A/N: Here's the next chapter! Sorry it took longer to upload than the other chapters, I've had exams and I've also had to sit down and try to plan where I want to take this story (I'm still not entirely sure). Thanks to all who have reviewed, its much appreciated. Also several of you have mentioned pairings. I hadn't actually thought about pairings, so I don't know. However, I am open for suggestions and ideas about any aspect of this story.
Chapter 4:
Hermione groaned as a pale ray of light settled across her eyes, forcing her into the waking world. She glared, as best as she could in her sleepy state, at the offending crack in the shutters whilst wishing for more sleep. Knowing it to be a lost cause, Hermione threw back her warm covers and jumped out of bed.
Her thin shift did nothing to protect her against the brisk morning air, yet provided an effective means to wake up properly. Hermione hastily pulled on the thick green dress Éowyn had given her and washed her face in the basin. The stones beneath her bare feet sapped her warmth so she slipped on her boots then ripped open her shutters.
A small breeze blew into the room toying with Hermione's hair. It was just after sunrise and yet so many people were already up and about. Hermione had been in, what she had learnt to be, Edoras for a week so far and every morning she would watch the city's inhabitants go about their work or just to gaze down at the city.
The citizens of Edoras, true to her original assessment, were simple people living in a medieval way of life. They loved their horses and were very proud and hard working. They knew of the dangers outside of their city, but so far the city itself was untouched. Hermione was somewhat jealous. She would love to live a nice simple life, a life with the illusion of safety. But after all she's seen and done, it wasn't possible.
There was a gentle knock on her door, stirring Hermione from her watch. Éowyn entered with a smile, clothed in a white dress with her blonde hair loose.
"Good morning, Penelope Clearwater," Éowyn greeted in the common speech with her smile widening.
"Morning, Éowyn," Hermione replied with a slight smile, or twitch of the lips.
Hermione's days at Edoras were spent by following Éowyn around. It was apparently Éowyn's task of teaching her the common speech but it was a frustratingly slow process. All Hermione had learnt in her time here were a few pleasantries, simple words and items, not the words that Hermione needed.
"Penelope Clearwater, breakfast," Éowyn said as she beckoned Hermione.
Hermione sighed. She let her hand fall to her thigh, where she had hidden a dagger, to reassure herself that it was there, then began to follow. After breakfast would be another wasteful day. She needed to be looking for her friends and Voldemort's horcrux, not following Éowyn around as she did her duties.
Éowyn happily chatted as they walked to the dining hall, a trait she shared with her brother. Hermione occasionally recognised a few simple words but was unable to piece together what she was saying.
The king and Éomer were in the hall when Hermione and Éowyn entered. The king greeted her with a kind smile and sympathy in his eyes. It was the same every morning. She knew he had been told about her scar, they had all been told. It wasn't hard to know when everyone you met gave you looks of sympathy and gentle words. Her dirty secret, one she tried so hard to hide, was known by so many.
Éomer greeted her with a wide smile. He had thankfully stopped looking at her in sympathy, for which she was grateful. Then she could pretend that he didn't know her shame. She saw it sometimes though when he didn't think she was looking, the look of pity and minor suspicion.
Hermione knew she was being carefully watched. Her every action monitored and reported back to the King. Éowyn wasn't just a friendly guide and companion, she was a guard. The King wasn't just a welcoming host, he was a jailer. Edoras wasn't just Hermione's refuge, it was her prison. She knew she wasn't allowed to leave, at least not until they were sure of her loyalties.
Hermione's breakfast tasted dry and flavourless in her mouth. Éowyn was pointing out several dishes and saying their name. Hermione dutifully repeated them but her heart wasn't in it, what use to her were the names of food? So far she had found out nothing useful about her situation, she didn't even know where she was in relation to anywhere else.
A sudden idea sparked in her mind. Her eyes lit up and turned to Éowyn who was in conversation with Éomer.
"Éowyn," Hermione interrupted.
The brother and sister both looked at her, she had never initiated a conversation before.
"Book?" Hermione said while miming reading. Hopefully Éowyn understood and took her to the library, if Edoras had a library. Hermione wished to be able to look at a map, but had no idea how to communicate that.
Éowyn and Éomer both looked at each other and had a short conversation before leading Hermione through the halls. They stopped at a thick wooden door. It opened to reveal a small library. Hermione could hardly contain her excitement as she took in the rows of scrolls and thick books of parchment.
