Harry Potter and the Ring of Doom

Hermione finally cried herself out after a while, and Draco almost immediately let go. Even in her state, she noticed that. "What's wrong, Draco?"

He thought for a moment before speaking. "I can't quite say right now," he said carefully. "Let me think on it for a while, and then maybe I can tell you." They looked back to the edge of the forest, where they could see signs of a major battle out there. "I don't care what they said about Fangorn being dangerous; it's certainly a hell of a lot safer than being out there right now with those filthy, stinking Orcs," Draco spat.

"Let's go further in," Hermione said, shivering. "I don't want them deciding to explore and finding us again. There's a stream right there; let's follow it."

The forest was a dark place, and the air felt somewhat oppressive. Their path was taking them uphill, toward the general direction of the source of the stream. Finally, Hermione could take no more. "I must rest, Draco. I can't go any further right now." She sat down heavily on a large tree root and pulled off her shoes and socks to dangle them in the cold water of the stream. "Ohmigod that's cold!" she squealed. Giggling, she added, "But it sure feels good after all that running and walking."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief inside at her giggle. Maybe she'll make it out of this all right, then, especially since that ... thing didn't actually get a chance to rape her. He kept the burst of red hot rage from his face and posture. Orcs die. I'll gladly hunt them down and kill them. All of them.

Hermione was watching Draco as he walked around. He was on guard. Apparently that little outburst of his was serious. He actually is willing to die to protect me. She saw the burst of something fly across his face; almost a stubborn look, but only for a moment. I don't think he wants me to know how angry he was at ... whatever its name was. In some ways, he's amazingly like Harry. A thought struck her then, and she blanched slightly; Lucky for me that he was looking elsewhere. If he's more like Harry than we expected, could he ... oh, I hope not!

After the water had stopped being soothingly icy and had become numbingly so, she decided that it was time to move on. Having no clothes but those on her back, she let her feet dry for a little while before returning the socks to her feet. Once her feet were shod again, she was ready to move.

Looking up the hill, she saw sunlight streaming through the trees, striking the top of the hill, a distance away from them. "Draco! Let's go up there! Might be nice to feel the sun again!" They fairly ran up the hill, and stood in the bright sunshine for a while, until clouds flowed across the sun, and returned it to the previous grey. "Pity," she said sadly. "For a moment there, with the sunlight striking everything so beautifully, I almost felt like I was home at Hogwarts. I could almost like this forest."

"You could almost like this forest!" a voice said from behind them. "That's good! That's uncommonly kind of you. I could almost dislike you, but that would be hasty, and we shouldn't be too hasty now, should we?" Draco and Hermione spun during this and found themselves faced with a tree. But it was no tree that they had ever heard of or seen before. This one was easily 14 feet tall, if not larger, and clad in a rough grey-green bark, either as clothing or as its hide. Its arms were covered in smooth brown skin, and its feet had seven toes each. Its face was long, and its beard was a sight to behold; long and grey, looking somewhat twiggy at the roots, but smoothing out to a gentle soft mossy look at the tip. Its brown eyes, shot with a green light, were what held Draco and Hermione, though. It seemed as if ages upon ages that even the Elves might have forgotten were stored deeply behind those eyes.

He reached down and picked the two of them up; it was obvious that doing so was not a strain upon him. "It has been some time since humans visited these forests. And seldom do they have such conflicting signs about them. You wear clothes of the Elves, yet you carry the stench of the Orcs. Explain," he rumbled.

Draco was shaking with rage as he thought back. Hermione noticed this and spoke up. "We were with a party travelling south and east on a mission. We were split up, and he and I were captured by Orcs. I thought I heard them say they were taking us to Isengard." She paused. "Sir, if I may, who are you?"

"Hrum, Hoom, Hrum, now," the voice answered slowly. "Well, I am an Ent, or that's at least what they call me. Yes, Ent is the word. The Ent, I am, you might say, in your manner of speaking. Fangorn is my name to some, Treebeard to others. Treebeard will do for Men such as you."

Her eyes widened, and Draco's eyebrows climbed upward. "Fangorn? As in what the Elves call this forest? Is it a title, or do they name it for you?"

"Hoom, Hoom, Hrrm, named for me? I suppose you could say that. Now answer me a question, hasty ones. Why were Orcs taking you to Isengard?"

