(A/N): Hello all! Hope you're doing well and staying warm!

I'm just going to get right to it because my mind is feeling slow and sluggish right now. I had Covid a few weeks ago and it knocked me down good. I'm mostly recovered now, but Covid Brain Fog is real and truly awful. I meant to get this chapter out way sooner but I literally could not get my brain to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time no matter how much coffee I inhaled. I'm honestly worried that there are glaring errors here that I've missed while reviewing the chapter but unless I'm willing to wait for possibly weeks for my brain to return to normal, I'm just going to have to post things and hope for the best.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'm glad to see you have far more faith in my abilities than I do. I can't wait to hear what you think of Hermione's first meeting with Boromir. After reading so many stories where Hermione first meets Boromir during the Council fiasco where tensions are running high, I decided I wanted to try something different.

This is the last chapter with (as I've been putting it) sad-Hermione. So, if you've been wondering how many more chapters of pure depressed Hermione there were left, rejoice because next chapter we get to see mad-Hermione. Of course, healing isn't linear and neither is grief, so Hermione's not going to suddenly become all rainbows and butterflies. But neither will she be trapped in her pain.

Today is actually my birthday so I had originally planned to post this chapter and a chapter for my Avenger's story as presents to myself but I think that'll have to wait till tomorrow. But hey, one out of two isn't bad!

Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Hermione tried.

(The surface of the bubble was growing thinner and she knew her time was almost up.)

She did her best every day to find her footing in Rivendell, to establish even a loose routine. She ate whenever Aragorn or Arwen pushed food on her, went for daily walks with them in the gardens or around the city once she had regained more of her strength, and didn't ask what her food was laced with when the angles on her face began to soften and her form filled out again far too quickly. It was hard though and most days she still felt like she was just playing at being a person who felt things rather than being able to actually experience any emotions for herself.

Aragorn, seemingly able to understand what was troubling her, did his best to make sure he was always nearby to help her without coming across as overbearing. She could feel herself starting to latch onto him and would have fought it tooth and nail if the idea of resistance hadn't seemed so exhausting. Hermione supposed that she should just be grateful that her attachment was purely platonic because she didn't think she was capable of loving someone at just that moment- especially not a person who was clearly in love with someone else.

Arwen and Aragorn's relationship was fascinating to watch from the outside. Coming from a time and place when most people felt the need to be loud and obvious about their relationships, seeing how quietly intense they were with each other was one thing Hermione actually enjoyed about this world. They never touched- never even stood too close to one another- but still seemed to automatically orbit each other whenever they were in the same general vicinity. It was also nice seeing how sure they seemed to be of one another. There were no jealous looks or uncertainty whenever they saw the other speaking with a member of the opposite sex or being approached by a member of the opposite sex. They were confident in their love for one another.

That morning, Arwen had come to collect Hermione alone. Having been lured into actually exploring the compound by the promise of being able to visit the library, Hermione had spent part of the morning learning some of layout of her temporary home and the rest of time hopelessly lost. Arwen had left her alone temporarily to speak with her father and Hermione had thought she knew the way back to the gardens she favored but she was wrong. She was almost at the point where she was just going to sit down and wait for someone else to cross her path when Gandalf turned the corner ahead of her. "Hello," he greeted cheerfully, but left a small amount of space between them. "What are you doing here?"

Giving him a bland smile, Hermione answered, "Arwen was showing me around before she got called away and I made the mistake of believing I could find my way back without help."

Gandalf chuckled. "Ah yes, I have had that happen to me a time or two. Where were you hoping to go?"

"Originally, I had wanted to visit the library but now I would just settle for finding the gardens again."

"Well, I could show you either, if you like. I am on my way to the library at this very moment, but the garden is closer if you would prefer to go there."

Hermione considered her options. While she had no real desire to spend any more time with Gandalf than she already had, she also knew it would be foolish to repeatedly spurn one of the few magic users Middle Earth had. "If you wouldn't mind some company, I would love to spend the afternoon reading. It was- is- my favorite thing to do," she admitted.

Eyes brightening slightly at her attempt to reach out, Gandalf moved to stand beside her and offered her his arm. "Of all the vices to be had though, that is probably one of the best to find oneself afflicted with."

"I could not agree with you more."

"There is to be a feast tomorrow to welcome the various leaders from around Middle Earth," Arwen told Hermione as they walked through the gardens the next day. "It will be a good opportunity for you to learn more about some of the other races here."

