The Puzzle pieces

Warning: major info-dump.

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It was almost impossible not to know that something was wrong.

Guiomer could see the way Gandalf's bushy eyebrows were wrinkled and how some of the Brotherhood made half-aborted movements. At the center of it all seemed to be his son.

"Pater," Aedan cried.

Guiomer's heart thudded at the boy's tone. It was heartfelt relief and gratitude all in one word. It was a plea for reassurance and he wondered what caused his brave, courageous son to be frightened.

"Aedan," he called back. Moments later, found him with an armful of sweaty, dirty boy.

While he is grateful for the cuddle and the hug, his son wasn't one for hugs unless it's his mother or grandmother. Baffled, he looked to the wizard and saw Gandalf looking tired and a bit sad.

But this was his son, and he knew Aedan would talk when he meant to. Forcing him would just cause trouble. So he just said, "Welcome home, little warrior."

Aedan squeezed him tighter and it's no trouble to haul him up his shoulders. Eleven years old or not, Aedan was a bit smaller than all other children no matter how his mother insisted in feeding him.

Cailyn tugged at his shoulders insistently and he passed his precious cargo gently, making a beeline straight for the wizard. It was easy, what with his pointed hat.

"Aedan?" he asked.

The wizard seemed to droop with the question. Some of the Brotherhood still in the vicinity looked worried, shooting him glances while giving their nods of respect.

Guiomer wanted to throttle them all.

He didn't need concern; he just wanted to know what made his son cry!

"He had a troubling vision," Gandalf answered. "It came to him unbidden, such a shocking sight of death."

In Magic's name!

Guiomer felt his heart seize up, remembering the first time he had such a vision and his mother's panicked worry, of how she had tugged him gently into her arms as he trembled like a leaf. He had been eighteen then but still taller than his mother, yet in that moment, she had seemed strong and immovable, as constant as sunshine and as encompassing as the ocean.

"I suppose I'll be visiting Lord Elrond then," he muttered. "I hope Cailyn will forgive me."

With effort, he hauled his mind from Aedan and focused on why this motley crew came to their city for help in the first place.

"Did you find the creature?" he asked instead.

Gandalf nodded. "I left him with Legolas of Greenwood. Hopefully, the sight of growing things will cure Gollums mind."

Guiomer didn't share that hope. From what he had touched of the creature's mind, it was half-eaten away with insanity. The other half was dormant, only waking up in the face of abject cruelty. Whatever the creature used to be, it had a penchant for sadistic violence. Perhaps holding the One Ring for so long had awakened it?

None of this he said out loud. "Then your venture was successful then?" he said instead.

Gandalf had a look of immense sadness on his old face.

"As successful as can be," he answered. "Now I have to go to Bree, but before that, I have to ask the White Wizards council."

The moment he said those words, Guiomer was assaulted by images of cages and terror, of Gandalf injured and broken at the White Wizards feet.

Through practice and experience, Guiomer didn't even bat an eyelash. It was also through practice and experience that Guiomer knew that Gandalf would not believe him. While Gandalf was wise, he did not believe that Saruman could ever betray him.

So Guiomer kept his mouth shut and let the wizard go on his way despite the million other things Guiomer wanted to say to him. A small hand clutched at his sleeve and Guiomer turned to find his family looking at him with some concern.

"Are you alright?" Cailyn asked, struggling a bit to contain a wriggling Ciaran. Automatically, Guiomer reached over and tucked the boy by his elbow. He stopped wriggling and settled down.

"Gandalf will be betrayed by the Head of the White Council," he told her grimly. "And if I had told him, he would not have believed me."

Her eyes were sympathetic. "You could not have done anything about the Grey wizard's beliefs. Come love, you will take me home and explain to me why our other son had to be sent him crying."

Guiomer's eyebrows climbed up in surprise. What a careful turn of words, she must have been getting lessons from Aunt Enid.

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Luna wandered.

It wasn't something very troubling but there really was a difference from wandering to being lost.

Not that Luna was lost…well she was, in the sense that she only knew that she was a bit further north than she usually traveled but this was what she called wandering. Something was pulling her towards a certain direction and she faithfully followed.

Luna had never really been lost in all her life. There was always something guiding her, innate and inborn.

That was why she was not surprised when, after several days of walking by herself and filling up her extended satchel with herbs, she saw a campfire.

It was a nice sort of campfire too, with decent wood stock and the scent of something being smoked from it. Luna then counted five men and five horses. There was also a pony hitched on the side.