"I think I know," Hermione said, "but I'm not at liberty to say. Safer that way."

"Hoom! Some intelligence shown at last! Never be hasty!" His eyes became bright and sharp. "What is going on? What is your part in this? I can see and hear and taste and feel a great deal from this, from this a-lalla-lalla-rumba-kamanda-lind-or-burume. Excuse me: that is a part of my name for it; I do not know the word in the outside languages. You know, the thing we are on, where I stand and look out on fine mornings and think about the Sun and the grass beyond the wood, and the horses, and the clouds, and the unfolding of the world. What is going on? What is Gandalf up to? And these - bararum," he said, making at the last a deep rumbling noise like a discord on a great organ. "Excuse me, the Orcs, and young Saruman down at Isengard? I like news. But not too quickly now."

Draco finally spoke. "There is quite a lot happening, and even if we were hasty, as you say, it would take a long time to tell. You told us not to be hasty, though. Should we tell you overmuch this soon?" He paused. "'Overmuch'?" he repeated to himself with a smile. Continuing, he asked, "Would you think me rude if I asked what you are going to do with us, and which side you are on? You mentioned Gandalf. Did you know him?"

"Yes, I know Gandalf. He is the only wizard to cares about trees. Do you know him?"

Hermione began to cry. "Yes, we did," Draco said. "He was our friend for a time, and he was our guide on our travels."

"Then I can answer your other questions," Treebeard replied. "I am not going to do anything with you, if by that you mean to ask if I intend to do anything to you, at least not without your leave. We may do some things together. As for sides, I know nothing of sides. I go my own way; yours may go along with mine for a time. You speak of Master Gandalf, though, as if he were in a story that had come to an end." Hermione went from sniffling to full crying sobs, and leaned again Treebeard to cry.

"Yes," Draco answered him sadly. "The story may continue, but Gandalf's part in it is at an end." He shook his head, trying to avoid tears himself. "I have never had friends before, and I'm not used to it now. I don't like losing them."

"Losing them? How did they become lost?" Something in his tone made them realize that he took the word at its meaning, and Draco managed to avoid a smile, but Hermione turned a sob into an odd little snort of laughter.

"Well, most of them were lost, as far as we're concerned, when we grabbed by those ... ahem ... Orcs," Hermione said. "Gandalf fell in Moria fighting a Balrog, and died. If I know Harry and Ron, I get to have a very long conversation with them when they get back from their destination." Her eyes showed steel for just a moment.

"You know Harry," Draco drawled. "He's being noble and trying to save you. Of course, he took Ron with him, so that sort of discounts that." He scowled. "And maybe he doesn't trust me as much as he said he was getting to."

"Remember, Draco," Hermione said, hoping to head off where this might go, "you asked us to keep you away from the R...the thing. A bit extreme, but you have to admit that it's effective."

He looked at her for a moment, and then laughed. "That it is, Hermione. Thank you. What about taking Ron, though?"

She chuckled. "I think Ron outsmarted him. That had to bug him." She looked up at Treebeard. "We can tell you more; at least, more of what we feel safe mentioning, but it will probably take some time. Could we perhaps sit here in the sun while it lasts? You must be getting tired of holding us. Neither of us is terribly light, I'm afraid." She blushed at the last comment.

"Hoom, well, I do not sit, not being very, hmm, bendable. And I do not tire easily; your weight is barely noticeable to me. But ah, the sun is going in. Perhaps we should leave this, what do you call it?"

Hermione smiled as she pulled out her mental thesaurus. "Shelf? Mound? Hill? Step?"

"Hill, that is the word. Such a short word for a thing that has stood here longer than everything; that has been here since the beginning." He began to move.

"Sir?" asked Draco. "Where are you taking us?"

"To my home; well, one of my homes."

"Is it very far?"

"You might call it far. It is no mind to me. Why do you ask?"

"Well, when we were captured by the Orcs, we obviously didn't have any chance to grab our packs. We have no food with us."

"Ah! No worries, little Man. I have drink to keep you green and growing for a long time. Come, let us go." With that, he began striding through the forest. As an afterthought he added, "And if we decide to part company, I can set you wherever you choose outside my lands."

