Chapter Nine
Collecting Reeds and Hair Clasps
Filius and Pomona sat Sam down in Minerva's sitting room, conjured him a cup of tea, dried his clothes and urged him to take his time telling them what happened. Rolanda stood in the sitting room doorway, scowling at the wall, arms crossed and obviously unhappy.
"Yeah, that'll help. Coddle the boy." she muttered, hating the fact that it appeared to be working, as Sam stopped shaking.
"Thank you." he nodded, causing both Filius and Pomona to smile.
"I'm Filius by the way and this is Pomona." Filius offered, hoping their simple first names would put Sam at ease, instead of the confusion of last names and titles.
"Rolanda's bark is worse than her bite, so no need to worry, love." Pomona assured him, refilling his cup.
Sam was not sure if he believed that, but he nodded nonetheless.
"I was collecting reeds for my old Gaffer." Sam began again...before Rolanda had interrupted at that moment, this time she only rolled her eyes. "And I slipped and fell into the murky water. Next I know she was pulling me up and yelling at me."
Filius scratched his little head.
"Queer." was all he said as he attempted to understand what had been said.
"Perhaps another dimension?" Pomona wondered aloud, having always enjoyed science fiction and loving the idea of a portal of sorts.
"Yeah... I'm sure. So Samdumb Geewee, are you from Landscot on planet Htrae? And don't tell me... you walk backwards instead of forewards... you drink your steak and chew your soup..." she was thankfully cut off by a rather annoyed Filius.
"Professor Hooch!" he admonished. "Maybe so, but slightly different I would believe. I've read somewhere about something like this happening. However it was with dreams and memories."
Mouth open, Sam listened to the man rattle off about the possibilities of travelling through one's dreams, memories and into other worlds. It shocked him how intelligent this Filius was... or how intelligent he sounded. So far not a word made sense.
"This Shire of yours, where is it?" Filius asked.
"Um... the river B-" Pomona gently interrupted.
"No, dear, the whole place is called what?" she soothed.
"Middle-Earth."
A chuckle wafted from Rolanda.
"Figures..."
***
Minerva blinked as she awoke to find herself in a dark room in an unfamiliar bed. There was an odd smell about her, rather musky and it frightened her. Gripping the coverlet tightly she glanced about for a light, a door or a window. Her blurry vision both from lack of glasses and having just awoken caused her to miss those sought for comforts.
The memory of having been seated at Bilbo Baggins' table with Gandalf washed over her and Minerva calmed slightly. She must have fallen asleep and they had moved her to the room. How kind, she thought, feeling foolish for sitting in the bed frightened of shadows and scents.
"How do you feel?" Gandalf's deep soothing voice asked, seemingly coming from nowhere. Although she did her best not to appear startled, a brief chuckle followed by his lighting of a tall candle told her Gandalf had noticed.
"Better, thank you. Did I fall asleep?" she asked, abashed.
"You fell." Gandalf murmured matter-of-factly. He was not convinced that she had merely been bored with their conversation and fallen asleep. No, he saw the weariness like a cloak about her narrow shoulders every time he looked into her emerald eyes.
"I am sorry to have caused you trouble." Minerva climbed out of the bed, glad when her legs held her up without incident. "You have been very kind to me."
"It has been my pleasure and a continued one, I hope." Gandalf chuckled, finding it humorous that she was apologizing when he was the one who had allowed her to fall.
Minerva said nothing, merely smiling delicately.
"Bilbo was quite worried his tea was the cause of your fall..." he subtly hinted, pushing the round door open and offering her his arm. Minerva gasped lightly.
"His tea was excellent, by far nothing to do with my health." She assured him, taking his arm and leaving the room after gently smoothing her hair. Later on, she thought, she would have to braid or bind it somehow.
It took all of ten minutes to convince the flustered hobbit host that he had not in fact poisoned Minerva, much to his obvious relief. After kindly inviting her to his party, Bilbo went to his study to complete some final party details, leaving Minerva and Gandalf alone.
"Here." Minerva turned to face the wizard noting his outstretched hand and the delicate silverish hair clasp he was holding. Her eyes widened, it was as if he had read her mind. So uncannily like Albus... but then again so different. Like some sort of ironic paradox.
"Thank you." she smiled, taking the clasp. Her vision made is impossible to see the intricate details, but her fingers felt that it was a work of the finest artisans. Practiced fingers quickly gathered up her hair and she flipped it into a loose twist, sliding the clasp into place and securing it with a whispered strand of wandless magic.
Gandalf watched her with a wistful expression caught somewhere between amusement and unidentifiable emotion.
"Do stop staring." Minerva requested, noticing his deep eyes were boring into her. Gandalf said nothing, but his eyes slowly left her to gaze about.
"Did you fall into the bog, my dear?" he asked, eyes suddenly meeting hers. Gryffindor courage was all that held her up as she saw another pair of blue eyes gazing at her with a similar question on his lips.
"Are you certain about this, Minerva?" Albus had asked. And as they usually did, whenever she stubbornly pushed for something and he obstinately pushed back...they had fought. A verbal spar had been their final words to each other; before Snape had extinguished the life of the greatest wizard of all time to save the life of Draco Malfoy.
"No..." she could not lie to him, refused to fight him, would not make the same mistake twice. This man, stranger slowly turning to friend, was not going to ever find her overly stubborn. Her spirit in such manners had been broken.
Gandalf watched the flames flare to life in her dark eyes but then die as she gave into answering his question. In even the short time he had known her, he had already decided she was a strong woman and it irked him that something weighed so heavily on her to make her appear less than strong. In such dark times, he found himself thinking. For indeed, though decades might last of peace... he felt the darkness coming, perhaps even closer than he had guessed it.