Harry Potter and the One Ring of Power

Harry Potter and the One Ring of Power, Chapter 29

Many Farewells

The Anduin River

The boat moved slowly down the Anduin. Several men of Gondor worked the oars, driving it along. Seated near a gunwale, Hermione looked out at the landscape. It was not a bad land, although long abandoned. Her friends also looked out, each wrapped in his own secret thoughts; Hermione's idea had met with approval from all of them, although Ron had taken a little convincing, and finally, a one-on-one talk with Harry, before he was fully comfortable with what they were doing.

In the stern of the boat, Gandalf stood beside the man who was steering, directing him. "We're almost there. You can put in here." Obediently, the helmsman put the tiller about, directing the boat toward the overgrown shore. Hermione peered at the shore, and her keen eyes picked out signs of long-abandoned habitations---she could see a rubble wall meandering through the brush.

*

The four from Hogwarts had fully recovered, and taken a prominent part in the celebrations that attended the end of the Great War of the Ring. Hermione had been flabbergasted to receive an invitation to serve as bridesmaid-of-honor at the wedding of King Elessar to his longtime love, Arwen Undomiel, the daughter of Elrond.

"But there must be people with a greater claim! Why do you want me?" she had asked. Arwen leaned close, her luminous eyes capturing Hermione's attention totally; she couldn't have looked away if she had wanted to.

"Miss Granger---Hermione," she amended hastily at Hermione's upraised eyebrow, "your example, and your heroism, make you an equal to my great ancestress, Luthien Tinuviel. If you and she ever meet in whatever world lies beyond the grave for you, I think she would be proud to be your friend." Hermione's eyes went wide at the comparison---she had read the Lay of Beren and Luthien while recovering, and had been utterly awed at the deeds that both of them had done. To find herself compared to such a heroine overwhelmed her. She felt herself blushing.

Arwen was going on: "I have taken the path Luthien did---when Elessar dies, I will follow him, taking the Gift of Men instead of living on as is the way of Elves. While I am not worthy of this, could you deign to serve me as my bridesmaid-of-honor? Luthien is long, long gone, and you could stand as a substitute for her."

Shocked to the core of her being, Hermione did not answer for a few seconds. Then she came out of her fog, to see Arwen looking at her, waiting intently for her answer. "Of course I will! I'm nothing like as heroic as Luthien was---and don't shake your head at me, Arwen, I read that tale---but I'd be honored beyond measure to do this!" She grinned impishly. "Mind you, I hope your customs don't involve me buying a dress I'll never be able to wear again!"

At Arwen's puzzled look, Hermione began explain the wedding customs of her native world, and soon the two were giggling together, thick as thieves and on their way to becoming good friends. When Hermione found that Harry, Ron and Draco were also to be in the wedding party, she was delighted---and doubly delighted to see how good all three of her favorite men in any world looked, in their new clothes. She was amused at the appraising looks they were getting from other women, and the envious looks she received when she walked in among them.

Hermione and Harry, respectively, carried the rings that the bride and groom gave each other as tokens of their marriage and pledges of their love. Hermione had to smile, inwardly, at the appropriateness of this gesture---she and Harry were Ring-bearers once again, but this time, it was a joy and a pleasure! After the wedding itself, there were huge celebrations in Minas Tirith, and Hermione found herself greatly in demand as a dancing partner---she had dances with Faramir, King Eomer of Rohan, and other great and noble men, as well as with her three companions and Professors Dumbledore and Snape. Her last dance, though, was with Gandalf, and she almost laughed at the slightly non-plussed expression on the old wizard's face as she hauled him out on the floor, discreetly leading him so that he would look as though he was leading her.

"Do you mean to tell me, Gandalf, that in three hundred lives of men, no woman ever danced with you?" she asked impishly. At Gandalf's head-shake, Hermione chuckled softly, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. "Well, all I can say is that their loss is my gain. You're light on your feet, keep the rhythm well, and picked up on this very quickly indeed." She grinned at his expression, and held him a little closer---he made her feel safe, secure and happy. Scoring one off all the female population of Middle-Earth didn't feel bad, either.

