Story notes:

As mentioned earlier, I accept pairing suggestions but the final decision is still mine. I'm writing this after all.

And also, for the people that got a bit disappointed that Heather only got speed, then this chapter will reassure you. She's just a bit slow on certain things and not that given to introspection.

Lastly, Kreacher is still Kreacher. He just got healthier and happier.

"The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson-

The installation of the Blood wards left the four of them very tired and extremely lazy for three days. Draco only had time to rest for one day before he went back to his village. He grumbled and complained all the way about the soreness of his body but they all knew he was just complaining for the sake of it.

Hermione left five days later, bringing Luna with her. Heather didn't mind the probability of being alone for months. After her training with the rangers, she relished the feeling of safety and privacy.

She ran and trained every morning with Hafny, trying to push her new speed to its limits. Her goal was to outrun the extremely fast-flying eagle owl. So far, in their races, she had only won once.

In the evenings she tried her hand at sewing. The keyword there is tried.

The lack of "common clothes", as Hermione called it, had initially worried her. She had brought bolts of cloth at every village they had stopped in until she realized that she would have to learn tailoring – by herself. Here, Kreacher was an unexpected help…and hindrance.

"Miss Heather," Kreacher said sternly in his new deep voice. "What are you doing?"

Heather looked at him with a guilty face. There seemed to be an explosion of colors and cloth all around her. "Ah, Kreacher. This is an experiment."

Kreacher looked upset. It was particularly painful to watch with his new and expressive face. "Miss Heather is making clothes!" he cried. "Miss Heather doesn't have clothes? Why didn't Miss Heather ask Kreacher?" he was so upset that his newfound grammar had deserted him.

Heather was then forced to leave the tailoring to the house-elf. And since Kreacher nearly had no sense of fashion, he left the art of it to her. So she drew and showed it to him and they collaborated. That had both of them happy and occupied for months.

Lack of things to do did not bother her until the fifth month. That was when she and Kreacher nearly had another argument when Heather tried to cook. They spent that day hammering out a 'treaty' of sorts. Heather was allowed to cook if she made a really big mess and allowed Kreacher to clean. The practicality of that appealed to Heather, who hated to wash dishes.

Conversations were scarce and when it happened, it was memorable. One such example:

"Kreacher, don't you wish to change your name? Or do other things than serve?"

The house-elf puffed up proudly. "My name was given to me by Master Regulus. And Kreacher is happy to serve. It is the vocation of house-elves to serve wizards. Kreacher bound himself to serve the Blacks. As long as a Black lives, Kreacher will serve."

Heather nodded. "But if we die, what will happen to you?"

The thought had evidently not occurred to him. When his bat-like ears quivered and drooped, Heather felt like the worst bitch.

"Kreacher doesn't know," he said in a small voice. Then a determined glint entered his eyes. "But that doesn't mean you will all die out. Miss Heather is a good witch and will have babies with Master Draco, right?"

It nearly made Heather asphyxiate with laughter.

Heather did her usual morning run with Hafny taunting her about being a slowpoke. And then a panicked Kreacher apparated right in front of her and took her back to the Sanctuary with a crack!

"Kreacher, what?" she started and then cut herself off when she saw a sobbing pile of molten gold by the fireplace. Worry filled her, nearly the same time that a murderous rage did. Someone had made Luna cry. They culprit didn't deserve death, they were asking for an eternity of exquisite torture.

"Luna, sweetheart?" Heather said softly. There was no reaction except for an increase in the volume of the weeping so she tried another tactic. "Moonbeam, who made you cry?" no response. It seemed that she was going to spend the night with Luna so she turned to the house-elf that was anxiously hovering beside her. "Kreacher, a blanket and a cup of water please."

It took time but Luna's weeping eventually subsided. When she finally managed a sentence without breaking down to tears, Heather felt like cheering.

"Feather, I want to sleep," she mumbled softly.

"Moonbeam, a little soup and then you can sleep."

The worry stayed with Heather until the next day, when Luna woke mid-afternoon the next day looking very pale.

"I'm sorry for making you worry," Luna said softly. "It's just that…sometimes this gift is a curse."

Epiphany came over Heather. "You saw something yesterday. A life being lost."

Luna nodded. "I was in shock, I think. That was the first time I heard a soul scream as it was ripped from its body."

"Oh, moonbeam," Heather sighed.

By the third day, when Heather was seriously contemplating to send for Draco (because he had the exceptional ability to shock Luna into listening and obeying him), Luna came down the stairs with a packed bag and a determined expression. She felt immense relief pour through her, but that vanished with Luna's next words.

"I'm going to learn healing," Luna said softly. "But that means you can't stay in the Sanctuary."

