DISCLAIMER: Not mine, just my imagination running away with fictitious characters that someone else created.
Chapter 1
If someone was to ask Hermione, this was not how she pictured the end of the war. To be cold and alone.
She envisioned death and destruction, hoped for lights victory, and expected her body to not only take a severe beating, but to even perish in the battle entirely. Being a girl of logic, these expectations made sense, they were realistic. War was no time for fanciful thoughts and dreams filled glorious victories and happily ever afters. That is what Harry and Ron were for, Hermione was there to ensure their purpose was fulfilled.
However as cynical and bitter as those thoughts seemed to be, they weren't entirely true. It was what she tried telling herself to lessen the impact of loss, but nothing had prepared her for seeing her dear friend lifeless in Hagrid's arms. And it was in that moment that a faint realisation occurred to her- she had expected that they would live through it.
Everything from that point on was a blur, the screams of anguish, the shouts of denial, Hagrid's howling sobs, the cackling death-eaters and Voldemort's booming voice. Magic swelled in the air- that was the most vivd thing, it lay thick in the air, crackling with static as everyones emotions ran high and adrenalin raced on overdrive. Hermione remembered that she could feel it pulsing, seemingly angry that it was fuelled from from every direction. When she watched as Neville raised the Sword of Gryffindor over his head and swing it down on that wretched snakes head she felt as though the magic around them took a deep breath and held it- everything stood still and silent for what felt like a small eternity and then the power of the Horcrux screeched out its demise.
But that wasn't the only thing that lent its unearthly sound. The pent up magic finally exhaled and the unbearable screech pressed into Hermione's eardrums with such pressure that she was certain if it didn't desist they would explode, but it did stop and in its wake an even louder silence followed. Hermione didn't feel anything despite her vision swimming in and out of focus then like an apparition, nine shadowy figures descended on her. She remembered thinking they were dementors, but when their icy grip took hold of her she realised that it was something else entirely.
So with vision swimming and a growing uncomfortable pressure around her whole body Hermione's sense of hearing finally returned. People- her friends- around her were shouting and they sounded dismayed. The nails on a black board screeching started again and the pressure on her body built to an unbearable pain. She briefly had a moment to think that this was going to end badly when a crack sounded in her ears. The scream she released surprised even herself, it mingled with the shrieks from the shadow figures and then everything turned black.
When she gained consciousness again it was still dark as she lay on the grass, she remembered thinking for a brief moment that she might have passed out and dreamt the last half hour or so, but the deathly silence around her dispelled that notion. When she finally rose after many failed painful attempts the sight stunned her- nothing but endless, bare plains of grass with not a single sign of life. No Hogwarts, death eaters, students- nothing. For one of the few, very few times Hermione ever remembered, her mind brought up a blank.
She didn't know how long she stood there stumbling in a circle and taking in the unfamiliar land around her by the light of a full moon, on reflection she should have known something wasn't right as the moon wasn't full when consciousness left her, but in her dumbfounded state Hermione conceded that details like that were easily overlooked. What Hermione did blame herself for was her lack of vigilance, because as she was about to take a another useless lopsided turn to view the barren land, she completely missed the great hulking figures rushing her and it wasn't until she heard a grunt that she turned and caught a glimpse of the most hideous creature she ever had the misfortune of seeing. Her scream didn't even get past her lips before her world turned black again.
Now she had all the time in the world to think about everything or anything that she could have done better. The lone perch she was placed on was an effective prison, no escape was to be had. The black tower easily rivalled any sky scraper she had seen in its height, when she braved looking over the edge the multitude of activity looked like an angry ant hill that someone kicked over, even standing was a problem as it felt like one particularly strong gust of wind would have toppled her off the edge. The black stone that the tower was built from was as hard and smooth as onyx, and the trap door that was the only way inside was so perfectly cut that it was completely concealed when closed. Hermione tried prying it open once, but after searching for the near invisible edge she only managed to partially detach her finger nail from its nail bed and turned her already sour mood positively apoplectic.
It didn't help thinking about how she ended up in this situation in the first place either, though Hermione knew she wouldn't have said anything different no matter how uncomfortable her current predicament left her, it didn't make it any less bleak. The rage that that man inspired left her bereft of any of her widely acclaimed wit and intelligence. "The arrogance of the presumptuous git!" Hermione vented her inner thoughts aloud to nothing but air. Yet despite how angry and helpless it made her feel she couldn't help thinking about her first days here.
"Where am I?' Hermione groaned when consciousness once again filtered into the darkness of her mind. Her head pounded mercilessly and it was only matched by the ache that encompassed her entire body. It hurt to breathe as air rasped down her scratchy dry throat and tried to expand her lungs only to be halted by a sharp pain that spread everywhere and forced the unwanted air out with a strangled cry. Yet her question was left unanswered, though it wasn't from a lack of company as someone pressed something to her dry lips and tilted some herbal concoction down her throat. She would have coughed from the sudden intrusion had it not been from the sheer agony of trying.
