Chapter Two
Hermione's sobs have quieted to sniffling, but Boromir is still frozen. All the questions he's pushed aside have come back with a vengeance.
What is Greyback? A man or a beast? Where are the items he carried? How was there more than could have fit on his person without a pack?
The strange materials and style of Hermione's original clothing... and where did it go?
That first morning his waterskin was filled. He doesn't remember there being a creek in the area. Where did the water come from?
Hermione may be the most clever woman – no, person – Boromir has ever met, yet she doesn't have even the basic knowledge of the races Middle Earth. And she doesn't know any major landmarks or settlements. Everything is as though she's hearing of it for the first time.
Most importantly, how did she come to be in the foothills of the Misty Mountains?
When Boromir finally comes out of his daze, it's to Hermione watching him from the other side of the campfire. It's the first time she's ever looked scared of him.
.
Another piece of him shatters.
.
"I- " he clears the emotion from his throat, "I'm not going to hurt you, Hermione." How did he not notice her moving away?
"I just admitted to being from a different world," she says in a flat tone. "You either think I'm insane or dangerous, but most likely both."
Boromir holds her wary gaze and says slowly, but with conviction, "I believe you."
"Bullshit!" Hermione snarls. Gone is the frightened girl. In her place, an angry woman. If he hadn't been travelling with her for the past five days, Boromir admits he might be cautious of her. She certainly feels dangerous now.
But he has been travelling with her. He's listened to her hum while collecting berries, survive a squirrel attack then feast on them, collect fireflies and try to hide that she's cooing over them, and watched her meticulously plan out how to use the furs and cloaks to make the best blankets. He's heard her laugh and giggle and snort and snore.
She has a gentle way of teasing him that never fails to make him smile.
"Hermione," he says, smiling softly at her, "I believe you. And I'm not afraid. I've watched you chase down a grouse with your cloak because you didn't want to wake me to shoot it," he finishes dryly.
"That was a fast one," she grumbles. "And I didn't know you were awake."
He smirks. "Your cursing woke me."
Hermione huffs and ducks her head, but he saw her smile. She's already heard his opinion about her 'improper for a young lady' language and reciprocated by cussing up a storm so foul – enunciated clearly, "Cause I'm a fuckin' lady!" – he ended up on the ground he was laughing so hard.
But there's no smile on her face when she looks up.
"What if I tell you being from another world isn't the biggest secret I've been keeping from you?"
Boromir opens his mouth to ask what could possibly be a bigger secret than not being from Middle Earth, but snaps it shut. Too many questions still haven't been answered. He rattles off, "Where are the items from Greyback? How did he carry so much? Why the coloured flames when he burned? How did you fill my waterskin? Where is your strange clothing?"
"How did you get here?" he pleads.
"Magic." Hermione holds out her fist. When she opens it a ball of blue flame floats in her palm. "I was born with magic."
Oh.
OH!
"That's... that is- " Boromir groans as he folds in half, his hands in his hair.
She's been hiding her magic.
How many spells has she cast?
Does she have enchanted items?
Has she used magic on him?!
... ... ...
It's too much.
He's not prepared to handle this.
Magic and monsters from another world are beyond him.
He's just a soldier.
Boromir looks through his hair towards the quiet rustling. Hermione, lips tight and tears streaming down her face, takes the finished blanket – she's still working on the other – and her share of the travel rations out of her pack. Making as little noise as possible, she folds the blanket and leaves the food on top. Everything else is tucked away and she secures the straps.
Is she leaving?
Why is she leaving a blanket and all her food behind?
Why is she leaving?!
Hermione glances up.
She's looks broken.
.
Another piece of him shatters.
.
"Thank you, Captain Boromir, for your time and effort on my behalf," she says quietly, her voice strained. "I hope you find what you need in Rivendell."
Boromir blurts the first thing he can think of, "You can't leave!"
Hermione freezes, her hand mid-reach towards her cloak. Ever so slowly, she turns to face him. "Am I your prisoner?"
WHAT?!
"NO!" he shouts, then softer, "No." He may be just a soldier, but she is still the same half-starved, homeless, young woman who curses like a Corsair and catches fireflies. "But I thought we were starting to become friends."
Hermione gives him a look he's seen on Faramir's face far too many times. "I've literally hidden everything about myself except my name."
Ignoring the implication that he's being particularly dimwitted at the moment, Boromir gets up and falls to his knees beside her. "And now I know."