Heather was flabbergasted. "Luna? What do you mean?"

"If I'm going to lean healing," Luna enunciated slowly, like she was talking to a dumb person. "That is going to take years. You can't stay here for years!"

Oh.

"Kreacher can take care of the house," Luna interrupted before she could even protest. "And he'll do an excellent job of it."

Irritation. Despite the fact that Luna was a good friend, Heather sometimes forgot that she was a pureblood too. And with being a pureblood came the disregard of house-elves.

She breathed slowly to stop harsh words from coming out of her mouth.

"Luna, you weren't there when I first entered Grimmauld place. Kreacher had been alone for nearly sixteen hears and was slowly going mad." There was a sound of a distressed house-elf somewhere but Heather plowed on. "I am not leaving him alone to deteriorate to the same condition."

Kreacher couldn't hold it in and burst out, "Miss Heather! Kreacher will be fine! Kreacher can't stop Miss Heather's happiness."

Bleeding stubborn house-elves.

"Kreacher, I like you very much despite being a grouchy elf," she stated bluntly. That shocked him so much that he fell silent.

Luna looked sad. "I'm sorry, feather," and moved to unpack.

Heathers temper flared. Really, attempting to stop cursing was a lost cause.

"Bloody hell, Luna," Heather scowled. "Sit down. Kreacher isn't going to stay here and you are going to learn healing. Kreacher is going to help Draco with his potions."

There was a startled squeak somewhere by her feet and she would have found it funny if she wasn't so annoyed by Luna's dramatics.

"Kreacher, you can come here to clean once a week and then you're going to set up a proximity ward so that all of us - yes Kreacher even you, can tell if someone comes here. Is that agreeable?"

Kreacher raised a hand looking tentative. "Miss Heather, cleaning once a week will allow dust to and mildew to settle. Thrice a week."

Heather was reminded of the time of the Treaty. "No Kreacher. Don't overwork yourself. Twice a week."

They quickly shook hands on it. Luna was watching with bemused eyes.

Heather never realized how much she missed hunting down dark wolves and trolls until she was doing it again. She was also more proficient in taking down the larger opponents, which saved her from drinking the foul potions that Draco sent her the moment he heard she was back in active duty. In the note that accompanied it, he called it the Potter Care Kit.

Hafny was her constant companion and sometimes partner. He often blinded opponents to buy her time, especially when she was fighting large groups by herself. He got so good at it that the next town she stopped in, she custom made some sharp blades to attach to her talons and a sort of armor for the rest of the owls soft body.

Heather did not really pick a direction and instead just focused in the ground to see tracks of dark creatures. Most of them were by the north so she also bumped into some Dúnedain. The first time it happened, the men were so surprised to see a girl fighting that they nearly got skewered, so Heather learned to keep her cowl up until they sat and shared a fire. Mealtimes were, after all, safer for gaping than skirmishes.

Word slowly got around their ranks and they eventually greeted her by the name, "Gryffon" cordially. Well, as cordially as reticent men could.

She eventually met Aragorn again but had forgotten the first time they met. He was in the same state until he saw the bejeweled hilt of the sword of Gryffindor.

"Ah!" he exclaimed softly. "You were that stranger that shared a fire with my men."

Confusion beset Heather until she looked more closely at the dirt stained man that had more lines on his face and a grimmer set to his shoulders than the captain she had see many months ago. "Oh!" she remarked. "I had forgotten."

"I as well," he said. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

A bemused look crossed her face. "Gryffon, last of the bloodline of Gryffindor."

They shared a fire, a meal and silence. It was companionship and felt truly wonderful. That lasted until she removed her cowl to wash her hair and face.

"You are a girl," he said in a dumbfounded voice. "I thought your voice was a little high."

Not to be wondered at since, for a girl, her voice was slightly deeper and huskier. Hermione, in a drunken moment, called it a Sexual voice.

Heather flashed him a grin and did her ablutions. When she returned, the interrogation started. Well, maybe that was a bit mean. Aragorn was too polite to actually interrogate. He merely looked so damnably curious until Heather relented.

"The Gryffindor's were a secret bloodline," she said. "Our vows were honor, chivalry and courage. In every war, we participated. That severely decimated our family. A couple of years ago, I became the last in our line."

That wasn't a lie. Neither was it the complete truth.

"Who taught you the sword?" was the last question.

"Your men did, actually." Oh, the look on his face was priceless.

It was by mutual agreement that both of them decided to travel together. Aragorn's duties were to guard the borders of a certain town. Heather's goals were to kill as many dark creatures as possible. It was beneficial, either way.

