A/N: So I've recently had some inspiration to keep writing this story. Thanks to those who have reviewed! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 6:

"abcd" = English
"abcd" = Westron
abcd = Memories
abcd = Thoughts

Hermione bit her lip in frustration as the tip of the needle pricked her thumb once again. She watched as a small drop of blood balled on the pad of her thumb for about the tenth time in the space of a few minutes. With a sigh she dropped the embroidery into her lap as she sucked at her injured thumb. How Éowyn got her to sit and do something as inane as embroidery with the other ladies was still a mystery to her.

Not only was Hermione horrible at it but she had to sit through the chatter and gossip in a language she barely understood. Her only solace was that Éowyn seemed to be having about as much fun as Hermione was which raised the question of why they were even there.

"Oh Penelope! I never think I find … bad at … than I am," Éowyn laughed as she spotted Hermione sucking her thumb once again.

Hermione sheepishly laughed with her new friend.

"I no done this," Hermione replied with her basic knowledge of the common tongue.

Éowyn laughed once again and went back to her embroidery of her mare.

A bit more than a month had gone by since the incident in the library, which no one had spoken of since. Hermione's grasp of the common tongue was much better and she was able to communicate with people on a basic level. Her days were still spent with Éowyn but she was allowed to wander around by herself if she desired.

Hermione's thoughts never strayed far from her dear friends or their mission. Her dreams were plagued with nightmares and often she'd wake up well before the sun rose above the horizon drenched in a cold sweat. But for the first time in years Hermione felt safe. The walls of Edoras and the companionship of Éowyn and her brother Éomer gave her a feeling of safety. A part of Hermione wanted to live out the rest of days in the capital of Rohan, but she couldn't. Her mission hung over her head causing a pit of guilt in her stomach whenever she felt happy or at peace.

Hey eyes strayed to the embroidery sitting in her lap. The white cotton handkerchief bore the unfinished Hogwarts crest in the corner. Hermione brushed her fingers over the stitches, quite pleased with how well it was coming along even though it was nothing compared with what the other ladies managed to achieve. But the small crest brought forth feelings of homesickness and longing. As much as Edoras made her feel safe, she had never felt safer than when she was at Hogwarts, had never felt that she belonged anywhere else.

A few tears welled up in Hermione's eyes as her feelings threatened to consume her. Her hands clenched the emerald skirt of her dress and her eyes closed to shut out the world around her. A single tear fell down Hermione's cheek and onto the handkerchief below as memories of Hogwarts played through her mind.

Hermione started as she felt a soft hand close over her own. She opened her eyes to see Éowyn looking at her with a sad smile.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me," Hermione murmured in English as she wiped away her tear.

Éowyn smiled kindly as she understood the meaning of Hermione's words and put the embroidery things into a basket.

"Come Penelope, … done for today," Éowyn said as she grab Hermione's hand to lead her form the room.

The other ladies said their farewells as the two females left hand in hand. Hermione and Éowyn ended up standing on the balcony out the front of the Golden Hall.

It was a rare still day where there was only an occasional gentle breeze blowing through the city. This meant that the stench from the city below was particularly pungent. Hermione, who was now used to the smell only wrinkled her nose and forgot about it and instead focused on the feel of the afternoon sun on her face. She closed her eyes and smiled thinking of all the days where she, Harry and Ron had spent the afternoon down by the Black Lake.

Like always, her smile fell and eyes shone with unshed tears as she thought of her friends. Hermione clenched her hands tightly as she cast her eyes over the planes of Rohan with a desperate wish that her friends found their way back to her. A gentle touch on her arm caused Hermione to flinch and look over at Éowyn who was trying to get her attention. Éowyn had a sympathetic look and offered a small, sad smile to Hermione like she always did when Hermione's thought's drifted to depressing topics.

"Penelope, … go … walk … city before dinner," Éowyn said as she started to descend the stone steps.

Grateful for some type of distraction, Hermione began her descent casting one last desperate look at the skyline. Her eyes locked on to figures in the distance who were just cresting the hill on the horizon. They were too far away to make out with any great detail, but it appeared to be a group of riders.