"Only because I accidentally blurted it out!" Now Hermione is the one folded over with her hands in her hair. "I would have taken that secret to my grave if I could have," she whispers.
"Sounds lonely." Boromir holds a hand out to her, not surprised she doesn't take it but hopes she will eventually. "I will not force you- " he corrects himself at her snort, "I will not try to force you to accompany me, but I believe you will find much needed counsel at Rivendell. Lord Elrond is over 6000 years old, one of the few elves with powerful magic that I mentioned before, and I'm sure the wandering wizard, Gandalf the Grey, will be there as well. If he's not, Lord Elrond should know how to contact him."
Hermione's head snaps up so fast he's sure he heard her neck crack. "A wizard! A human wizard?"
Boromir blinks back his surprise. "He looks human – an old man, but as far as I understand he is as immortal as an elf." She sags. "Are you human?" He never even thought to question her race.
She scoffs. "Of course I am! And before you ask, I'm 19. If I don't get a sword in the gut, I have about a century to figure this place out."
"Your lifespan is comparable to those of Númenórean descent, such as my brother and I." Boromir grins. Hermione smiles softly in return and slips her hand into his.
Does this mean she's staying? If he doesn't let go then she has to.
One problem solved.
... but there is one thing he needs to ask before they break camp...
"Hermione," Boromir holds her gaze, "we can talk while we trek. I just need to know one thing before we go. Have you ever used magic on me?"
"No," she answers immediately, firm and steady, never looking away from him. "I've barely used it since arriving. I've summoned water to fill canteens and did some healing on my arm and face. That's it. I swear."
His brow scrunches. "What about that pile of junk from Greyback?"
"It's not junk," Hermione refutes and pats her hip. "I have a bag that's bigger on the inside. Everything from my world is in there. I made it myself," she boasts.
A bigger on the inside bag? Amazing! "Doesn't it get heavy?"
She smirks. "Embedded feather-light charm."
"Fuck you're smart," Boromir breathes out. Hearing her chuckle repairs some of the cracks in his heart. His eyes dart to the blanket and food. "Pack your gear. And don't you ever leave your food behind again."
"O Captain, my Captain," she sing-songs, then says, "You'd starve before finding the elves if I wasn't here to feed you."
That may be true, but he'll never admit it. Yet... "I am not the one who's skin and bones," he points out.
She cringes and looks down. "That... is a long story."
He waits until she meets his gaze. "I would be honoured to hear it."
Hermione finishes packing and checks the straps, not saying a word. Boromir lets her be. Much has been revealed this day. The least he can do is give her as much time as she needs to work through it all.
He could use some time himself.
They walk in silence for about a league before Hermione breaks it with, "It all began when an owl delivered me a letter."
Boromir limits himself to quiet gasps, huffs, chuckles, and groans as she talks about discovering she has magic, learning about the Wizarding World – he almost topples over when she says the bank is run by goblins, attending Hogwarts – a castle where hundreds of children go to learn magic, and meeting who will eventually be her two best friends – Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
Her excitement about learning anything and everything reminds him of how Faramir used to be. Before his little brother had to put aside the scholar and become a Ranger.
Hermione shakes her wand from her sleeve and shows him one of the first spells she ever learned, "Wingardium Leviosa," moving a freshly fallen tree off the game trail they're following, and then the first one she taught herself, the blue flames.
The troll horrifies him. The giant three-headed dog more so.
Quidditch sounds both insane and thrilling. Potions, disgusting.
"Looking back on that glorified obstacle course with adult eyes is enraging." Hermione's curly mane puffs out like cat's fur. "The Headmaster wasn't trying to protect the stone. It was a trap for Voldemort and a test for Harry. In a school! That old goat let that monster be around children." Her voice cracks and she quickly wipes her eyes. "I can't imagine what he had on the staff that they allowed him to get away with it." She shakes her head, her lips pursed. "Dumbledore may have been a great wizard, but I don't believe he was good. Not anymore."
She ends with describing the wraith that attacked Harry – they separated so she could get Ron to the infirmary, thus her young friend had to face the demon alone. "Tomorrow I'll tell you how Snake Face lost his body."
That evening Hermione shields their camp with magic so nothing can find them and Boromir pretends she hasn't flipped his entire world upside down. He asks how the other blanket is coming along and tells her of the year he spent in Rohan as a guest in King Theodan's hall. Sixteen years old and away from home without an escort for the first time.
He got in sooooooo much trouble.
"Pretend I've never ridden a horse."
