Chapter Six

Speaking openly about the tortures they endured changes their relationship.

Hermione has always jested with him, teased him, and never shied away from expressing her opinions. She's been comfortable in his space since he first sat down beside her. And since Boromir told her her magic is comforting, she's begun to embrace him instead of merely sheltering under his arm or beside him. But now...

Now she'll occasionally link their arms or hold hands while they walk. When they sit for their evening meal, she puts her seat right beside his. She speaks less about war and history and more about her studies, friends, and the everyday shenanigans that come from having a castle full of magical children.

She also finally tells him about her parents.

"I told Harry and Ron that I Obliviated them, that I erased and replaced their memories of me, and sent them to live in Australia. A country on the other side of the world," she explains before he can ask.

"I lied."

Hermione grips his hand hard enough that if he were a younger man he might wince. "They were killed in a Death Eater raid partway through my sixth year. Only the Headmaster and a few Order members knew, at my request."

"Why didn't you want your friends to know?" he asks softly, mindful of her grief. "Surely they would have mourned with you?"

"I didn't want Harry to feel guilty, because he would, the tosser, and telling Ron but not Harry wasn't an option. Not that I was speaking to him then, so," she shrugs, "I shouldered it on my own. I was already considered an adult by magical law and less than a year away from non-magical. I hired a lawyer through Gringotts to work with my parent's lawyer and they took care of everything while I was crying myself to sleep at night."

At the mention of Gringotts, she goes quiet, her eyes pained and body tense. Boromir changes the grip of their hands so he can lay his arm across her shoulders, their fingers still entwined, making her arm hang across her chest. Hermione didn't continue the horcrux hunt last night, instead she told him about her friend 'Don't call me Nymphadora' Tonks, who had a rare magical talent that allowed her to change her appearance simply by willing it.

Her occupation was the magical equivalent of a city guard. A noble use of an extraordinary gift.

"We had to get into Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts. All we had to work with was a goblin we couldn't trust, a single vial of Polyjuice, one of her hairs, and her wand." She blows out a breath and slumps against him. "It was a disaster from start to finish."

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Boromir lays awake with a barely asleep, puffy eyed Hermione curled up beside him. She talked all afternoon and evening about breaking into and out of Gringotts – on the back of a dragon! – and the Battle at Hogwarts. About the soul crushing agony of wearing her torturer's skin, and stabbing a Basilisk fang through the golden cup, and the mistake of kissing Ron. Of watching Professor Snape, the spy who killed the already dying Headmaster and kept Hogwarts as safe as he could, die at the fangs of that giant snake, and having to let Harry face Voldemort alone because of the sliver of soul lodged in his famous scar.

"Everyone kept saying we won, but with the Great Hall filled with the injured and dead, it sure didn't feel like it."

He held her, as he once held a child Faramir while he mourned the loss of their mother, as she cried and raged and screamed and wept, finally breaking down after being strong for too long. Except this time Boromir doesn't have any words of comfort to offer. He doesn't know if she'll see her parents or friends in the afterlife. He doesn't know for sure if Lord Elrond or Gandalf can or will help her.

He doesn't know if she'll ever see the stars of her world again.

He doesn't even know if he can promise to help get her home. Magic and world travelling are far beyond him.

He's just a soldier.

But he'll try – he'll use every resource available to him and bargain for ones that aren't – even though it would break his heart to say goodbye.

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Hermione tucks the crystal pendant away, her bloodshot eyes not leaving the map. "I think we'll reach the Road by noon and be in Rivendell well before the supper hour."

"I agree." Boromir is looking at her instead of the map. Neither of them slept well last night, but she definitely looks worse for it. "Or we can take a couple hours and show up at supper instead." She growls, but he ignores her temper. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather arrive clean and in good spirits."

"I- " she sighs, cutting herself off, "I can't argue with that. Or rather, I don't want to. A bath is a marvellous idea."

He turns her around. "You weave your magic and have a soak. I'll pack our camp and scrub down in the river. Hush," he places a finger on her frowning lips, "I'll be fine. Merely reminding myself what life was like before I met you." He smiles at her huff. "Go on. Take as much time as you need."

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Hermione comes out, hair loose and dressed in clothing from her world. She stands behind him as he warms up by the fire and finger combs his hair, magically drying it as she braids the front pieces back from his face.

Boromir rests his hand on hers when she lays on his back and hugs him, her chin on his shoulder and arms wrapped around his chest. "Thanks, Captain."

"You're welcome, Hermione."

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Their estimate on how long it would take to reach the Road was off. Though they took the time to make themselves presentable – he didn't say a word when she didn't change out of her denims and plaid – they still reached the Great East Road before high sun.

Hermione throws an arm across him. "Wait," she whispers, looking west towards the ford. "A group of four males. One human and three... I, uh, don't actually know." She frowns. "They're small, but full grown."

"Halflings." Hermione whips around and raises a brow at him. Boromir cringes. "I don't know the true name of their race."

"Perhaps we should introduce ourselves and find out." She links her arm in his. "Chances are they're also going to Rivendell."

He nods. His dream spoke of a halfling that will stand against Isildur's Bane. Is he about to meet him?

"Hold!" a strong voice cries out. "Who travels this road?"

"Rude!" Hermione yells back. Boromir groans. This is not going to end well. "You own it? I think not!"

"That was rather unkind, Strider."

"I agree, Pip. That woman has done nothing to earn your ire, Strider."

"Shut it you two! What if it's a trap set by those Black Riders? Let Strider do the talking!"

"I think the human goes by Strider," she whispers, her eyes holding all the laughter she dare not voice.