"Éowyn, riders," Hermione exclaimed to Éowyn who was several steps below her.

Éowyn quickly sought out the riders in the distance with interest. Hermione watched as a large smile broke out on her friend's face as Éowyn recognised the party. With a swish of her golden hair, Éowyn spun around and began to make her way into the Golden Hall pulling Hermione along with her.

King Théoden was sitting on the throne talking to several of his advisors when the girls entered the hall. He looked at them with an expectant smile upon seeing his niece's excitement.

"Uncle …! Théodred's …!" Éowyn exclaimed with delight.

Hermione mentally nodded, now she understood Éowyn's joy. Over the course of her stay in Edoras, Hermione had heard much about how Éowyn lamented how her beloved cousin, Prince Théodred, was away doing his duty as the Second Marshal of Rohan. While she didn't really care whether the Prince was in Edoras or not, Éowyn had been a constant companion to her and it gladdened Hermione to see her friend happy. A glance around the room showed most occupants with a smile on their faces, the conversation more upbeat than it previously had been.

Éowyn pulled Hermione over to one of the benches along the wall to wait for the Prince and his men to arrive.

It was an hour before Théodred and several of his party stepped through the door of the Golden Hall. They looked dirty and tired but walked with a spring in their step and sparkle in their eyes that only a long awaited homecoming could produce.

Prince Théodred himself looked much like his father with the same blue eyes and blonde hair. He was a true warrior; tall, strong and handsome with the innate grace of kings about him. Hermione could see his muscles flexing beneath his tunic as he walked down the length of the hall. It would be no surprise to find that the Prince had many admirers.

As she assessed Théodred's appearance, Hermione had missed the initial greeting between father and son and it was only when Éowyn jumped up to welcome her cousin home that she tuned back into what was going on. Content with where she was, Hermione remained seated and listened to the exchange as much as she was able limited by her basic grasp at their common tongue.

"… Dunlending attack, father," Théodred said with pain. "… small village in the Wold."

Hermione gasped.

There was not one building in Hogsmeade that had been saved from destruction. Some had been reduced to rubble with only memory being able to identify what they had been. Others were half standing or skeletons of their former selves with charred smoking beams. A few were still in the process of being consumed by fire with no one around to put out the flames. Smoke hung thick in the air, blocking out the sun and muffling sound.

She shook her head to clear the horrific image from her mind.

"They destroyed everything. Not one house … the fires … night," Théodred's grave voice reported, sounding so distant to Hermione.

Hogsmeade, the village that was always so full of life where most students eagerly waited for the weekends to go and visit, was destroyed. Attacked by Death Eaters, on a Hogsmeade weekend no less.

"Dead bodies of villagers and Dunlendings …."

What was worse than the destroyed village, was that none of the inhabitants had gotten out alive. Their corpses littered the streets. Lifeless bodies of Hogwarts students among them. The Order had gotten there too late, by the time they did all the Death Eaters had gone, all the destruction had happened. It wasn't an attack, it was a massacre.

"… one survivor, a little girl," Théodred's voice had all but faded into the background as Hermione relived the moment she had arrived with the Order upon hearing of an attack on the village.

Hermione had never felt so useless, so helpless. Tears fell from her eyes as she took stock of what had happened. It was a sad day when she decided that being hit with Avada Kedavra was the best thing that a Death Eater could hit you with. At least that way your death was instant and painless. A better way to die than most other curses.

A small bundle of black cloth caught her eyes. Hermione stumbled over in shock before falling to her knees beside it.

That bundle of cloth was a third year girl. She was covered in dark red blood which contrasted with her pallid skin. Her eyes were wide open and even in death Hermione could see the pure terror and pain that the young girl felt in her dying moments. Her death wasn't swift or painless, the gaping hole in her torso spoke otherwise. So soaked in blood were her robes that Hermione almost missed the green and silver scarf around her neck.

… one survivor, a little girl, The Prince's words echoed through her mind.

There were no survivors.

Hermione dug her nails into her arms and bit her lip to stop from crying out. The emotions that her memory had brought to the surface were threatening to consume her. She shook her head but the image of the young Slytherin burned in the forefront of her mind, not letting her forget how they failed. How she failed.