A pony? How curious.

Without hesitation, Luna walked forward soundlessly and greeted them, taking in the one black cloak of the Brotherhood, one blue cloak from her Order and the three Dunedain beside them.

More than half of them rose up, almost unsheathing weapons with how startled they were.

When the Master Healer jumped forward and gave a cry of joy, they all un-tensed, and Luna watched it from the corner of her eyes, a bit fascinated. How carefully these men moved, she thought.

"My lady," the Master Healer said, happiness shining in his eyes. "I have not seen you in a few years."

Luna gave him her full attention and found a slow smile rising up her face. "Alasdair!" she remarked. "How you have grown! Where have you been wandering these past few years?"

They chatted for a while about medicinal techniques and travel experiences. Both of them only remembered their manners at the very pointed cough by their feet.

Luna looked down and saw one of the oddest creatures in existence. She felt like sha had seen him somewhere before, but saying that would be rude and she'd been rude enough so she just smiled and said, "Pardon me for forgetting my manners, but Alasdair had been one of my best students."

Instead of a look of disbelief like Luna expected due to her youthful looks, he just nodded. "Ah, one of those then."

Luna's smile widened. "I am Eilys of Saldia. Pleased to meet you, Mr…"

He bowed. "My name is Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he said.

Luna felt her insides melt a little. He was so well-mannered that she was reminded a little of her father. And she also finally remembered where she had seen him before. It was in Imladris, with an ailing Heather beside her.

"And you as well," Luna responded. "Excuse me, but what sort of creature are you?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "I am a hobbit, my lady. The one your people call Halfling," he answered. He sounded very exasperated.

Luna laughed and allowed herself to be lead towards the campfire.

She shared her food with them and tried not to be too amused when they accepted it eagerly. Cold rations was nothing compared to food properly cooked by a campfire.

Conversations flowed easily and Luna was introduced to Alledan, the Brotherhood member and one of last seasons recruits to come from Saldia. Haraldar, Saradrim and Penethrin were greeted with enthusiasm once Luna could remember them from Guiomer's wedding.

In all of that, Bilbo was a quiet but entertaining companion, managing to make them all roar with laughter with just a word.

"I must do this more often," she remarked. "It is better than reading dry and boring reports."

Alesdair was curious but respectful. Luna wanted to give him a hug just for the look on his face. He was adorable.

"Why are you away from the capital?" he asked. "Not to be impertinent or anything, my lady, but you rarely leave the city."

So people had noticed. Luna wondered, but then she realized that all four of them were so careful at keeping the wards fed and the country defended that they never really stopped to see how it might look like to other people.

Her siblings had Wandering Days, for Merlin's sake. The label was a misnomer since it had not merely been days but years. For people who traveled and explored fro so long, to suddenly settle down was surprising. Of course someone would have gotten suspicious.

Luna managed not show all that in her face. She just shrugged. "I felt the need to leave the city. I do wonder why though, and it does worry me since Gryffon is out of Saldia as well."

Alledan looked concerned. "My lady is not in Saldia?" he asked. He sounded quite worried.

Bilbo piped up. "Why is it so terrible?"

One of the Dunedain, Saradrim, answered. "It is as bad as the Thain of the Shire leaving the Shire, Master Baggins."

Luna didn't understand the reference but Bilbo gave out a little noise of comprehension.

"It's nothing really immediate though," Luna continued. "And Guiomer has seen nothing yet, but that does not really reassure me. All of our gifts are clouded. There is a darkness in Middle-earth."

It was a small consolation and their faces were somber at her announcement. Everybody already felt the darkness, but to have it confirmed as something else.

They all readied for the night, the watch determined via straws, but they excluded Luna and Bilbo and the latter felt rather put-out.

"I am old," Bilbo muttered to Luna mutinously. "Not broken. I can stay on watch as well as the next hobbit."

Luna shot him an amused glance. "You can argue yourself blue and they'd just pat you on the head and tell you to go to bed."

Bilbo gave in with a huff. "It's worse than traveling with dwarves, I tell you."

She could not really remember how but Luna accidentally brushed against the hobbit and felt her insides seize up.

"Excuse me," Luna said firmly, hands on Bilbo's shoulders.

The hobbit was about to complain about the indignity of it, but he happened to glance at her face and subsided.

"What is it?" he asked with some worry.

