(A/N): Hey everyone! Hope your weekend is going well!

I am honestly just blown away by the response I've gotten so far on this story. Even if I didn't love the first chapter, you all seemed to and that makes me so happy! So hopefully you like this next chapter as well.

As I said before, Hermione starts out in this story in a depressive episode. This presents differently in every person but, for this story, her episodes start with the stressor that triggers her depression and sends her into a downwards spiral (which was shown in the first chapter), followed by a sort of dissociative state that leaves Hermione feeling numb and distant from her emotions (this chapter), and ends with her reconnecting with her emotions and begins to be able to process them in a healthy manner (the next few chapters). DO NOT TAKE THIS AS SOME SORT OF RULE OF THUMB OR GUIDE FOR DEALING WITH DEPRESSION. Depression presents itself differently in everyone and no two people go through episodes the same way.

This chapter is unbetaed and I'm incredibly tired so there are likely mistakes to be found here. My bad. I was just so excited to get this to you! (And I'm so excited for the next chapter because that's when Boromir finally arrives!)

Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Hermione knew even before she opened her eyes that she was still in Middle Earth. Even without being able to hear the soft voices around her that were not speaking any language she was familiar with, she would have known just from how her magic was beating through her nerves in time with her heartbeat. Though, the fluttering in her muscles could also be attributed to the aftermath of her time with Saruman.

At least the bed is soft, she thought. Hermione didn't open her eyes though or give any sign that she was aware to the people in the room. Not because she wasn't ready to talk to them or because she feared being forced to face the fact that she was still alive in a strange, new world- though Hermione knew she should be feeling both- but because she couldn't be bothered to.

After the pain and exhaustion came the floaty, dissociating feeling that made Hermione feel like there was nothing in the world that could bother her; she'd been through the pattern before. The worst of the episode will come after the bubble of numbness is popped and she's forced to actually muddle through her grief. A distantly horrifying prospect.

Voices came and went as Hermione continued to silently lie in her extremely comfortable bed. It wasn't until she heard Gandalf's voice that she bothered to pay attention.

"Aragorn."

"Gandalf. I came to see how your young friend was doing."

"She is recovering, though we won't know how far along she is until she awakens. I do not know to what extent Saruman tortured her."

The other man in the room- Aragorn- sighed. "Anyone who could survive Saruman without breaking won't succumb to their wounds after the fact. Though she should not have been subjected to him in the first place."

Hermione opened her eyes, blinking back tears as the faint sunlight shining into the room caused her retinas to burn. Turning her head slowly to the side, Hermione saw Gandalf resting in the chair next to her bed.

His gaze was already on her. "So, you're finally awake?" he greeted cheerfully. "We were starting to grow concerned." She raised her eyebrows, trying to silently convey her confusion since her throat felt too dry to speak. It seemed to work, since Gandalf continued, "You've been asleep for nearly three days. Understandable really, considering all that you have been through. Rest assured though, you are in good hands here and Lord Elrond is an honorable man- no harm will come to you while you are here."

Her magic burned and she knew he was wrong. She knew her magic was trying to warn her of something, but she wasn't sure what. Carefully pushing herself upright on shaking arms, Hermione glanced around for some water. Spotting a pitcher and cup placed on the table next to her bed, she glanced down at her arms and considered whether she had enough strength to even pick up the pitcher, let alone pour it.

"Allow me," came Aragorn's voice from across the room. Hermione watched as a tall, dark haired man walked towards her bed, reaching out to pour a small amount of water into the cup and then held it out to her, expression steady.

"This is Aragorn," Gandalf introduced. "He is a good friend."

They studied each other for a moment before Hermione carefully took the cup from him and took several small sips. "Thank you," she whispered once she had her voice back.

"You're welcome. Gandalf has told me what you have been through and your strength is something to be impressed with."

Hermione shrugged, tone turning glib. "It was nothing. Saruman was not the worst I have faced by far."

