Chapter Eight

Pippin shushes everyone and puts his ear to the door. "She's asking about the towels... Strider's explaining how you were all in the tub in your underclothes... Giggling? Apparently Legolas getting into the tub with everyone is hilarious."

Boromir left Hermione beside Merry and is poking his head into every room. Not that there's much to see. Two bedrooms, each with their own bathing room and toilet, though the tubs aren't anywhere near the size of Tauriel's. The room with two single beds he assigns the hobbits, leaving the big bed for him and Hermione.

He doesn't think she'll mind his over protectiveness tonight. Tomorrow may be another matter.

"She's mad at her brothers, and she and Bilbo are distressed over what happened in the courtyard. They're worried about Hermione."

She sighs. "It was rather distressing." Boromir leans over the back of the couch and kisses the top of her head. Distressing isn't a strong enough word for what happened out there.

Pippin takes his ear off the door. "They've wandered off."

"Come sit, Pip," Merry says, patting the cushion beside him. "Gandalf should be here soon."

Boromir and Hermione excuse themselves to tidy up. He quickly dresses in clean clothing from the wardrobe – he really doesn't want to know how there's already clothing in their size in this particular room – and leaves to supervise the hobbits.

... ... but not before she hugged him tight, kissed his cheek, and said, "I love you, too."

Hermione needs some time to herself after the mess in the courtyard. She admitted to letting them capture her, thinking they'd just rough her up a bit and toss her in a cell. Didn't know how much danger she was in until she heard the clash of steel above her. She assured him it was the stress from horribly misreading a situation that triggered the convulsions, not the fighting.

... ... she loves him.

"Captain?" Boromir shakes off his thoughts and turns his attention to Merry. "Are you and Miss Hermione going to leave?"

He manages a small smile. "We're breaking fast with Tauriel and Legolas tomorrow, remember? We won't leave before then." Unless Lord Elrond kicks them out.

Pippin crunches a red apple. "It was nice of Sam to pop in." The balcony connects this suite to the one next door where Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam are staying, making it easy to visit. "Too bad Frodo hasn't woken up yet."

"Sam said that Bilbo said that Elrond said that Frodo will wake up soon," Merry rattles off, then bites into a yellow apple.

Boromir blinks. Where were they hiding those? There's no food in here. He abandons his theory about hobbits having magic pockets when Hermione wanders over.

How did he get such a beautiful woman as his best friend?

... ... a best friend that loves him.

Hermione left her curls down, the chaotic mass bouncing with every step, and she's in another of those sweater dresses. It's a thinner knit than the others in a lovely dark blue that sparkles from silver threads woven throughout. The neckline scoops down, showing off a silver necklace and a scar at the base of her throat. A black belt accents her slim – too slim, as far as he's concerned, but better than it was – waist. Tight, black denims and blue Chucks, the name of her funny shoes, make it clear she's not of Middle Earth.

"I'm going to need a bigger sword." Boromir's eyes go wide when he realizes he said that out loud. Hermione smirks at him, a blush visible on her brown cheeks, but doesn't harass him about his loose lips.

"O Captain, my Captain," she sings, sitting beside him. She leans over and rests her head on his arm. "Rise up and hear the bells. Rise up, for you the flag is flung, for you the bugle trills."

"A poem?" Pippin bounces in excitement.

"A famous poem from my world, actu- " She snaps her mouth shut, cutting herself off, and stares at the closed door.

Firm knocking echos in the silent room.

Pippin rushes over and opens the door. Gandalf, Lord Elrond, and the glowing elf stand outside, but make no move to enter.

Gandalf clears his throat. "May we come in, Lady Hermione?"

Oh. They're waiting for her permission.

Hermione stands and stares at them, her face blanked of emotion. "That depends on who 'we' is."

"I am Gandalf the Grey, the wandering wizard."

"Elrond Peredhel, Lord of Imladris."

"Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower."

Boromir almost chokes on a breath. It's the elf who slew a Balrog! Hermione looks over her shoulder at him. Having no reason to deny them entry, he nods. "You may enter," she says and retakes her seat.

Merry and Pippin squeeze in with them, leaving the smaller couch and arm chairs for the three visitors. Gandalf fidgets, working himself up to speak, but speech abandons him when Hermione starts waving her wand around.

Her beaded bag flies through the air from their bedroom to her hand. From it she calls forth a tiny wooden box, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It's placed on the floor and tapped with the wand, making it grow to the size of a foot stool.

The room remains silent as she sets up a full tea service from the enlarged box. Magic creates and lights a cast iron brazier. A copper kettle, pulled from her bag and filled with water from her wand, goes on to heat.

Three tea pots are set out and prepared with black, berry, and mint. Small jars of honey and sugar join them. "Apologies, I am out of milk and cream."

"Would you like me to send for some?" Hermione nods to Lord Elrond. He takes a single step out the door and murmurs to someone in the hall. "It will arrive shortly," he says as he sits, "along with hobbit approved snacks."

Merry taps his arm. "Shall I go see if Bilbo is awake?"

Boromir looks at Hermione to make sure she doesn't object before answering. "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Merry."

One hobbit goes to the balcony while the other answers the door. An elf maid pushes in a cart with a couple of tiered platters, one of sweet and one of savoury, and two small jugs, a milk and a cream. It must have been ready and waiting.

"Ah, Gandalf." A very old hobbit comes in, leaning heavily on Merry's arm. "Elrond. Glorfindel. I see you're spoiling your dinner with a late tea. No matter, no matter. A hobbit never turns down a meal."

"May I make you a seat, Mister Bilbo?" Hermione asks.

"Oh, yes, please!" She changes a throw pillow into a plump cushioned arm chair, the perfect size for a hobbit, right beside Gandalf. He sits with a sigh. "Very nice. Thank you, dear."