They walked in silence for a while before Hermione got the nerve to ask, "Treebeard? Why did Celeborn warn us against your forest? He told us not to become entangled with it."

"Hmm, did he now?" rumbled Treebeard. "I would have ventured the same advice of his woods had you come from this direction toward him. Laurelindorenan, they called it once, but now it is merely Lothlorien. Things change in this world, often too fast to be put into story. Once his land was called The Valley of the Singing Gold, now it is merely the Dreamflower. Ah, the world changes, and things change with it. Or they do not, and are passed by."

"People have come to grief in this place that Elves call Fangorn. They have come to grief in the Dreamflower as well, and some may find happiness there." Hermione blushed slightly at the comment, but neither Draco nor Treebeard seemed to notice. "Danger is everywhere, and if you are not careful, grief will come to you."

They walked for quite some time, with Treebeard talking occasionally of the forest; the role of the Ents in the forests as tree-herds; how some of the Ents were becoming slower and almost tree-like; how some of the trees were 'waking up' and becoming almost Ent-ish in nature; how the Elves had started the process by their love of talking and learning.

The dusk was twining around the trunks of the trees when Draco and Hermione finally saw before them, rising dimly, a steep dark land. They had come to the feet of the mountains. Down the mountain came the Entwash, still early in its path, which laughed noisily as it flowed from step to step in order to meet them. To the right of this stream thus caused was a long grass-clad slope. No trees grew there, and they could see stars beginning to peek through the clouds.

Treebeard strode up the slope, hardly slowing down, and the two suddenly saw a wide opening. Two great trees stood to either side of the opening, their branches acting as a gate or door. As he approached, the branches moved and rustled, clearing the way for them to enter. Beyond was a wide level space that looked as if a great hall had been cut into the side of a hill. Both side had walls that sloped upward until the were fifty foot high or more, and along these walls stood an aisle of trees that also increased in height as they marched further inward. The back had a sheer rock face with an arch cut into it, where a stream gently flowed down from the Entwash, into a small silver curtain waterfall, falling into a basin, and then flowing back out to the Entwash. The arch led further back.

"Hoom! We are here!" said Treebeard finally. "I have brought you about seventy-thousand ent-strides. We are near the roots of the Last Mountain." He set them down and strode down the aisle of trees. Hermione noted that his knees hardly bent, but he had a large stride, and his toes touched the ground before any other part of his foot.

He stood for a moment under the rain of the falling spring and took a deep breath; then he laughed and passed through the arch, they followed, avoiding the waterfall. There was a great stone table in the room, but no chairs. It was dark in the bay they were in, but Treebeard lifted two large vessels onto the table. They appeared filled with water, but when he held his hands over them, they began to glow, one with a gold light, the other with a rich green glow. The blending of the lights lit the area as if the summer sun was shining through a roof of leaves. Hermione looked back to see the trees in the court glowing gently as well "Well, now we can talk again," Treebeard said. "You are thirsty, I expect, and perhaps tired."

He went to the back of the bay and filled three bowls; one large and two smaller ones. He brought them forward and set them on the table, then reached down and did the same for Hermione and Draco. Once they were seated on the slab, six feet off the ground, he handed them the two smaller bowls. "This is an ent-house. There are no seats, I fear, since I do not use them. You are free to sit on whatever surface you find comfortable, however." Motioning to the bowls, he said, "Drink. You should find that it refreshes you."

The drink was like water, but with an odd scent or taste to the draught that they could not describe; it brought to mind the smell of a gentle woods after a cleansing summer rain, or the cool summer night breezes wafting through the woods. They could feel its effects start at their toes, climbing through their bodies, invigorating them as the feeling rose, right through to the tips of their hair. As for Treebeard, after washing his feet gently in the basin outside, he drained his own large bowl in one long, slow drink. After what felt like an unusually long amount of time, he set his bowl down again. "Ah," he sighed. "Hoom, hmm, now we can talk easier. You can sit on the floor, and I will lie down; that will prevent the drink from rising to my head and sending me to sleep."

He lay down on a huge bed off to the right, no more than two feet from the ground, covered deeply in dried grass and bracken. "Now tell me your story, and do not be hasty with it!" They talked for some time, carefully glossing past certain points, and never mentioning the Ring. The telling was not straight, for they would stop and fill in things the other had forgotten, after a brief conversation between their eyes, and Treebeard also would stop them and ask them to explain a certain thing or other, sometimes jumping ahead in the telling.