"I'm a healer, Mr. Baggins," Luna said absently as she crouched beside him and rummaged through her satchel. Distantly, she was aware that she was worrying him but the other part of her ignored that and thought of the darkness and the utter exhaustion that seized her when she touched him. She wondered how he could remain standing when he felt that all the time. And she thought that tired, mournful sighing she heard was her imagination. It was actually Bilbo's soul, stuttering and tired.

"Am I ill?" Bilbo asked, prodding her further when it became obvious that she would not answer.

Luna gave him a long look, debating with herself. In the end, she just shrugged and did a Heather, throwing caution to the cliffs and Merlin be damned the consequences.

"I can hear the souls of people, Mr. Baggins," she said. "And yours is quite tired. So I will try and clear you of your exhaustion."

The small potion bottle finally emerged, clenched securely in Luna's hands. Bilbo backed away a few steps, apprehensive at the greenish sludge in the vial but Luna held him firm and no help came from the others, as they were busy preparing for night watch by setting traps.

Gently, yet with severe hands, Luna aligned her forehead with the hobbits' and gave him a bit of her magic. It was not enough to adopt him or hurt him but just enough to stoke the fire in his soul back to life.

Bilbo coughed and spluttered as sudden warmth spread all over his body. Luna released him and smiled, holding out the vial. Bilbo looked at her smile, at the vial and knew that he had no other option. Quickly, and with a bracing smile, Bilbo downed it and shuddered, immediately regretting his decision.

"Don't you feel better?" Luna asked, patting his shoulder. "You'll be releasing black urine for three days or so. That was just a cleansing agent."

With a Cheshire-like smile, Luna drifted off and Bilbo was left gaping at her back.

After a moment, he frowned. "Healers," he muttered under his breath. "They're all the same no matter the race."

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Faramir awoke slowly and in increments.

First, he was aware of his fingers, and it was covered in cloth – bandages his mind supplied. Then he was aware of his lungs and the…strange fact that he could breathe deeply and easily. His eyelids fluttered in surprise and he finally opened his eyes.

He didn't expect seeing white light, because Saldia's Hospital really was considerate of its patients but he didn't expect to see a dozen or so stones glowing by his bedposts, strung by strings and tinkling once in a while.

"You're awake!" Lady Enid cried out as she walked in his room carrying papers. She dropped them by the foot of his bed in a rush and touched his forehead gingerly.

"I'm not having a fever," he said, pushing himself up slowly. "But I remember my brother collapsing. Is he alright?"

Lady Enid rolled her eyes. "He's faring better than you. We got him out in time and made him drink a potion instead. You had it extracted from you externally," she said. She gave one last tap on his head, brushing his fair hair away from his face. "How do you feel?"

Faramir sighed. "Better. I can…I don't know, I can just move better," he said. "Can I see him?"

Lady Enid thrust a cup of water at him and told him to 'stay put' before storming out, stopping only to pick up the papers she dropped and then continuing onwards to the door.

Faramir fell back on the bed with a huff.

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"He's not warm," Hermione reported.

Draco had the look of a cat that ate the cream and hid the evidence under the carpet.

"Good," he said. "My second potion worked."

Years ago, Hermione would have been upset at him. Draco was more pleased about her acceptance than his experimental potions working and he had to exercise effort not to show that in his face.

"Why did Luna wander now anyway?" Hermione continued, whining just for the sake of it. Draco knew that was because when it came to healing, the twins were nearly as good as Luna, if not a bit more focused on potions than her.

"She does whatever she wants," he answered absently, tallying up the costs and price of the new potions he had slaved over a cauldron for nearly twelve hours.

Sometimes, Draco wondered why, among all things, he had chosen potions when there were half a dozen other careers he could have chosen, each of them easier than the last and not requiring sleep-deprivation at all.

Then he remembered the dour man who was his godfather dropping by the Malfoy Manor, brewing a potion for his mothers cold and he had been entranced. Why did this make a headache go away? What does ginseng do to a cold?

He had so many questions and it really was no wonder that he and Granger had butted heads in Hogwarts. Her head worked nearly the same way his does.

However potions entranced him, it also gave him mixed feelings. He remembered a potions class that was weighed down on everybody, the tension thick enough to be cleaved by a butter knife.

Speaking of Granger…

She was looking at him with concern, her expressive eyes peering up, eyebrows crinkled and a small frown turning down her lips.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

Her face morphed to surprise. Well, he hadn't really been nice for a while. He also hadn't removed his blindfold for a while, zealously guarding his family from the unseen threat.