*

When she went ashore, Hermione looked around curiously. Now that she was closer, she could see many signs that there had been a village here at one time---there were foundations of buildings still visible in the overgrown brush, and here and there, the stump of a chimney still poked up. Some of the hillocks, now that she saw them more closely, looked as though they had once covered hobbit-holes of the sort Gandalf and Bilbo had described as typical of the Shire, but these holes had long since collapsed. The whole place had a forlorn look about it, and she was rather glad that Bilbo, who had wanted to come along when he heard what they had planned, had, in the end, been too frail to do so.

The men of Gondor who had manned the boat were wrestling a burden down and carrying it up the shore, under Ron's and Draco's direction---a large square object, covered with a cloth. "Over here!" called Harry, pointing to a place that was almost completely enclosed by a low rubble wall. Sweating, the men carried it on in, to the place Harry was pointing to, before leaving to go back to the boat.

Gandalf, Ron, Draco and Hermione watched in silence as Harry gently flicked off the cloth, revealing a simple stone stela. The quiet was so absolute that a bird-call in a nearby tree sounded loud to Hermione. Around them, she noticed crumbling gravestones with simple inscriptions, commemorating the lives of the Stoors whose home this had once been, five hundred years and more ago.

She examined the stela. It was made of stone from the Misty Mountains, as she and Gimli had planned, and bore the inscription she had composed with help from her friends.

IN MEMORIAM

Deagol

Finder of the One Ring of Power

Born and Lived Near This Spot

Murdered, ca. Third Age 2463

"For a golden ring

Friendship's bonds now are tested--

Alas! They have failed!"

Smeago

l

Alias "Gollum"

Born and Lived Near This Spot

Bearer and Destroyer of the One Ring of Power

Died in the fires of Mount Doom, Third Age 3019

"Alone in the dark

Life is a weary journey

On a stony road"

Below the inscription was a cleverly-carved fish, a plump perch that seemed almost to be alive. At the top of the stone was a skinny, bony hand, tightly grasping a thorny branch, with drops of blood oozing out from between the fingers, and a ring on one finger.

"Draco did a beautiful job with those haiku, didn't he, Hermione?" asked Ron. Hermione nodded, annoyed at how tight her throat was feeling and how her vision was blurring.

Harry produced a small brazier, which he set at the foot of the stela. In the stillness, he pointed his wand at it, and with a word, he produced a fuelless flame which danced in the bowl. Then he produced a dagger, which he handed to Draco.

Draco had been to many, many wizarding funerals, and knew what to do. He used the dagger to hack off a lock of his hair, which he stepped forward and threw into the fire. "I was a friend of Smeagol," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "Smeagol guided us safely through the Dead Marshes." Then he handed the dagger to Ron.

Ron cut off a lock of his hair, his face unreadable, and threw it into the fire. "I was a friend of Smeagol," he husked. "Smeagol found food for us when we were hungry." Then the dagger came to Hermione.

As she sawed at her hair, Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes, as she thought of Smeagol's life---five hundred years of lurking in a lightless cave, eating raw fish, was more punishment than even the most horrible murderer deserved, she felt---and she was not against capital punishment, either! Five hundred years of the life Smeagol had led after he had found the Ring would make the most cruel executioner look gentle and merciful, she considered. Even Azkaban was better than that!

She stepped forward, throwing a thick lock of her hair into the fire. "I---I was a friend of Smeagol," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Smeagol---Smeagol guided us up, past the city of Minas Morgul, to the borders of Mordor, despite being endlessly tempted to betray us." As she stepped back, she wiped her eyes, and Ron put his arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

Finally, it was Harry's turn. With his face set, Harry cut off a lock of hair, which he threw into the fire. "I was a friend of Smeagol," he intoned. "At the end, and whatever his other sins, Smeagol was the one who truly destroyed the One Ring of Power when I could not." Hermione stared into the flames, her cheeks wet with tears. Whatever else Smeagol had been, he had been her travelling companion and, she had to admit, admirer, and she had not been able to mourn his passing properly before now. Nobody but those present would have ever understood.