He seemed immensely interested in everything: the Black Riders, in Elrond and Rivendell, in the Mines of Moria, in Galadriel and Lothlorien, and even in their own world. He paused them for a moment to ask if they had ever seen any like himself in their world.

"No," Hermione answered, "but that doesn't mean that they don't exist; it just means we've never seen them. We're still children, you see."

"Hoom, yes, I suppose I do. Please continue." They continued to talk about things, and now he seemed especially interested in all things concerning Gandalf; and most interested of all in the doings of Saruman.

"Unfortunately," Draco said, "we don't really know these people, so I honestly didn't listen terribly deeply to the conversation. I remember that Gandalf had said that Saruman had imprisoned him. I do remember that those fu ... unmentionable Orcs stated that they were going to Isengard, and that the master of Isengard was their master."

"Hmm, hoom," Treebeard finally said after they had taken the story to their meeting with him. "Well, that is a bundle of news, no mistake about it. You have not told me all, I know this, but that is undoubtedly as Master Gandalf would counsel. I can see that there is something big happening: the Nine forgotten Riders appear again to hunt you, Gandalf takes you on a long, great journey, Galadriel harbours you in Caras Galdhon, and Orcs pursue you through the wilderness. Indeed, you seem caught in a great storm, and I hope you weather it!"

"How about you?" Hermione asked, perhaps a bit impudently. Draco looked at her and began to wonder if the drink they were still imbibing had alcohol in it.

"Hoom, hmm; I have not troubled with the Great Wars. Those have been business for Elves and Men. That is Wizard business - they worry for the future. To be honest, I am not altogether on anyone's side, because no one is altogether on my side, if you understand me. Nobody cares for the woods the way I care for them, not even the Elves these days. I still think kindly of the Elves; after all, it was the Elves that cured us of our dumbness long ago." He rumbled again. "I can say whose side I am not on, and that is the - burarum - these Orcs, and their masters."

"Which brings me to Saruman now! Saruman is a neighbour; I cannot overlook him. I must do something, I suppose. I have often wondered lately what I should do about him."

"Who is he?" Draco asked. "Do you know anything of his history?"

"He is a Wizard. More than that I cannot say; not by choice, but because I do not know the history of Wizards. They first appeared after the Great Ships came over the Sea; but if they came with them I never can tell. Saruman was reckoned great amongst them, from my understanding. He gave up wandering and minding the affairs of Men and Elves a long time ago - a very long time ago by the reckoning of Men; and he settled in Argenost, or Isengard as you have heard it called. He was quiet at first, but his fame grew, and there was his downfall; at least that is my belief. He was elected to head the White Council, but that did not turn out well."

"We used to talk, he and I, and when I remember those talks, I seem to recall that he never returned in kind the information I gave." Treebeard paused, clearing his throat a few times in alarming rumbles, and finally said, "I think I understand his plans now. I think he desires to become a Power in this world. He does not care for anything except as how it can serve his aims. And now he is unveiled as a black traitor. He has taken up with foul folk,with black Orcs! Hoom, hrrm, hoom! Worse; he is changing them somehow, making them more like Men! it is a mark of evil things that came with the first Great Darkness that they cannot abide the sun, but Saruman's Orcs can, even if they do not love it. Are they ruined Men, or a blending of Orc and Man? That would be black evil!"

He paused again. "I had wondered some time ago how Orcs were passing so freely within these woods. Now I see it to be Saruman's doing. And the wanton destruction of trees - good trees - just to feed the fires of Orthanc. There is always smoke rising from Isengard these days." He growled; a sound that made Hermione think of a church organ being playing with all keys pressed. "I knew many of those trees; knew them from nut and acorn. I knew their voices; their songs. And now there are rotting stumps and bramble where once were singing groves. I have been idle too long. It must stop. It will stop!"

He came to his feet quickly. "I will stop it!" He pounded his fist on the table, making the vessels jump, and two jets of flame shot from the jars that lit the room. "We will march on Isengard and do what can be done. You will help! You may help your friends as well, for if Isengard is left unchecked, they will have an enemy at their back when they go to Gondor."

"Yes!" Draco shouted, jumping to his feet. "We'll take that bastard down a peg or two, won't we Hermione?"