Unseen that is, except with his gifted eyes.

"I really am," he repeated, reaching for the cloth tied around his wrist with distaste. "Let's check on Boromir. His vomiting was still black two hours ago."

He tied it back and suppressed his cringe at the blacks and greys his sight was reduced to. Ahead of him, the bright soul of Granger, self-adopted sister, was bright enough to drive away the grabbing tendrils of darkness.

Boromir's soul was looking brighter than ever and any lingering traces of darkness was leeching away and being changed by the magic carved into the crystals.

Some of that darkness was being purged by his potions and it certainly had been a challenge to create something from ordinary materials that could latch on to intangible and soul-altering magic and make it physical enough to be removed by normal body functions.

"How do you feel, Boromir?" Granger was asking, voice being muffled. She was no doubt covering her mouth to mute the volume in consideration for any possible headaches.

And here was the best part of wearing blindfolds. Draco rolled his eyes and nobody whacked him on the head for it.

"Better, my lady," Boromir answered. "Lighter. It feels like I had been constant pain before and never noticed until it was removed."

How very apt.

Ah, from the flares of Granger's soul, she was annoyed at him. Belatedly, Draco reminded himself to smile. He was in a sickroom and he had to act soothing.

Drat it, this was the reason why he never became a healer. According to Lovegood, his bedside manner was atrocious.

"You ingested two of my healing brews," Draco said, prompted by the elbow lodged in his ribs. "It cleared your body of all the filth it accumulated. However you acquired it, I have no idea."

Boromir's soul flared the purple of indignation, mixed with the red of fury. Draco allowed another roll of his eyes. It's not like anybody would see anyway.

"Just know this Boromir," he continued. "Whatever…contaminated you didn't enter you by normal means. Your very soul was weighted down by it. Being slowly altered. You, or someone very near you has been playing with black magic."

Ah, Draco mused with satisfaction. There was the shock he had been aiming for.

Just to improve his temper, he swept out and left Granger behind, rubbing his temples and contemplating on sleeping for all eternity. These sudden projects would be the death of him.

Before the door closed, he heard her say, "I know, he's always like that, terribly rude and with absolutely no care for the possible political repercussions of his words."

Draco smirked and it grew wider as people who met him in the corridors looked at his face and dove out of the way.

Though really, Draco did care about what he said, he wasn't actually saying things like that to Denethor, was he?

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About an hour after Hermione removed the brothers from the Hospital and checked them in the Rising Eagle, she received a messenger saying that Faramir needed to see her.

Hermione's eyebrows crinkled up. "Now, what on earth have I forgotten?" she muttered to herself.

But her schedule was clear – had been clear ever since their Constitution was established and she really had nothing to do aside from writing up possible projects, exchanging books with Elladan and answering the occasional question.

So with a sigh, Hermione left the building and walked to meet Faramir.

She mused on his message, the wording in particular. Need. Such a strong word. And then, like lightning, it struck her, her sharp mind working a mile a minute.

Why did the brothers come to Saldia? Given who they were, they really didn't have the luxury of leaving the country at all, let alone at the same time. So it wasn't leisure but business. It always was.

From what she had garnered when Faramir was her student, he wasn't in his father's favor, Boromir was. What they had taught Faramir, however, was enough for him to manage a country and by the rumors being said among the merchants, he was making enough changes in Gondor that his father would want to keep an eye on him. And anyway, if Denethor wanted something done, he'd ask the favored one to do it.

This only answered which of the brothers this concerned. It didn't – still didn't answer the other why. Why Saldia? After what Heather had done, wrecking Denethor's punishment for his youngest and Draco's continuous embargoes on the trade for Gondor, Denethor should be suspicious of Saldia – or outright hate it. So no, their destination wasn't Saldia. This was only the pit stop.

That left four other options: Rivendell, the Shire, the Kingdoms of the Dwarf-lords and the Ruins of Arnor.

If she cross-referenced it, there really was only one answer.

This proved true when Faramir, after seeing her, immediately said, "My father dreamed of a prophecy. He's sending my brother to ask for Lord Elrond's help in deciphering it. What do you think my lady?"

"Oh, Faramir," she sighed. "It's a frightfully long journey for your brother to take for the sake of a dream."

An echo of a dream pressed on her, of a teal-haired man and the old grief on his face, and Hermione allowed herself to add, "But however vague the message, the Valar probably sent it for a reason. I myself received such a message a few days ago."

