(A/N): Hello again! Hope everyone is doing well!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter! I'm so glad to hear that you enjoy the chapter (or at least have strong feelings about it). And I'm also glad that the majority of your alls takeaway regarding Hermione was, "You're not mean, but you are an asshole." That is exactly what I was going for. Hermione did not ease the Council into things did she? As my friend put it, instead of picking the lock she just kicked the door down. It got the job done but wow was it not subtle.
Hopefully this chapter gives you all a better insight into Hermione's thoughts and the reasons for why she feels the way she does. And there's lots of Hermione/Boromir goodness so... I really enjoyed writing it. Sadly, it's not a super happy chapter but like I've said before, healing isn't linear.
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This chapter has not been beta read so apologies for any mistakes!
Thanks for reading! Enjoy!
"Then, will you help me?"
Even though Hermione had basically decided that she needed to assist with the destruction of the Ring, Frodo's question made her want to immediately change her mind.
He was so earnest. So desperate to help others. So desperate to be helped.
So fucking naïve.
Oh gods. Can I really do this all over again? Hermione thought wildly, staring into Frodo's bright blue eyes.
This man was a ghost of Harry to her eyes. Hermione had watched Harry break. Could she really stand by and watch it all fall down all over again?
Could she really stand by and do nothing though?
Her bitter thoughts about the men before her and their clear intentions to walk the path she'd already trod were completely unfounded. Hermione knew that. After all, how could she scorn them for repeating a history that they didn't know? How could she judge them because of past experiences that belonged to her and her alone?
Hermione could hear the others arguing as she and Frodo stared at each other.
She was a woman, she was a stranger, she would only slow them down.
She was clearly a spy for Sauron, an enemy meant to trick and entrap them.
She was still recovering from her injuries, she wouldn't survive the journey, they would already have to protect the Ring so how could they be expected to protect her too.
"Are you sure about this?" Hermione asked Frodo and Frodo alone. "If I agree to come, then I will expect you to listen to my warnings and, at times, follow my orders without hesitation. I know the signs of succumbing to a Horcrux's influence better than anyone. Even if you think you're fine, you may not be. For this to work, you and I will need to be able to trust each other. If you don't think that it's possible for us to build that kind of relationship, then I can't come with you. We'll all need to work together- either we'll hang together in this, or we will all be hanging separately by the end."
Frodo seemed to take her words seriously, even as others objected to Hermione's frank statement. "I believe that this task fell into my hands for a reason," he finally told her. "Despite how much I wish it wasn't so. And I believe the same of you."
Hermione gave a wry smile. "Everything happens for a reason, right?"
"Right," Frodo agreed, with a firm nod.
Hopping to her feet, Hermione walked over to Frodo and held out her hand. "Well then, Frodo Baggins, I will work with you to destroy the Ring. And in exchange, I expect you to teach me more about hobbits because there are none in my world and I'm very curious about your culture."
As she'd hoped, some of the shadows disappeared from Frodo's eyes and he smiled widely as he shook her hand. "Deal."
"This is madness," Legolas hissed, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Come now, Legolas, you're starting to make me doubt whether your display of intelligence earlier was just a fluke," she chided, fiddling with her mokeskin bag. "There's no one more experienced with this kind of Dark Magic than I and there's no chance I will be allowed to live in peace as long as Saruman has power. Destroying Sauron is something that must be done, and railing against that fact isn't going to do me any good, is it?"
"But will you be able to handle the journey?" Gimli rumbled.
Hermione shrugged. "It's not as though I've never been on the run before, constantly hunted by servants of a Dark Lord. Honestly, this journey might actually be easier than my last one. At least my name and likeness aren't being shown all across the land with a large reward being offered for my capture. Being known as 'Undesirable Number Two' was not a high point in my life."
"Who was Undesirable Number One?" Gandalf asked, seemingly slightly amused despite himself.
Her stomach seized, though Hermione refused to let her discomfort show on her face. "My brother," she stated shortly, tone allowing for no more questions on the subject.
"Seven companions," Elrond murmured, glancing around between Frodo, Hermione, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli.