With a shaky breath, Hermione stood up and discreetly made her way from the hall towards her room. She couldn't listen to Théodred any longer, not when it brought up such painful memories.

"Penelope," Éomer called out from behind her.

Hermione took a startled breath, not realising that anyone had seen her leave, and turned to face Éomer in the empty hallway.

"Are you well? You look …," Éomer asked with sincere concern.

Hermione was touched. She wished that she could tell him and have a shoulder to cry on however, her language abilities notwithstanding, she couldn't let anyone get close. People close to her get killed.

"I am fine, I just want to lie down," she replied mustering up a weak smile, not having the energy to translate into the common speech.

Yeah, lie down and wallow in my sorrows more like it.

Éomer caught her meaning well enough though he didn't look convinced but didn't push it. Instead he walked Hermione to her room and told her that if she didn't feel up to dinner he would send some food to her room.

With a nod, Hermione shut the door in his face and leant back against it. She forced herself to take deep breaths in an effort to control her emotions. They didn't work. All she could see was the memory of the Hogsmeade massacre playing over and over in her mind. Even now she could remember it like it was yesterday. She could still smell the smoke.

Her breaths quickened and became shallower as her emotions finally consumed her. The Hogsmeade Massacre was only one of many that occurred throughout the war. It was the only one where they completely and truly failed the people. The Order had been given false information and had gone off to fight an attack that hadn't happened. By the time they realised that it had been a trick it was too late.

Hermione let out a sob as tears streamed down her face. She looked at her tears in detached wonder. She hadn't allowed herself to cry during the war, no matter what had happened. Crying achieved nothing, crying didn't make you strong. Hermione couldn't help anyone if she wasn't strong. As soon as she came to this world she became an emotional wreck.

Pressure built up within her chest reminding Hermione that she needed to breath. She gasped for air feeling faint and sank down the door until she was hugging her knees with desperation. Hermione choked on her sobs while tears streamed down her face. She clutched her knees to her chest in an effort to hold herself together as though she was physically falling apart. Pain and guilt stabbed through her chest making her suffocate. Self-loathing coursed through her veins, for not being able to save them, for being weak and useless.

And what am I doing now? I'm crying like a little baby, hiding away because I'm too weak to go on and finish the job. If Harry is still alive he would never give up! I'm useless and pathetic.

With a burst of Anger, Hermione grabbed the nearest object and violently hurled it across the room. The act of violence didn't smother the flames of her anger, instead it only seemed to feed it into a scorching fury.

Not wanting to destroy the room so generously given to her, with a cry of frustrated rage Hermione clawed her fingers over the stone floor, tearing off her nails and leaving bloody streaks in their wake. The dark side of Hermione relished in the pain.

I couldn't save them. I deserve the pain. They suffered from far more, it's the least I can do to repay them.

Burning tears dripped onto the cool stone where they started evaporating. Hermione didn't notice as she couldn't register what her eyes saw, only seeing the horror of her memories. She clenched her hands until her knuckles where white, smashing them into the floor with a wave of anguish. As she did a loud cracking sound struck through her room. Hermione's vision burned red before fading to black as she collapsed on the hot stone floor.

"abcd" = Westron
abcd = Thoughts

Éomer walked down the hall with a heavy heart. Théodred had just finished reporting on his months away on duty. Dunlending attacks were becoming more common and more ferocious. Their people were suffering and Éomer was not too sure on how to stop them apart from wiping them all out.

Feeling like he needed to be doing something, Éomer began making his way down to the sparring range. If he pretended he was fighting against the Dunlendings it would make him feel better. Despite the troubling news, his heart was lighter now that his brother-in-all-but-blood was back home safe. While he didn't voice how much he missed Théodred like Éowyn did, Éomer missed him just as much.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to Penelope as they often did these days. Éomer was worried, she really did look ill when left for her room.

Maybe I should have pushed the topic. If she's sick she must see a healer.

Éomer shook his head. While he didn't spend as much time with her as Éowyn did, Éomer could tell that Penelope was as stubborn as Éowyn, if not more. If he had pushed the topic she wouldn't have reacted well.