Aragorn frowned. "That is saddening to hear from one so young."

"Well, you know what they say: it's not about the number of years you've lived but what you have experienced in them."

He smiled slightly. "I actually have not heard that. It must only be a proverb from where you are from."

His words were an unnecessary reminder that she had ventured somewhere she wasn't supposed to be, even though it had happened reluctantly on her part. Hermione hadn't forgotten. But did Aragorn know that? How much had Gandalf told the people here about her? He really only knew what Saruman had told him about her arrival; Hermione had made sure that the scant info she'd shared wouldn't tell him much.

Gandalf broke the silence before it could become uncomfortable. "You should know that Lord Elrond would like to speak with you when you are ready."

She frowned. "Who is Elrond?"

"Lord Elrond is our host for the time being," Gandalf answered. "He has dropped by to see you a time or two, but he is currently very busy with preparations for the upcoming council."

Hermione blinked at him. She had only just awoken and already Gandalf was wanting to add things to her schedule. After the conversation she'd just overheard, Hermione would have expected him to be more focused on her recovery than on their host. The development didn't sit right in her mind. She had thought she'd gotten past her distrust during their time with Sarumon, but his statement seemed to have rekindled that initial spark of it.

Pushing back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of bed, Hermione started to stand but was distracted by the sight of the white nightgown she wore. It was light and feminine, made from a soft and silky fabric, and seemed far more expensive than anything she had ever worn, especially for something as simple as sleeping. Even her most expensive evening gowns weren't as well-made as this.

"Where are my clothes?" she asked because it seemed like the right thing to do. Her mokeskin pouch was the only thing that really matter, and it was still hanging from the string around her neck. She could feel how much it had shrunk while she was asleep; Hermione could barely sense its weight pressed against the hollow of her throat and guessed that the magic in the pouch had forced it to shrink down as much as physically possible because she had been surrounded by so many unfamiliar people.

"Here." Gandalf nodded to a bundle sitting on a table near a wardrobe. "I thought you might prefer to keep them close by, though I fear most of it is unsalvageable."

Hermione nodded. She hadn't thought otherwise.

Aragorn misinterpreted her silence. "My apologies if the knowledge that your clothes were changed has made you uncomfortable, but it was necessary upon your arrival here. It was thought you might rest better if you were clean."

Hermione looked up and smiled faintly at him. "I'm not uncomfortable- just admiring such a lovely gown."

"Only the best is provided to guests here in Rivendell," Gandalf told her, giving her an encouraging smile.

The best attire to make up for the subpar manners.

"Is there someplace I can…" Hermione trailed off, unsure of how to actually ask her question.

Bathroom?

Restroom?

Lavatory?

A room to relieve oneself in?

Piss?

Somewhere I can stare at my reflection in a mirror and see what's changed?

Aragorn seemed to understand what she was asking and gestured to a door on the other side of the room. "You can refresh yourself in there. Would you like a bath to be drawn? Lord Elrond has suggested it may help with any soreness you're experiencing."

Hermione shook her head, pushing herself up. Taking a bath would be too much work, and it seemed that someone had already done a good enough job of cleaning her up.

Carefully walking into the other room, Hermione was relieved to see that- although not as polished and clean as a modern bathroom- it also wasn't something from the Middle Ages. If she had to label it, the space would be a step up from a toilet room built later on in the age of the Roman Empire.

Spotting a mirror on the wall next to the large tub, she walked over and stood squarely in front of it, dispassionately taking in her appearance.

She'd lost quite a bit of weight. Her face was quant- jawbone too defined, cheeks sunken in, and her eyes far too large over the dark skin below her eyelids. Her collarbone was protruding from where it peeked out from the straps of the nightgown she wore and her arms…

Future-Hermione was going to be very grateful that she first saw her appearance while still in the numbness phase, because seeing the post-war Hermione from six years ago staring back at her in the mirror would have caused a different Hermione to break down completely. As she was now, all Hermione did was carefully catalogue what was different on her body, pushing down the straps of her gown and sending it falling to the floor. She gently traced her fingers over each individual rib bone, pushed down on the jutting edges of her hips, and ran a nail over the letters carved into her arm that hadn't stood out that much since she'd first gotten it. And then she sank down onto the floor, onto her crumbled gown, and curled on her side on the cold stone.