Hermione's shoulders hunched slightly. "Are you sure that's necessary? I am nothing more than an outsider in your world, after all. Is it really that important that I try and find allies right now?"

Arwen was silent for almost a minute before replying, "You will need to find your place in this world eventually, Hermione. You cannot forever remain alone."

"I have read many books about your world, Arwen," Hermione finally told her. "I know what the people here think of female magic users. Alone is the only thing I can be."

"But you are not the same as the other witches," Arwen responded earnestly. "Your powers are not what theirs are- you just need for others to realize that." When Hermione remained silent, Arwen sighed. "Not everyone will let you down or judge you, Hermione. But if you forever attempt to hold yourself separate, that is all your life will ever be. Besides myself, Aragorn, and Gandalf, you hardly speak with anyone here. You are even hesitant with my father, despite his attempts to meet with you. Why?"

There was really no acceptable answer Hermione could give her. Lord Elrond had been nothing but kind to her but, for some reason, she found herself shying away from his company. There was some sort of darkness surrounding the man- the unease she had felt when she'd first woken up in Rivendell turned into a scream whenever she was near Elrond. Whatever her magic was trying to warn her about was somehow tied to that man.

Her magic was another issue was she struggling with. She could feel how strong it was here but, when trying to channel it through her wand, her spells came out weak and ineffective. After considering the phenomenon for several days, Hermione had come to the conclusion that her internal magic had somehow become too strong for her wand to be able to properly conduct it. Without a properly working wand, Hermione would be forced to rely only on wandless magic and that could be rather… unpredictable.

"It is difficult connecting with others after everything that has happened," Hermione settled on telling Arwen. She could see that the elf knew that she was avoiding answering her question but wasn't going to press. "It hasn't been that long since my arrival here, Arwen- I just need time."

Arwen sighed. "I understand, yet I also worry. For if you take too much time, Hermione, you may just find that life has passed you by without you having lived it."

(The bubble was shrinking now, contracting inwards.)

Hermione couldn't help her snort of amusement. "Sadly, I think that is the least of my worries right now."

"What you said yesterday," Aragorn started, staring straight ahead as they made their way down the path, Hermione leaping at the chance to escape her rooms before she would inevitably be forced by Arwen to begin preparing for the feast. "What did it mean?"

Hermione frowned up at him. "What are you talking about?" The past few days were all a sort of exhausted blur to her and she was genuinely unsure of what he was referring to. From what she remembered, Hermione knew she had said quite a number of things to Aragorn that might have been confusing, but nothing that would make him seem quite so somber.

Aragorn tensed beneath her hand. "You spoke of a good man going to war," he answered lowly.

It took a moment, but Hermione slowly recalled quoting Doctor Who at the poor man. He'd asked her about her scars, about her wars, and she deflected him.

Demons run, when a good man goes to war, she'd told him. Night will fall and drown the sun when a good man goes to war. Friendship dies and true love lies. Night will fall and the dark will rise, when a good man goes to war.

It wasn't even a very fitting or accurate quote. She'd just wanted him to stop talking.

"Oh. That." Hermione wasn't quite sure how exactly to explain the complexity that was Doctor Who to a man residing in a world that was essentially in the Middle Ages.

While Hermione tried to come up with an explanation, Aragorn was slowly offering a conclusion of his own. "Was it a prophecy?" he asked, tone much like Hermione's always was when someone brought up anything to do with divination- tired and annoyed.

"No!" she exclaimed, unable to help herself. "Absolutely not! I don't believe in prophecies."

Finally looking at her, Aragorn repeated with disbelief, "You do not believe in prophecies?"

"No, I don't," Hermione answered firmly. "In my experience, prophecies are nothing more than excuses used by terrible people to justify their actions." Dumbledore had done it when explaining that he couldn't defeat Voldemort himself because there was a perfectly good rhyme stating that Harry was the only one who could beat Voldemort.

"Prophecies have a grain of truth to them," he argued, and Hermione didn't know why, because he clearly didn't enjoy the stance he was taking. "A magic imbedded in them that warns of things to come."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "That may be true, but the way people have chosen to interpret them has drastically changed. At least in my world. Because at first they were, as you said, warnings or suggestions of things to come. But the more prophecies that were told, the lazier people became. They took them as words written in stone and an excuse not to do work themselves because a prophecy informed them that this was how it had to be. But they're not. You can change them. Our fates are our own."