"Your contradicting yourself, my lady," Faramir pointed out. "And how do you know it was a Valar-sent dream?"

"You just know, Faramir. When they give you a dream, they make sure you know it to be theirs." At his skeptical look, Hermione continued. "I know you don't trust your father, but you have to know that he loves your brother enough to move the world for him. He would never allow Boromir to come to harm."

Faramir's scowl was ferocious and frightening in its intensity. "No, I really don't," he answered. "You don't understand, my lady. My father loves my brother,but he loves the idea of him. He sees the perfect son, one who is brilliant and capable in everything. I see my brother with clear eyes. You taught me that. I see his flaws, his abilities. I know that he's not capable of everything."

He…actually had a point.

The other part of her brain that never really forgot anything reminded her of Guiomer telling her in passing that he was going to ask for Elrond's help with Aedan's gift. And if things got bad, she could force Draco to go. He needed to have a Holiday. He was acting positively strange earlier.

"Either Guiomer or Hodur are going to Elrond for council as well," was all she said. "I will make sure he will be cared for."

That was the only time the tense lines of Faramir's shoulders relaxed.

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Heather was having the most fun she had in years.

Fearghal's daughter, Fearwyn, was an eager student and Heather received flashbacks of the time when she still taught people. She had always loved teaching be it about war tactics or about the constitution. Teaching Faramir about trekking in the wild with very little supplies was another thing. It also reminded her of teaching a very young Guiomer about the joy of being in the wild.

She had forgotten how…liberating it was to teach.

"Clear your area," Heather instructed. "Layer your firewood but don't forget, you have to allow your fire some air or it would die."

Fearwyn was young, but she more than made up for it with enthusiasm.

"Where are we going, my lady?" she asked after Heather checked the ground for tracks.

Heather spared her a smile. "I'm looking for some of the Brotherhood. Usually, none of their routes go so far south but with the established branch in Edoras, routes have included Edoras as well."

"Support?" the girl demanded and Heather remembered that this was a commanders daughter and probably learning about war tactics and countermeasures since she could talk.

"Yes, for support," she confirmed because there really was no denying it. "I had a vision in Edoras. The elves need help."

The stories of the elves had always amused Heather. They were always told as perfect and very beautiful beings, but having hosted Legolas for a month taught Heather than they acted as human as the rest of Middle-earth.

The awe in Fearwyn's face made her smirk, thinking about the elvish prince.

"Why elves, my lady?" Fearywn asked. "There are other settlements to attack."

Easier was what she meant. The elves, having centuries of experience were very hard opponents. Ambushes and surprised were the only things that could down an elf, aside from overwhelming them with numbers. That needed good generals and a very large army.

Humans and dwarrows though, were easier to kill. For one, they needed food and rest. Elves could do without either for days.

"The elves are a special hatred of Melkor," she answered. "They are always defiant, always watchful. He made the goblins and orcs as a perversion of the beauty of Eru's first children."

Fearwyn's eyebrows were scrunched up. "So his judgement is bi…bi…tainted with anger and he cannot give clear orders?" she looked to Heather for confirmation and Heather nodded.

"Yes. After the elves, he hates the Dunedain as well. So he will try and conquer Rohan and Gondor. When Numenor still existed, a group of them docked by the Grey Havens and founded Gondor and Rohan," she expounded.

"You know a lot, my lady."

Heather shook her head. "No, my dear. I just exchange letters with elves frequently. That is also one of the reasons why Melkor hates them so. Some atrocities could be dulled and altered with age, maybe even forgotten. But the elves have long memories. So he cannot alter history to suit his purposes as long as they exist."

"I thought history was written by the victors?" the girl asked, a proof that Hermione's teachings were echoing even through Rohan."

"Oh yes," she agreed. "But the elves are always honest. They usually give first-hand accounts as well if you ask them nicely. And even if that was true, we cannot exactly ask Sauron, can we?"

The girl laughed.

They eventually found signs of orcs and fighting, the distinctive slashes telling her that this was her Brotherhood fighting. Most of them were slit at the throat or plunged into the heart. Her methods were instant death and it extended to what she taught her people.

"Stay close to me," she told Fearwyn before jumping into the fray.

It went slower. The world always slowed down when she wielded a sword. Slower and then faster as her body struggled to catch up with her mind.