"Yes, Draco, but how?" she asked quietly. "I'm sorry, but it has to be asked."

"Spoilsport," he laughed, and stuck out his tongue at her. Her relief was evident on her face.

"She is right," Treebeard said. "I was positively hasty there. This will take planning and more." He walked to the waterfall and let it wash over him, laughed and shook himself. He came back to his bed, lay down, and was silent for a time.

They could hear him murmuring quietly after a while, and began to speak louder a time after that. "It is a pity that there are so few of us. I will try to rouse some of them tomorrow. Perhaps the younger Ents will be easier to get to come. That is for tomorrow, though. Now, I believe," he said, rising to his feet again, "that I shall stand and sleep a little. Where shall you stand?"

Hermione chuckled. "We usually lie down to sleep."

"Lie down to sleep! Of course you do!" Treebeard said. "I have enjoyed talking with you so much that I forgot for a moment that you were not Ents. Well, you may use the bed. I believe I shall stand in the rain."

He walked to the archway and stood out in the fall of water, arms outstretched over his head. Hermione and Draco looked at each other for a moment before he said, "You get some sleep, Hermione. You need it. You've had the worst of it."

"Right. You took a blow to the head that probably would have crushed the skull of a Muggle, and you say that I was hurt worse because I vomited on that thing's back?"

"Well, there was that little incident just before we entered the forest," Draco said dryly, watching carefully for her reactions.

"Well, I had a certain champion who would have saved my virtue, if I still had any," she said with a smile. It was obvious that the incident bothered her, but she was already coming to grips with the fact that Draco had prevented anything from happening.

"Excuse me, Hermione, but while you may not physically qualify to ensnare a unicorn anymore, you will always have a purity of spirit that would make any unicorn swoon," he said with some certainty.

"Draco," she started to say, but he cut her off.

"Silence, woman!" he said with a grin. "Slytherins are always right; didn't you know that? It says so in our House charter." His eyes sparkled with impudent mirth.

She couldn't help it; she began laughing. Finally, she was able to speak again. "Draco, please don't ever go back to the way you were before. You are a very special man, and I am finding that I look forward to people's faces when I tell them proudly that Draco Malfoy is one of my most trusted friends."

He stood and saluted with his wand, quite seriously, but still with the impudent smile on his face. "As my Lady commands me, so shall it be."

Her face fell. "Draco, I need to talk to you about that. I've been getting a feeling; an undercurrent, if you will. Draco, answer me honestly: Are you in love with me?"

#####

He kicked himself mentally. Damned fool! She wasn't supposed to know! Looking at her, he was silent for a long moment while thought how he should answer the girl - no, woman before him. Finally he spoke, starting to pace somewhat as he spoke to the brown-haired beauty. "To be honest with you," he started to say, and then snorted. "Me being honest - another first. Anyway, the answer to the question is that I don't really know. Part of me want to say yes, but then there's Harry as part of the mix." He raised his hand as she opened her mouth. "No, don't. I feel something for you, Hermione; I won't deny that. I never understood until Grishnakh what a blinding rage was." He stopped moving for a moment and thought harder about her question before continuing onward. "It feels like love to me. But what would a Malfoy know about love? I do know that I have decided that your life is worth more than mine, and I will accept no argument on that." He paused, scowling. "I seem to be walking around the question. And the bed," he chuckled, realizing that he was now on the other side of the slab that Treebeard had lain on.

"You've answered it for me, Draco. I appreciate the honesty, and I'm sorry ..."

"Stop right there, Granger," he barked. She started at his usage of her last name, especially since he hadn't done it since they'd arrived in October, this world's time. "You are not going to go off on one of your 'mothering things' jaunts and feeling guilty for falling in love with Harry. We have our own lives to live, and if I choose to harbour feelings for you, then let me live with them." He laughed. "Sorry, Hermione, but I needed to get you to stop that train of thought. Besides, isn't there a Muggle condition called 'Night in a Gale Syndrome', or something like that?"

She laughed again. "It's 'Florence Nightingale Syndrome', and it just might describe what's happened here, but it doesn't make the feelings any less real." She smiled at him. "Draco, we need sleep. Lie down here on the bed with me. Keep me warm."

