(A/N):

Me: *looks at all my in-progress works*

Also me: *looks at an email from JustPretend2 that I still have not answered because I'm the worst*

Still me: I mean... JustPretend2 did say she really wanted this story...

Look. I have been sitting on this story for almost three years because it just wasn't flowing right. I struggled with getting things started and I struggled with the tone. For three years I have read this chapter (and the other chapters and scenes I've written for this story) over and over again and found it to be wanting. I never thought it was good enough. I will never think it's good enough. But I wrote it and I've been writing for it and I'm done debating whether it's good or not. I'm leaving it in your hands. You decide if it's good enough to be continued or if I should quit while I'm ahead.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of suicide attempts and depression. This chapter is from Hermione's POV and she's in the middle of depressive episode so I wanted it to feel differently when read. Less logical and more airy, if that makes sense. (Side note- I feel like I write about depressed-Hermione a lot but I can't help it. I do at least try and write Hermione at different points in her mental health journey; this is a Hermione who has done the work and has the coping skills to deal with her depression. She's just in an episode right now but she will get out of it relatively quickly compared to my other stories.)

This is Hermione/Boromir all the way! So if you're not into that, then I wouldn't recommend continuing on. It will also be based on both the books and the movies (at least for the Fellowship portion).

This story is dedicated to JustPretend2 who deserves a better friend than I. Hopefully the proof that I have been writing stories will help make you feel more forgiving about the fact that I am a shit corespondent.

This is unbetaed so there are probably mistakes.

Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Hermione was tired. So very, very tired. She was only twenty-five years old, she shouldn't be this exhausted. Although, she had experienced much more in her twenty-five years of life than most others.

All she wanted to do was sleep. To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. Or maybe not. She didn't think she'd mind if she never had to dream again.

If she were to die, would it be like falling asleep without having to dream? That would be nice, Hermione decided. To have the option of sleeping without having to see the beautiful things that'd never be, the faces of those that were no more, or the horrible fates that had been narrowly escaped would be the ultimate achievement of her life.

She wondered how long she'd been on the rooftop. At least four days, she decided after considering it, but it could possibly be more. Hermione hadn't been bothered enough to keep track of something as inconsequential as time, for when had time ever been anything but a burden to her?

If it wasn't for her magic, she would have died by now. It burned beneath her skin and she felt as though she could do the most powerful of spells without the wand that was currently hidden in the mokeskin pouch looped around her neck. A bubble of amusement rose in her at the irony of the fact that it was her magic that was keeping her alive, yet it was because of her magic that she was summoned here in the first place. If she'd had no magic, if she had been normal, then she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't have been dragged to this world; she wouldn't be the hostage of megalomaniac masquerading as a harbinger of change.

If she cared more, she might have been upset at circumstances. She might have tried to fruitlessly fight back. Now though, she was living by the motto: Accept the things I cannot change.

Hermione was sure there more to that particular quote, but she couldn't be bothered to remember it.

Something banged below and she slowly turned her head to look towards the door in the center of the roof. She was lying down on the cold stone of the tower, the ever-present chill of the rock cool against her overheated skin. There was another bang and Hermione wondered what was going on. The thought slipped away like a drop in a river, gone so quickly that it didn't really matter that it had been there in the first place.

The trapdoor flew open and a large shape came sailing out. The door immediately shut as the bundle came falling down and landed with a thud on the closed entrance. It took a moment for Hermione to realize that the thing that had landed on the roof was a man. An unconscious man it would seem, considering that he hadn't moved yet. Was he another victim of Saruman? Or was he a new attempt at entrapping her?

He still wasn't moving but she couldn't muster up enough concern to check on him. She made up the justification that it was because he was very likely a pawn of Saruman's, there to trick her into giving up information, but the truth was that Hermione just didn't care anymore. She used to care about everything but it never mattered, nothing ever changed. And, if caring wasn't going to get her anywhere, why should she bother?

Hermione turned to look back up at the sky, watching as the sun slowly moved and the world began to darken. A storm quickly moved towards them and it had just started to rain when the man groaned. She heard the rustling of cloth and then faint muttering.