Hermione forced herself to think through the thoughts she'd been ignoring since she arrived in Middle Earth, aware that it would be easier to get them sorted while she was unfeeling instead of trying to do it when she was emotional again.

Ginny would be looking for her. Hermione wondered if she'd go to Ron or Harry with her concerns.

Things hadn't gone as well as she had hoped they would after the war. She'd known immediately that she'd made a mistake kissing Ron. The problem was, Ron didn't feel the same way. For months afterwards, he'd kept popping up and trying to convince her to give him a chance. It didn't matter that they had nothing in common, it didn't matter that Hermione had plainly stated that she didn't love him or even really trust him anymore, Ron was convinced that they belonged together. The Boy-Who-Lived two sidekicks together forever. Never mind the fact that that idea would have made Harry the third person in their relationship, meaning that, once again, Ron wouldn't have something all his own that he didn't need to share. Which Hermione had suspected was one of the main reasons that Ron even wanted to date her- to show that there was someone out there that would choose him over Harry and someone he could have all to himself.

Hermione hadn't been surprised when Harry sided with Ron. That's just how it was- the sun rose in the east, Quidditch would never be interesting, and Harry always stuck with Ron.

Oddly enough, it was Ginny that refused to turn away from Hermione. In the beginning of their friendship, Ginny had always been worried that Hermione would spontaneously fall in love with Harry but, once she realized that the bond between the two would never be romantic, she'd become Hermione's best female friend.

Ginny had always thought that she and Ron would be horrible together and openly stated her opinion on more than one occasion. "You have nothing in common," she'd told Hermione when the brunette had tentatively questioned her when Ron's harassment had been at an all-time high. "My brother is a thick-headed prat who only cares about Quidditch, chess, and food. Even I can't stand him half the time; you would kill him after one week together. I'm still surprised you all came out alive after living in a tent together for months."

So, despite the combined efforts of her mother and brother, Ginny had stayed loyal to Hermione and told Harry that if he was going to turn his back on the only truly steadfast friend he'd had, then he wasn't the man she thought he was. When Harry hadn't been able to respond to Ginny's declaration, she'd responded for him and ended their relationship. It was the first time someone had ever truly had Hermione's back and the two had been inseparable ever since.

Ginny was traveling with the Holyhead Harpies when Hermione left, so Luna or Susan may have realized she was missing first. She thought she might have had dinner plans with Luna and her husband to discuss their latest foray into the Amazon rainforest. Or maybe the plans were with her friends from Hufflepuff to go over some proposal Susan had written to bring before the Wizengamot. Hermione couldn't remember. They'd be worried and confused and there was nothing she could do. Which she secretly couldn't helping thinking might be a plus rather than a minus at that point.

Hermione was many things: loyal, brilliant, determined, and brave to name a few of the adjectives bequeathed to her by the Wizarding World over the years. But, if there was one thing that she had always known herself to be, it was pragmatic. While a part of her may have wanted to stubbornly insist that if there was a way to bring her here then there had to be a way to send her back, she had far too much knowledge to believe that that was true, and she wasn't interested in lying to herself right then. Magic wasn't so simple, so clean-cut. Using magic to do something didn't mean that you could use it to change things back.

There was a knock on the door. "My lady?" a female voice called. "May I come in?"

It took a moment for Hermione to remember how to speak. "Yes."

She didn't bother trying to cover herself or get up. It was too much effort and her nudity didn't bother her.