"Umm, Hermione, my feelings aren't exactly pure, you know. Harry and Ron weren't the only ones utterly smitten by the way you filled that sweater when we came over. Jeans weren't filled too badly either."

She looked at him squarely in the eyes, and he cursed himself for noting that she was showing some evidence that he hadn't found her brassiere to repair. "Draco, you have sworn to be my Champion." Damn, I can hear the capital letter! "I trust you to lay on this bed with me, even if we are both nude at the time, and you will do nothing that I don't want you to."

"You'll forgive me if I leave some clothes on, though?" he asked thickly. The emotions were stronger than he'd expected - both serious arousal at the thought of her nude, and his desire to cry at the complete trust she showed by being willing to do that.

"Go right ahead," she laughed. "I'm only taking off my shoes and socks, personally." She punctuated the comment by sitting on the bed and doing precisely that, and then climbing under the soft grass and ferns. "Come on, Draco. You're running on adrenalin, and you're going to crash. I think Treebeard can do a good job keeping us safe overnight." She shivered. "Besides, it may be cruel to you, and I'm sorry for that, but..."

"But you need to be held by someone who doesn't want only one thing out of you." He smiled and sat down on the bed. A few minutes later, he was lying on his back with Hermione's head on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, so he took a moment to grin widely. He closed his eyes, so didn't see Hermione open her eyes and smile at the look on his face. Before five minutes were gone, they were both sound asleep.

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They awoke the next morning, Draco still smiling at having Hermione in his arms. She gently shook her head, smiling as well, and sat up, carefully disengaging from him and walking out to the basin, where she splashed a little water on herself, and made a small attempt to clean up as best she could. She then sat down on the bed and began to put on her shoes. She looked over her shoulder. "Draco? Time to wake up, I think."

He blinked and awoke slowly and carefully. "Ah, still dreaming," he murmured.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I wake up to Crabbe and or Goyle usually, and often Ron on this trip. Only in Rivendell did I wake up to beauty, and we aren't in Rivendell, therefore, I must still be asleep." He closed his eyes again, and rolled over.

She blushed, but reached over and pinched him, backing away quickly in case his reflexes made him lash out. He shot upright. "Ow! You pinched me!"

"You noticed," she laughed. "Time to wake up, sleepy."

"I hate mornings," he grumbled. Quietly, as he sat up, he murmured, "At least she didn't hear what I dreamt I said to her." He stood and walked to the basin and washed his face as well. "I look forward to a proper shower, but I think it would be rude to take one in this basin." He came back over to the bed.

Hermione was grunting as she tried to pull the boots on over her feet. "I hate how my feet swell. I wish I still had my wands. I'd increase the size of these boots just a bit."

"How?" Draco asked with interest.

"It came to me once I was comfortable with the practical aspects of magic, and started thinking about the theory behind magic. Harry's finally taken to listening to me and has been working on fine-tuning his spells. It all really comes down to intent, Draco. If you cast an Engorgio on your shoes, thinking only of increasing their size enough to fit your feet, it should work." She giggled. "As long as we don't use our mithril wands." Her face fell. "If we still had them."

"I have a feeling we'll see them again," Draco said. "As I think they'd say here, those things probably have a virtue of returning to their owner." He grinned impudently and pulled out his Ollivander wand and handed it to her. "I still have this one, however. Show me what you're talking about."

She took the wand and looked down at her shoes. "Engorgio!" They did nothing. "Engorgio! ENGORGIO, damn it!" she said with a ferocity that should have made them grow to the size of the HMS Hood. Instead, they simply sat there on the ground.

"What's wrong Hermione?" Draco asked as she began to cry uncontrollably.

"I'm a Muggle!" she screamed. "I can't do magic anymore!" She buried her face in the bed's soft grasses and sobbed.

#####

Eventually Hermione stopped crying and found that she had been sat up at some point, and she had been crying against Draco's shoulder. "Why, Draco? You hate Muggles and Mudbloods, as you called them."

"I'll thank you not to remind me right now of what an arse I've been, Hermione," he said softly. "That can come later, when you're feeling better."

"But I'm useless now!" she wailed.

"Oh really?" he asked, pointing at his feet and hers. Both were now were shod in their boots. "You couldn't cast a spell when you came up with that concept, and yet it worked perfectly. You have a much better grasp on the way magic works, and I'm betting you've got some idea on how it differs here." He frowned at her. "Besides, it wasn't that long ago that you thought you must be catching a cold."

