A/N: I ended the last chapter with time elapsing in huge chunks; not so in this chpt. We've rewound once again, and we're back to the second day in Middle-earth. I made the amount of time that had elapsed last time very vague, also -- this is because I have no idea how long Herm and the others will be in Middle-earth. Obviously it has to be at least two months, but I seriously think it may end up being six...

Tarot. I like tarot cards -- I think they are a neat idea, I really think they work when they are treated properly, and all in all I respect them and the people who read them. I mean no offense to anyone who is anti-tarot. I certainly don't presume to be an expert in tarot, though the tarot spell at the beginning is my own invention. I looked up the right candles and stones to use, as well as cards. Sirius' deck in the story is the same as my deck in real life, called the Celtic Dragon Tarot. It's a really recent deck in RL, so we're pretending that in the fictional world, it came out several decades ago. I toyed with the idea of giving Sirius a Rider Waite deck, because it's pretty well-known -- unfortunately I have never seen a Rider Waite deck, and I was uncomfortable writing about one. If you've never seen the Celtic Dragon deck, all the pictures have dragons involved in one way or another. They're really beautiful cards.

Family life has been patched up quite cleanly, unless Dad has a coronary over the hospital bills, which will make it all bad again... *rolls eyes* That won't happen. I hope. Anyway, I'm finally in school and am actually enjoying it (the shock! the horror!). It just leaves me even less time to write, which is icky. But I'm still truckin' along.

Now, that's all over with. I know that what you actually want is the story. :) This chpt is a lot shorter than normal, but I'm hoping to make up for that next time. *waggles eyebrows suspiciously* After you, montressor! (Poe, the Cask of Amontillado (or however you spell it). For the love of God, Montressor! I claim to be weird, but NO ONE is as weird as Poe.)

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Chapter Eleven: Just As Long As We Don't Kill Each Other...
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Hermione woke to a particularly awkward feeling of damp, chilly stiffness. Sleeping outdoors might be a nice thought, but it was certainly an unpleasant reality. She opened her eyes a fraction, but everything was dim and blurry through her sleep-saturated vision.

Momentarily she realized what had woken her at this ungodly hour of the morning -- besides her overall discomfort.

Two familiar, murmuring voices were conversing nearby.

I feel ridiculous.

Oh, really? And here I thought you felt like you'd gotten at the receiving end of a stampede of rabid hippogriffs.

Well, yes, that too. Why on earth do you find it necessary to resort to this Muggle nonsense?

Because I am a Muggle now. Close enough, anyway. Now hush, I'm concentrating.

On what? Rocks?

Oh, shut up. I'm about to run out of friendly sympathy.

Yes, you always said that when we were in school. That was usually right before a full moon, when, as I recall, you'd buy out about half the candy store for my sake.

As if you needed any more sugar. I don't know what I was thinking. Here, hold this.

Me? You're the one who always saved me the trouble of opening everything.

Hermione blinked several times, until her sight cleared adequately enough for her to see the speakers. She recognized the voices, of course; but what they were doing, she had no idea.

she croaked, her throat dry and rough, as it usually felt in the mornings.

The young man jumped, his head snapping up instantly, sending droplets of water flying. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Remus, who seemed to be back to his normal calm, collected manner despite being incapacitated. The professor was lying on his back on one of the few blankets Hermione had produced from her bag last night; he was dressed in one of Sirius' spare robes, and in one hand he held a very worn-looking book. As he'd mentioned, there was one small rock on his forehead and another on his chest.

Sirius himself was holding what looked like a deck of cards. His hair was soaking wet, as if he'd just dunked his head in the river. Hermione squinted and shook her head, drawing a complete blank.

Sirius hissed. You broke my concentration!

Remus muttered smugly.

You're right, she rasped, sitting up and stretching her neck creakingly, you do look ridiculous. What are you doing?

Well, Sirius here has deemed that my predicament calls for an innocent little application of voodoo --

It's paganism, shut up, snapped Sirius. Anyway, Muggles do this stuff a lot, and it actually seems to work sometimes. It's worth a try.

You've lost me, Hermione muttered, crawling to the packs and getting a drink of water out of one of the flasks she'd filled in the stream.

That's not hard, said Remus; not with Sirius.

Sirius said quickly, before Remus could cut in with another sarcastic remark. Some Muggles do tarot spells. And I still say it can't hurt to try one of the healing ones.

Remus rolled his eyes. If I could move, I'd have no part in this. Unfortunately, someone seems to have mistaken me for dead and mummified me before my time.

