you over
in an effort to get away from the twins and my well deserved tickling spell.
You helped me when I struggled with archery. You were one of us, the
Fellowship; almost every night you'd sing for the hobbits. You wore green at
my coronation." He spoke of things that few people knew, with a confidence
that threw any doubt of identity. Legolas' stone like resolve dissolved away like
sand washes from the shore, and Aragorn swore he caught the hint of a tear
in his cat-like eyes.
"Forgive me for doubting." Legolas apologized, voice shaky.
"There is nothing to forgive." Aragorn replied, placing a hand on the elf's
shoulder. Both chuckled a bit in remembrance of the last time those words
had been spoken, more in relief than humor.
Legolas did not return the motion, and instead enveloped the human into a
hug, which Aragorn returned immediately. He had forgotten how strong elves
were; the embrace left his lungs complaining from maltreatment.
"I am glad to see you again, mellon. "Aragorn said with a smile. Legolas
grinned back, his eyes still sparkling. "Gimli will be glad to hear of you as well."
"Gimli's alive? Ai, Valar! That is wonderful!" He held his side
unconsciously, feeling a little dizzy from the finding of his two closest
friends.
"Come on, enough excitement for you. You got bombarded pretty heavily with
spells, and if the Madame Pomfrey sees you standing she will skin me alive."
Legolas smirked, but did as he was asked.
"Aragorn?" He asked, once he laid down, a soft expression of confusion on
his face.
"Yes?"
"Where are we?" "What do we do?" Asked Hermione for the tenth time since they had heard Dean's story, looking panicked from her spot on Harry's bed. "The elf from your dream is in there, but we can't just go barging in, I mean, Professor Telcontar is there, a Death Eater, and he could take us down easily-well, maybe not, but we can't take that risk! And we can't go to Dumbledore, because we don't have enough solid evidence, and this dratted book is not helping!" She motioned to the large book on her lap. Ron frowned, looking at her, then at Harry, who was
brooding.
"We need somebody to distract him, but not one of us, or any of the students,
because then he'll know we're up to something, but someone who can easily
disappear in the castle and not be found for long periods of time."
"Not a student? That means teachers are off limits too, even if we could get one to help." Hermione sighed. "Who does that leave?"
"Erm, guys?" Both turned to look at Ron. "What about them? We definitely
never see them around." He pointed to Hermione's book.
"...a house elf?" Asked Hermione, frowning.
"Ron, you're brilliant!" crowed Harry. Ron grinned, pleased with the
praise. "Come on, we need to track down Dobby." He grabbed his invisibility
cloak, and the Gryffindor Trio departed, their mission set firmly into their
minds. To all my reviewers, thank you very much! I love you all! =) I hope you continue to like this story, and not kill me because I'm a lazy arse.