Glorfindel is on the edge of his seat. "Extraordinary," he whispers, his eyes locked on the maroon chair.

"And comfortable," Bilbo adds, as though that's more important. The kettle whistles a little ditty. "Tell me, Lady Mage," he says, watching her fill the tea pots, "where you learned this wonderful magic?"

She smiles at the old hobbit. "Please, call me Hermione. I was born with magic – a magical core, that is, but I didn't realize that's what was causing all the strange occurrences in my life until I received an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the age of eleven..."

As they drink tea and nibble on pastries and sandwiches, Hermione tells the basics of Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry of Magic. Though Gandalf and the elves look like they have a million questions, for one reason or another, only Bilbo speaks.

"So many humans and other beings with magic! How fascinating! And you say one of your instructors was my size? And another taller than three hobbits stacked on top of one another?"

"That's right. Magical beings come in all shapes, sizes, and species."

Bilbo leans back with a sigh, a cup of tea cradled in his small hands. "What an adventure it would be to visit your world, Miss Hermione." He hums, looking off out the window. "Yes," he murmurs, "a grand adventure, indeed." He tilts his head to the side and stares at her, holding her gaze before asking, "But how did you get here? Surely you didn't mean to leave your home."

"No, I didn't," she says, slightly choked up. Boromir removes the empty tea cup from her grip before she breaks it and gives her his hand instead. "I was leading a monster away from the school. There was a battle at Hogwarts and the whole area was beyond saturated with magic from all the spells. All that magic began to gather into unstable puddles, for lack of a better description."

He turns to her, giving her his undivided attention. This is new to him, too.

"One collapsed, releasing an explosion of magical energy. Then another. And another.

It began a chain reaction, setting off more and more until the air was thick with magic. So much so, I could hardly see where I was going as he chased me through the forest.

Suddenly, the air was clear. The forest was different. As was the season – well into fall instead of late spring. And there was a man in armour, a sword in his hand, just standing there."

Boromir faces the lords of Rivendell and takes over the tale, telling them exactly what he told Éomer. Including the next morning when she tried to leave.

Hermione flops against him. "I'm glad you convinced me to stay."

He whispers to the top of her head, "Me, too."

"As am I!" Bilbo states, slapping a hand to his leg. He turns and glares at Lord Elrond. "What I am not glad about is how you were treated upon your arrival. Absolutely disgraceful! Thank the Valar for Tauriel. An elf with the heart of a dwarf, that one. A true champion of Arda!"

"On that, we agree." Gandalf shuffles about and straightens his robe. "But the behaviour of the guards... well... that's a bit more... complicated."

Hermione straightens up. "It's not," she says firmly. "You just don't want to admit that the horcrux on steroids next door is affecting those who haven't come in direct contact with it."

"A what?"

"There's one here?!"

"You can feel the One Ring?"

"Silence!" Gandalf shouts, his eyes locked on Hermione's. He looks terrified. "Please explain what a horcrux is."

"A horcrux is one of the most foul pieces of magic in my world. I will not describe how one would accomplish it, but the end result is a piece of soul embedded into an object of importance to the caster. The death of the body means nothing when the soul is tethered to this plane of existence." She points to the wall separating the two suites. "Within that room is a horcrux of unimaginable evil. The soul piece is huge and malevolent. Demonic. It's also completely unshielded. It should be contained within a Level Five ward scheme with at least three anchors, not left out in the open." Hermione moves her gaze to Lord Elrond. "It is influencing your people, and you're letting it."

Hermione makes another cup of tea and refreshes his while the others stew in silence. She murmurs quietly to Pippin, who's almost crawled into her lap, about the tasty snacks, as though she hasn't just broken three immortals.

"Can you contain it?" Gandalf asks-

-as Lord Elrond says, "You speak as though it's not influencing you."

"Yes, but not as well as I'd like, and," she smirks, "it doesn't quite know what to do with me." Her face falls. "But I don't expect that to last forever. If there is one thing evil excels at, it's finding weakness."

Glorfindel slowly rises, carefully pushes the low table with the tea service away from Hermione, and goes down on one knee in front of her. "I beg your forgiveness. Not once have we thought that the malice of the One Ring could be lessened, and I am ashamed to admit that I don't know if that is due to ignorance or it's influence." He cautiously places a hand on hers. "Please, Lady Hermione of Hogwarts, will you help us?"

Hermione flips her hand and grips the elf's. Their eyes remained locked as those in the room barely breathe. What her answer will be not even Boromir knows.

"Can you send me home?" she whispers.

Boromir can tell from the look on Glorfindel's face that the answer is no, but Gandalf is the one who answers. "I know of no power in this realm, good or evil, capable of such a feat."

She nods shallowly, as though expecting that answer. "I guessed that. I just needed to hear it from someone else before I believed it." Hermione squeezes the elf's hand and releases him. "This is my world now, but even if it wasn't, I would not – will not – allow evil to take it." She leans back onto Boromir and slings an arm around Pippin. "Some of my favourite people live here."

.
.

The wizard and the elves depart quickly after that. Hermione gave them much to think about and no one felt like trying to make casual conversation with heavy hearts. When supper is delivered – a nice spread of roasted root vegetables, potatoes, and perfectly cooked chicken with a green sauce that tastes like a herb garden smells – Bilbo leaves to dine with Sam. After a quiet meal, Merry and Pippin take their plates of dessert – a light, fluffy cake with berries and cream – next door.

"Sorry, Captain." Hermione ate her berries one by one and is now slowly pulling her cake apart. "I didn't mean to scare off our hobbits." She closes her eyes, making tears roll down her cheeks.

Boromir sets aside his dish and stands. "Come," he says, offering her a hand. "Let us change into some fancy sleepwear and end this day."

"Aye, Captain."