Chapter 20
It happened again.
That inexplicable sensation of time seeming to freeze but burst forward at the same time as yet another rift tore through the world, and yet again any and every being capable of feeling this... tear between worlds, froze and then, mere moments later, life went on.
Hermione felt as if the very air within her lungs had been stolen. She had never felt anything like it. It had hurt but it hadn't. She was completely dumbfounded, even an hour later.
"That is exactly what happened upon your arrival into our world."
Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion and an attempt to gather her thoughts.
"Is whatever it was that brought me here, trying to take me back?" It was a good question and as much as she was enjoying this world, she very much wanted to return to her own, where her friends, her family resided.
"I sincerely doubt it. I suspect your return would have occurred just as the rift was forming, if that was the intention." Hermione deflated. Gandalf was not being mean to her, or even cruel, he was merely stating what he honestly believed to be fact. She was very glad he never sugar-coated things for her as she never did for him. The young witch pondered on this new riddle, and she wondered, if she ever did get around to learning how to read the languages of this world, that maybe she could find a library or even a records' keeper to scour for any bit of information on her situation.
Not too-many days' travel from the two; a figure fell from the rift and into a forest. The slim, frail body crashing through trees and branches alike, took a tall golden-haired man down with it.