He fell silent at the sight of her. "So, he has done it," he finally said, words slow and mournful. Hermione continued to stare at the sky, the cool water washing over her skin and causing her hair to cling to her face. Drops fell into her eyes and they burned, but she refused to look away. Water would probably help with the almost constant muscle spasms from Saruman's torture.

She didn't try to collect any.

"Are you alright, child?"

It took a moment for the question to pierce her consciousness and she allowed her head to loll to the side to look at him. Everything froze: the wind, the clanging noise coming from below, the blood pumping through her veins- all of it silenced at the sight of the man sitting before her: Albus Dumbledore.

"It seems that I have finally gone mad," she eventually murmured, tearing her gaze away from the treacherous headmaster.

"Have you really?" he asked, moving to sit down across from her. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"You're dead," she informed him, still focused on the rain dripping down from the sky. "Though even that didn't seem to stop you from pulling strings from the beyond. It is curious that my mind chose to conjure you though; you are neither the person I fear most nor someone I was very close to. You just needed your golden boy, the rest of us were expendable."

"I believe you have me confused with another," the Dumbledore look-alike told her gently. "My name is Gandalf and I can say with certainty that I have never seen another as expendable."

Hermione hummed but didn't respond; it wouldn't do well to argue with a figment of her imagination, as oddly named as it was.

After a few moments of silence, Dumbledore-Gandalf spoke again. "Since I have told you my name, I believe it would only be fair for you to give yours."

She considered him. On the one hand, it was a reasonable request for him to make and, since he was a figment of her imagination, there couldn't be much harm in tell him. On the other, she hadn't even told Saruman her name and there was the chance that this was some magical trick of his in order to find out more about her and her powers. In the end, she decided to stay silent and Dumbledore-Gandalf didn't ask her anymore questions.

The clanging sounds eventually grew louder, and a dim roar reached the top of the tower. Hermione rolled over and pulled herself towards the edge of the tower, peeking her head out. A flicker of almost-astonishment raced through her at the tree-ridden field and gaping chasm that was being created next to the tower. She was absolutely positive that there had been nothing of the sort earlier that day; to have something so large created in such a short time was not a good sign.

She heard Dumbledore-Gandalf stand and make his way over to her, standing next to her and looking down at the destruction being inflicted below. Hermione glanced up at him, curious to see what expression he would have. The flashes of pain, grief, and horror in his eyes made him suddenly seem even older than he already looked, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if maybe he wasn't Dumbledore. After all, this man seemed to feel the pain of the land being destroyed, and she wasn't sure if Dumbledore could even be bothered to recognize the pain he inflicted on others. Someone who ruined so many others couldn't possibly be able to acknowledge them all and still remain upright.

"When I tell you, you must jump," Gandalf told her.

Hermione glanced over at him from across the tower. Gandalf had attempted to speak with her several times over the course of the last few days, but Hermione had barely responded. Talking would have just been a pointless waste of energy and besides, what did she really have to say?

How long do you think we have before even our magic won't be able to compensate for lack of food and water?

Why has Saruman not come to torture us yet?

In the light of day you look less like Dumbledore so I apologize for insulting you when we first met?

Nothing, she had nothing to say for the first time in her life.

"I already tried that," she informed him, her softly spoken words barely making it across the tower and into the old wizard's ears. "There's some sort of barrier part of the way down, you bounce right off of it and are returned here."

Gandalf's eyes widened at her words. "You attempted to end your own life?"

The ends of Hermione's lips tugged up into a facsimile of a smile. "Why do you sound so surprised? Weren't you just suggesting the same thing?"

"Not at all," Gandalf responded. Before he could elaborate further, the door swung open and out came Saruman.

His malicious smile seemed to unsettle Gandalf, but Hermione just looked on indifferently. After all, Saruman had been torturing her for information for what seemed like weeks before tossing her up to the roof; she knew what to expect when it came to him. She had survived Bellatrix, she would survive him too. And if she didn't, well, then she didn't. Not that it really mattered either way.

