Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Phew, just got home. Thought I'd do a quick one of these.

Enjoy.

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Number Ten: Granger Stranger

Hermione Granger paused to look over the thing she had just stunned, which was lying in the small patch of grass beneath the brambles of a berry bush. It had been chasing her for what felt like hours now, but Hermione knew it had only been a few minutes since it had spotted her through the slit of trees. The creature was medium height, bearing an extremely long beard and a feather stuck in the side of its hat. Yellow boots and a blue jacket completed the picture.

It wasn't human. Hermione knew that. No human could withstand seven subsequent stunners, nor an equal number of other jinxes that she'd shot over her shoulder in feverish desperation when the stunners had refused to do their job. But at last the combined spells had slowed it down and, after one last stunner, had finally put it to sleep.

Hermione nudged it with the toe of her shoe, just to make sure it wasn't faking, then knelt down and turned it over. "Oh dear . . ."

It was a man. Or something that looked like a man at least: a kindly old grandfatherly type man. Hermione hadn't a clue why he had begun chasing her in the first place. She had merely been staring across the river through the slit of trees, glad of finding some water at last after two days of clueless wandering in the woods, and noticed a beautiful girl combing her hair by the river's bank. The whole scenario, including the girl, had actually reminded Hermione of Disney's Sleeping Beauty; even down to the girl's long golden hair and the sweet singing she'd been indulging in.

Hermione had been quite captivated by the picture — until the man had spotted her and given chase.

But now he was stunned and Hermione could examine him at her leisure. He was really quite . . . ordinary looking. Even his clothing bore a kind of patched shabbiness, though his beard was curiously well-combed and his nose perfectly shaped with neither dent nor crook to be seen —unusual with one so old. Although, now that Hermione was looking so closely, she noted that he wasn't actually as old as she had first assumed. Rather, the long brown-grey beard and laugh wrinkles gave an impression of great age.

What kind of creature was he? He looked harmless enough, but for the chasing. Even his eyes were friendly, blue and sparkling in the morning sun —

Hermione gasped. Before she could even think to run the old man captured both of her hands and tied them up with the cord from his belt so quickly that she could only blink at how fast that had been accomplished. Then he tugged her back the way they had come from.

"Wait," she tried, but he only tugged faster. "Wait," she said again.

"What," he said, turning about and facing her. Hermione was taken aback. He didn't look displeased at all; in fact, just the opposite. He seemed almost cheery.

Oh, perfect. She was stuck with a mental case. She calmed herself with the thought of what Harry and Ron would do when she told them about all this later. Presuming there would be a later and this old man didn't kill her. "Well—that is—I mean . . ." she stuttered.

He waited patiently.

"I honestly meant no harm," Hermione settled on finally. "I only desired a drink of water, you see."

"What's the matter here then?" said the old man. "I know what the matter is; you were spying on Tom Bombadil's wife: trying to do Goldberry a turn."

"I was not," said Hermione crossly.

"Well then, if that's the case, I welcome you," said the old man named Tom Bombadil and, as though nothing untoward had happened between them, undid Hermione's ropes quick as you please and continued walking on.

Hermione was left blinking in his wake. She shook herself and ran to catch up. "Wait!"

"What?" he said again. "Tom's got food in his little house, and you'd be a-wanting something to eat."

Hermione stared. "Yes." Then remembered herself. "Please, I mean. Yes please." What an odd little man.

Hermione thought him even odder when he started to sing:

"I chased a nosy woman once; spying on Goldberry,

Young woman with a bushy tail upon her merry head.

Light of gold, blue, green, white, bright and cherry,

It struck a hit and never missed until old Tom played dead.

O, Here we go and there we go a-chasing through the forest!

"Now here she comes a-home with Tom to meet the River-daughter,

Up, down, and under hill with the hobbits waiting . . ."

Hermione listened with disbelief as the old man led her jovially onwards, still singing his bizarre improvised song. What sort of world had she stepped in to? That strangers captured you then let you go at a word. That magic appeared not to work on small old men. Harry and Ron would never believe her when she got back home. Hermione hardly believed it herself.

And at last they were back near the river. Goldberry, the man's wife, was gone now, but four children had taken her place. They were washing their feet in the water, and looked up when Hermione and Tom Bombadil came to a halt.

"Why, who is that, Tom?" asked one of the children in a strangely deep voice.

"I don't know," replied Tom nonchalantly. "Come! Say hello my friendly fellows, and if I know my Goldberry she has set an extra plate at the table." Then he seemingly forgot about Hermione, as he took to walking across the little bridge over the river and into the cottage.

Hermione held herself stiffly. It would not do to gape. "Hello," she said politely.

"Good morning," said one of the children, and looked straight at her.

Yes, thought Hermione when she saw his face and finally gave into the urge to gape. It really is a strange place I have stumbled in to.

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