I'd thump you if I didn't think it'd make you scream, Sirius muttered.

Oh, please don't, said Remus dryly. I'm ever so fragile. You forget, dear Padfoot, I do this every month. This time it's merely a bit off-schedule. Perhaps a bit more severe than usual, but hardly different.

Sirius went a very slight shade of pink and pointedly went back to perusing his tarot deck.

Where'd you get that, anyway? Hermione asked through a mouthful of bread, pointing at the deck. She had decided that she would have a bite for breakfast, then wake up the others, so that they could get going -- no reason to put it off any longer.

My mum was something between a witch and a Squib. She didn't have enough magic to be able to develop it properly at a school, but her intuition was so precise that it could only be a hint of magic showing through. She used tarot cards to hone it. She gave me this deck when I took Divination in third year. Trelawny's a nut, anyway. He shook his head. Mum taught me everthing I actually know about divination.

Hermione made a face. It's all too woolly for me.

Oh, thank God, a kindred spirit, Remus said from the ground, rolling his eyes upward in mock depair. Please, save me from this maniac.

Why do you have rocks on you, anyway? asked Hermione, grinning widely.

Remus groaned. Sirius ignored him and answered gruffly, Not just rocks. A piece of tektite over his third eye, representing astral travel, and a piece of tiger's eye over his heart, for healing.

Hermione gawped momentarily. Oy. You really are into this stuff.

Got a problem with that? asked Sirius grumpily, taking his book back from Remus and cross-referencing some card or other.

Hermione snorted.

groused Sirius. I've got the right cards, now shut up this time, and let me concentrate.

Hermione shrugged and remained silent as she watched Sirius take a three candles and another rock, this one shaped rather like an X, out of his robe pocket. The candles were black, red, and magenta, all of varying half-melted heights. Remus let out a resigned sigh as Sirius placed them in a semi-circle above Remus' head.

Sirius walked around the still werewolf, laying down three cards on the ground around him: one by his right hand, another by his left, and the last by his feet. Finally Sirius resumed his cross-legged position by the candles, took a small packet of matches out of his pocket, and lit the wicks. Finally he laid out a fourth card and the X-shaped rock, one on either side of the half-circle of candles.

Sirius began to speak, under his breath, going a deep shade of pink in the process. Hermione wished she could hear what he was saying.

Remus jerked, and his eyes snapped open wide. What was that? he asked, sounding surprsied.

What was what? asked Sirius, obviously embarrassed by having Hermione as an audience.

I felt something.

I believe I'll politely refrain from saying I told you so. Sirius allowed himself a small grin. Anyway, this deck has been in my family for ages. It's bound to be saturated with residual magic. He blew out the candles and left them to cool off as he picked up his three rocks and four cards.

Let me see those, Remus demanded, watching rather helplessly as Sirius walked around him.

Sirius handed Remus the four cards as he went on repacking the other things.

The Moon I understand... Remus muttered. Excuse me, why is there a Death card in here? Are you trying to kill me?

No, we've already had a close enough shave with that, Sirius replied, kneeling by the other man and pointing at the various cards. Death is actually a good card, not a lot of people realize that. It means rebirth, transformation from something old into something better. Remus hmphed. The Moon -- binding illness and all that rot. The Star was east, that's all about spiritual stuff; and the Three of Cups was west. It means... Sirius wrinkled his nose. It means... prosperity, technically. But Cups are Water, if you're going by linking suits and elements, and Water is always thought of as a sort of healing thing. Mostly about the emotional state of whoever's being read for.

Remus handed the cards back and said, All well and good, but I swear I felt something.

If you say that again, I'll be forced to say I told you so. Sirius put the four cards back randomly into the deck and shuffled it once or twice for good measure.

Well, since you're done, I think we should get the others up. We have to get started. Hermione stood up from her stiff position by the packs.

Sirius nodded in consent.

Draco and Eloise moaned and grumbled about the miserably early, damp wake-up call, but Snape rose without comment, his scowl back in full force. Hermione quickly confirmed that Dobby was awake,' though he really didn't have to sleep in the form he was in anyway. Sirius got the elf to transfigure a large, sturdy fallen branch into a stretcher, then levitate Remus onto it. Though it still looked a bit flaky with bark around the edges, it served, and once it was levitating at a managable height, the problem of traveling with an injured companion was instantly solved.