"Hey!" The ginger haired hobbit that Hermione had spotted poorly concealing himself behind some brush next to the stairs leading up to the porch came racing over. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" he declared, and she swallowed down a half-hysterical laugh because she clearly wasn't going to be catching a break any time soon.
Elrond didn't appear surprised to learn that someone had been spying on their meeting. "No, indeed," he drawled, staring down his nose. "It is hardly possible to separate you. Even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."
Two more hobbits appeared, having escaped Hermione's notice by hiding up in the shadows of a nearby building.
"Oi! We're coming too!" the one with lighter hair shouted, rushing forward to join Frodo and his friend. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us."
His brown-haired companion nodded eagerly. "Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing…"
The other hobbit rolled his eyes, and Hermione wondered if they were siblings because they were clearly related. "Well, that rules you out, Pip," he hissed and, for some reason, the pressure in Hermione's chest seemed to ease.
"Ten companions," Elrond murmured thoughtfully. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."
"Great," said the dark-haired hobbit. "Where are we going?"
Hermione couldn't bear to look at them anymore. Turning back to where the Ring still rested on a pedestal, she began to remove everything from her bag. It wasn't much- just a small ring box, a broken golden snitch, and a smaller bag- smaller than her old beaded bag, both inside and outside.
You don't need to carry all that stuff around, Hannah and Neville had gently coaxed her. She had fought them. She couldn't help it. So they'd changed directions, instead encouraging her to remove things one at a time. You don't need all of your books, Hermione, they'd reassured her. Haven't you memorized most of them by now anyways? they'd teased.
Not Susan or Ginny though. While Neville and Hannah had wanted Hermione to feel safe and secure and sure that the war was over, Susan had simply sorted through Hermione's books and set aside the ones on defensive and offensive spells and warding while Ginny stole all of the piles of clothes she'd been hoarding and replaced them with sets of armored clothes and boots that a mudblood like Hermione could only dream of owning.
Neville and Hannah wanted to make sure that nothing ever touched Hermione while Ginny and Susan wanted to ensure that Hermione would have what she needed when war came upon them again.
(Hopefully war never came for them now that she was gone.)
The snitch and her notebook were deposited into the bag and Hermione carefully opened the ring box that had been closed for years and mechanically took out a petite diamond ring and matching band and one larger band. She didn't look at them, she didn't think about them, she just situated them on one of her fingers, bigger band first and then the smaller ones so they could keep it in place.
Stepping up to the pedestal, Hermione picked up the Ring and set it in the box, snapping it closed and replacing it in the mokeskin bag, which shrunk again when she closed it and slipped it back around her neck.
"What are you doing?" Frodo asked, and Hermione turned to look at him with a bland smile.
"It's not much but keeping the Ring instead this should help lessen its influence for now."
Frodo looked unsure. "There's no need for you to carry it now. I can-"
Hermione cut him off. "Rule number one of dealing with the Ring: the moment you don't want to throw it as far away from you as possible is the moment you need to hand it off. If you find yourself holding the Ring and thinking you feel fine, it has already begun taking over your mind."
Thinking over her words, Frodo slowly withdrew with a frown, still obviously indecisive.
"We are in this together, Frodo," she reminded him softly, because Harry always hated feeling like he was being pushed to the side. "You have been carrying the Ring for weeks. It's my turn to bear this burden."
Seeming to relax, he nodded. "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry."
She couldn't help the pity that she knew was showing on her face because, if Frodo was thought this was a situation worth apologizing for, he was going to be in for a rough time in the near future.
Hours after the Council had concluded, Boromir found himself wandering the hall of Elrond's home, searching for Hermione. He struggled with conflicting feelings concerning the decision to include her in the Fellowship. On the one hand, she clearly had more experience with the kind of power Sauron wielded and that knowledge would be invaluable to them moving forward. On the other, this was not her land. This was not her home. To trust someone who knew nothing of Gondor and Rohan and all the other territories in Middle Earth with the responsibility of helping to protect everything he held dear…
What if Gandalf and the others were wrong about Hermione? What if their trust was misplaced? Boromir knew of no female magic users and the timing of Hermione's arrival was troubling.