Hafny had drawn a curious look when she showed up carrying a letter from Hermione but respect came to his face when the owl took down a lone wolf by herself.

"Did you train her?" Aragorn asked. There was envy in his voice. Heather was hard pressed to keep a straight face.

"She came to me one day, asking to follow me. So I said yes. If you want your own companion, you'll have to ask Hafny."

He didn't think she was serious. And he especially looked at her funny when she talked to Hafny the following night. Aragorn then thanked her profusely when a black eagle-owl came swooping down to say hello a week later. Aragorn called him, Maethor, which was elvish for warrior.

The problem with travelling with another person came up when Heather found she couldn't use magic in more obvious ways. Cushioning charms were discreet enough when aimed at the hard ground for sleeping but the Impedimenta Jinx, which she used liberally, was to be avoided since he could notice the trolls slowing down.

Her speed, which she had forgotten, came into play and she moved faster than any human to avoid a crushing blow. Three poisoned daggers later and the troll was at her feet.

Then she looked tentatively at Aragorn, who was white as a sheet.

"Aragorn?" she asked.

That unfroze him.

"By the Valar!" he exclaimed. "I thought that blow would kill you." Then he moved to hug her.

It was then that Heather discovered the change that had come to her gradually. The epiphanies she had when talking to people, especially Luna, and all the knowledge she had about where the dark creatures were…they were all to prepare her about the larger change and that was precognition.

She saw Aragorn talking to a very beautiful woman (elf, her mind supplied when she saw the pointed ears.) in the middle of a garden. There was a broken sword and a crown.

She broke the hug and staggered back, looking at him with wide eyes. "Yo-you're the subject of a prophecy," she gasped.

If possible, he went even whiter but he was still conscious enough to settle them away from the carcass of a troll.

"Gryffon, explain," he stated – no – demanded, in a rough voice.

"It's a family gift," she stuttered. "My father could talk his way out of anything." Well, that was James Potter in a nutshell. Not exactly a lie. "My mother, no one could hate her." And all people she talked to loved Lily Potter, even Snape. Aunt Petunia didn't count. Not a lie either. "My sister can hear the voices of living things. And my brother can see their souls." Not a lie in the strictest sense since Draco and her were cousins and Luna, being a pureblood meant they were related in some obscure way.

If he wanted to know about Hermione, he'd just have to meet her to understand. Hermione was…Hermione.

"And you?"

She gulped. "I – I just saw the future when you touched me. You are a very important person, apparently so I couldn't stop myself." Heather hunched forward defensively, aware of what a violation of privacy that was. And Aragorn was the definition of a very private person. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the ground.

His rough, calloused hands were gentle as he lifted her head to look at him. "Oh, child. You don't have to apologize. Was that the first time you used that gift?"

As she nodded, Heather felt herself tearing up. She couldn't help it. Aragorn reminded her of Remus Lupin.

He patted her cautiously and produced a handkerchief.

That made her give a teary laugh.

"What?"

She sniffled. "We're in the middle of the wilderness and as grimy as anything…and you have a clean handkerchief on you?"

The situation made the stoic man crack a smile. Heather giggled even as she made a mental note to write to the others about all the misdirection's she told in the past few minutes.

Heather did not intend to stay too long with Aragorn but after he found out about her gift, the trust issues went lesser and made her relax minutely around him. Not enough to tell him about being from another world, or about her magic, but enough to trust him with her life in a fight. He probably felt the same way since he started getting more talkative. He graduated from monosyllabic answers to giving out phrases.

He told Heather about growing up with elves (and wasn't that a surprise!) and explained what the broken sword and crown meant.

"Then why don't you claim the crown?" she asked.

People had asked him that before but not with just plain curiosity and without the envy and censure. Aragorn was obliged to answer. "I do not wish to follow the path of my ancestor and lead the kingdom to ruin. His blood runs in my veins. I'll probably make the same mistake."

A funny spasm went though Heather. That was exactly the line of thought she had entertained most of her school life, especially after she found out she was a Horcrux.

"I won't force you to make your choices," she said with a wry twist to her mouth. "I'm not in the position to, anyway. But I'll tell you something my grandfather told me when I started to doubt myself." She looked at Aragorn firmly in the eye and said softly. "It is not by our blood, or abilities that show us what we truly are. It is our choices."

Casting the manipulative old bastard as her grandfather made shudders race up her spine but was totally worth the discomfort when it made the pinched look go away from Aragorns features.

Author notes:

If you wish this to be longer, as I was told to do so repeatedly, then I will update longer. See, there's a cause and effect going on here.

Midterms just ended and life returns to normal. Any more questions will be answered in the next Story notes. And, if you people ask, you bleeding ought to read it too.

~Lady Hallen