"Is that what happened in your world?" Aragorn asked after a pause. "Was there a prophecy you managed to subvert?"

(A centimeter between her and the translucent surface surrounding her and if she touched it…)

"No," she murmured, swallowing down almost-bitterness. "Our leader manipulated things to ensure the prophecy he heard came true. Why bother doing something himself when you can force a boy to do it for you? But we found other prophecies. A room full of thousands upon thousands of prophecies, most of which never came true because they weren't set in stone. They weren't absolutes. They were just possibilities that never came to pass."

Aragorn nodded, brows furrowed, and Hermione wondered.

Did Aragorn have a prophecy tied to his name? Did he know someone who did?

She prayed that he took her words to heart. Someone should benefit from her experiences.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. She had barreled out into the courtyard without warning, trying to hide from Elrond's questions. Aragorn had left her in the hall leading to her rooms, and she'd been trying to talk herself into going inside when she'd felt the Lord of Rivendell coming towards her and had immediately turned on her heel and taken off. While she might not have been sure what it was about him that unsettled her, Hermione was sure that she'd rather not take the time to find out. Unfortunately, her presence had startled the man already within, causing him to drop the papers he'd been holding. "I'm terribly sorry, I had thought this area to be empty."

"Please, there is no need to apologize," he told her, standing up and giving her a short bow. "This place is open to everyone; if I had not been so lost in what I was reading then your presence would not have surprised me so."

She smiled, feeling the hint of a blush light her cheeks as she met his gaze. With his chin length brown hair and trimmed beard, he had a ruggedly handsome appearance that Hermione couldn't help noticing. She also couldn't help feeling enchanted by his unusual blue-gray color eyes that made her think of home and the color of her mother's favorite blanket. "As one who finds myself lost in the written word on a regular basis, I can sympathize with the shock of being abruptly pulled from it."

His posture relaxed slightly and he smiled, sketching a short bow. "My name is Boromir, son of Denethor, steward of Gondor."

Hermione gave an awkward curtsey in return. "I am Hermione."

Boromir's eyes widened. "I see. So you are the one that Gandalf was speaking about."

She frowned. "That depends on what he's been saying."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but the smile stayed on his lips. "Just that you assisted him in his escape from Isengard, though I do not know the exact details of what happened."

"I was not as helpful in that particular instance as he might have led you to believe," she told him quietly, looking away from him and fiddling with her sleeves.

"Surely you are underestimating yourself for I have not known Gandalf to be one who lies or over-exaggerates."

Hermione couldn't help the tired smile that crossed her face. "Well, people can be quite contrary. Though, I must admit that I am surprised at how... easily you accept the idea that I might have helped Gandalf in any meaningful way. I was under the impression that most men would balk at the idea of a woman being involved in such circumstances."

He glanced away briefly, seemingly slightly embarrassed. "To tell you the truth, I had originally thought you to be an elf. That being said though- while I am accustomed to meeting women who would generally prefer to avoid the fray- I have also met several women who would not hesitate to fight when it is needed."

"That is good to hear," she told him softly. "I was beginning to worry that I would be an outsider in all ways in these parts."

Boromir seemed to sense her uneasiness and quickly shifted topics. "May I assist you in some way?" he offered. "You seemed to be in something of a hurry when you entered."

She moved towards him, taking a seat in the courtyard- though calling it a patio may have been more accurate- near the statue that dominated it since it would keep her partially hidden from the entryway. "I am avoiding further conversation with someone currently staying here," Hermione admitted, believing it better to be vaguely honest with Boromir.

He looked troubled by her words. "Has someone done something to make you uneasy?"

"No, nothing directly," she hastened to reassure him. "It's probably nothing but still, I would rather just avoid speaking to him when possible."

They heard movement coming from the hallway and Hermione couldn't help tensing. Boromir took in her slightly hunched form and shifted so that he was positioned to completely block her from sight. To an outsider, it would seem he was only admiring the plants around him and Hermione couldn't help beaming gratefully at him. She could have used magic to hide herself but preferred that the smallest number of people possible knew about her abilities.

(An emotion managed to make it through the bubble without popping it and Hermione was shocked to realize that it was a positive one.)

"Hermione?" called Aragorn, stepping into the room, and she relaxed. "Oh," came his voice again, softer this time, as Boromir turned to face him. "My apologies, I was unaware there was anyone in the room; I had thought I saw someone else enter."