Even if it wasn't, Boromir believed Hermione knew little of the dangers they might face on their journey to Mordor beyond that coming from Isengard. What honor was there in having her agree to join them if she did not understand the full extent of what she was agreeing to?
Boromir let his feet lead him towards the gallery featuring the fresco of Isildur's defeat of Sauron that he had visited the night before, lost in thought. A small, shameful part of him resented the fact that Hermione had seemingly appeared from nowhere and shot down every hope he had of finding a weapon to use against the forces of Mordor. In his heart, he knew that she spoke the truth of how dangerous the Ring was. The moment she had released her magic during the council meeting, it was as though some sort of spell over his mind that he had not been aware of was blown away, allowing him to see what he had not before.
The Ring was dangerous. The Ring was trying to use his fears against him, to force him into acting in a way that would hurt his people.
But the moment Hermione's magic had dissipated, Boromir could feel the cloud starting to return again. And he feared what might happen should he totally lose control.
And perhaps that was the true reason Boromir was seeking out Hermione's presence again. He craved the promise of clarity that might be found with her.
He heard Hermione's voice before he saw her.
"Has it always been like this?" Boromir heard Hermione asking. "Have they always spoken so disparagingly of Isildur?"
"Can you blame them?" Aragorn responded, voice heavy, and Boromir's hands clenched into fists. "If not for his failure, Sauron would have been vanquished."
"The same could be said of Elrond, and yet you treat him with respect," Hermione answered, tone sharp and fearless. "At least Elrond knew what the Ring was."
Aragorn's tone turned harsh. "You know not what you speak of. Lord Elrond is a skilled and wise warrior and leader. Without him, Sauron would have taken over our world long ago. It is because of Isildur's weakness that you were brought here, that you lost your home. If Isildur had destroyed the Ring, you would not have lost your heart."
Ignoring his confusion at what Aragorn meant by that, Boromir waited with bated breath to hear what Hermione's response would be.
"It's easy for you to judge him so harshly because he's not around to defend himself," she started, and Boromir flinched at the sound of her voice choked with tears. "You don't know him, so it's fine for you to decide that he was nothing more than a weak fool who allowed a great evil to continue existing. But what if it was me? What if it was me who had failed and was now standing in front of you waiting for judgement? Would you be so unforgiving with me?"
"You didn't fail," Aragorn snapped, and Boromir's jaw clenched.
There was a rustle of fabric- a gown brushing against stone- and then, "But I could have. I almost did. I could have easily been just like Isildur. If I had been alone and in pain and without any idea of the burden I was carrying, I could have failed just like him. If even one thing had gone differently, I would be standing in front of you right now telling you that I failed. That I tried so hard and it wasn't enough. And if that were the case, would you be as harsh with me as you are with him? Would you call me weak and selfish and cowardly and pathetic because I had the nerve to not be perfect when I was at my lowest?"
Boromir closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.
"No," the other man finally answered, voice hoarse. "I wouldn't."
Hermione was quiet for a moment. "It's always so easy to say that we would have done better in a situation because we have the benefit of hindsight. But we'll never know if that's true- not just because it's over and done with and you can't change the past- but because you know. You know what the ring is. You know what Isildur was carrying. So you'll never know if you would have done differently because you'll never be climbing up a mountain after watching your father die in front of you not knowing what it is you carry. You will never understand what it is like to be tainted by that kind of dark magic. To have to carry it on your body and feel it burn against your skin every time you get angry or sad and be forced to wonder if those feelings are even your own. Or even worse, find yourself saying and thinking the most vile things towards someone you love and knowing you don't mean it and that's not how you feel but you can't stop yourself. And then you hate yourself almost as much as you think you hate them."
Boots stepped quickly across the stone. "You have suffered far too much already," Aragorn told her urgently. "There is no need to cause yourself more pain by coming on this journey."