Éowyn moved before her and picked up the nearest book.
"Book?" she uncertainly asked.
"Yes, book!" Hermione said with joy. Even books written in an entirely different language were able to fill her with delight, she only wished she was able to read them.
"Book," Éowyn repeated in the common tongue for Hermione.
Hermione repeated the word with a smile, a useful word at last. Now, how to find where the maps were. She browsed through the isles under the watchful gazes of the siblings. Hermione admired the handwritten books. Many simply had leather covers, some were gilded others were so old that their ink was fading. The language while beautiful, was completely unfamiliar in writing as it was in speech.
Finally she saw something partially covered with a piece of parchment on a workbench in the corner. Hermione hurried over to it and uncovered a map. It looked to be a map of the building she was staying in, but now she had something to work with.
"Edoras," Hermione said pointing to the map, then she spread her arms out.
Éowyn looked confused but Éomer gasped in understanding. He went over to one of the isles and pulled out a larger scroll. He rolled it out on the workbench revealing a map that looked to depict the country that she was in.
"Thank you Éomer! Thank you!" Hermione cheered.
The map way painstakingly illustrated. Cities and towns were labelled in what Hermione assumed was the common tongue. Some parts of the map were unlabelled, perhaps those areas hadn't been explored. Nothing looked familiar to Hermione. None of the natural landmarks or the location of cities and towns. Hermione was definitely lost in an unknown world. She already knew it, but to have it confirmed was something else.
Éomer caught Hermione's attention and pointed to a place on the map.
"Edoras," he told her.
Then he moved his finger north to the forest.
"Fangorn Forest, Penelope Clearwater,"
Hermione nodded. So that's where he found her.
Now that she had found a map, Hermione didn't know what to do. She knew next to nothing of this world. Her eyes roamed longingly around the room. If only she could read this language, or even speak it, then she'd be able to find answers. Hermione fought back a cry of frustration.
A strong hand gripped Hermione's arm.
Malfoy Manor. No! Greyback. Get off! Stop!
Hermione's eyes widened in fear as the memories assaulted her. She spun around and lashed out at her attacker. The hand immediately let go and Hermione hastily backed away. Then she felt it, magic humming at her fingertips with silver song, dancing over her skin in ivory swirls and crackling through her hair like lightening. It was like the reunion of a long lost friend, her magic was still with her, it was her one hope in this terrible situation, the light from a candle in the overwhelming darkness.
Then it hit her. She wasn't in Malfoy Manor. She was in the library in Edoras. Hermione gasped in horror at what she'd done. She looked to find Éomer standing in front of Éowyn, his blue eyes widened in shock and a small bit of horror but mostly apology. Why was Éomer apologising to her? She was the one who attacked him, not the other way around.
Hermione dimly noted the magic leave her system but she was more worried about Éomer's and Éowyn's reactions. Would she be labelled as an enemy of the city and thrown in the dungeon? Were they going to have her killed for being a witch, burnt at the stake? Hermione began to panic, she couldn't die for she had so much to do, so many people to help.
Her feet unconsciously took a few steps backwards away from the siblings, fear in her eyes. This movement seemed to move Éomer into action as he quickly put up his hands and began to approach her in a calm manner, much like he did when Éomer first found her in Fangorn Forest.
Éomer didn't look to be about to take her into custody or kill her. But Hermione remembered the look of horror in his eyes. He could be placating her only to go in for the strike when she let her guard down.
Hermione's back hit the wall. She was momentarily confused as she hadn't realised she was still moving backwards. Éomer continued to slowly approach her, murmuring calmingly until he was in front of her. The whole time he had not lifted his gaze from hers and even as he reached out to grab her he did not drop it. Hermione flinched as she felt his hands close over hers but did not stop him, his eyes evoked a trust in her that she did not want to give.
Éomer's grip tightened around her right hand while he forcefully said something. Hermione didn't understand him but looked down. Clenched in her right hand was a beautiful jewelled dagger. The sharp silver blade reflected the look of horror in her eyes, the triplet sapphires inlaid into the goblin crafted hilt. The dagger, nicknamed 'Raven's Claw', had been in its holster on her thigh. Hermione didn't remember ever retrieving it.
Crap! I've pulled a dagger on members of the royal family!