Ironically enough it seems I have the best luck of all of you, remarked Remus, watching as the five others divided the packs between them: Eloise had her own duffel bag; Draco the sack of food; Sirius and Snape each had one of Sirius' bags; and Hermione had both hers and Dobby's packs of personal things, as they were both the lightest. The Invisibility Cloak had been rewrapped around the Firebolt, making both of them invisible, and they had been tucked in alongside Remus on the stretcher. Hermione didn't want them causing any possibly harmful confusion among natives; it probably wasn't every day that the inhabitants of Middle-earth saw a flying broom and a bit of fabric that made you vanish.

I've got the easy ride, said the floating professor with a twisted smile.

For now, said Hermione. Once you're healed you get to carry your own weight, you know.

I know very well, said Remus; that's why I'm enjoying this while it lasts. Though you can believe me that breaking a leg is not a good way to get out of having to walk.

And so they set out, five people on foot, one stiffly bandaged and floating along at a fair pace, one traveling invisible through the fabric of the world. Hermione drew out the map and her compass, and in the moment they took their first steps eastward, their fates in the world of Middle-earth were sealed beyond all shadow of a doubt.

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Hermione kept a close eye on Snape as they walked through the pleasant spring woods. The hook-nosed professor had said so little since his last argument with Sirius that Hermione was getting worried. He hadn't even been snapping out his customary insults, or making snide remarks about Remus' difficulty. She caught glimpses of his cold, sharp black eyes flickering over the others in the group, as if calculating what sort of move would be to his best interest. Hermione hadn't really expected him to more than a hindrance, but if he tried anything outright against the others -- well, all her qualms about opposing or even hurting teachers had dissipated through the years. Besides, Snape was no longer a teacher here -- he couldn't stop anyone by threatening them with a month's detention, or by taking house points; here, he was the equal of his companions in treatment and usefulness... even expendability. Hermione suspected that that was what was making him so unusually quiet: coping with being forced into such an enormously unpleasant situation, and with his worst personal enemies at that.

Wisely, Remus slept through most of the morning, reserving strength and helping the healing process. Hermione was amazed at his ability to will himself to sleep, amongst all this beauty and splendor. Maybe it was because she'd never really gone hiking before; maybe it was because this was a completely new experience -- but Hermione didn't think this forest was nearly as awful as the books had made them out to be. Beauty, she supposed, was in the eye of the beholder; the mottled green above her, spattered with hints of blue where the sky peeked through, was enough to hold her attention for minutes at a time. She would stare into the branches and only look down when she stumbled on a twig or tripped over a rock, eliciting sharp looks from almost everyone else. The only person who seemed to share her fascination with the forest was Eloise, who tried to spot the elusive wildlife as it scattered through the fallen leaves and scurried across the tree limbs. Hints of gray and reddish-brown were a dead giveaway of squirrels; birds fluttered here and there, though they rarely sang. Hermione was certain that she saw a small green snake slither away at one point, heading for the safer areas in the thicker parts of the wood.

All the while they walked, the sun mounted higher into the sky, shedding a dappled greenish light onto the forest floor. The color it created on the golden leaves was amazing. Hermione reasoned, eventually, that this place must be more pleasant than the place the hobbits had gone through because this was much further out towards the edge of the wood. Frodo had been walking right through the heart of it.

Hermione checked her map and compass almost constantly, keeping them on the right path. They had been walking for about an hour, more or less, and (to her dismay) Hermione's feet were already getting sore. If she tired this easily, there was no way she'd ever make it to Mordor. She prayed desperately that they might be able to buy some horses in Bree.

Hermione glanced at the map once again, but hesitated before she spoke up, unwilling to break the beautiful, whispering quiet. We're near the edge of the woods, she said, her voice sounding particularly loud in the relative silence.

She didn't get much of a reaction. There were nods all around, and Draco muttered something to himself that Hermione couldn't make out. She tried to think as the real Fellowship would have, reasoning out distances and the time it would take to walk it all. The eventual sum was daunting, especially when she was already beginning to wear out. All those months spent in the library had made her smart; but she was anything but athletic. She didn't know if she could take this much longer.

She thought that they should probably walk on for another few hours, at least -- until roughly noon. Then they could stop and eat something, but even then it couldn't be a long stop, nor could they take much food. Then it would be more walking... for the entire day.

And the same the next day. And the next day. And the next...

The implication had finally sunk in completely.

Hermione barely stifled a groan.

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Oh, thank God, Hermione muttered as she all but collapsed onto the short, springy grass. The sun had been getting slowly but surely higher and hotter, until the back of Hermione's neck felt like it was burning right off. She had let her hair hang down loose to cover her neck, but it was only making her sweat more profusely. She found herself missing the cover of the trees more and more.

