Chapter 4: It's just a Book

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"Yes, Gandalf. As is what most call me. Dark have been the times of late, and with it the most unexpected things have happened. A hobbit and his gardener bear great burdens across wide and open country and those who have not had tidings in many a time reunite over matters much too horrid. I have been all over Middle Earth through its many ages and yet have I to meet a character such as you. But you know this already, don't you?"

His voice was deep and grandfatherly. Raspy with the tone of someone who enjoyed a good smoke and grey on every inch of his hair, he was exactly as the book described him but not as she imagined. Perhaps she was biased, but she thought he'd look more like Dumbledore and show more of his age. He was old, at least in appearance, but not as wrinkly as Albus had been but still shared the twinkling eyes. He was much more bushy in the way of hair, and unlike Albus was very grey instead of cotton. He was also much taller but still had the appearance of a weary old man; something Hermione knew would vanish in the heat of battle.

"Maybe." She said, "Things were almost changed by me knowing what I know."

"Ah yes, with the Captain of Gondor."

"But how do you know?"

Stupid question. Of course he knew. He was Gandalf for Merlin's sake. He probably met with the order of wizards or something and found out all about her.

"A wizard knows many things, and especially those of whom a person wears so apparent on their faces." He said, speaking in riddles the way she remembered in the book.

"My face?" She asked.

He walked around the chaise and came a bit closer to her, "My dear, it is not hard to see what you have just experienced." He took her by a hand on her back and led her to the chaise to sit. "For it is splattered like an imprint all over your face."

She smiled at him and followed his lead and sat.

"So you know? Everything, I mean."

"Only that of which you have already told me."

She noticed Ithilwen and Eruadan had gone even though they had promised her a bath and left the basket with the soaps was sitting atop her bed. They had probably had gone when the saw Gandalf, and figured since that was one of the people she had asked for to leave her with him.

"Did you know? That I was coming, I mean?"

"I have been aware of you since you came upon the city's borders." From within his cloak he pulled a pipe, filled it, and began to blow a steady stream of smoke into the crisp air. "I must admit, it has been sometime since I've come across someone with such power. I know most things and thoughts from the eastern shore to the western deserts- most things. Those that I know naught of are usually a fouler kind."

Hermione took a quick intake of air.

Was this a bad thing?

"Sir?" She asked him when he paused.

"But I have not seen this from you. At least," a bushy grey eyebrow rose above his pipe, "not yet."

Hermione smiled. Gandalf reminded her so much of Dumbledore.

"You can trust me Gandalf. All I want is to figure out why I'm here." She clasped her hands in her laps and pursed her lips. "And if I can go home."

He took another puff from his pipe. "This, my dear, is not something I can answer." She frowned, wanting an explanation. "Come, tell me your tale."

"Well, do you want all of it?"

"As much as you deem necessary."

"I suppose I should start, well, at the beginning. My name is Hermione Jean Granger, born to Muggle parents in London, England…"

Hermione found herself rambling off as usual, but this time the person listening to her didn't get glassy eyes halfway through her speech. It was well into the night by now, and Hermione caught herself yawning before she realized she was tiring, but she needed to continue.

"I always insisted on finishing my schooling, but I suppose it wasn't until after the war that I realized everything was alright, and then this happens."

She told him about the book, and how she felt as though she couldn't put it down; the lights that came from it and her accidental bringing of her to Middle Earth.

"Would you like to see it?" She asked him.

He took a long puff from his pipe that he managed to still be smoking even now, and shook his head.

"I fear that that would be a mistake. I can see in your eyes that you know all of which is written in those pages, and it must be for your eyes only." His hand came to rest on her shoulder. "If times could become any more bleak than I had ever guessed, I have been proved wrong again. I fear that if what is in that book is seen by any of this world history could change, and not necessarily for the better. This book is a weapon, and in the wrong hands it could prove to be the destruction of us all."

"But that's not what's in—"

"Don't tell me, my dear! For not even I can tempt myself from changing the way history is meant to be." He gripped her shoulder even more tightly. "Even if I knew what would happen, in my effort to see it go right I would already be changing the course of events. It is quite unfortunate that to you our world seemed only a tale written on paper. But I suppose the Valar have their explanation for these types of things."

"I see." She whispered.