The fingers clenched around the hilt of the dagger let go as if it were poison and Éomer gently took it from her grasp. Hermione remained staring at her empty hand, her mind in a panicked haze. She was dimly aware that Éomer was calling for someone. Was he calling for the guards? No, he was calling for a woman, but it wasn't Éowyn.
"Penelope Clearwater," Éomer was calling again for the woman, but the words seemed so far away.
Somewhere in her mind she realised that he was saying her name, or rather the name she had given them. Hermione forced her gaze away from her hand and met his eyes. Éomer's eyes were a nice light blue, like the sky on a beautiful sunny day. But they looked worried, why was he worried? She saw his lips moving, speaking, but Hermione couldn't hear. Was she now deaf? But she could hear a faint whooshing sound, like the waves crashing on the shore.
Then Hermione realised she was shaking. Was Éomer still holding onto her to stop her from physically falling apart? Is that why he was worried, he didn't want to clean up pieces of Hermione from the floor? She almost laughed at the image of him using a broom and dustpan to sweep her up. Then she felt the cold. It was a numbing cold, especially in her arms and legs. A feeling began to creep up on her, like something was tightening around her chest, with every second it became larger, her chest felt like it would soon burst.
That's when Hermione realised she had stopped breathing. That's why Éomer was worried. Hermione took a gasping breath and sank to the ground. The tightness in her chest had barely lessened and she struggled to breathe. With each shuddering breathe, her chest began to unwind.
The analytical part of Hermione's brain reasoned that she was having a panic attack while the other part of her brain was telling the analytical side to shove off. The panic attack eventually subsided leaving Hermione feeling cold and ashamed, but not alone. She was still on the ground but she was laying against Éomer's chest and he was rubbing her back in a soothing manner. Éowyn was kneeling in front of her holding her hands and speaking comforting words.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me. I don't know what came over me," Hermione desperately apologised. But she knew what had come over her, too long had she locked away her worst memories to fester and now at the slightest provocation they were consuming her.
Éowyn must have understood her because she was shaking her head with a sympathetic smile. She then began speaking rapidly with a small amount of excitement. Hermione understood none of it but one word stood out to her, 'Istari'.
Éowyn closed the door softly behind her. Penelope Clearwater was currently asleep, her panic attack had left her feeling tired. Éowyn loathed to leave her alone for she seemed so small and vulnerable, but she didn't want company. Éomer was leaning against the wall lost in thought. He looked up and without a word they both headed in the direction of their uncle's study, he had to know what had occurred.
When Éomer had first told her that he found a strange young woman lost and injured, Éowyn had only given the girl a passing thought. But when he had said she had no knowledge of the common tongue Éowyn became intrigued. How does one not even know common speech? As Éomer continued to describe the strange woman, Éowyn became more and more interested and was pleased when her uncle said he wanted to see the girl for himself and to invite her to dinner.
When Éomer had arrived to dinner with her, Éowyn's first thought was that she was merely average. Plain brown hair and eyes, small stature and a seemingly meek personality. The colour rose in the girl's cheeks as everybody grew silent in observation. Éowyn saw how the girl subconsciously leaned in closer to Éomer as some emotion flashed through her eyes.
What surprised Éowyn though was how Éomer subconsciously moved slightly in front of the girl, as though protecting her. Then Éowyn saw her brother's eyes. Hidden behind a façade of a pleasant nature was distress and anger. Éowyn was sure that those emotions had not been there when he went to retrieve the girl, so what exactly had transpired? Was it the reason for her brother's protectiveness? Éowyn shuffled the thought away to ask her brother later.
Éowyn greeted the strange woman warmly and spent the rest of the night subtly observing her. The girl was observing everything around her with a curious expression. From the food that was being served to the people at the table and what they were wearing. But Éowyn saw underneath the curiosity a cold and calculating expression, noting who was important and how each person interacted. Éomer had told her of his thoughts and suspicions but could this girl actually be a spy?
When the strange woman held the king's gaze Éowyn was slightly impressed. There were some grown men who could not hold her uncle's gaze. Perhaps this girl wasn't as meek as she originally thought. So when her uncle asked her to look after the girl Éowyn was quite happy to. If she was a spy or something along those lines then Éowyn would be the first to find out. If she wasn't then Éowyn knew there was more to this girl than it seemed and it would prove interesting to find out.