A weary man comes around the bend, three little folk trailing behind him. Strider stops abruptly at the sight of Hermione, causing the halflings to crash into him and each other. "Apologies, miss, for my- "

"You're really pretty!" The smallest halfling darts around the man's legs and runs towards Hermione. She goes down on one knee and waits for him. "Hello," he slides to a stop right in front of her, "my name's Pippin."

Groans and head shakes come from the three left behind.

"Hello, Pippin," Hermione greets, her voice soft. "My name is Hermione. I must say, I've never met one of your people before."

"I'm a hobbit of the Shire." Pippin tucks his hair behind an ear, showing off the pointed tip, and leans towards Hermione. "I've never met a Big Folk of your colour before."

She grins, taking no offence. "I am an awful long way from home. My companion, Captain Boromir of Gondor, is escorting me to Rivendell in the hope that Lord Elrond or Gandalf the Grey may assist me."

"Hail, Captain Boromir, son of Denethor." Strider nods his head to Boromir. "We also are travelling to Rivendell. Shall we- "

"Frodo got hurt," Pippin cuts Strider off again, his eyes still locked on Hermione, "and went ahead with a beautiful lady elf so the healers could help him."

More groans from Pippin's friends, but they don't bother scolding him. Must be used to him blurting out things he shouldn't.

"I'm sorry your friend was hurt. My Captain told me that elves are talented healers. I'm sure he's in good hands."

Pippin nods along with her. "I think so, too." He grabs her hand and tugs. "Come meet my cousin."

Hermione lets Pippin drag her around. "I would love to." She looks over her shoulder at him and mouths, "So cute!"

Pippin continues to fawn over Hermione and tells her all about his adventures in vegetable and firework thievery. His cousin, Merry, walks with them on Hermione's other side, adding the occasional comment or correction. The last hobbit, Samwise, stays a step back and to the side, and keeps a watchful eye on them. Strider sighs, a heavy breath that sounds like it was pulled from his toes, and joins Boromir at the lead.

"They are a friendly folk – trusting, though they hardly ever leave the Shire," he says quietly. Strider pins him with his steel eyes, asking without words whether she is worthy of that trust.

"Hermione will not harm them." Boromir debates with himself whether or not to jest with the Ranger, for what else could this man be. He throws caution to the wind, "She'll probably adopt them," and blames her for being a bad influence.

"I heard that!" she calls out from behind them, giggling when Pippin hugs her arm, declaring he'll adopt her first.

The men listen to the hobbits debate whether or not the Thain – whomever that is – would allow a Big Folk, even one as short as Hermione, to live in the Shire. When it turns into them arguing who has the tallest smial – whatever that is – Strider heaves another heavy sigh and says, "You are aware that the woman- "

"She has a name," Boromir interrupts angrily.

"Yes, of course. My apologies." Strider clears his throat and tries again. "You are aware that Hermione is no ordinary Haradrim."

Boromir chokes down a chuckle and raises a brow at the Ranger. "Hermione isn't from Harad or Rhûn. And I'm well aware of who she is and what she's capable of."

Strider seems to be warring with himself over how to say something without being forthright. Boromir takes pity on the exhausted man. "She wields magic," he whispers, "unlike any I've ever seen or heard of before."

"How do you know she has not altered your mind?" the Ranger hisses quietly, his body and voice stiff.

"Because you can feel the intent in her magic." There's more he could say, but this Strider doesn't deserve to know of their time together.

"Magic?" Pippin pipes up. How did he hear that?! "Can you make whizz-poppers? Like Gandalf?"

Hermione stops in the middle of the road. Boromir meets her terrified eyes and nods, trusting her to show only what she's comfortable with. She takes a deep breath and palms her wand. "I can, but I find I'm in need of a refreshment." She creates a low table with seating for six. A couple more swishes, flicks, and twirls spreads a tablecloth and place settings for each of them. Glasses are next, which she then fills with water.

She offers one to Strider. "Thirsty?"

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The hobbits devour the pile of thinly sliced dried sausages – that she did while they floated through the air, making the slices fall like rain – and the last of their dried fruit, all while constantly asking Hermione about her magic but never waiting long enough for her to answer. As they chatter, she changes the colour of their waistcoats and makes Pippin's mittens do a dance called 'tango' across the table. Strider, after asking Boromir for a suggestion, cautiously requests a warming charm.

"Oh... that's..." the Ranger's eyes are wide and his jaw slack, "that's amazing. The chill of autumn is chased away, as though I'm wrapped head to toe in a wool blanket that's been warmed by the fire."

Immediately all the hobbits request their own 'warm charm', taking Hermione's attention away from the men.

"Your thoughts?" Boromir quietly asks him.

"You're right. Her magic is unique. I've never experienced anything like it before."

"And?"

"I do not believe Hermione or her magic are malicious," Strider admits. "I have felt dark magic and fought all manner of evil beings and creatures. Nothing about her feels like they did."

"Because she's not. She fights evil and protects the innocent, same as us." Boromir holds Strider's gaze. "Though her skills are different than ours, do not mistake her for anything less than an accomplished warrior."

"You have needles that knit socks all by themselves? That's amazing!"

Strider smirks at him. "I never said she was only a warrior." Boromir's eyes widen at the forks marching past his plate. They're banging on tiny drums. "Merely an accomplished one," he says weakly.

Making the stoic Ranger chuckle feels like a much needed victory in a long line of upcoming battles to have Hermione accepted by Middle Earth. Hopefully he'll be a steadfast ally when meeting the elves.

. ~~ . ~~ .

A short chapter, but it's where I felt the natural break was.

Rivendell is next!