She looked at him for a long time before answering. "I don't think that's it, though. I think I've lost the capability to do magic - possibly for good." She snorted and said, "To go from powerful witch to squib in the span of a week; Crabbe and Goyle would have no end of fun making fun of me for that."

"Crabbe and Goyle are assholes," Draco snarled, causing Hermione to goggle at him. "I expect I'm going to have to hex them for something when we get back." She looked into his blue eyes - equally as piercing as Harry and thought, Oh my. He and Harry are more alike than most people think. Flip sides of the same coin at one time. Some poor girl's heart is going to go all aflutter if he turns those eyes on her like that.

She put her hand to her chest and smiled. "Draco, I think you and Harry need to have your eyes registered as lethal weapons. I'd be in danger if I weren't so happy with Harry." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to..."

He laughed. "What, you didn't mean to admit to me that I'm as blindingly handsome as I think?" He helped her to her feet. "Let's go find Treebeard and see what's on the agenda for the day."

"Agenda?" boomed Treebeard's voice. "First, a drink, and then we head to Entmoot. Sleep well, little ones?"

"Quite well," Draco answered, "at least in my case. You?" he asked, looking at Hermione, who nodded.

"Good, good!" answered Treebeard as he poured the three of them bowls full of drink from a different jar than the night before. This one had a much earthier and richer taste and feel to it, and they felt quite full when they had drained their bowls, as if they had just finished drinking a heavy Hogwarts breakfast. Treebeard put them on his shoulders and began to walk. "We must be to where Men call Derndingle before the noon sun has come."

As they walked, Hermione's mind worked, and then she gasped. "Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I just did a very rough figuring of how far we travelled yesterday. If we allow for his strides to be roughly two metres long, then we were carried one-hundred and forty kilometres yesterday." When she saw Draco's blank look, she did a quick calculation. "Figure about eighty-seven and a half miles. Forgot that the Wizarding world hasn't gone metric yet. He was walking almost nine miles per hour. When you figure that the world's fastest runners barely run faster than sixteen miles per hour, and the average human walks between two and three miles per hour, well, I don't want to imagine how fast he might run - if he can run. If they're roughly analogous, then he'd get somewhere between forty-five to seventy miles per hour."

Draco blinked at her for several moments before asking with a smile. "Is this a normal thing for you?"

"What?" she asked him, puzzled.

"Working out things like this. Solving a problem that isn't a problem." He grimaced. "I don't know how to say it without sounding insulting."

"I make up word problems in my head." she replied, understanding what he was asking. "I looked at the strides he was taking, and started to think how much ground he covered, and well, it went from there." She felt her face fall. "I don't mean to be a freak. I just like to learn and study."

"Excuse me, Hermione, but I must ask that you not insult the woman I champion by calling her a freak. I may be forced to take steps." He was smiling as he said it.

"What are you going to do? Spank me?" she asked with a laugh. She was answered with a bemused look and a nod a moment later. Her face took on an interesting look of surprise, with a little bit of worry that he actually might thrown in.

They continued to talk as Treebeard walked, until he finally slowed his pace, putting his hands to his mouth and called a great Hoom, hom into the forest. In the distance they could hear a return hoom, hom, hoom that was not an echo, but a reply. He continued to walk at the slower pace occasionally calling again, and getting replies that sounded closer and closer, until they reached what looked like an impenetrable wall of evergreen trees. He turned left and in a few strides had reached a gap in the living wall, which he went through and immediately down a steep hill into a smooth grassy bowl with three birch trees in the centre. Other Ents were already there, and more were coming from other gaps in the wall.

In short order, the dingle was full of Ents, some who made Hermione think of ash trees, some who resembled oaks, and others who recalled linden or rowan or chestnut trees. Once they were all there, a curious and unintelligible conversation began. It rose and fell in volume and clarity, and moved from area to area in the gathering. Hermione found it lyrical and pleasant to listen to, but after a time found her mind wandering to other things, such as to how Harry was doing. I hope he's all right. I may kill him when he returns, but I want him to survive long enough for me to kill him. She listened for a few more moments. I wonder if they've finished saying hello yet? Oh my goodness, what if they call the roll? We could be here for days just doing that! She yawned, trying hard to hide it.

