Note to self - never, ever play around with obvious magickal item, for obvious reasons. Usually ends in raging headache and extreme disorientation.

Of course, this is my first experience with an obviously magic object, excluding the palantir, unless you count Elves, you are obviously magickal but not objects. Legolas would kill me for that thought, so, moving on.

I crack my eyes open and am immediately assaulted by obnoxiously bright light. I squeeze them back shut and concentrate on dulling the pain in my head. It's not working. Concentrating on it just makes me realize how much it really freaking hurts.

"Now, now, girl, don't be daft. You need to open your eyes at some point, you know."

Oh, yeah? Fucking watch me keep them closed, lady. And who uses a word like daft, anyway?

"No reason to be rude," the voice sniffs, and I realize I said it out loud. Ooops.

"Sorry," I croak, and crack one eye open. "Why is it so fucking bright in here?"

The voice sniffs again. "The curtains are open," The Voice says shortly. "And please watch your language. This is a SCHOOL, after all."

Both of my eyes pop open at that and I sit up so fast my head turns completely around and explodes. Metaphorically speaking. I hang my head over the edge of the bed until I'm sure I'm not going ot throw up, then sit back up - slower this time - and get a good look at the woman who I'd been speaking to. And stop. And stare.

She's wearing flowing robes, dark red, with an apron and a wimple. She looks like a nun from the freaking crusade era. I close my head, shake my eyes, and try to get over it.

That came out wrong. I meant I closed my eyes and shook my head. But whatever I did, when I look again, she's still there, looking at me like I've grown a second head. She shakes her own head, wimple and all, and shoves a cup full of steamy liquid at me. I stare at it, like I expect IT to grow a second head, then stare back at her. "What the hell is this?"

She mutters something about wishing it were spider venom, which I think is a little harsh, then says "It's called Skele-Gro. It's your second dose, meaning all of your bones should have grown back by morning. There will be some...discomfort, so I'll give you a sleeping draught when you're done."

Discomfort? Why does she say 'discomfort' like it means 'great big freaking pain that makes you wish you were dead'?

And what the hell does she mean, grown back? I have missing bones? "Missing bones?" I ask, meaning for it to come out in a relatively reasonable voice, but it comes out a squeak. I am deeply ashamed. After hearing that, Boromir would probably disown me.

She sighs, like an adult talking to a small child who has needed something explained to it several times. A small, STUPID child. "Yes. The Whomping Willow caught you fairly hard. Now, take your potion, and then you can go to sleep."

I shake my head frantically, suddenly remembering something. "Wait - there was someone with me. My friend - my husband, actually - is he hurt?"

She plants her hands on her hips. "Which is it, dear? Friend or husband?"

Oooh, I hate people like this. "Both. He was my friend before he was my husband. He's my BEST friend." She gives me a disbelieving look. "We're newlyweds, all right? We've been married for about three weeks."

Her expression softens. At least the newlywed card is good for bloody something. Don't give me that look. Let's just say the honeymoon's - kinda over. And let's just also say that I KNEW this marriage thing was a bad idea. Anyway, away from my tormented love life and back to reality. She reaches out and pats my arm. "You get some sleep, and I'll talk to the headmaster about your...husband."

Have you ever noticed, that if you happen to be a newlywed, and you stutter over the husband thing, they think you're lying and just assume you're living in sin? And then they say the word 'husband' like they're humoring a crazy person?

Of course, that could just be me. Maybe I'm reading a little too much into it.

"Drink your potion, dear," the lady says soothingly. I sigh and take a deep gulp.

And nearly puke. God, this shit is HORRIBLE! Remind me to never run into the Whomping Willow again. Whatever the hell that is. "What the hell is this?"

"Skele-Gro," she repeats patiently. "To regrow your bones, dear. Drink up."

"It's horrible."

"Of course it is," she says calmly. "Medicine never tastes good. But just think - after this you'll be able to get a good night's rest."