After throwing a glance Hermione's way, Saruman focused his attention on Gandalf. He raised his staff and Gandalf was tossed to side. "I will give you one last chance to join Sauron willingly. You cannot defeat him; he is far too strong for the likes of you."

"Never."

Saruman's eyes flashed and he raised his staff again, lifting the other man into the air and slamming back down. "Friendship with Saruman is not lightly thrown aside," he informed him before throwing Gandalf to the other side of the tower and dangling him over the roof.

The power crackling around the white wizard caused the hair on Hermione's neck to stand on end and a chill to settle into her bones. Her own magic was roiling beneath the surface, but she kept it tamped down, refusing to give in and use it now. A part of her, the rusted and fragile piece that was a true Gryffindor through and through, wanted to help the elderly wizard who had been nothing but courteous towards her but the survivor in her- the Slytherin- refused to jeopardize her position in what would only be an ultimately useless gesture; even if she subdued Saruman, where would they go? Gandalf was too injured to travel far and Hermione wasn't sure if she could apparate safely here since her magic felt so different, even if she had known of a place to try and go to.

"One ill turn deserves another," continued Saruman as he stepped closer to Gandalf. A butterfly flew right above Gandalf's upturned face and Hermione frowned. "It is over. Embrace the power of the ring or embrace your own destruction." He threw Gandalf back onto the roof next to Hermione and the grey-clad man gave a short cry of pain before gathering himself.

"There is only one Lord of the Ring," he informed Saruman, the calm in his voice a stark contrast to the others insanity. "Only one who can bend it to his rule." Behind Saruman, Hermione could see two large, winged creatures flying towards the tower and Gandalf gave her a sidelong glance. She instantly gathered that this was the plan he hadn't gotten the chance to explain moments earlier and slid herself towards the edge of the roof. Hermione may not have been sure about most things in her life at the moment, but she was sure of one thing: she wanted her freedom from this place, one way or another. "And he does not share power," finished Gandalf before catching Hermione's eye and crawling to the edge of the roof, quickly throwing himself off.

Saruman's eyes widened and his gaze snapped over to Hermione, but it was too late. As soon as Gandalf had fallen, Hermione had leaned backwards into the open space, content with whatever would come as long as it didn't involve spending one more second on top of that hellish gateway.

Wind rushed through her hair and for a moment, everything was completely peaceful. Then, with a quiet thump, Hermione landed on something soft and warm. She opened her eyes, unaware that she had closed them, and glanced down to see what she had landed on. For a brief moment, she thought it was a hippogriff and was instantly assailed with memories of running through a forest, a daring rescue, and a hope-filled goodbye. Just as quickly, those memories faded away and she saw that she was actually riding on the back of what seemed to be a giant eagle.

"You are safe," came Gandalf's voice from the bird next to her.

That's a matter of opinion, Hermione thought but kept silent. While Gandalf seemed to be the lesser of two evils when compared to Saruman, that didn't say much at all about his level of goodness.

"Rest now," Gandalf continued. "I will wake you when we have arrived."

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, though she lacked any true curiosity.

"Rivendell, home of the elves. It is also known as the Last Homely House East of the Sea." It seemed that, the farther away they got from the tower, the more cheerful Gandalf became. His voice sounded more like the Dumbledore from years ago in that moment than he had at any time before, yet there was still a clear difference between the two and Hermione was grateful for that.

Before Hermione could let herself sleep, she forced herself to speak. "I wasn't trying to kill myself." Gandalf looked back at her and she elaborated. "When you asked if I threw myself off the roof in order to kill myself… it wasn't what you thought. I knew Saruman was going to torture me until he succeeded in breaking me, and I knew that I couldn't let that happen. I didn't jump from the tower because I wanted to die- I jumped because it was the only guarantee that Saruman and his master wouldn't get what they wanted. I spent my childhood fighting a Dark Lord and his followers and I refuse to be in any way helpful to the rise of another."

He seemed pleased- and troubled- with her explanation, but Hermione couldn't be sure if she was reading him right. "Rest now," Gandalf repeated. "Landroval will not let you fall."

Hermione's last thought was the Landroval must be the name of the bird carrying her before exhaustion pulled her away into unconsciousness.

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