"Because you haven't?"
"Because I haven't. What's the first thing you would teach a new rider?"
.
.
They easily fall into a new daily rhythm. Mornings are much the same – they both prefer not to be social until after breakfast – but now while they walk Hermione tells him a piece of her world's magical history. Often it ties in to what she spoke of the afternoon before, like how Harry got his famous scar or Newt Scamander and his magical creatures.
Afternoons are for Hogwarts. One year a day. Each year worse than the last.
Boromir has to sit when she describes being petrified by a giant, ancient, magical snake, and again when she recounts how Harry – then a scrawny twelve year old boy – almost died killing it.
By stabbing it through the roof of it's mouth.
Because it was big enough to swallow him whole.
He learns magicals have a spirit animal within themselves and through intensive training can learn to change into it. Not to be confused with werewolves, like Greyback, which is a curse, not an animal form. He liked to bite children, infecting them with lycanthropy, then steal them away to raise in his 'pack'.
Remus Lupin was one such child, but was thankfully protected and raised at home with loving parents. He was a professor at Hogwarts the year Sirius Black, the man who was supposed to be Harry's guardian, escaped from Azkaban, a prison for magicals.
It was a stressful year that all come crashing down on the night of the full moon. A rat changing into a dead man. A dog changing into a convict. A teacher becoming a literal monster.
After escaping from Professor Lupin in his werewolf form and unfortunately losing the traitorous rat, she and Harry travelled back in time and helped an innocent Sirius escape from Hogwarts by flying on the back of a creature called a hippogriff.
"I started the process to become an animagus, but I don't know if I'll be able to complete it. Maybe your grey wizard will be able to help me," she says casually, as if becoming an animal, time travel, and riding on winged creatures is a common occurrence.
Boromir mentally shakes his head. For all he knows it is, if only to her.
Hermione talks excitedly about going to the Quidditch World Cup and meeting magicals from all over the world, "Seeing how other nations and cultures used magic changed the way I used my own," but it doesn't last. Death Eaters, followers of Voldemort, attacked the campground that evening, setting fires and causing chaos. A non-magical family were captured and assaulted with magic, just because they could.
In her forth year, Hogwarts hosted the previously disbanded – due to the number of deaths... DEATHS! In a competition meant for school children! – Triwizard Tournament, but with with four participants instead of three because a Death Eater rigged the selection process to force Harry to compete. Hermione spent every moment of spare time in the library trying to find ways to help Harry.
Harry, who got kidnapped during the final task, along with Cedric.
Cedric, who died at the hand of a Death Eater, Peter Pettigrew.
Pettigrew, who had betrayed Harry's parents, successfully resurrected Voldemort.
Voldemort, who now had a flesh and bone body, began the Second Blood War.
Throughout the afternoons, Hermione shows off bits of magic as she tells her tale. Most she uses a wand for, but some she does with a wave of her hand or flick of the wrist. Her magic cools him when the sun is blazing and warms him when clouds blanket the sky. They snack on floating berries she summons from the bushes as they walk and water pours from the tip of her wand to fill their canteens. Mindful of his comfort, Hermione asks permission each time before casting anything around or upon him.
Boromir tells her she doesn't need to ask after hearing about werewolves. The last thing he wants is for her to hesitate to defend herself because she thinks he'll be upset about her using magic.
Not that he is. Not anymore. Not after experiencing her magic wash over him.
It feels like her. Serious but playful, gentle and kind, fiercely protective, and young... yet very, very old.
There is no doubt in his mind that Hermione is exactly what she says she is.
In the evenings, Boromir continues to educate Hermione about Middle Earth by speaking of his own life. Visiting his uncle in Dol Amroth when he was a child and again as an adult to train with the Swan Knights. And the summer he and Faramir decided they wanted to live by the ocean. They built a raft out of deadfall and floated down the Anduin. Made it halfway to Pelargir before Rangers caught them.
Describing the Grand Markets, a city wide festival held four times a year, is as much for him as it is for her.
Merchants come from all over Middle Earth, bringing new life to Minas Tirith. Street performers are found on every corner. Huge banners in festive colours hang from the walls and rooftops. Food carts fill the air with mouthwatering aromas.
In Spring there isn't a child without a flower crown. Summer has the women pulling out their best dresses to dance in the courtyards. When Autumn arrives so does the bulk of the harvest. The Market overflows with crates and barrels of produce and grains.
But Winter is his favourite.