She would probably have reacted much like Éowyn.

Éomer chuckled as the thought of Penelope yelling at him shouting that he was being 'Too much of a mother-hen,' and to, 'Stop babying her,' much like Éowyn had done on numerous occasions. Penelope and Éowyn were much alike in their personalities and it please him that they had become friends. Éowyn hadn't had someone that she could connect to before Penelope came along. But while his sister wanted to fight when she didn't need to, Penelope was forced into fighting. Whether Penelope wanted to fight or not, it didn't change the fact that she was clearly damaged.

Like whenever he thought of Penelope's mental state, Éomer found himself growing angry. A young lady, whether she was an Istari or not, should never have to go through such pain and hardship that Penelope has obviously gone through. If he ever came across the bastards that caused her harm, they would wish they were dead by the time he was finished with them.

There were few people at the sparring yard at this time of day as it was approaching dinner, but Éomer easily found a willing sparring partner. If his swings were a little too fierce and his stabs a little too vicious, then his partner didn't say a word.

When dinner was close to being served, Éomer thanked his sparring partner and headed up to the Golden Hall. All anger had sweated out of him during the spar leaving a clear mind. His muscles burned from exertion like they always did after a good spar.

After briefly washing and changing Éomer made his way to the eating hall, but not before passing Penelope's room to check if she was coming to dinner or not. A knock on the door provided no response.

"Éomer, you're not entering a lady's room unattended are you," Théodred's voice cheekily called out from down the hall.

Éomer turned to his cousin with an embarrassed smile as his hand dropped from the door handle.

"Penelope was not feeling well this afternoon, I was just going to check if she was coming to dinner," Éomer defended.

Théodred had caught up to him now and clapped a hand on his back as he said with a disbelieving tone, "Aye, sure you were."

Éomer playfully elbowed his cousin in the side as Théodred laughed.

"Did she answer when you knocked?" Théodred asked with a slightly more serious tone.

Éomer shook his head.

"Then she's probably already at the feast. Seeing as we're running late as it is," Théodred said as he started to drag Éomer away from Penelope's door.

"But-"

"And if she is not at the feast, we can send someone to check on her later. As it stands, we have much to catch up on. Starting with this mysterious Lady Penelope."

Éomer sighed and let his cousin drag him to the eating hall. Though an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he thought of Penelope. As they entered the eating hall he noticed immediately that Penelope was not present. They sat near the head of the table across from Éowyn who said she hadn't seen Penelope since Théodred had returned.

"She's probably just tired brother. You know she doesn't sleep well, and I for one am not interrupting any sleep that she is getting," Éowyn reassured.

Éomer decided that he was going to accept Éowyn's assurance. So he ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach and was determined to enjoy his cousin's homecoming.

The night was spent with much laughter filling Théodred in on all of the things he had missed since he left a couple of months ago. This included telling him all about Penelope. Théodred wore a thoughtful frown, which was very unlike him, when listening to his cousin's story about Penelope. But as the mead flowed all worries were washed away.

It was well into the night when Éomer was walking Éowyn to her room, his head fuzzy with the buzz of mead. They were laughing over the image of Théodred losing a drinking game to one of the captains in the room by spectacularly passing out into the bowl of stew on the table.

When they reached Éowyn's door, Éomer bade goodnight and turned to leave.

"Do you think the rumours are true?" Éowyn asked, stopping Éomer in his tracks.

"Which rumour?" Éomer asked, his brain slow from all the mead.

"About the heir of Elendil?" Éowyn clarified.

Éomer chuckled. It was a rumour that Théodred had picked up from the Wold; a young heir of Elendil was roaming the country who wielded kingly power to defend innocents.

"Rubbish. After all this time, why would the heir to the throne of Gondor roam the lands of Rohan? Wouldn't they be in Gondor claiming their throne? If some dark haired, grey-eyed person – which for all we know, those traits might be common in Gondor – was roaming the country defending innocents, then I thank him. But they are not the heir, that line has been long broken," Éomer replied feeling surprisingly sober.

Éowyn nodded but didn't look like she believed him.