Treebeard noticed immediately. "I'm sorry, little ones!" he boomed. "I forget how hasty you live life. Besides, it is tiring listening to a language that one does not understand. I have told them your names, and they have agreed that you are Men and not Orcs. I am telling them where you come from now, and that is quite a lot for an Entmoot that has not yet started." He set them down. "On the north side of the dingle is a well of good water if you need refreshing. I must return to the Moot." He turned back into the group, and Hermione and Draco were rapidly ignored. They walked around for a while, at one point choosing to return some of the drink they had consumed in the last two days. They sat and talked about nothing in particular for a while, occasionally napping in shifts, until the sun rose high enough to make it into the dingle. It was then that Treebeard broke from the group again with another behind him.

"Well, little ones, we are working on it. Do not get impatient. I have explained it, but there are others still arriving, so we must explain again from those coming from farther off, and then we shall decide what to do. Making up or minds is not the long part of the process; it is the telling of all the facts that takes time. We shall be at this for some time, make no mistake - easily two days." He motioned to the other that had come over. "I leave you in the care of another of our band, who states that he has already made up his mind and does not need to hear more. Hoom, he is the nearest thing to a hasty Ent that I know. The name the Elves call him is Bregalad, or Quickbeam in the tongue of Men."

Draco and Hermione spent the day with Quickbeam, laughing and singing, for Bregalad laughed quite a lot. He would often stop before a rowan tree, singing and swaying for some time, before moving along. That night Hermione almost insisted on staying up all night, but Draco carefully led her to the bed and held her in his arms as she cried herself to sleep. She grinned at the smile that lit his face in sleep when she woke that morning. The second day was spent in a very similar way, although they did not stray very far from Quickbeam's home, which they discovered was not very far from the dell that the Moot was held in.

The third day broke windy and bleak. At sunrise the Ents' voices rose in a great clamour and then quieted again. As the day continued, the wind died, and the air became heavy with a sense of expectancy. Bregalad stood listening, although to Hermione and Draco it was at best an indistinct murmuring. Sometime in the afternoon, they became aware that even the trees seemed to be listening carefully, and they realized that the dingle was utterly silent.

Suddenly an explosive cry of "Ra-hoom-rah!" came from the dell, and the trees bent as if a tremendous explosion had occurred. This was followed by a drumming marching music, and singing:

We come, we come with roll of drum, ta-runda runda runda rom!

The singing became louder as the Ents approached.

We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-runa runa runa rom!

Bregalad picked them up and strode from the house.

Before long they saw the line of Ents marching toward them in great strides, with Treebeard at their head. "Come join us! Here we come with a boom; we come at last! We march today; we march on Isengard!"

"To Isengard!" the Ents behind him shouted. "Isengard!"

Quickbeam fell in alongside Treebeard at the head of the marching line, which were two abreast behind Treebeard. Draco and Hermione changed back over to Treebeard's shoulders as they listened to the marching song of the Ents:

To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone;

Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone,

We go, we go, we go to war to hew the stone and break the door;

For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars - we go to war!

To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum we come, we come;

To Isengard with doom we come!

With doom we come, with doom we come!

So they sang as they marched southward.

#####

After a time, Draco ventured to ask, "Can the Ents really break down the doors of Isengard? I've heard some things about that place."

"We shall try," Treebeard rumbled. "We have the strength, you know. You have heard of Trolls? They are the Dark Lord's attempts at making his own Ents, much as Orcs are a poor attempt at Elves. We are stronger than them - we have the strength of the earth with us. We can break stone, and we will." A rumbling laugh preceded Treebeard's, "He will learn that rousing the Ents is not something an intelligent being wishes to do."

The light dimmed in Treebeard's eyes before he spoke again. "It is likely that we march to our doom, but we are doomed if we stand and do nothing. At least this way we may do something that is worthy of a song. Yes; that is the way to go, if you must - doing something worthwhile! Perhaps the other races shall benefit from our sacrifices."

They had walked for a long time before they began to climb again, finally reached a cleft in the mountain above, where they looked down upon a tremendous gap below: Nan Curunir, the Valley of Saruman. "Night falls over Isengard," Treebeard rumbled.