"I'm here," Hermione called, smiling slightly at Boromir when he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "It's fine," she whispered to him.

Boromir nodded slightly, moving aside as he gave Aragorn a suspicious look. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Lady Hermione. I hope to see you later on tonight, at the feast."

"You don't have to leave," Hermione told him, feeling bad that she had essentially taken over the space.

"Nonsense," he told her with a smile. "I must return to my room and change; I would not be able to properly represent Gondor wearing these clothes."

She frowned and turned to look suspiciously at Aragorn. "Just how fancy is this feast?"

Aragorn smirked at her. "That is why I was searching for you- Arwen would like for you to join her in preparing for this evening. You were supposed to be returning to your rooms when I left you."

It was the closest thing to censure that Aragorn would ever get with Hermione and she happily ignored it. "Preparing?" she repeated, grimacing. "What exactly do I need to be prepared for?" When Aragorn said nothing, she turned to Boromir. "I thought this was just a feast for those coming to the council that Lord Elrond is holding."

"It is," he reassured her. "However, an elvish feast is what we humans would see as more of a ball than anything else."

Staring at him in shock for a moment, Hermione's head snapped around to look at Aragorn as she began to splutter, "Neither of you said anything about a ball! I didn't know you wanted me to attend a ball! Absolutely not!"

"Too late to change your mind now, little one," Aragorn laughed, moving to stand in front of Hermione and tugging her to her feet. "Arwen is still waiting for you."

"I'm not changing my mind!" she continued to protest as the dark-haired man towed her out of the room. "This is not me changing my mind- this is me making up my mind!"

"You look wonderful," Arwen reassured her, carefully pinning back another of Hermione's curls.

"I resent you for making me do this," Hermione responded. She couldn't deny Arwen's words though- she did look above-average that night. Whatever was in the products Hermione had been using over the past few weeks had given her skin a soft, luminous quality that the woman back in her world spent far too much money trying to achieve. Her hair had also settled from its generally bushy appearance to slightly-more tamed curls cascading down her back.

Arwen had forced her into a gorgeous, light purple dress with a skirt that was covered in multi-colored flowers and butterflies. It was soft and flowing- as were most of the dresses here from what Hermione had seen- and had long sleeves that completely covered the scar on her arm. She had tried to argue that it far too fancy for her, but the elf refused to be swayed. Now, as Hermione took in the full effect of the dress and the way her hair was held back by dozens of bejeweled pins, she couldn't help but be amazed at the image she presented.

She was nothing when compared to Arwen, of course. The elf's beauty was one she could never hope to compare to. Even clad in a simple white gown with sheer sleeves and a multi-layered skirt, Arwen appeared an angel incarnate. No one would notice Hermione with Arwen nearby and that was something she was grateful for. But, compared to her appearance from when she'd first arrived in Rivendell, Hermione thought she looked-

"You will have a lovely time," Arwen reassured her, stepping back from Hermione's hair. "This evening is to be one of joy and friendship- nothing dark shall happen here tonight."

"Those words are ones to tempt fate," the witch responded, fiddling with one of flowers on her dress. Hermione had learned to be careful with her words while in Rivendell since she knew the sayings from her time wouldn't necessarily translate well to anyone there.

Arwen gently turned Hermione to face her. "They are a promise- everything will be fine, hûnwen."

Hermione swallowed down the lump in her throat. "The last time I attended an event like this, it didn't end well."

(It was going to pop it was going to pop it was going to pop)

"From what you have told us of your life, it sounds as though little has," Aragorn commented, leaning against the door frame and Hermione flinched. The dark-haired man instantly looked regretful. "Forgive me for startling you, little one."

"It's fine," she told him. "I should have noticed you were there."

Aragorn hummed. "I would be a poor Ranger if I could not move about silently."

"What is a Ranger?" Hermione asked, sighing in relief when Arwen stopped making final adjustments to her hair and gown and moved away to stand beside Aragorn.

That relief disappeared at the grimace that tightened Aragorn's lips. "Protectors of the land," he answered simply, and she didn't question.

She tried to keep her voice light and easy. "Just the land? Or do you also help protect the people? Because if so, you should be saving me from attending the feast instead of dragging me there."

His eyes lightened. "It cannot be all bad, my lady. After all, at least there will be food at this battle."

Hermione shook her head. "Men may think with their stomachs, but I don't."

"Perhaps you should start." Aragorn stepped forward, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it before setting in the curve of his elbow. "Finding good food and good drinks can be the first steps to meeting good people."