"Be still," a man finally spoke, his voice sounded old and reminded Hermione painfully of the late headmaster Dumbledore. "The tonic will soon ease the pain." No sooner had he spoken those words that Hermione felt the effects of this ''tonic', it swirled in her head and made her limbs feel light as feathers. Finally cracking an eye open Hermione was pleased that the light wasn't glaring as it could be during the day in the hospital wing, instead it must have been night time and the shadows from the candle light turned the white walls black. However Hermione wasn't of sound mind to take in the details as her vision swayed and blurred from the potent pain relief potion this man gave her followed silently by small sips of water that he helped her with.
"Where am I?" She asked again with a small amount of embarrassment when she heard herself slur,head drooping and the outline of the man dressed in a light cloak further blurring out of sight as her eyes shut against her will. She couldn't make out his features other than his voluminous light cloak and what could perhaps be a long white beard and hair to match. The resemblance once again pulled on the painful memories of her headmaster, but she was too far gone to dwell on them.
"You are in Isengard." Her question finally got answered only to spawn more, but Hermione just assumed she must be in some sort of safe house and was being looked after by an Order member that was unknown to her. There were far more pressing issues to address and when they finally popped into Hermione's head they jumbled themselves from the drug induced haze.
"What happened?" she asked sluggishly, her tongue felt thick and she wondered how this man could understand her garbled speech. But that thought was instantly replaced with her last waking moments and she couldn't help gasping out the first and most vivid image that burned into her memory "Harry!" It was a half cry and pathetic whimper as she tried to get enough air to talk. "Dead- he's dead! What happened to Ron?" She asked as tears leaked out.
"They are all dead to you."
At hearing that, something she never thought was possible, all ability to speak left her. Instead of the gut wrenching sob that wanted to wrack her entire being only a feeble moan escaped her lips that sounded like a slowly dying animal, her body too weak and painful to do otherwise. The word 'dead' just reverberated through her head as faces of loved ones spun and flashed around and around in all manner of grotesque forms of tortured frozen expressions in their death. And Harry, the only one she witnessed, limp and lifeless as he dangled from Hagrid's arms- her friend, her brother- dead.
"Who are you?" She whined unable to reign in her turmoil. "Why have you brought me here?" 'Why didn't you leave me to die with them'- she didn't voice that out loud, knowing that deep down she should be horrified.
"I am Saruman the White, Chief of the Maiar Order and Head of the White Council." Despite the deep soothing baritone of the mans voice, what he said made little sense to Hermione and had she been in even some of her normal frame of mind, warning bells would have sounded, but her despair took all of her attention. "Now drink this, you will be useless in your current state." It was the same potion he gave her earlier and Hermione gladly downed it in hopes to wipe her mind of any more painful thoughts.
The days that followed were a never ending cycle of sleeping and drowsy wakefulness. Her body was healing, while not as quickly as it would have done under a skilled healer, it was quicker than any muggle could achieve. Hermione only saw this man named Saruman occasionally and it was only to talk. The rest of the time a rather unfortunate looking man saw to her, with stringy greasy black hair that was peppered with grey, the palest skin she had ever seen on a human and even paler watery eyes. He made Hermione feel uneasy, if nothing else the very air around him seemed several degrees cooler and the evasive way he walked- or more accurately scuttled or stalked- but he always watched her too, unabashed and unwavering sometimes he just stood and stared well past what could be considered awkward.
He didn't endear himself to her either when the first two days she was forced to allow him to feed her when Hermione's arms shook uncontrollably from everything that had happened and the lack of food. She pointedly refused his 'help' when he brought a basin for her to freshen up, even though she still wore the same blood caked clothes from that day and could do nothing more than give herself a meagre bird bath. Despite all these things however, it was his name that made Hermione's skin crawl unpleasantly- Wormtongue- the resemblance between him and that revolting rat known as Wormtail were immeasurable, the worst of all was the fervid devotion to someone who was clearly more powerful. It was therefore with a small sense of relief when Saruman informed her that Wormtongue had left to go back to Edoras.
This lent to Hermione tacking her worry onto another matter that was bothering her and it left her with a growing sense of foreboding that had the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. During the infrequent talks she had with Saruman he always dropped names of places that Hermione never in life heard of- Edoras, Isengard and Fangorn Forest were just a few she remembered. She also picked up on things like the Valar and elves that didn't sound anything like the house elves she was used to. It sounded completely out of this planet and made a trickle of fear bleed into her confusion.