"I just feel as though events have been put in motion, and things that we never dreamed of happening will come to pass," Éowyn said in a small and slightly cryptic voice.

Éomer didn't reply and watched as Éowyn entered her room before heading to his room for a welcome sleep to try and shake the feeling that Éowyn's words had cast upon him.

"abcd" = Westron
abcd = Thoughts

Hermione woke with a groan. The stone was cold beneath her, sapping her warmth away leaving her shivering. She cracked open an eye and immediately shut it as the morning light assaulted her. She had a headache. It throbbed behind her eyes. Her throat felt thick and her eyes raw. It didn't take long for the events of last night to come back to her. Hermione sat up with a start causing a wave a dizziness to wash over her.

Oh shit!

Ignoring her headache for the moment, Hermione took stock of the room. Thankfully nothing in the room was broken as she had only thrown a soft leather shoe which now lay innocently by the far wall.

Bracing herself, Hermione looked down at her hands. She gulped as she evaluated the broken skin on her fingertips and snapped nails as well as bruising along her knuckles. Looking past her hands, Hermione's gaze locked onto the stone beneath her and she felt blood drain from her face.

Dried blood stained the stone where she had scraped her fingers but that's not what had caught her attention. Black scorch marks lay beneath the dried blood leading to several fist sized scorches right where Hermione had smashed her fists into the ground. With a shiver, Hermione traced the scorch marks with her fingers while ignoring the pain from her abused hands.

Did I do this? Hermione wondered, feeling sick.

Accidental magical, brought on by my strong emotions. What else could it be?

Then Hermione smelt the smoke, still lingering in the air, clinging to her clothes. With dismay she looked down at her clothes, they were charred. Feeling guilty, Hermione peeled off the dress thankful that her shift underneath was untouched. Stuffing the ruined dress into her beaded bag to hide the evidence, she pulled out a mild healing potion which healed her hands and got rid of most of her headache.

After a quick wash in the basin, Hermione donned fresh clothes and cleaned up as much of the blood and scorch marks on the stone that she could. Her scrubbing didn't completely clean the scorch marks but they had faded and all of the blood was gone. She hoped that people would believe her when she said that those marks had been there all along.

The window was thrown open in order to dispel the smell of smoke and Hermione absently gazed down into the city. She felt drained, and sick, but most of all she was afraid. Afraid at what she had felt last night. Those emotions, and the strength at which she felt those emotions, were not at all healthy. They were dangerous, especially if they evoked accidental magic that had the ability to hurt and destroy.

While the accidental magic was concerning, the utter self-loathing she felt terrified her. She remembered how it made her relish in the pain of her injuries. A shiver coursed through her even though the day was quite warm. Hermione hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head upon them.

I need help. I need to at least talk to someone. I can't go on like this.

Bottling her emotions up and not dealing with her memories from the war was now finally catching up to her, in a bad way. While she needed to work out Voldemort's last horcrux to destroy him, Hermione knew that she needed to heal before that could be accomplished.

But who do I talk to? Even if I was fluent in their language, Éowyn was too innocent. She wouldn't quite understand. I can't bother the King with my troubles, he's already given me so much as it is. That mostly just leaves Éomer. But can I really talk to him?

A strong knocking on the door startled her out of her thoughts. With a tired sigh, Hermione made her way across the room. While the healing potion made her feel better it didn't entirely fix her headache and it certainly didn't remove her tiredness.

Plastering a smile on her face, she opened the door to find Éomer on the other side.

"Good morning Éomer," Hermione greeted softly, not quite managing to sound chipper.

Éomer looked at her with concern, "Good morning Penelope, how are you feeling?"

Really shit, like, you have no idea.

"I well Éomer, thank you. You, you look tired?" Hermione replied this time with a genuine smile.

I thought we agreed to talk to him. This means being truthful about our feelings!

"I am well Penelope, … late night … lots mead …," Éomer replied sheepishly.

We never agreed to anything, Shut up!

If Hermione found it disconcerting that she was having a conversation in her head with herself she didn't show it. Instead she just laughed in sympathy with Éomer and followed him to the eating hall for a late breakfast.