The days are cool, the nights cold, and the sun rises late and sets early. It's a time for blazing hearths, fur-lined clothing, and filling meals.
"Braziers are spread throughout the city and kept lit day and night, giving folk a place to chase the chill away. Performances still happen, but instead of jugglers and acrobats there's raised stages with actors showcasing a mix of new stories and old legends. Food carts peddle soups and hot drinks: broths, mulled wine, spiced juices, and dark tea. The merchants bring mounds of luscious furs – most already made into cloaks and blankets, tubs of honey and blocks of wax, dried fruits and crocks of pickles, casks of wine and liquors, and that year's harvest of spices."
Boromir groans in pleasure. "The smells of those dried seeds, barks, and roots never fails to bring up the memory of Mother, an infant Faramir bundled up in a sling against her, teaching me about each one. I was only six years old, barely able to see over the rims of the barrels, but I remember it as though it were yesterday."
"The Grand Markets sound like they truly live up to their name." Hermione is wrapped in her blanket, relaxed against him even though she could cast a warming charm instead of leeching his heat, eyes closed, and a small smile on her face. She quietly asks, "Will you take me to one?"
"One?" Boromir smiles down at her, though she's not looking. "No, Hermione. I'm going to take you to all of them."
.
.
Rain finds them that night, but before it starts to pour a crack of thunder shakes the earth, violently waking Hermione. She springs up, wand in hand, breathing heavily while turning in circles looking for danger. Boromir murmurs assurances, trying to calm the startled woman as he approaches her. Now that he knows she comes from a world filled with giant creatures, he imagines shaking ground and thunderous noises could mean something other than a storm.
It only takes a moment before she settles. Hermione takes a deep breath and sighs, then steps forward, head bowed, and walks straight into him, grunting on impact. It seems to be her preferred way of asking for comfort without actually saying anything. Boromir rubs up and down her arms, glad she can't see his smile at the adorable habit. "It's just a storm. The worst we'll get is wet."
"Maybe you'll get wet. I'm conjuring a tent." She steps back and turns without looking at him. Embarrassed about her reaction to the thunder? "You're welcome to join me. I'll even make you your own bed."
"Your magic can create?" Boromir watches wide-eyed as with a mumbled sentence and some wand swishes a tent pops into being.
"Anything I can imagine. But it's only as good as I know how to make it and it doesn't last forever. Not without a hefty push of magic!" Hermione yells the last bit as she ducks into the shelter.
Boromir takes a deep breath to steady himself and enters the magic-made tent.
It looks... Well... He shrugs. It looks like an ordinary waxed canvas tent. The only bit of magic he can see is the tiny balls of light floating around.
Hermione's eyes are laughing at him. "Were you expecting something different?"
"I... I don't know what I was expecting, but ordinary wasn't it." She goes back to the entrance and summons sticks and stones. The wood is turned into bed frames, chairs, and a table. The rocks change shape and stack themselves into a hearth, for heat and cooking. Magic runes engraved into the stones around the fire make the smoke disappear so she doesn't have to make a proper exit.
"I could change the colour, if you want." Hermione creates mattresses and floats them to the beds. She laid them out in an L-shape, corners touching so their heads are together. Boromir thought she'd want her own space, but this suggests otherwise. "Or put murals on the walls or ceiling." She places her hands on her hips and nods decisively at the room. "There. That'll do."
"What? No kitchen? Where's the toilet? A bathing room?" he asks with a laugh. Hermione growls at him, mumbling under her breath about ungrateful Captains.
"I'm not doing all that rune work until I make a expanded tent." She smirks. "Think house in a bag."
"Will you create it with magic or build it by hand?" Boromir carefully sits on the bed, bouncing slightly to test it. It's more than nice. It's the best mattress he's ever felt. Luxuriously soft, but firm enough to support his old bones.
"Build. I'll embed spells into the materials as I make it. It'll take months of work, but if I do it right it should last a lifetime."
He nods along, hanging their wet cloaks on the backs of chairs and moving them to her magic fire to dry. "Same as a brick and mortar house then." Hermione goes to each wall and makes a section clear. It's not an actual window, but it's good enough.
Boromir beds down when Hermione does, trusting her magic to keep them warm and dry and safe. She snuffs all the lights except one by the door. He lets the quiet settle before asking, "Why did you place the beds so close together?"
The silence stretches to the point where he doesn't think she'll answer, and is startled when she finally does. "Because I'm scared," she replies, barely loud enough for him to hear, "but when you're near I know I'm safe."