It was on one such day, maybe a week into her stay in the building she learned was the Orthanc Tower- a tower that was always dark on the inside as light tried and failed to filter in through the narrow windows to illuminate the jet black stone- that Saruman aided Hermione to walk slowly to a different room and sit in a chair. It felt good to move despite the ongoing ache she still experienced and almost had her forget about the grime she was still caked in. He offered her a lightly scented drink and then proceeded to study her. She questioned him about the places she remembered him mention and he freely answered her questions.
"How is it that I have never heard of any of these places or people?" She asked with trepidation. She had never heard of Gondorian's or Dunlending's, they were apparently races of people from what she gathered and therefore had to ask him the most obvious question no matter how much her intuition told her she didn't want to know.
"I would imagine it is because you never have." He replied with an amused smile playing around his aged lips as he watched her frown. Behind the frown Hermione's mind groaned into gear as its cogs slowly started turning back to life after a week of a drug infused stupor. Phrases started jumping out at her that she previously put down to an old mans rambling- he said they were all dead to her, not that they were dead, and he brought her here. How? Where was 'here' precisely, but he had answered that too.
Middle Earth
Hermione's studies started whirling through her head, ancient runes, arithmancy and obscure facts on travelling through time. She remembered reading about theories that combined runes and arithmancy to form gateways between alternate universes and separate plains of existence- she also remembered reading said theories with endless amounts of derision which was fuelled by the authors own 'should such realities even exist' footnote. Such concepts were as preposterous to wizards as time travel was to muggles- a nice fanciful idea, but nothing more.
"What have you done?" Hermione asked with mounting trepidation, even her own magic was was stirring with warning as she felt her skin prickle- she didn't need to read a book to know that it was telling her to be careful, especially when the old man in front of her was beginning to look far more sinister than one would expect for someone of his age.
"We are in need of some- assistance." He spoke carefully, clearly measuring his words. It only made Hermione dread what was coming even more, he did not come across as someone who would ask for assistance.
"Then why am I here?" Hermione asked, noting the irritation that briefly flashed across his face before he skilfully masked it again.
"I have studied your kind for some time now you see, and after many years a way to bring you here was found." He answered slowly, watching her. When Hermione didn't reply he continued with that same irritation she saw earlier. "Our greatest sorcerer has been- incarcerated most cruelly by those whom wish to rob him of his power. The lands have been turning to decay and whispers of a rebellion have been heard. Though you are hardly what I expected," he grimaced, "I should like to imagine you could understand the usefulness of powers combined when facing the enemy."
"What do you mean by 'your kind'?" Hermione asked as she felt her own magic wrap itself around her like a blanket, its warning clear as any bell. He wasn't to be trusted, his voice was too hypnotic and when she denied knowing of what he spoke she felt a malevolent oppression that could only be coming from him- it felt too much like Voldemort's presence.
"You have powers gifted to you by the Valar," he responded with much less control of his irritation. It only solidified Hermione's resolve to lie about her powers and her own magic warmed and comforted her for the decision and against the growing malice of his power.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione responded with out hesitation, she didn't voice her fear that this 'sorcerer' sounded more like a dark lord, it would only catch her out on the lie.
"Do not try my patience witch." He replied after a long pause. Hermione felt her right arm heat up where her wand was holstered, invisible to all, readying itself for use. It happened the moment she felt a current of magic, not her own, pass through her that felt like an electrical bolt, yet the man, or maybe more appropriately wizard, hadn't moved at all.
"I'm not a witch!" Hermione gasped out in surprise, fear beginning to course through her as the similarities between now and when she was in Malfoy Manor became a frightening reality. However she had lied then and survived with her sanity intact, she now resolved to do the same here. Despite the fear and pain it would no doubt induce to refuse, she did not want to be a willing participant or a puppet to a dark side when she fought so hard against it her whole life- it wasn't easy, but it was the right thing to do and if she suffered for it then at least she would do so with a clear conscious.
"You lie girl." He responded with frightening control, his own power tangibly growing in the air around Hermione. "And I do not have time for a females hysterics- let us see how long you will lie for."
And then the power engulfed her. Hermione's own sentient magic was no match for his forcefully directed attack and she crumpled to the ground from it with a scream. The invisible force bubbled through her veins and seemed to seize the very blood running through it, freezing her limbs to an unbearable point before heating up rapidly to make that blood race at an impossible speed and making her feel like she was in an inferno. And then it stopped, leaving her gasping on the ground with no visible sign of trauma.
"I don't know what you mean, honestly!" Hermione screamed from her new feeble position on the floor, taking the small measure of comfort that her magic provided as it strengthened her resolve not to materialise her wand and escape. And as expected it was the wrong answer to give as that same surge of power rushed through her body.