It seemed that most of the Golden Hall had had too much to drink last night as there were many people having a late breakfast looking rather tired.

Hermione chuckled as she sat down and helped herself to a piece of bread with butter. While she had skipped out on dinner last night she was not hungry and still felt sick from everything that had happened last night. After a few bites Hermione couldn't eat anymore and instead sipped some of her juice. If anyone noticed how little she ate they didn't comment as they were all too busy nursing their hangovers.

Éowyn strode through the doors looking quite cheerful and made a beeline for Hermione.

"Penelope! You are up …," she exclaimed loudly with a smile.

A few people, Éomer included, muttered under their breaths about it being way too early for such loud voices. Hermione smirked.

"I was … today … go riding. … you … lots … practice," Éowyn continued.

Hermione groaned and tried to protest but Éowyn just pulled her along behind her all the way down to the royal stables. Many times throughout her stay, Éowyn had spent many hours trying to teach Hermione how to ride. It was a very slow process but Hermione was just beginning to get the hang of it. That, however, did not mean she liked it one bit. Riding always left her sore and the horse barely listened to her.

Éowyn had her practicing on a docile chestnut mare called Dandelion, but the horse was still intimidating to Hermione.

"… go riding not in city," Éowyn told Hermione as though it was a good thing and did not listen to any protest.

They ended up riding to a rocky outcrop not far from the city. It was an easy enough ride for Hermione and the two had a picnic lunch that Éowyn had packed. They spent the majority of the day beyond the city gates and Hermione thought it a very welcome distraction and actually enjoyed herself.

By the time they went back to the city, it was nearing dinner time. After leaving the stables they went their separate ways to freshen up before dinner.

Hermione entered her room with a lighter heart than when she left that morning, but as soon as she saw the faint scorch marks on the floor all her previous feelings flooded back into her. She felt guilty for enjoying her day with Éowyn. In her mind she felt that she should be doing everything in her power to destroy Voldemort.

With a heavier heart she set about getting ready for dinner. It wasn't long before there was a knock on the door and Hermione opened it thinking that Éowyn was there to accompany her to dinner. To her shock it was Prince Théodred that she opened the door to.

"Good evening Lady Penelope," the Prince greeted with a cheerful smile.

"Good evening Prince Théodred," Hermione replied rather shocked.

She hadn't been formally introduced to the Prince yet so Hermione was confused as to why he was at her door. Why she was so important for him to know her name was even more confusing.

Éowyn or Éomer probably told their cousin about you. About how damaged you are. Your scar, your shame. How you pulled a knife on them.

Not sure what to say, Hermione just stood awkwardly in her door.

"I … I … you to the hall for dinner." Théodred asked, still smiling.

I'm not sure I understood that correctly and if so, that is not what I was expecting, Hermione thought.

"Uh, sure. Okay. I thank you," Hermione replied with a shy smile, still unsure of his motives.

Théodred's smile widened as he held out his arm.

"… let's go," he said as he practically pulled Hermione along with him.

Hermione smiled, she didn't know him but the Prince seemed to have such an easy-going personality. She also felt safe, as though nothing could touch her while she was beside him. It was such an odd feeling for her, but she liked it. Théodred joked and chatted the whole way to the eating hall and when they got there, Hermione felt as though the walk there should have been longer.

She still had her arm in his when they approached the table, Hermione was laughing at one of his anecdotes from his childhood that she was able to piece together.

"Penelope, I … you to someone," Théodred said as he guided her up to the head of the table, still chuckling at his story.

"Penelope, … Gandalf the Grey. He is … Istari. Gandalf, … Penelope Clearwater. … one … Istari."

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat and instinctively clutched Théodred's arm in a firmer grasp. Would this Wizard sell her out to Voldemort and the Death Eaters? She was too weak to deal with wizards at the moment. Panic settled in her chest and all thoughts of eating completely vanished.

With a strong force of will, Hermione forced herself to meet this wizard's eyes. She locked her chocolate brown eyes in the curious gaze of his blue-grey eyes.

A/N: I know it's only Hermione's side of the story, but this chapter turned out to be much longer than I anticipated so I had to cut it. Tell me what you think. :)