"No," Hermione snapped, any trace of sadness gone in a flash. "I have to do this. Now that I know that there's a Horcrux here and the threat it presents, I have to see this done with my own two eyes. Otherwise, I'll spend the rest of my time here constantly looking over my shoulder. I can't live with that kind of fear again; better to know where the monster is than to not, right?"
Aragorn sighed. "You and I will begin training at dawn. There is not much time before we are to leave, but you need to be able to defend yourself."
"One week," Hermione bargained. "Give me one week to train on my own. I need to see just how much of a physical impact Saruman had on my abilities."
"Fine. One week."
Boromir waited until Aragorn's footsteps disappeared to enter, focus entirely on the woman staring up at the painted picture of Sauron.
"My lady," he murmured, coming to a stop a respectful distance from Hermione.
Without looking at him, she said, "Just Hermione is fine, Lord Boromir. I wasn't a 'lady' in my world, and I'm certainly not one here."
"And I am no lord," he retorted, trying to keep his tone light.
Hermione just hummed.
Searching for something to say, Boromir finally stated, "Your thoughts regarding the tale of Isildur were not ones I had heard or even considered before."
Just as the silence was beginning to get uncomfortable, Hermione started. "One of the Horcrux's," her voice trailed off and Boromir patiently waited. After hesitating for another moment, she tried again. "Back home, one of the first Horcrux's that we learned of was an empty book. It was given to my friend Ginny. She was only eleven years old. Where we… in our lives, and in hers especially, magic was a normal, everyday occurrence. It wasn't special, it wasn't shocking, it wasn't only used or seen sparingly. So when she found a book that was seemingly able to write back to her, she didn't think anything of it."
Boromir's stomach dropped.
"She wrote in it almost every day, and the Horcrux always wrote back to her. But Ginny never realized that the more she used it, the more power it gained. And it gained that power by draining the life from her. The diary slowly gained more and more power and was able to take control of Ginny for brief periods of time. It used her body to do heinous things. It almost killed me. It almost killed her. She said that she felt like she was going mad."
Hermione wiped harshly at her eyes, releasing a bitter laugh. "If that council were to have heard Ginny's story, I'm sure they'd be quick to label Ginny as weak and foolish. And you want to know the saddest part? Ginny would be the first to agree with them. She told me that once. Told me that she felt weak and pathetic and ashamed because she couldn't fight off such dark magic. She said that I wouldn't have been so foolish. That I would have done better."
"Your friend was a child," he murmured without thinking.
When she finally met Boromir's gaze, he couldn't help his audible inhale at the fire in her eyes. "She was a child who grew up surrounded by magic and with parents who warned her over and over again about the dangerous side of it. In fact, a constant mantra her father told her was 'Never trust something if you can't see where they keep their brain'. Isildur may have known about magic but, from what I've heard, he had no practical experience. He was a soldier who's only real knowledge of weapons were physical ones. Between the child who lived a life saturated with magic and a man who knew nothing at all about it, who would you think more likely able to fight off a Horcrux's influence?"
As hard as he tried, Boromir could not understand. "Why do you so vehemently defend someone you never knew?"
She shrugged, still keeping her eyes locked with Boromir's. "For the same reason that I challenged Legolas and Elrond when they tried to imply that all men were weak: because it's right. Because what they're doing is wrong. Being human does not make you lesser. Human beings are a mess of contradictions. We're strong, determined, burdened, frustrated, loyal, desperate, and full of convictions. We fight and we fail and yet we continue to try because making mistakes is what makes us human. Isn't the simple fact that we never stop trying more amazing than the truth that we often fail?
"Doesn't it matter more that I tried again even after I stumbled than the fact that I made a mistake in the first place? Does not being perfect have to equate to not being good enough?"
Boromir desperately wished that she was right. But wishes had no weight in times of war. "That may be how it is in your world, Lady Hermione, but that is not the way things are seen here."
Instead of being discouraged, she just seemed more determined. "Then you make it so. I have seen this all before, Boromir. I have done this all before. You don't always have to play for peace. You don't always have to take what's thrown at you for the greater good. Sometimes, you have to stand your ground and refuse to give even a fraction of space to anyone trying to stand above you. This may not be my land, but I will die on my feet before I live on my knees here. And that applies to more than just Sauron. For what are expectations if not just another kind of cage?"