Yeah, until the pain wakes me up, I'm sure. I take a deep breath, hold my noise, and gulp it down as fast as I can. She hands me a glass of water, and I drink that down as fast as I can too. She pats my arm and scurries off, before returning with a new goblet. "Now for the sleeping draught," she says gently, and helps me drink it. I'm almost too tired to hold the cup. As soon as all of the sleeping thingie is down, the world starts to get fuzzy and gray around the edges and the next thing I know, I'm down for the count.

I do not like it here. I do not like being imprisoned in stone walls, I do not like not seeing Earendil in the sky, I do not like being sorrounded by humans, and I do not like being seperated from Kayli. There are several other things I don't like about being here, but those are the major ones. And it is seriously starting to make me angry.

I am currently facing an old man with a long white hair and beard, wearing flowing robes covered with arcane symbols and odd lenses on the tip of his nose. He is, by far, the strangest looking human I have ever met. And I am including Mithrandir in this. And bloody Radagast. Not far from him is a rather stern-faced woman with her hair pulled tightly back and a seemingly perpetually disapproving expression. She reminds me - in an odd, rather strange way - of my grandmother, who often wore the same expression when my brothers and I did something wrong in public.

I shake the thought off and return my attention to the old man. Albus Dumbledore, his name is. He's the Headmaster of this...school. His hands are folded on his desk and he's smiling brightly. Not all there, this one. "Now, we need to have as much information as possible before we attempt to find a way for you to return to your world."

I sigh and rub the back of my neck. We've been through this seemingly dozens of times, and these people are trying my patience, even more than Gimli, in the early days of our Quest. "I have already told you everything, more than once. I fail to see why we must go through it again."

"You have to understand, sir, that we have never heard anything like your...tale. It seems rather impossible."

"And it's unheard of," the stern-faced woman says.

Yes, I think Albus covered that with 'impossible.' "Nevertheless, it is quite true." My father would be endlessly amused if he could see me now. Trying to explain myself to a pair of wizards. At this exact moment in time all I want is to see my WIFE.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying not to think of her. She's seemed angry the last few weeks anyway. Best not to dwell on anything because I always wonder why she's angry. I shake my head and turn back to the two wizards. Albus watches me a with a frightening direct, serene gaze. Frighteningly like Gandalf, actually. "What do you want me to tell you, Headmaster? That I know how I got here, and how to get back? I don't. I don't know how I'm here, I don't know why I'm here, and I want to see my wife." I grit my teeth, and force the next word out. "Please."

I am not usually a rude person. My parents - my father, especially - made sure that i was NEVER a rude child, and such lessons stay with you. But these people have done nothing to earn such manners from me. In fact, all they've apparently done is TRY to make me angry.

The woman throws her arms up. "This child is more trying than the Weasley twins!" she cries.

"Child?" I exclaim. NOW I'm angry.

"Now, Minerva -" Albus says.

"I am not a child," I mutter hotly, glaring at Albus when he holds up a hand for silence.

"We must help him, Minerva," he says firmly. "This is not his world, and it is dangerous for those inexperienced in our world."

Oh, this just keeps getting more and more insulting.

Albus looks up at my sound of disgust - something I picked up from Kayli, a year ago I never would've made such a noise. "As experienced as you might be in the ways of your own world, Master Legolas, our world is quite...different. It is a magickal world."

I arch an eyebrow at him, the same expression that so infuriates Kayli. He has no way of knowing that I grew up sorrounded by such magic. My father is one of the most powerful Elves in Middle-Earth. How else would we have held our Forest for so long? Through good looks and charm? The good looks my family has, some would say in excess. The charm is something else entirely, as anyone who has ever met my brothers could attest to.

I am starting to think like Kayli speaks. I am babbling in my own head. This is a nightmare.

"What do you want, exactly, Master Legolas?" Albus asks gently.

At this exact moment in time? Hmm. Let me think, because this is a hard question. I've only asked if one or TEN times. I answer through clenched teeth, keeping a firm grip on the famous (or perhaps INFAMOUS) House of Oropher temper. "I want to see my wife, please."