It must have been almost two in the afternoon when they stopped for a meal. If she hadn't had her trademark good sense on her side, Hermione would have gulped down all the water right then and there.

Eloise flopped down next to her with a groan. Why didn't I make my feet tougher instead? she despaired, flexing her withered hand. Or make myself sun-proof, that would've been good...

Still quite a few hours of daylight left, interjected Sirius, swinging his pack onto the grass and sitting down as if he were hardly tired at all, though Hermione could see the darker black stains spreading down the front and back of his faded black robes. In the woods, his hair had dried from that morning's heavy splash of river-water -- but now it was soaked again, this time with sweat. I'd say we've walked about 8 or 9 miles. We might cover just uner 20 today if we keep this pace.

But I can't keep this pace, blurted Hermione, tired, hot, miserable and thus unreasonably horrified by Sirius' practical, unmoved tone of voice.

Sirius blinked. He looked at Hermione in a way he'd only done once before: as if he'd never seen anything quite like her. A look that suggested he thought she was pleasant, but not quite straight on the facts.

So I suppose you've finally discovered, said Snape icily, that books won't drill you in perseverance, Granger.

And I suppose you'll discover my fist drilling your face in at odd angles if I'm forced to hear another syllable out of you, Snape, gritted Sirius, looking steadfastly away from the Potions teacher as if just the sight of his hook-nosed face would start a riot. (Which it probably would.)

Snape swept his robes around himself in a perfect arc and sank to the ground, sitting much more gracefully than even Malfoy could manage.

I was merely suggesting that the girl would have had a better fighting chance at this... journey... if she had dragged herself out of the library once or twice, and, say, infiltrated a few Death Eater meetings. She was obviously in severe need of a regular test of her pain endurance...

You're not getting anyone's sympathy, snapped Sirius.

And you're supposed to be the compassionate one, aren't you, said Draco sourly, his face flushed with anger and overexposure to sunlight. You get all the sympathy votes because of being so horribly mistreated --

Go to Azkaban, Malfoy brat, hissed Sirius, bending all his willpower on not hitting either of them. It's worse than Hell. Go see what childhood memories the dementors could dig out of you -- between your family and your father's business relations there must be no end --

Only Draco's eyes betrayed his otherwise perfect expression of boiling hatred; a flicker of fear passed in the space of a blink, and Hermione nearly missed it.

'Good guys' don't attack enemies' families verbally, said Draco, his voice dripping with malicious warning. Or so I understand.

In case you haven't noticed, and I'm sure it's rare that you notice anyone besides yourself, I'm not a good guy,' snarled Sirius, the razor edge of sarcasm hinting in his voice. Us convicts tend to pick up bad habits. What can I say, we made the wrong lifestyle choices.

My father could teach you a thing or two to improve your sarcasm, Black, said Malfoy, with the same mentioned tone of voice. But I daresay you've got Completely Missing the Point down to a fine art.

If your father's grave was in this universe, I'd spit on it.

My father's grave isn't in any universe. He's not dead.

Proving that the gene pool really needs a good dose of chlorine. The scum has been allowed to grow for too long.

Malfoy actually gave a short bark of laughter at that. His pale eyes glinted mirthlessly at Sirius, and suddenly Hermione found herself wondering uneasily whether Draco carried any sort of razor blade or other weapon... because right now he certainly looked like he was about to produce it...

Good, Black, he said. Very good. More Father's style.

Sirius glared, fuming, and it was obvious that the simmering emotions had just risen to a boil, and were about to break out at any moment.

squeaked Eloise, and cleared her throat. Excuse me.

Uh, er, Sirius -- don't -- said Hermione at exactly the same moment.

What's the noise, said a soft voice from nearby. It was followed by an audible yawn.

Hermione's whole heart went out to Remus Lupin at that moment. Of all the most perfect moments to wake up...

Eloise cried desperately. Good to see you're awake, please stay that way why don't you --

What are you on about? Remus' tousled head lifted itself slightly, but he groaned and let it fall back without much effort.

Family graves and chlorine in the gene pool...

said the professor in an understanding, resigned voice. I see. Severus, no insults. Sirius, no bloodshed. You're not fifteen anymore.

Snape scowled and Sirius muttered something under his breath, and even though Malfoy was still looking murderous it was obvious that the argument had been effectively defused.