Distantly, she counted the Brothers she passed by, all five of them. That wouldn't do. Her lessons focused on teamwork, even as she grilled them on being able to fight alone. But a warrior alone was still vulnerable. She jumped over goblins, beheading a few as she went, going to the unpaired brother.

"Thanks," he said reflexively and his eyes went wide when he saw her hair.

"Focus, brother! Behind you!" she barked. She glanced around and saw Fearwyn sulking by feet, headed towards her direction. A warg was closing in on her back.

Quick as lightning, along with the motion of slashing down, Heather sent out three knives.

And then time resumed again and Heather breathed.

"Thank Morgana," she muttered. "Boys, are you alright?"

The Brotherhood saw her properly then, recognized her and looked awed. "My lady," one of them stammered out.

"I have a bone to pick with you," she muttered. "Why are you only five? I taught you better than that!"

Most of them looked mulish. "My partner died a week ago, my lady."

Oh…

Heather gave in to impulse and hugged him. "Oh, my dear. You should have told me."

The man was stiff in her arms but eventually relaxed by increments.

"Who leads?" she asked after she stepped back and allowed the man to discreetly wipe away tears.

A pair raised their hands. Heather nodded. "I want some support. We're headed to the Greenwood to help some elves."

"We usually meet the others to exchange some news by the river, my lady," one of them volunteered.

"How long is that?" she asked.

"A fortnight, my lady," they answered.

A fortnights wait, and then another two months or so to travel to the Greenwood.

That was alright. Her vision wasn't urgent. She just knew that the army was amassed. It was a warning to gather help. She wasn't meant to be there unless the attack struck but to ambush the enemy from behind.

Now, what was she forgetting…?

A sharp tug at her dirt-stained trousers made her look down and smile.

"Everyone, this is Fearwyn, Fearghal's daughter," she announced. "We'll be staying with you for a while. I hope we're not too much of a bother."

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Character Introspection: Neville Longbottom

For as long as he could remember, he heard about his father and how Neville was absolutely nothing like him. This would have been alright, but this was said in such a venomous manner that any child instinctively flinched at and Neville did so. He flinched and hid and wanted the world not to see him anymore.

This worked in two ways, because he could no longer see the world clearly. He was timid and shy, the very picture of a failure.

If he had managed it, he would have become good friends with Heather Potter. Her cringing manner and soft words were the very mirror of his attitude.

But they were children then and Hermione Granger's patience was not infinite. She could only manage to coax out one frightened and wary child and it was Heather she focused her time on. Neville fell into the way side, not exactly neglected or abandoned but not having friends either. He hovered on the edges of cliques and occasionally got conversations. But more often than was healthy, Neville kept his head down and tried not to make enemies.

So he watched and listened and he slowly opened his mind. He understood that not everybody had time for him, that he actually had to go look for friends. So he looked, first going around in his own House and when that proved useless, went to the other Houses, starting with Hufflepuff.

In hindsight, he was – perhaps – one of the first people to reach out to other houses, especially since his venture in looking for a friend didn't end in the other two Houses either. He met Slytherin's, Hufflepuff's and Ravenclaw's.

Fifth year shattered his world further and he knew that if he allowed it, he would be nothing more than another pawn in a war. So when Hermione Granger went around with information about a Defense Group, he was more than willing. His friends from other houses came too and when the others tried to ban the small number of Slytherin's he'd actually befriended, Neville's gentle temper boiled over and he'd unleashed a tongue lashing on all of them that would have made his Gran proud if she heard it.

Heather just smiled at him, eyes a bit sad but very proud.

Fifth year was a good and a bad year. He learned, no longer timid or a doormat but still a bit shy. Fifth year was also when his parents' tormentors broke out of prison and he experienced, for the first time in his life, anger and hatred so strong that he nearly cleared the Common Room after he read the paper.

And then the war happened and Neville found people looking to him when Heather wasn't in Hogwarts. Expectations, just like his relatives, except these expectations were higher, heavier and made his spine straighten out as he bore the responsibility proudly. He didn't know he could do that.

And Heather returned with Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger and she met his eyes in that shadowed tunnel.

It wasn't a friendly meeting, nor was it exactly hostile. It was a war meeting between two leaders and both of them knew it.

The shy, stuttering Heather from first year was gone, though a bit of her was still left in the war-hardened girl. She was hammered by hardship and torture, just like him, and what came out was a proud woman with eyes of steel.

"Will you be alright?" he asked then.