The door opened and Hermione heard the woman inhale sharply before stepping lightly into the room and closing the door behind her. Feet padded towards her, fabric rustled, and then hands gently pulled her upright.

The woman kneeling before her was so beautiful that Hermione felt some emotion slip through the numbness. She had long black hair, clear grey eyes that seemed young yet weighted with knowledge, and skin so flawless it almost glowed. Hermione thought she may actually hate her a little bit later, especially if she turned out to be as nice are Hermione thought she might be.

She smiled gently at Hermione, eyes full of concern. "My name is Arwen." Hermione raised a brow, waiting. "Are you in need of assistance?"

"No," Hermione answered.

Arwen continued to look her over and Hermione patiently waited for her to be finished. "I brought a gown for you to wear," she eventually stated, shifting back to stand and easily bringing Hermione up with her. Apparently Arwen had realized it would be better to just act since Hermione was more than willing to let her do as she wished.

Hermione watched as Arwen picked up a white shift that rested on a small table along with what she assumed was a purple dress.

"Gandalf said that you come from a land far away," Arwen started, helping Hermione pull on the shift and then starting on the dress. "That you were unaware of our lands until Saruman brought you here. While I know we could not begin to understand what you are going through, I hope you will be comfortable while you are here." She fitted the gown over Hermione so that it draped properly, pausing for a moment over the neckline before adjusting it slightly so that the scar from Dolohov's curse was covered.

Looking down at the dress, Hermione's mind drifted to the purple robes that employees used to wear at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"I do not know what happened to you before you came to us," she continued, moving slowly to cup Hermione's face and tilt it upwards so that she would meet her gaze, "But I promise you that no more harm will befall you while under my father's care."

Staring at her more closely, Hermione noticed the points of her ears and realized that Arwen must be an elf- which really should have been obvious- and was apparently the daughter of Lord Elrond at that. They're really nothing like house elves, she mused. But why would a lord's daughter go so far as to help her dress- to do the tasks that Hermione imaged would generally be left to a servant?

"May I ask what happened?" Arwen was so careful around her and Hermione was almost amused. After all, there's no need to worry about what was already broken.

"I made a mistake," Hermione told her simply. So many mistakes. She easily pushed those memories aside because it was done. It was over and it would seem that the universe took it upon itself to make sure her monsters could never return for her.

"Did you learn from it?" was all Arwen asked.

"No."

Those first few days were a blur to Hermione. She couldn't be bothered to leave her room and instead just sat in a chair by the large bay windows near her bed. Rivendell was gorgeous and there were so many vivid colors and peaceful scenes everywhere she looked, but the beauty was tinged by something. If Hermione had been functioning normally, she might have been able to tell what the problem was but she wasn't.

Besides, this wasn't her world and whatever troubles lay within it weren't ones she needed to concern herself with.

She spoke to no one other than Aragorn and Arwen. Gandalf had disappeared somewhere within the city and Hermione was grateful for the break from him. Helping her escape from that tower didn't really change anything- she was past the point of trusting old men who excelled at playing dotty old fools.

Dumbledore may have been Harry's hero but the more Hermione had learned about him and his actions, the more he came to be the villain in her memories. Voldemort may have used Dark Magic and been unnaturally cruel, but Dumbledore was the one who shaped them from children into the warriors he needed to win his war without giving a damn about them as actual human beings. They were nothing more than his pawns that were now seen as his legacy.

And what a glorious legacy it was.

Hermione had always wondered if the people he'd killed haunted his dreams. Hers always did.

"When did you last eat?" asked Aragorn. She glanced over at him, unaware that he had entered her room.

She shrugged, unsure of when her last meal had been. She knew Arwen had brought in food last night, but she couldn't remember if she had actually eaten any of it.

"Arwen said she was unable to get you to eat anything yesterday," he told her, and Hermione noted the obvious concern in his voice. Why did it matter to him what she did?

Aragorn sighed as she continued to silently stare at him. "Get up," he finally ordered, walking over to her and gently pulling her to her feet.