They spent the very brief lunch (much too brief for Hermione) in relative silence. Remus had fallen back asleep almost instantly and Hermione couldn't even wake him to eat something. Afterwards they packed back up and continued walking. Hermione swore she could feel the blisters bubbling up on her feet.

The sun was nearing the horizon and the light was getting dim and blurry by the time they spotted the first barrow -- the great tombs that gave this region its name of Barrow-Downs. The barrow itself and the hill around it seemed oddly leeched of color... but that may have only been the quality of light playing tricks on the eye.

I don't think we should camp near any of those, Eloise said nervously.

But being captured and ritualistically killed by wights sounds like so much fun, drawled Draco, who had been given the quick summary of the books that day by Eloise. The newly-brunette girl seemed to tolerate Draco more than Hermione or Sirius. Hermione expected Eloise had something of the same temperament as Professor Lupin: People are often stupid and mean, and they simply have to be lived with; end of argument.' Hermione wished she could feel that way, but sunburn and blistered feet made her more irritable than she had any right to be.

Of course we're not camping by one, Hermione snapped. Eloise gave her a sharp look that had no effect. We keep going. Pass each one by on the east -- that's what Bombadil said to do.

I thought it was the west.

I read the books more recently than you, Hermione snapped, and he said east.

Eloise looked as if Hermione had just insulted her mother, or worse. Maybe you read them yesterday, she said angrily; I don't care. I've read them two dozen times ever since I was old enough to read -- don't tell me you know more than I do!

I do know more than you do.

Eloise held up her withered hand -- in the half-light it looked even more gruesome. She flexed it menacingly. Hermione stepped towards her, unfazed.

Stop it, said Sirius. Even he sounded tired.

Eloise whirled on him, holding up her hand as if to strike. Sirius' eyes widened and he stepped backwards quickly. Snape's eyes flickered between them with a calculating expression; Malfoy was smiling very, very thinly, looking more serpentine than human.

With a fluid, almost unnoticable movement, Draco had gotten behind Eloise and laid a pale hand on her wrist. She allowed her hand to be lowered; but her eyes never left Sirius. Standing together in the foreign twilight, Eloise and Draco looked like some bizarre couple from a twisted fairy tale. Pale, shoulder-length, roughly-cut hair to one side; long chestnut tresses to the other; and Draco hiding Eloise's deformed hand in his own perfect one.

Hermione thought sharply of Ron, and Eloise's love for the gangly boy, and as suddenly as it had come, the anger left her.

she said, softly. We're all tired. Why don't we camp here. We can decide which way to go tomorrow.

Eloise snapped. Her hand whipped around and up towards Hermione's throat; and the smile on her face was more like a grimace. Greed glinted in her eyes, making Hermione's heart skip a beat; her bones chilled, and her mouth went dry as cotton. She stumbled backwards.

Snape, of all people, caught her -- but it wasn't an accident that the hook-nosed teacher had been behind her. He spun Hermione out of Eloise's reach, plunged a hand into Hermione's front pocket, and brought out the cloth-wrapped ring.

The effect was instantaneous. All the blood rushed from Eloise's face and she froze with her hand stretched out in midair. Draco, who had tried to restrain Eloise's attack, was watching Snape's hand surreptitiously. Sirius scowled, tensing for a fight if Snape turned out to be trying to steal the ring.

But Hermione shouted, Give it back!

Her own voice startled her; she sounded desperate, hurt, as if Snape had taken a bit of herself and held it out of her reach. Snape's cold black eyes turned to her, and there was an almost triumphant gleam in them.

Silence followed. Hermione realized Snape's purpose and her own reaction with dawning horror; she forced herself to stop reaching out for the ring, and twined her hands together tightly, as if afraid they might act of their own to regain the thing they desired to hold once again. Hermione's shout had even broken the ring's hold on Eloise, and the brunette jerked her hand back to her side, pushing away from Draco and looking on the verge of tears.

Hermione rasped after a moment, her voice jagged with fear. I didn't... I don't want it. Keep it. I... I don't care about it.

Of course you do, said Snape oily. You care about it too much. He uncurled long fingers elegantly, holding the small cloth package out to Hermione. That's why it's yours.

Hesitantly, with trembling fingers, Hermione took the ring and slipped it back into her pocket.

I'm sorry, Eloise, she said momentarily. Her eyes were turned towards Eloise, but they didn't see anything at all. We'll go west, if you say so.

Let's just camp here, Eloise quavered. We can look it up in the books in the morning.

Hermione nodded, submissively, and nothing more was said.
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