But when Éomer told her about the girl's, Penelope Clearwater's, scar Éowyn's heart went out to her. Who could do such a thing to a person? What type of life had Penelope Clearwater lived? Was she escaping those who hurt her? Whatever the case was, Éowyn vowed to be there for Penelope Clearwater and to be a friend to her.
Over the past week Éowyn had found that Penelope Clearwater was no way near the meek girl she thought she was. Penelope Clearwater was fiercely independent, much like Éowyn herself was. Through the limited conversation they were able to have she found that Penelope had a sharp mind and was a quick learner.
Penelope Clearwater was also quite good at hiding her emotions. She would always make note of the exits in every room and scout out any potential threat upon entering a new area. Each new person she met was treated with caution and hidden suspicion. Éowyn found these traits to be quite disturbing and couldn't help but wonder why she would need them.
It delighted Éowyn that morning when she saw the sparks of fierce determination and purpose in Penelope's eyes. It also pleased Éowyn to see her genuinely happy at being shown the library and then the map. But Éowyn watched as her face fell while she appeared to be searching for something but not finding it. In an attempt to help Éomer pointed out where they were and where they found her.
Penelope Clearwater had cast her eyes around at the books with a longing and frustrated expression. Éowyn knew her brother only meant to comfort Penelope and neither of them expected such an intense reaction and had growing sorrow for what it might mean.
The look of intense fear in her eyes caused Éowyn a pang of grief. But that was quickly overcome by shock. Penelope became surrounded by tendrils of varying hues of silver ever moving and changing as though they had a mind of their own. Like living lightening the tendrils in her hair, the colour of starlight, zapped around her like a warning for the siblings to stay away. Bright ivory tendrils seemed to caress her skin offering comfort and protection. Around her hands, liquid silver pulsed with excited energy begging to be used.
Penelope Clearwater struck an impressive and powerful figure, even more so when the silver dagger appeared in her hands out of thin air. Éowyn could see that Penelope knew how to use it, and had used it before. Éomer positioned himself in front of her but did not draw his own dagger for it was clear that Penelope was afraid and not in control of her actions.
When Penelope Clearwater came to her senses her magic faded away. Her fear turned into horror and her horror turned into panic. Éowyn could only guess at what was going through Penelope's mind. Éomer approached her as one would a wild animal speaking words of comfort. Éowyn saw Penelope's confusion when she realised she was holding a dagger at them. She watched as the confusion morphed into more panic.
Penelope Clearwater's face had drained of all blood, she had started to shake and stopped breathing. Éomer tried to get her to snap out of it and both of them were getting increasingly worried. But eventually Penelope took some shuddering breaths and fell to the floor. Éowyn had gone and knelt with her and the three of them stayed in that position until Penelope's panic attack had subsided.
Only then did Éowyn process what had happened. Penelope Clearwater was an Istari! Éowyn had never heard of a female Istari, especially one who looked so young. Had the Valar sent Penelope to them at the fore front of war to provide aide to the people of the Mark? But Penelope was clearly damaged and emotionally unstable. Éowyn shook her head, she was not one to know the will of the Valar.
Éowyn's thoughts were cut short as they arrived at their uncle's study. After a moment of hesitation Éomer knocked on the thick wooden door. They received a call to enter and their uncle's warm greeting quickly turned to worry when he saw their expressions.
"My children, what has happened? What is wrong?" King Théoden asked with a frown.
Éomer looked over at her in silent question and she nodded. He then began to tell their uncle the events of day. Théoden was shocked to learn of a female Istari, grieved to think what would cause Penelope Clearwater to have such a reaction and furious to find out that somebody had caused the girl so much harm.
After Éomer had finished telling the events, the King remained silent as he contemplated what he had heard. Éomer also handed over Penelope's dagger for his uncle to inspect. Éowyn was finally able to get a proper look at the dagger.
The hilt of the dagger looked to be a navy coloured metal and it had silver snaking around it. Three sapphires of the same colour, shape and size were inlaid across the length of the hilt, evenly spaced. The blade itself gleamed wickedly in the candle light and had a slight curve to it. One side of it had an inscription engraved along the whole edge of the blade. The dagger looked ceremonial but deadly and seemed to have a kind of other-worldly power emanated from it. But if this was and Istari's dagger then who knew what magical powers it possessed.
"An impressive dagger. It radiates power. Fitting for an Istari," the King said after some time.
"Do you know why she's here uncle?" Éowyn asked.