"I've mostly found good people by stumbling my way into dangerous situations," she told him idly, watching as Arwen glided forward to take Aragorn's other arm. "Are we at least all going to be sitting together?"

Aragorn and Arwen shared a look and Hermione's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I will be escorting you both to the hall, but I will not be attending," he confessed. "There are two old companions of mine that have just recently arrived that I must speak with."

His solemn tone kept Hermione from prying, and they made their way through the halls to the large room where the feast was to take place in silence. When she stepped through the doorway, Hermione almost felt like she had been transported back to Hogwarts. There were four long tables arranged neatly one after the other in the room and at the front was a final table resting on top of a dais. Lord Elrond sat at the head of the table, Gandalf on one side and a blond elf on the other.

Hermione allowed herself to be led through the room and up to the main table and her stomach sank as she realized that she was going to be seated somewhere she wouldn't be able to easily sneak away from. Her disappointment only grew when Aragorn brought them to two seats situated under a gauzy white canopy.

"Really?" she grumbled softly. "Why?"

"This is where I always sit, hûnwen," Arwen told her with a reassuring smile, gesturing for Aragorn to help seat Hermione first.

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked, carefully smoothing down her skirt.

"It loosely means 'maiden of the heart," Aragorn answered, and Hermione's head snapped upwards.

"What? Why? I'm not-" she shook her head rapidly. Heart was home, which meant that the tattered remains of her heart was in a land far far away.

(it was going to pop it was going to pop it was going to pop)

Arwen smiled. "You are." Then she turned to Aragorn and murmured something in her native tongue which caused the dark-haired man to smile gently at her before he bowed and turned on his heel, quickly departing from the hall.

As she watched Aragorn leave the room, Hermione had to fight the urge to race after him. Sitting there on the dais underneath the canopy next to the Lord of Rivendell's daughter, she felt more exposed than she had in years. It was only Arwen's hand clasping tightly around her own that kept her in her seat. The elf said nothing, content to be a silent companion to the young witch as they watched the room fill with people. Most present were elvish, but there were also a good number of men and dwarves and even a handful of hobbits. Despite both Arwen and Gandalf attempting to explain them, Hermione was still confused about what a hobbit was. The best she could understand was that a hobbit was essentially the same as a human, except smaller in size and with larger feet.

She internally winced because she knew that that was a gross understated description but apparently not much was known about hobbits in general so she could only work with what she had. Hermione watched with shuttered eyes as a hobbit with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes was led to her table and seated across and a few seats down from her. Normally, she would have eagerly taken the chance to speak with someone new and unknown and distracting, but something held her back. Something was wrong.

Hermione's left arm began to itch and the hand safely tucked into Arwen's automatically squeezed in response to the horridly uncomfortable sensation. Arwen didn't look at her, but Hermione could feel the entirety of the elvish woman's attention on her. More and more people filled the hall and, just like with Arwen, Hermione could feel them looking at her even if they weren't obvious about it.

She carefully took each uncomfortable thought and feeling and tucked it away in a book that she then placed onto a shelf in her mental library. Compartmentalize until you're in a safe space to process, Hermione reminded herself. But the shelf where uncatalogued thoughts were placed for later review (thoughts that were feelings that couldn't be looked at with logic) was becoming overly filled with everything she'd set aside since she came to Rivendell.

Despite her best attempts, Hermione felt herself withdrawing further and further into her mind. She wanted to focus on the conversations happening around her but the most she could manage was latching on to snippets as her brain seemed to circle round and round some kind of mental drain.

(The bubble stretched and stretched and stretched)

The hobbit and the dwarves were talking about an adventure and a dragon and people named Bilbo and Thorin but Hermione found herself latching onto the word 'dragon' and replaying the memory of her skin bubbling as she transformed into the woman that had cackled as she tortured her and how her bones had ached as they flew on the back of an old dragon pretending her tears were from relief instead of agony.

When the feast finally ended, Hermione was almost shaking. She did her best to hide it as she allowed Lord Elrond to assist her out of her seat and escort her out of the hall along with Arwen in the same manner as when Aragorn had brought them there. Before they entered the Hall of Fire, Hermione stepped away from them with a smile and a disarming comment about needing fresh air. Both father and daughter seemed caught off guard- which she acknowledged was fair since fresh air wasn't hard to come by in a building with no windows- but Hermione bent her knees into a gentle curtesy and turned to glide away before either could stop her.

