The large orange shark-like creature's chicken-like legs had begun to change into doorknobs, and its head was becoming oddly box-shaped.  The creature screeched with rage, and a glob of green substance shot out at Harry from what looked like its eyeball.  Suffocating, Harry fell to the ground, the horrible sound of screeching still flooding his ears, blinding his other senses.  Had his spell worked?  He knew disappointedly as he felt his legs crumble beneath him, that it probably hadn't.  After all, he'd just learned it earlier that day…

Harry awoke to the throbbing pain of his left leg, which seemed to have been popped out of its socket.  He tried to sit up, but as he did his hip joint gave a low grinding noise, and he lied back down hastily.  What had happened?  The last thing he could remember was the sight of the strange orange creature, which had doorknobs for legs, and the little dwarf, who'd stepped boldly in front of him, axe in hand.  He smiled with little satisfaction… at least his spell had worked. 

Throwing a glance at his right, he spotted the strange dwarf approaching his bed slowly.  The battle-axe was strapped to his back once again, and his face contained a look of grief.  He sat on a chair next to Harry's cot, smiling grimly.

"  You alright?"

The strange Dwarf gave Harry a strange and sorrowful It-Was-All-My-Fault look, as he eyed the scar on his forehead.  Harry tried to stir a bit, but was unsuccessful.  When Harry failed to respond, the strange little man continued.

"  I'm Gimli, son of Gloin, forever at your service."

If not for the horrible pain Harry felt at the moment, he might have laughed at the names.  Gloin?  Wasn't that some body part or something?  Trying hard not to giggle, he shook off the thought and replied solemnly.

"  Harry Potter… er… at your …service."  The reply sounded very strange coming out of his mouth, but he ignored that fact.  He assumed it best to return the favor.

Gimli smiled a bit with satisfaction.  He leaned closer to Harry's bed, cringing slightly as if something smelled bad.  He seemed to have noticed Harry's questioning look at his grimace, and replied.

"  That stuff it shot at you… Nasty stuff…"  It was obvious that Gimli was at loss of words at the moment.  He knew it might be painful to talk about the incident so soon; he would wait until later to bring it up.  When Harry failed to respond again, the Dwarf continued.

"  And a nasty color, too."

Two fifth-year students, who were rushing in, dressed in Gryffindor robes and wearing little gold and scarlet badges on their chests, interrupted Gimli.  One had very bushy hair and slightly protruding front teeth, and the other was tall and lanky, with bright red hair and many freckles.  The two rushed over to the bed, breathing heavily and leaning over Harry as if he were some lab experiment.  Their gaze flickered over Harry, as if expecting to see some fatal bloody wound on him.  They seemed to ignore Gimli, as they examined their best friend.

"  Are you alright?  Harry!  Speak to me, Harry!"  Hermione screamed in a rushed voice.  She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him frantically, as if he were some person that had just been rescued from drowning in the ocean.

Harry let out a yell, breathing heavily. 

"  I'm alright, Hermione."

She let out a sigh of relief, and then her expression changed.  The relieved look that had stayed on her face for a split second soon changed to anger.

"  HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY WORRY ME LIKE THAT!  YOU KNOW RON AND I WERE WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU!  HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN, YOU IRRESPONSIBLE-"

Hermione sat dumbstruck, her mouth hanging open as if someone had pressed the 'off' switch.  Gimli had hit her hard across the back, and was now grimacing at her slightly. 

"  Shut up, already!"  He growled, in an annoyed and angered tone.  Ron stared at him awestruck, for you'd have to have lots of nerve to slap Hermione like that.  The Dwarf seemed to have noticed the prefect's gaze upon him, and turned to him.

"  What?"  He snapped at Ron, who said nothing.  Harry passed out.

Legolas the Elf moved like a ghostly shadow through the thick, dark trees.  It was a strangely dim morning, and he found himself squinting desperately ahead, good as his eyes were.  His hand was clutching his bow very tightly; his breaths fell hard and uneven.  He'd never been in a forest like this before, not even Mirkwood had been as dense and dark as this.  And he'd never hunted anything like what he was hunting now.  And he'd never been hunted by whatever was hunting him now.

He stopped for a breath, and reclined back against the roots of a large tree, gaze darting back and forth, left and right, half-expecting to see the dark-cloaked creature that had he'd seen moments before.  When nothing came into view, he heaved a sigh and stood again.  No sooner had he stood, than the cloaked creature appeared from behind the tree, and floated disturbingly toward him. 

Instinctively, he raised his bow and set an arrow to the string.  Hardly checking to ensure perfect aim, he let fly the arrow.  To his great dismay, the arrow had passed directly through the creature and bounced strangely off the roots of the tree as if it were rubber.  The arrow had been sent flying up into the air, and he watched it ascend the treetops, splitting into the sunlight.

He looked over the creature warily, stepping back.  He found it no use to draw the twin swords on his back, for surely they'd just pass right through the creature like the arrow had done.  Legolas stepped back, wide-eyed, breathing hard.  What was he to do?

He awoke in a dingy, dim cabin, which to his disgust smelled strongly of raw meat.  He twitched, startled to find himself being watched by a quite large, slobbering black hound.  Its gaze pierced him, but he didn't feel much like moving.  Sitting up, he felt his head throb painfully.  Putting a slender hand to his forehead, he looked around the cabin.  He could see a large, black haired man with his back turned, sitting at a table.  He appeared to be reading something, if even he was capable of reading.  Very much relieved, Legolas found no sign of the horrid creature that had attacked him before.  As his thought rested upon it, he felt a terrible, unspeakable sadness flood his mind…

Hagrid turned around with a start, having heard the Elf's sob of mental pain.  He made his way over to the bed hurriedly, crouching so as not to hit his large head on the wooden ceiling.  He held up a silver flask, and forced some of the drink down his throat.

Legolas calmed down, but was now cringing at the horrid taste of the drink.  The giant chuckled a deep, hearty laugh, and spoke.

"  Are yeh alright, sir?  Dementor got yeh.  Put up one hell of a fight, though, yeh did."

Legolas just sat and stared at him in disgusted amazement.  How could something be so large and smell so bad, and be so kind?  He smiled a bit at the thought.  Hagrid turned briskly.  A knock had come at the door…