Little chance of helping with that now. Harry tries to push himself onto his elbows, his knees, but he's as uncoordinated as a drunk. He falls back to the ground, and the last distinctly human sound veers sharply into something much wilder and stranger.

He presses himself closer to the ground, head bowed, in the vain hope of steadying himself.

The change, when it comes, does not take long, and all at once, the clearing is quiet again, save for the drawing of long, greedy breaths.