As soon as she was out of sight, Hermione lifted up her skirts and ran.

(It popped.)

She raced down hallways and corridors as fast as she could manage and, after a few minutes, Hermione distantly realized that she had no idea where she was, but she knew it was far away from the others and that's all she really wanted. The moment stone turned into grass beneath her feet, her knees gave out from under her and Hermione fell to the ground. Her fingers dug into grass and dirt as she trembled.

What is this? Hermione wondered as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. What's happening? Why does this all feel so familiar?

Hermione had felt like this before. She had. But it wasn't the normal backlash that struck her when the disassociation ended. This was different. This had happened before. She couldn't remember when or where but she knew that it had.

It felt like every bad thought and cruel remark and bitter truth that she'd tried to brush away was bubbling to the surface and there was nothing Hermione could do to stop or silence it.

You spent so long thinking I was the one that attracted trouble, Harry's voice crowed in her mind. Seems like the problem was always you. Brains of the Golden Trio my arse. If you were really that smart, then you wouldn't be all alone right now, would you?

She clenched her jaw, swallowing down a sob.

Ron's voice echoed around her skull. A spell to bring the strongest magic user from another world into this one? Yeah, right. If that really was what that spell was supposed to do, you wouldn't be there.

Tears dripped down onto her hand.

But hey, you may not be the strongest but apparently you're the most fragile. That's something, right?

Bellatrix's laugh rang in her head. Look at the ickle mudblood! Not even safe inside her own mind!

Hermione felt like she was going to throw up.

"My lady!"

Someone knelt down beside her, but Hermione couldn't look up. It felt like she was being dragged down by the weight of bitterness and defeat. Because the cruel voices in her mind were minor distractions compared to the awful truth that had started etching itself into her bones at the start of the feast with every breath she took.

A hand appeared in her line of sight, hesitating a few centimeters above one of her clenched fists. "Lady Hermione?"

Boromir.

A sob finally escaped her and the hand moved away from hers. Hermione felt a warmth on her chin as her face was tilted upwards to meet Boromir's concerned gaze.

His lips parted but before he could speak, Hermione cried, "I can't go home."

Boromir flinched back at the pain in her voice. "What do you mean?" he questioned gently, brows furrowed.

"I can't… I can't go home," she stuttered. "Saruman… he… I can't go home."

I want to go home.

His eyes were wide with horror. "My lady…"

The horrible truths kept spilling out of her. "He used a spell and dragged me here and there's no way back. Gandalf has tried to act like I should have hope but there is no hope. He can't send me back. I can't go back." Hermione's voice was becoming hysterical and she couldn't stop it. "And do you want to know the worst part? The spell didn't even work right. I wasn't what Saruman was trying to find and everyone acts like I should be glad for that but I'm not because that means that there was no fucking point in bringing me here. I'm alone because he made a mistake and it's not fair."

"Hermione."

Footsteps raced towards them and Hermione was being lifted up onto her feet and pulled into Aragorn's arms.

"What happened?" he demanded over her head.

"I do not know," Boromir told him. "I found her like this."

Hermione buried her face in Aragorn's shirt, desperate to get her breathing under control again. His hand came up to rest on the back of her neck in a grounding pressure. "Little one," he rumbled and it felt like another piece of her shattered.

"I want to go home, Aragorn," she sobbed against him.

He sighed and the sound was almost as sad as her cries. "I know."

"Why… why…"

Why did the spell choose me?

Why am I here?

Why me?

Aragorn shifted to slip an arm under her knees and strode back inside. "I choose to believe that everything happens for a reason," he told her softly. "Even if those reasons remain unclear."

She would have laughed if she was able to get enough air into her lungs because only children believed in hopeful nonsense like reasons and karma and it all working out in the end and everything will be okay.

Hermione finally gave up on trying to breathe normally, allowing herself to slip into silent nothingness.

Quick note: Hermione's nickname is kind of a callback to the last chapter when she talked about hearts and how the memories we hold in our hearts are what make people real to us. I wanted to try and give her a nickname that meant something more like "my heart" for Aragorn and Arwen to call her as a way of them showing her that they "hold her" in their hearts but it just wasn't working. Dang online translators. I do like this nickname though because Hermione does care so much about hearts here in that she ultimately wants to be real to someone- she wants to be in their hearts.

Anyway, please leave a review on your way out!