"What?" She stumbled upright and would have fallen over if it wasn't for Aragorn's arm around her waist.

"I do not know what you experienced before arriving in Rivendell," he told her, echoing Arwen's words from days before, "but you cannot carry on like this." He waited a moment for her to get her legs under her before propelling her out the door. "You are still alive, little one, yet you behave as though you have died."

"Haven't I though?" Hermione asked, feeling almost philosophical. "Aren't we only truly alive because of the memories others carry of us?"

"What do you mean by that?" He had led her down a hallway and out into a small garden filled with flowers that she hadn't been able to see from her room.

"You're a warrior," Hermione said, an echo of a smile on her face at his surprise. "It's obvious from your eyes." She sat on a nearby bench and took a moment to organize her thoughts before continuing. "When you go into battle, you carry with you the people you love and those who love you in return. Your family and your friends are the ones you fight for. You may say you're fighting for your people, and you are, but they are just a faceless mass. They are there, but they don't really exist to you- they can't. You don't know their names or their lives. You don't know what they dream of, what they fear, or even how they live because every person is so incredibly unique. Until you have actually met and interacted with them, they're not real to you- more a concept than an actual person. And you are not actually real to them. They may know that there is someone fighting for them, but you are forever an abstract concept to them until they actually meet you and you become a person in their minds.

"The only people we are real to are the ones who know us; our loved ones make us real even when we're not there because we have touched their lives and that mark will- hopefully- live on forever. Do you understand?

"I have no family here, no friends or loved ones awaiting my return. I was dragged here by Saruman and I have no idea what everyone back home thinks happened to me. There is no one here who carries the memory of me in their heart, therefore I am not real here- I may as well be nothing more than a name on a tombstone for all that I matter."

Aragorn knelt down beside her, squeezing her hands. "If memories are what is needed for you to truly exist, then you have already accomplished that. Even now, Gandalf desperately searches for any information on the magic used to bring you here. Your time together at the White Tower had such an effect on him and he feels responsible for you, yet he stays away for your sake because he knows you are not yet ready to see him.

"Arwen is beside herself- she feels your pain as if it is her own and would do anything to ease it. She sits with you every day and through the night so that you will never be truly alone, even when you are so lost in your mind that you cannot acknowledge her.

"And here I kneel, speaking with you. I know your face now, your name, which means you are real to me. We carry the memory of you with us now and you will forevermore be a part of us. Should you leave us, we would mourn your passing greatly."

Hermione looked at them, truly looked at him as she had not done the entire time she was in Rivendell. Lavender and Pavarti would have swooned over this man if they had ever met him and even Ginny would have been charmed by his good looks, but it was his eyes that really caught her attention. They were old and filled with too much- too much pain, too much knowledge, too much sorrow.

The same eyes she saw on herself when she looked the a mirror, just in a different color.

"If that's true, then I pity you. It must be exhausting caring for people you don't actually know and who will most likely end up letting you down in some way in the future." The truly good people were the ones who died in the war. She and others were just the blood-soaked monsters who survived it.

Aragorn's eyes creased with concern. "What happened to you, little one?"

Unable to continue meeting his gaze, Hermione's eyes fell shut. "Do you know what Saruman said to me, when I first arrived? Do you know why his magic brought me here?" She knew that he couldn't since she hadn't told anyone and she highly doubted Saruman had informed Gandalf, so she continued without pause, "He said that his spell brought the strongest magic user from my land to Middle Earth. He said he brought the most powerful magic user here to aid in winning his master's war. And I laughed, because his spell got it wrong." Her eyes flew back open then as she felt an overwhelming need to be sure that Aragorn understood what she was saying. "I'm not the strongest or most power person from my world. I didn't die early enough to become a hero or live long enough to be a villain. I'm nothing but a fool."

His frown deepened. "What happened to you?" he repeated.

"I won. Couldn't you tell?"

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