The question haunting him escaped his lips before he could think better of it. "How can you still stand so tall after suffering so much?"
So far from his home, from his brother, from his people, Boromir sometimes felt as though the weight of his thoughts might bring him to his knees. But at least he had hope.
There is no hope, Hermione had told him the evening before.
"Will sinking do me any good?" she asked him softly. "Will sinking allow me any sort of true escape?"
"Sinking?" he repeated, brows furrowed.
Hermione's inhale was slow and almost too loud in the silence of the gallery. "Back home there's a well-known saying about how grief is like the ocean because it comes in waves and sometimes the water is calm and sometimes it rages and all you can do is learn to swim through it. But for me, grief is simply water. It's just calm, still water. It's water and I'm floating in it and I'm clinging onto my memories and I can't tell if they're helping to keep me afloat or if they're pulling me down but either way, I can't let go."
Hermione turned to stare back up at the mural of Isildur, but her eyes had a distant, haunted quality he knew intimately.
"Tell me more of Ginny," he said impulsively.
She blinked, head snapping towards him again to stare at him with wide eyes, and Boromir wondered if he had made a mistake, if he was just leading her down a path of more pain. But then a light entered her eyes and she seemed heart wrenchingly grateful.
After moving to seat themselves on a stone bench, Hermione told Boromir story after story about the scarlet-haired woman that was one of her closest friends. She told him that Ginny was the youngest of seven siblings and the only girl, that she rebelled against the traditional feminine appearance and activities that her mother had tried to push on her and was instead a hellion that never backed down from a fight. Boromir found himself laughing more than he had in months at Hermione's recounting of all the escapades that Ginny had run headfirst into, dragging Hermione along with her. In return, he found himself telling her about his brother, Faramir, and their childhood.
"It sounds as though you and Ginny might be more similar than I thought," Hermione had teased when he finished his story about the time he and his brother had snuck into the kitchen to make their mother tea but ended up almost destroying their home. "Always getting into some kind of trouble."
Boromir could not deny her words.
"From what you have shown and said, I believe you and my brother would have much in common," he offered softly, lost in thought. "Faramir is a scholar at heart. Where I feel most confident with a sword in hand, he has always found solace with the written word."
"You're a man of action," Hermione hummed, head tilted slightly at an angle as she considered him. "No wonder you found the Council so frustrating; that was not the battleground you are used to finding yourself upon."
The anger Boromir had been ignoring for hours returned in force. "My people are dying by the dozens every day while the elves and dwarves sit by without a care. Our wants- our needs- are unimportant to them. They ponder the horrors of Sauron's return without realizing that, for the people of Gondor, his return is basically at hand already."
Hermione's gaze wandered forward. "Wise men wonder while strong men die," she almost whispered.
"Exactly."
"Why you?" Hermione asked after a moment of silence. "It seems to me that you would rather be in Gondor than here. And surely your brother would have been an acceptable choice to send instead. Why did you come here instead of Faramir?"
Boromir stayed silent, struggling for words. The situation with his father and Faramir was complicated and, for the most part, unspoken. His men knew what Denithor was like- they could not miss his praise of Boromir and his sneering criticism towards Faramir when his father spoke openly of it with no care of who was close enough to hear. They always did their best to keep Faramir and Denithor separate or, if that was impossible, warn both brothers when their father approached.
"My father believes I was the best choice to represent Gondor," he settled on telling her. "And I was in no position to disagree."
He could feel her gaze tracing over his face, but Boromir refused to look at Hermione.
Hermione's response took him by surprise. "I suppose it's for the best that it was you who came and not Faramir. If he had, I fear I would have no reason to ever venture from the library because he would surely be hiding in there with me."
Boromir's laugh echoed around the space.
Thanks for reading! Please leave a review on the way out!
(P.S. I know this chapter wasn't super happy but to compensate for that, know that the next chapter has Merry, Pippin, and Hermione getting high together so that promises to be a good time, doesn't it?)