Albus nods. "Ah, the young lady you...arrived with."

HUMANS. What other woman would I be married to? "Yes," I say instead, as calmly as I can.

Albus nods cheerfully. This man is broken. "Indeed. I'll see if she's awake yet. Perhaps you would like to get some rest?"

I pass a hand over my tired eyes. I don't want to rest until Kayli and I are together again, but it's not like we haven't spent nights apart. I just...want to see she's all right. I have to know.

I sigh. Some things you just have to wait for. "Yes," I murmur instead. "That would be fine."

Albus claps his hands together like this is some kind of victory, or perhaps just the most wonderful thing that could have happened. "Excellent," he says, beaming. "I'll have some students show you to an empty room. He stands to his feet and sweeps around his desk, absently petting a rather ancient-looking bird on his way. "If you'd just follow me, Master Legolas."

I follow him down the stairs, remember what my father often said about dealing with wizards. Of course, he always said it when Mithrandir was there to take advantage of father's hospitatlity and drink all of his best wine. "Just let them have it, Legolas. It's not worth the aggravation of arguing with them, because they are ALWAYS convinced they're right."

I never realized how right he was.

The woman, Minerva, practically tackles three students in the halls. One is a red-haired boy, taller and ganglier than any of the other two. There's a girl with hair that rather resembles a shrub and enough books to stock a library. And the last is a boy with brilliant green eyes and hair that seems to be stubbornly defying gravity. They exchange nervous glances and approach. "This is -" she glances at me sharply, and frowns even more severly. I wouldn't even have guessed it was possibly. I smile serenly and she huffs and turns back to her students. "a visitor. Please guide him to an empty room on the sixth floor, please."

They nod nervously. Albus pats me on the shoulder and smiles vaguely. "These young ones will take care of you, my friend. Now, Minerva and I must go speak to Madam Pomfrey about your friend. Excuse us."

The four of us stare after him. Well, three of us do. The fourth, the girl, is staring at me rather intensely. "Excuse me, but what is wrong with your ears?"

I turn back to her, cursing the fact that I'd left my hair in braids. "There's nothing wrong with my ear."

The tall red-headed boy peers at them. "They look...pointy."

I arch an eyebrow at him. "For a good reason. Do you have names, or shall I make some up for you?" I somehow refrain from telling them that those names would not be particularly kind. Or flattering.

"I'm Harry Potter," the other boy says suddenly. He hadn't spoken yet, and I was beginning to wonder if he could. "This is Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley." He pauses. "Do...uh, do you have a name?" They're all looking at me intently, taking mental inventory of everything else about me that's not quite...human.

"Legolas," I answer calmly, ignoring the girl's probing stare. I make a grand gesture. "After you, my friends."

I follow them, silently. Every once in a while, one of them - usually the dark-haired boy, Harry, which is an absolutely atrocious name - glances back over their shoulder to make sure I'm still there. I ignore that too. I'm mostly concentrating on their conversation. "He looks funny," the redhead whispers.

This coming from someone spotted.

"Shhh!" the girl hisses. "He might be able to hear you!"

"How?" Harry whispers. "He's way back there, Hermione."

"Did you see his ears?" she demands. "Animals with larger ears naturally have better hearing than other creatures."

And I do not have big ears, thank you.

"What about Percy?" Ron asks. "He has huge ears, and HE couldn't hear us way back there."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Oh, RON."

The spotted on shrugs. Yes, I realize that's not charitable, but I can't really bring myself to care. My naneth would have pitched a fit over that one. It's been a long day.

Harry smiles slightly. "I don't think he can hear us, Hermione. He'd have said something by now."

"Are you so certain?" I ask politely, pitching my voice loud enough so they can hear me."

Hermione opens her mouth to say something, but Ron interrupts. "Yes, yes, you told us so," he says, then mutters "know-it-all" under his breath.