She was alone. She had no one here she could honestly be completely truthful to if she couldn't be so with Gandalf. History and the lives of everyone in Middle Earth literally rested in her hands. And she had already messed it up, regardless of her trying to fix it. Boromir had been her first mistake here, and no matter what she would strive to make it her last. Gandalf had also been somewhat of a mistake, she had barely let it slip that everything was going to be alright in the end, but Gandalf was beyond intelligent and she knew he had picked up on her mistake their too. She had to make everything right again, and if that meant that she had to hide herself in a broom cupboard for fear that any sort of interaction could change even the slightest of things, then the broom cupboard she would be until everything she knew to pass went completely on course.

"So then, what should I do?" She asked him, her voice faltering mid-sentence and giving away her worries.

"I'm afraid that you are grounded to this world for now. Knowledge of this is beyond my reach, and until I find it it's better to remain guarded and hidden. A council has been scheduled for tomorrow, and amongst other things the fate of the One Ring shall be decided, this, you no doubt already know." He stood up then, and pocketed his pipe. "Those who have been handpicked from far lands will come and hear the fate of the Ring. This you also know. I shall say no word of you to the council, for fear that this might change things. Instead I shall speak with Lord Elrond in private. You have not told me much of what will unfold so I do not think it so dangerous to seek advice from him, yet I will only describe you as a seer. In the meantime my dear, keep the book safe, and away from any whom could see it."

He stepped forward to leave in dramatic fashion but she stopped him.

"Thank you Gandalf." She said, sad to have him leave her already.

"Do not thank me yet my dear, for we have not yet understood anything of this predicament. For now, sleep well, for you will be under watch of protective elven eyes." He made a crinkly old smile and vanished behind the open doors of the Homely House.

Not seconds after he left Hermione heard murmuring outside her door and watched as the siblings returned to her room. Ithilwen entered first followed by her brother Eruadan, but didn't come in past a few feet.

"My lady, it is well into the night, do you still wish to commence with your bath?"

Hermione, tired but still feeling quite dirty after walking and riding around in her sweat all day, immediately perked up at the suggestion.

"If it isn't too much trouble, yes I'd love to."

Ithilwen nodded and Eruadan turned and left on her queue. She hurried to the fire and roused it from the embers, and then with a gesture led Hermione to a small connecting room in the corner.

It was no more than a few meters on each side, but had large open windows in which a grand view of the city could be seen that made it seem much larger. In the center was an in-ground tub that looked more like a natural hot spring than tub because of the Elven workmanship. It had no water, and that's where Hermione supposed Eruadan had gone.

Exhausted and aware that she was safe and in a place where Ithilwen would take care of her, she nearly dowsed off as the elf stripped her of her Hogwarts robes and placed her in the tub. She vaguely remembered the gradual pouring of hot water into the tub and it slowly filling up but as soon as it reached past her waist her head lolled back and her eyes shut. It seemed only a moment was she asleep before she was awakened by Ithilwen as she slipped a nightgown dress over her head and helped Hermione string her arms through the silk sleeves.

Ithilwen helped Hermione to the bed, pulling back the sheets for her and tucking her in. Hermione nearly out for the count again, lay her head back on the down-filled pillows, but couldn't close her eyes.

From somewhere deep inside her stomach she felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness and before she could wipe them away large tear droplets formed and fell down her face from the corner of her eyes followed by gentle sobbing.

He couldn't believe she'd gotten herself into such a mess, and this time she was virtually alone. Harry and Ron were not here for her, and as much as she wanted to claim sole brains and cleverness in their friendship she knew that as much as they needed her she needed them. She wouldn't last without her brave Harry and supportive Ron. Especially in a place she had only read about in books.

Ithilwen, concerned but not necessarily alarmed, caressed Hermione's hair in gentle strokes hoping to calm the tiny human. To her, Hermione was merely an infant in a situation far past her wisdom, and the only thing Ithilwen could do for her was try and comfort the child the best way she could. She hadn't meant to, but her keen sense of hearing had heard tiny bits of the girl's conversation with the Wizard and she felt horrible that someone so young had been through such torture. She had seen the many scars that were scattered here and there over the girls body but spent most of her attention at the thick line across the girls neck that could have only been created by a very sharp knife.

Hermione's sobbing was broken by a voice like golden bells in the springtime. Ithilwen was singing to her, strongly but quietly, in a tone Hermione couldn't help but find soothing.

Like a child Hermione's cries died down with the intrusion of the voice and the caresses, and she fell victim to the night.

The afternoon sun was shining through the vast windows of Hermione's room bathing her in its light as she slept and so was the way Ithilwen found her the fourth time she came to check on Hermione that day.

This time though Hermione was roused by Ithilwens duties as she placed Hermione's strange clothing on the end of her bed, freshly washed and pressed to the best of her ability.

