A/N: Another one of those stories that your muse forces on to you and won't leave you alone until you write it.  This is a cross-over fanfic between Harry Potter and the Enchanted Forest Chronicles, and might be a little difficult to understand if you hadn't read Patricia C. Wrede's books.  I recommend them, by the way.  Anyway, the disclaimer is in my bio, so on to the story!

In Which There Is an Unusual storm, and Harry Finds a Forest

     Harry Potter struggled with all his concentration against the gales of wind that threatened to hurl him into the Forbidden Forest.  It ruffled his hair wildly and made his eyes tear as he squinted to see what was happening in the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match.  He could vaguely hear Lee's witty commentary through the howling wind.

     "Oh, I do hope Harry's alright," Hermione fretted, peering up at the thin boy.

     "I'm sure he is," Ron reassured her.  "He's got through storms before."

     "But this is unlike any storm I've ever seen!" said Hermione emphatically.  "I don't know if he can hold up."

     Hagrid placed a giant calloused hand on the girl's shoulder.  "Don't worry, Hermione," he rumbled.  "Have faith in Harry."

     From beside them, Ginny watched Harry intently, her eyes betraying her worry.  Hagrid and Ron might have enough faith to believe Harry could come out okay, but Ginny had a bad feeling about all this wind.

     Suddenly, Harry saw a flash of gold, and he reached out to grab it.  Unfortunately, this small action caused him to lose his precarious balance in the sky, and the wind pounced on him.  It toyed with him as a cat would a mouse, tossing him back and forth in the air, and it caused him to lose his grip more than once.  With a deafening roar, the wind thrust Harry away from itself, causing him to careen violently.

     The next thing Harry knew was that he was lying on a mat of soft moss and surrounded by some very big trees.  His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lost consciousness.

     A blurred figure moved across Harry's vision, hardly distinguishable from the equally fuzzy background.  It was followed by several smaller hazy figures.  He moaned and groped for his glasses.

     "Ah, you're awake," a voice said, and Harry realized it must be the blurred figure who was speaking. 

     After finally forcing his glasses onto his face, Harry got a good look at whoever this person was, and blinked in surprise.  She wore loose black robes and rectangular spectacles perched on the end of her nose, and her ginger hair was piled on top of her head in a bun.  "Professor McGonagall?" he asked incredulously.

     Something meowed beside his head, and Harry turned to see a fairly large black and white cat sitting on his pillow.

     "No, I don't know where he got that name, Quiz," the woman said, and Harry realized that she was talking to the cat!  "Now, get off his pillow.  You don't know if he's allergic to fur."

     The cat gazed at her reproachfully, then it leaped off the bed in such a manner that it seemed like that was exactly what the cat had been planning all along.  She turned back to Harry, who was staring at her wide-eyed.

     "It's rude to stare," said the woman severely, "and close your mouth.  You don't know what could fly into it."  Too stunned to do anything else, Harry did as he was told.  "Now, you will start by telling me your name."

     "Harry Potter," he mumbled, automatically flattening his bangs.

     "Stop that," the woman reprimanded him, "and speak up."

     "Harry Potter," said Harry louder.

     Now it was the woman's turn to stare.  "What an unusual name," she said thoughtfully.  Harry blinked.  He didn't think his name was that unusual.  Actually, it wasn't unusual at all!  The strangest thing, though, was that she was making no move to look at his scar.  "Well," continued the woman, "I have no idea who this 'Professor McGonagall' person is, but I am most certainly not her.  I am Morwen."  She gave Harry an odd look.  "Now, tell me where you've come from, Harripoter."

     "Harry Potter," he corrected her.  "And just call me Harry.  I'm from England.  Actually, where I came from was Hogwarts School in Scotland.  I don't know where this place is, but it's not in the British Isles, that's for sure."

     "Just what are you babbling about, er, Harry?" asked Morwen.

     Harry had no idea how to respond to this.  He may have been babbling a little bit, but any witch or wizard on Earth should have known what he was talking about.  Harry was fairly sure that Morwen was a witch, but…perhaps this wasn't really Earth?  His eyes widened in surprise at the thought.

     "Well, this is the Enchanted Forest, and you are most certainly not from around here," continued Morwen, confirming Harry's suspicions.  "Can you tell me what that stick you were holding is?" she nodded in the direction of the table where Harry's glasses had been.  Harry blinked as he saw what it was.  What was his wand doing there?  Oh, that's right.  He had carried his wand in his robe pocket while he was playing Quidditch, a habit he had formed when Voldemort came to power.

     "This is my wand," Harry explained, picking it up off the table.  "I use it to cast spells.  I'm a wizard, you see, and-"  Morwen gasped and he paused.  Her hand had flown up to her mouth and she was regarding Harry with shock.

     "Telemain, you might want to have a look at this!"

*%*%*%*%*%

Next chapter: In Which Harry Meets a Magician and Wonders How to Get Home

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