The girl runs an aggravated hand through her amazing hedge-hair and glares at me. "What ARE you?" she demands.

OK, that's it. I have had enough of these people. They're rude, condescending, obnoxious, and patronizing. I refuse to be polite any more. "The nex person who questions my species, intelligence, magickal abilities, age, or gender is going to be in a great deal of pain," I snap. "I have had enough of you people, and I haven't even been here a day."

They all gape at me. Hermione looks so shocked she almost falls over. Ron wraps an arm around her shoulder and glares at me. Harry is watching me carefully, with eyes far older than they should be. I notice that they're almost the exact color of my father's.

Harry smiles suddenly. "You're right, you know," he said. "We're curious, you know," he says. "We have a tendency to poke and prod at new things." He doesn't say it like he's explaining, more like he's musing, and not really talking to anyone other than himself.

"Is everyone here crazy?" I ask, more out of morbid curiousity than anything else.

Hermione manages a small laugh. Damn, I think I hurt her feelings. I rake a hand through my hair and sigh.

Ron and Harry exchange glances. Then they both laugh, exactly at the same time. Even though they don't look anything alike, they remind me of Elladan and Elrohir. I feel a sudden stab of sharp pain and have to lean against the wall for a moment.

Homesickness. Who knew?

Oh, God, my head hurts. I am so bloody sick of headaches. If we ever get back to Middle-Earth, I am going to see if I can talk to the Valar about never getting a headache ever again.

I blink my eyes. Actually, it makes me feel like my whole head blinks. On, off. On, off. Ouch.

After a moment or two, I manage to get into a sitting position. I'm amazed by the lack of pain. You'd think having bones that just grew back, I'd be some in pain. But nope, not a bit.

This place is weird.

Sitting by the side of my bed is an old man with a long white beard and white hair just as long. He's wearing green robes covered in stars and crescent moons and other funky, arcane symbols, half of which I can't identify. "Ah, you're awake," he says cheerfully.

Nope, definitely not Gandalf. Gandalf is never cheerful. And he wouldn't be caught dead in green.

"I...think so," I mutter, and think about it for a second. "Yeah, I'm awake." I pause. "Maybe."

"We have a young gentleman here is quite concerned about you," he says, now not QUITE as cheerful.

Young gentleman? Who the hell...Oh. Legolas. Duh. It was the young part that confused me. I keep forgetting that he looks like he's about...my age. When I get older, people are going to look at me and think 'pervert,' or 'cradle-robber'. I'm ok with that.

The concern hits me after a second. "Is he ok? Is he hurt? Is anything wrong?"

He shakes his head, smiling kindly. "No, no, no. He's quite well." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "Quite an extraordinary young man, really."

I rake my hair out of my face and make an annoyed sound when it falls back into my face. "Well, you've got one out of three right."

He stares at me for a moment. "I beg your pardon?"

I shrug. "I'll give you extraordinary. But he's not young and he's not a Man."

He just stares. "He seemed rather male," he says slowly.

I glimpse my back on the floor and start to dig through it, looking for a ribbon or a peice of twine, anything to keep my hair out of my face. "I didn't say he wasn't male, I said he wasn't a Man," I say absently. I think I'm confusing him. Middle-Earthian phrasing.

"You mean he isn't HUMAN," he muses, and I look at him sharply. Then I shrug. Whatever. What he doesn't know probably can't hurt us. I find a brush, then pull out a ribbon. I finally notice that there's a small pile of things on the nightstand. My necklace, my ring, an array of hairpins, and some other random stuff, probably from my pockets, I grab the hairpins and twist my hair up. I have way to much to put up with just a ribbon.

I look back at the old man, who doesn't seem a disturbed to see that my mouth is full of hairpins. He just smiles benignly. "As soon as your ready, someone will help you find your...gentleman."

I nod. He leans back in his chair. "But before that, I have a few questions for you."

That is almost never a good thing.

TBC...

Maybe.