AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you! Thank you for clicking to read this fic! Poor Harry… You'd think we authors would give him a little slack once in a while…. Or not…

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own The Hobbit (as in the book or the screenplay or the scary cartoon movie… *twitches*). I don't own Olly or Gryffindor or Slytherin or Quidditch or Victor Krump. I don't own Bob the Builder. I don't own Pink. I don't own the scary snowman dude in the iced tea commercials (have any of you ever seen them? Don't they creep you out?). I don't own Hersheypark. I don't own a mildly perplexed tree frog wearing sunglasses. I don't own a flying lizard. I don't own the term "Sillybritishpansy" and I don't own… (To be continued…)

A Terrible Accident

It all began typically innocent enough. It was a typical November afternoon at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the countryside of England. And, as was typical for Saturdays in November, 99.99% of the students and faculty were outside, watching the day's Quidditch match. Also typical was the fact that Gryffindor was playing Slytherin, that Slytherin was in the lead by exactly 20 points despite excellent plays by Olly, and that Harry Potter was about to catch the snitch.

But one thing went wrong.

Harry could feel the rush of the wind blowing back at his hair. He squinted into the afternoon sun, trying to avoid the glare in his glasses and keep an eye on the snitch at the same time. The Nimbus 2000 moved faster and faster. Adrenaline pumped through his system. His hand reached out, fingers stretching for the little golden blur… It dove, and he followed it, and at first he thought he was going to pull up just in the nick of time like that Victor Krump fellow (even though he hasn't heard of him yet)…

The ground came close and closer and closer… and then everything was black.

* * *

Harry was in the hospital wing for three days before he finally came to. He opened his eyes and looked dimly around the room, at those annoying partition-thingies that are always in hospital wings and make lots of crinkly noise and are really ugly to look at and don't even give you any real privacy and squeak when you move them…. *ahem*…

He was tired, for some reason, and everything was rather blurry. Where were his glasses? Did he even have glasses? Hadn't somebody told him he needed to wear green contacts? Or was that…. His groping hand found the famous black spectacles. Harry put his glasses on and blinked a few times. Why couldn't he think straight? Wasn't he supposed to be great? Wait… wasn't he famous? Then who was he, and what did he do?

And some play of ill luck (which is mostly Kavi's fault, in all probability) made Harry's eyes first focus on the rather "classic"-looking book on the nightstand.

Harry picked the book up, tracing his fingers over the lettering on the dust cover. T - H - E - H - O - B… What a strange name. Harry flipped through the pages, read a few bits and pieces, and suddenly his jaw dropped, and behind his glasses he blinked in recognition. Suddenly it was all very clear…

Harry felt fine. Actually, he felt fantastic - hadn't felt better in all his twenty years. Of course, this wasn't taking into consideration the fact that he was in a dark, gloomy room in a stone castle, entirely aboveground, and that something odd was covering his feet. How utterly uncomfortable! Surely somebody was trying to annoy him - the most he could ever have on his feet were sandals.

He left the cumbersome, shiny black Oxford shoes on the floor, making his way to the doorway. No need to stay in a hospital when one was perfectly healthy, he thought, and seeing as there was nobody in sight, and seeing how there was a sign-out sheet conveniently in front of him, and a pen, and seeing as he really wanted to get out of this gloomy place, and seeing as this really turning into one hell of a run-on sentence, Harry signed out….

"Nine… twenty-seven… er… oh! I have to sign my name too? Alright…" And Harry signed it, neatly, Bilbo Baggins.