"Good morning." Hermione said to her, lifting herself from her horizontal position.

"It is past noontime." Ithilwen said, chuckling softly. "You seemed too tired to disturb, so I let you be."

"Oh, dear." Hermione gasped. "You are far too kind, but I should have definitely woken up as soon as possible!"

Hermione's thoughts went immediately to the council. She had no choice, considering everything that had already deferred from the original story, she had to go to the council and make sure everything went right. If there was even the small chance that something could go wrong, and there was, then Hermione had to go and see it all unfold correctly.

Hermione almost dressed back into her Hogwarts robes but at Ithilwens protest that she should wear a simple green gown with golden trimmings Hermione decided it was for the best. If she didn't want to change anything then she would have to look the part to not raise anyone's suspicion. She put the gown on and ate some fruit and a bit of biscuits that were sweet and dipped in sugar and drank from a small goblet filled with a nectar not too far in taste from a mango.

After seeing that Hermione had ate and was well fed, Ithilwen left to see to her other duties of the day. Hermione wondered where she would go and what she would be doing, but didn't ask and said a friendly "goodbye" as Ithilwen dismissed herself.

She had her own mission after all.

Gandalf had made it clear that she should stay away from anyone or anything that she could possibly jeopardize by changing it in the slightest, but she had already changed a little bit already, and she needed to make sure that everything was going the way it should. She couldn't chance it, and all she had to do was make sure that she wasn't seen.

Which, perhaps unfortunately for her, was easy. She wasn't noticed too often in Hogwarts or anywhere for that matter when she wasn't with Harry or Ron, but for the most part she liked it that way. She didn't have to deal with the drama and idiocy of her peers and could get her work done, exactly as she wanted it.

In her new elven dress she hoped she wouldn't stick out too much and going to the vanity she fixed her curly hair over her ears so they wouldn't be too noticeable. The only thing she knew she had going against her was the fact that she was so tiny here, more so than she felt she was at her home. The trip to Middle Earth might have shrunk her, or made her body younger, but she thought just the fact that the people here were much larger than her was just that.

She stepped out into the hallway, and as she made her way down the long open corridor she realized that the Last Homely House was bigger than she thought. She tried to follow the sound and the smell of fresh air, but since the house was so open she was basically going in circles. She passed by a few elves here and there busily going about their duties and everyone greeting her with at least a nod.

Then, she came upon something she simply couldn't resist.

Right in front of her was one of the libraries she saw the previous day. This one, big and open with shelves made of grey stone and large tapestries and paintings was simply seducing her. Falling under the spell of books once again she entered it and a little voice in the back of her mind told her it was better this way, probably her inner Gandalf, and that here she would be out of the way.

Her feet found herself a window seat and her hands caught a book, the first that she saw on the window seat and was reading it before she knew it. It was a history of this world. Fitting, since one of the first books she had read of her own was Hogwarts: A History. Some of the information she knew, but most of it she didn't and she sucked in the information greedily.

A loud clang rang through the library echoing off the stone walls and vibrating Hermione's seat, and she jumped up wand at the ready. She set the book down respectfully back on the bench and turned to a doorway. It came from an adjoining room and slowly she crept off in the direction of the sound that frightened her.

What she found was a complete surprise.

Boromir stood alarmed near a large stone statue of a woman, the hilt of a sword down by his feet and a surprised expression on his face. Across from him, nearly on the opposite side of the room was another man; this one oddly familiar but Hermione couldn't see him clearly. He held a book in his hands and was peering above it at Boromir with an expression a mix of amusement and annoyance.

Boromir turned and glided away from the statue, not seeing her at her end of the room and exiting out another.

Curious, but sensing no danger, Hermione returned her wand to her sleeve as she had no back pocket and turned away from the stranger and back to her window seat.

"You know Boromir of Gondor, my Lady?" A voice asked behind her.

Hermione had hoped she could have just slipped away unnoticed as she had planned, and winced when he called out to her.

"I apologize. I see that I have startled you." She turned around to face him.

"Don't worry about it—"

He picked up the sword from the ground, replacing it respectfully on the stone table and giving her a good look at him.

He was tall, obviously, and regal. With dark brown hair and a trimmed beard. His eyes pierced through the air toward her, and his clothes were dark but in the elven fashion.

Hermione wasn't daft. This had to be Aragorn. Of course he wouldn't introduce himself as such, much preferring his birthright to be downplayed, but as Strider if he introduced himself at all or something equally as inconspicuous.

Reminding herself of Gandalf's advice, she squeaked, realizing that she was entering a situation that she probably shouldn't.

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