The hardened look left her face and the vulnerable girl shone through. "I'll be fine, Neville. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

That was the last time he spoke to her, and it haunted him because she looked like she a woman on a mission. A suicide mission.

Then the final battle happened between Heather and Voldemort and when it was over, she looked inches from death too. Pale, bruised and bleeding.

Neville couldn't spare her a thought because Gran was in front of him, clutching his face and smothering him with kisses. Wasn't that a shock, his stoic Gran giving him such affection in public.

Things then finally pulled together and that's when they found that Heather had vanished.

While he was shocked, he wasn't exactly surprised. There was a difference to that word. He knew she wanted to rest from war and by the looks of it, people wanted her. She didn't belong to herself anymore but to the world. However vaguely he knew Heather, he knew she didn't want that. She was a private person, best happy when surrounded by friends and laughing their heads off.

"It's good of you to find happiness, Heather," he muttered when he read the news. "But couldn't you have invited the rest of us too?"

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DELETED SCENE:

Scene 1

Heather's Letter to Fearghal

Fearghal,

I have been kidnapped by goblins and it seems that your daughter came for the ride too.

Don't worry, we're fine. Goblins are dead. You're daughter glares like you.

We're going on an adventure. Will be back next year.

~Gryffon~

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Scene 2:

Ciaran's first word

Guiomer and Cailyn rarely argued, and when they did, it usually was epic.

Aedan knew when to scurry away when they started and he ducked behind Fenny and went to hide out in his grandmothers house or office while he waited for the storm to break.

Ciaran wasn't so lucky. Genius he might have been but he couldn't really walk.

"You bloody arse!" Cailyn was yelling. Ciaran listened in his cot.

"I'm an arse now?" Guiomer yelled back.

The tense silence was broken by Ciaran laughing a little and saying, "Arse!"

Guiomer's mouth dropped open. "Did he just..."

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Scene 3:

How Luna and Fenny met

There was a fox, spitting at her.

Luna was so dumbfounded that she just stared for a moment.

The soul she had heard crying out for help was intelligent, angry and very noble. It's eyes burned with anger as it stared at her. It didn't like to be stared at.

"What?" she cried, kneeling down at the snow and only sparing a passing thought to the cold seeping through her breeches.

The animal hunkered down, baring its teeth at her but its soul didn't even ring of fear. It rang of defiance and it made her feel a bit wobbly to feel such indignation directed at her.

"I am not going to hurt you," she reassured him. "I'm just going to see if I can help you."

Not that the fox could do much to hurt her, the cold had done much to weaken it, along with its injuries.

Carefully, Luna brushed away the red snow and assessed the extent of the damage, to see what she could do to help. Thankfully, the fox only whimpered and growled. It couldn't do more than that and its soul ran with distress.

Luna felt her heart stir with pity and she smiled when the fox finally fell unconscious after a particularly violent wrench. Efficiently, she cleared the snow and went to work, sewing up the fox's wounds and bandaging it with the spare bandages that she had.

It was tiring work and her location wasn't ideal but she persevered and worked through the night.

She was rewarded when the fox's eyes opened and a pink tongue went out and licked her fingers.

"Fenny," Luna whispered, even as her heart throbbed with love for the fox. "I'll name you Fenny."

The newly named Fenny nuzzled Luna's hands and went back to sleep.

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I always wanted someone to explain to me why it was that Rohan and Gondor had to survive the war. That they were descendants of the Numenoreans explained everything, especially since Melkor/Sauron expended special effort in order to sink their island to the sea or something…

Regarding the summary business, I really appreciate all your suggestions guys (and gals) and I will do my best to make a better summary. While concise is good, which is what I usually aim for; further elucidation would be better for summaries in fanfic. That much has been made clear for me anyway.

Questions:

Who is Mayren?

This is sooo bloody embarrassing. Remember a few chapters back, when I knocked up Meiran and Deimos had to marry her or else Draco would kill him? Yep. She is the by-product and I totally forgot her. Well, time-skip…

Aannd…that's all.

I got a bit distracted with Strength of the Ocean. If you lot aren't fans of this fandom, it doesn't really matter. A bit of google goes a long way. I made it in snippets like Red String so it only mentions bits and pieces of One Piece.

Thanks for bearing with me. Next update won't be quite so late.

Please R & R.

~Hallen

P.S. And yes, it does bewilder me that I get more reviews for Red String than I do for this since Red String is like, 1,000 words per chapter….