"I see you will not defend yourself you foolish child." Saruman said after what felt like an eternity of torture to Hermione. She was left panting miserably on the floor barely able to make out what he said. "Perhaps a little time alone will sway you to our cause." Hermione barely had any time to process what he said when she was lifted unceremoniously from the ground by two pairs of hands, one under each arm. When she was upright she focused on the wizard in white and his previously benign face contorted with an evil grin.
"You know what to do." He said and walked away. Hermione didn't even have time to panic about what that could possibly mean because before it could set in she turned to look at one of her captors and screamed in terrified shock. Whatever it was- and yes Hermione was confident it was an 'it'- was the most grotesque thing she had seen since the night on the empty field. It brought to mind images of the inferi that Harry once described to her and Ron. The skin seemed to be rotten and its features deformed and Hermione had to reign in her magic from exploding out of her from the emotional upheaval. The two things just grunted out what could be assumed as a laugh and hauled her away.
Unfortunately that wasn't the last time Hermione saw them. Over the days that she was kept exposed to the elements on top of the tower they were her most frequent company, fortunately for Hermione they only ever bought her food and drink and most didn't seem to talk, and the ones that did never said much.
This had left Hermione an ability to reflect on her current situation. The most common thought that filtered through her mind was the increased power of her magic, while she had always been conscious of it thrumming through her veins and felt it ebb and flow with her emotions, here- here being this Middle Earth she had no knowledge of- it felt almost primal, it reacted to not only her emotions, but the environment in general. It warmed her when she felt cold, cushioned the rock she was forced to huddle on and even cooled her down in the heat of the day. It by no means left her comfortable, but it did ease the discomfort.
The daily talks with Saruman weren't going any better either. He would appear on top of the tower every day and give Hermione the option to aid him in a venture he refused to give any details of, and every day Hermione refused with the same lie. It burned her to know she had the ability to at least attempt to defend herself- her magic riling at her refusal to utilise its indignant energy. She was always left curled in on herself when he was done, wanting to cry from pain, but a sick twisted thought that this had nothing on Bellatrix left her feeling disturbingly amused.
Thump
The noise snapped Hermione out of her musings as she looked around wondering where the noise could possibly come from. It was followed by several more before something burst through the invisible trap door and landed in a heap on the smooth black surface. The trap door shut itself with barely a whisper of expired air. Hermione was reeling from shock, she didn't even have time to gasp out a surprise, instead she studied the lump wondering if it was some new torture concocted for her. It took her a few moments to realise that it was a human being that was probably hurt before she moved.
"Are you ok?" She whispered from a distance, cautious about getting too close. Thinking the person unconscious, Hermione crawled closer wanting to see if they were hurt. So it was a surprise when he grunted and made Hermione hurtle back with a shout.
"Hmm, I will be." The lump grumbled revealing to Hermione that he was an old man, just like Saruman- just like Dumbledore. He seemed to gather himself up slowly and finally turned towards Hermione, who had scrambled to the opposite side of the tower top. His face was blood stained and Hermione was amazed that for his age he was able to move at all in his state, but there was something about him, she could feel his power surround him much like her own did. He was a wizard like Saruman, but she didn't sense the same malevolent quality to the magic like his, this however did not ease her trepidation of him- he was powerful, and she didn't know him at all.
"So it is true." Hermione heard him mutter from the opposite side of the tower. His gaze on her was unwavering and she didn't have any delusions about what he was speaking of. "How long has he kept you up here?"
"A week, maybe." Hermione replied, not taking her eyes off the old man.
"I see." He nodded, and Hermione refused to read into his compassionate eyes, the last old codger she met imprisoned her. "He isn't happy with you, it seems you have disrupted his plans."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked sharply wondering if it was amusement that she picked up in his tone, hating not knowing what was happening and only receiving scraps of information.
"It would appear you are not what he expected, and even more surprising that you have refused." He replied, this time there was no mistaking his amusement.
"I'm glad this is such a big laugh to you!" Hermione retorted, fed up with his riddles. Some part of her was mortified that she would speak to an elder in such a manner, but being held captive on a tower exposed to the elements for a week has left her with little to no patience, so with even more petulance she asked- "Who are you and what are you doing here anyway."
"I imagine I am here for the same reason you are child," he replied with an audible chortle and shocked Hermione, did this mean he was a prisoner too?
"And I go by many names, but you may call me Gandalf."
A/N: I'm probably digging my own fanfic grave here, still working on two other stories, but my mind won't let me rest. A warning: some updates may be a long wait, it all depends on my muse and attention span which is frivolous. On that note, let me know what you think, this is my take on a '10th Walker' over done I know, but I have only found a handful that I can stomach. So let me know what you think, constructive criticism more than welcome.
Please review =D