"No. I do not. She could have been sent by the Valar either to aide us, or to heal. She could have run away to start a new life. Or she could merely be here by chance. Fate works in mysterious ways," her uncle replied.
"Well I for one am not going to let her go back to where she came from," Éomer said vehemently.
Éowyn nodded in agreement. Whatever her reason for being here, she wasn't going back to the people that hurt her.
The three of them spent the next couple of minutes in discussion about Penelope Clearwater where they decided that no one else should know about her being an Istari. However, their uncle still had work to do and reports to read so the brother and sister bade him a good afternoon and excused themselves. Éomer went to go and vent some of his anger down in the sparring yard while Éowyn decided to go and check on Penelope.
Éowyn was too lost in her thoughts as she walked down the passage that she failed to notice a figure lurking in the shadows by the King's door. A figure who was holding the very map of the Golden Hall of Meduseld that Penelope had seen earlier. And a figure who had seen the whole event from behind one of the bookshelves. A dark smirk formed on the figure's face as they walked in the opposite direction, their eyes glinting in malice.
Harry casually leant against the trunk of a tree on the edge of the great forest. The sun was approaching the horizon causing the shadows to lengthen. His grey eyes calmly scanned the vast planes that were rolled out before him. However the tightness around his eyes and jaw, and the clenching of his hands betrayed the anxious state of his mind. Harry's eyes occasionally flickered to the majestic serpent who was slithering back and forth.
By the time Harry and Black Night Scales had arrived at Hermione's trail, the scent was weak. Black Night Scales was able to follow the trail to a spot where it seemed her trail had abruptly ended in a puddle of blood. Harry's heart clenched upon seeing the dried up blood on the ground, Hermione had lost so much.
It had taken Black Night Scales a good hour to find the Hermione's faint trail leading away from that spot. His companion had said it was though someone had carried Hermione, but there were no other smells but the forest.
So the pair had painstakingly followed the faint trail to the edge of the forest where they lost it. Now Harry was waiting to see if Black Night Scales could find it again. As a large gust of wind from the planes snatched at his hair, Harry knew that the trail was lost. It had been around two weeks since Hermione had been in this location, the trail was long gone.
I'm sorry Harry Potter, it has been too long. The trail has faded in the winds, Black Night Scales said apologetically as she slithered up.
Harry clenched his eyes shut just willing that this nightmare would disappear. He knew it, but to have Black Night Scales confirm it was something different. There was no way to find her, Hermione was lost to him.
Grief bubbled up within him and erupted in one long cry of anguish, echoed over the land. Harry sank to his knees and desperately clutched at his chest. It was too painful, what was the point of loving if losing them hurt so much? Harry's heart felt like it was breaking, he wanted it out. His fingers frantically clawed at his chest to stop its agony.
Harry knew nothing of his surroundings as he sank into the dark recesses of his mind. Every memory he had of his friends swam around him in taunting, each new memory causing a fresh wave of agony. He couldn't bear it, he shouldn't feel this way, and he had a job to do. Voldemort must die.
With a burning anger that drowned out any pain he felt, Harry forced his memories and emotions away. He locked them within the deepest part of his mind so they could no longer affect him and cause him unbearable agony. All that remained was anger burning black within him, the pain was gone.
Black Night Scales watched with sadness as her master fell to his knees in grief. Her sorrow turned to fear as her master released a raging torrent of wild magic. It whipped around him like a furious tornado, lashing out at anything in the vicinity. Black Night Scales felt the pure magic assault her and push her away. But she stayed her ground, her master needed her.
Then it was still. The surge of wild magic had ended almost as soon as it had begun. Her master was as still as a statue in a foetal position, no sign of the break down that he had just experienced. Black Night Scales could see flickers of black shadows dance across his skin. Her master smoothly raised his head. Dead grey eyes gazed unseeingly into the distance, flashes of something deeper and darker in their depths.
Her master rose silently to his feet. He pulled up his hood, casting his face in shadow. Then without even a glance in her direction he stalked off across the desolate planes into the growing shadows under the last light of day.
Black Night Scales warily watched her master for a moment. Harry Potter had died from grief and this shade of him borne from the remains. But he was her master nonetheless and she slithered off after him into the dying day.
A/N: And there you have it! I had planned on having a Ron viewpoint, but I got lazy so look forward to that next chapter! :P Reviews welcome!