Harry produced a basket he had carried ashore, and pulled some things out. First was a very fresh dead fish, which they had caught in the Anduin River before they landed. He put it onto the brazier. "Smeagol, may this fish sustain you---it was your favorite food for centuries." Then came the dagger---Hermione recognized it as the work of an Easterling smith, and remembered Harry asking for it from the huge piles of captured weapons. "May this dagger protect you, on the long road you have ahead, Smeagol." Then came some sweet-smelling herbs. "And may this smell make you forget the endless stinks of the places you were. Farewell and good journey, Smeagol." At a wave of Harry's wand, the gifts were consumed by flames, far fiercer than anything not magical could have been. When the fire died down, nothing of their offerings could be seen.

Before they returned to the boat, Ron produced his wand. "One last touch, I think." At a wave of his wand, wild roses burst out of the long-abandoned cemetery, twining up and around the memorial stela protectively. "There. Let those flowers, and their thorns, stand for Deagol and Smeagol's lives and death, and may they keep this stone safe from harm."

Once they were back aboard the boat, Gandalf spoke for the first time since they had landed. "So that is how wizards in your world say farewell to their own?" he asked. Hermione smiled rather sadly---he sounded just like her, when she was on the trail of knowledge.

Draco nodded. "There are differences---the body of the person being honored is there, and is ceremonially cremated, with the ashes buried or sunk at sea, because there are all sorts of horrible things a Dark wizard or witch can do with such an object. But, in outline, that's how it's done." A shadow passed over his face. "The next of kin usually lights the pyre---I had to do it for my parents."

*

When they returned to Minas Tirith, Professor Dumbledore was waiting for them, with Professor Snape and, much to everybody's surprise, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. They were smiling down at them in a room in the palace, with King Elessar and Queen Arwen standing by. The other surviving members of the Fellowship, Gimli and Legolas, were there too.

"It is normal, my dear friends, for honors here to be given by the King, or in his absence, the Steward," said King Elessar. "But these honors are from your own world, so we thought a slightly different ceremony was in order. Your compatriots wish to honor you."

"Harry James Potter," intoned Cornelius Fudge, "it is my great privilege and distinct pleasure to present to you, for unsurpassed bravery and endurance beyond the dreams of wizardkind, the Order of Merlin, First Class, with Crossed Wands, Stars and Holly Leaves." As Harry gaped like a gaffed fish, the Minister produced a medal on a red-and-yellow ribbon from a small box and ceremoniously draped it around his neck. "Hermione Jessica Granger, for courage and endurance as great as ever any witch showed, it is my distinct pleasure to present to you the Order of Merlin, First Class, with Crossed Wands and Holly Leaves." Before she quite knew what was happening, Hermione found herself being draped with a medal on a ribbon, which gleamed against the dark cloth of her robes. "Ronald Arthur Weasley, your heroism, devotion and loyalty are a shining example to all wizards. Accept, at my hands, the Order of Merlin, First Class, with Crossed Wands." As Ron struggled visibly to process the fact that he'd just received such an award, Cornelius Fudge stepped back.

Hermione suddenly thought of something. Doesn't Draco get a medal? Indignation ran through her mind, hot as fire. If Draco doesn't get a medal, then they can take this bauble and stick it--- Then she noticed that Professor Snape was stepping forward, pride and pleasure shining from his face and making him look rather as Hermione imagined he might have always looked, if he had not been seduced into the Death Eaters. "Since I am your House head, Mr. Malfoy, I begged the privilege of presenting this to you. Please accept, as a small token of our admiration for your service, your unflinching courage in the face of dangers far beyond your strength, and your skill in magic, the Order of Merlin, First Class, with Crossed Wands." Draco's eyes shone as Professor Snape draped the Order of Merlin---on a green-and-white ribbon, as opposed to the red-and-yellow ribbons on the others; trust Professor Snape to see to that little detail, thought Hermione---around his neck.

When the four had received their medals, Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat. "It is seldom, if ever, that I have met any wizards or witches more deserving of honor. Your story is an epic of hardship, endurance, and bravery that is a shining light in the story of our people. I will always be proud, to my dying day, that I have had the honor of presenting you with these tokens of our appreciation. You have acted in the highest tradition of our kind, far above and beyond the call of duty."

*

When it was all over, the four were left together for a few minutes. All of them were still digesting the concept of being members of the Order of Merlin. The Order of Merlin was something only a tiny handful of wizards and witches ever got, and many times, it was only awarded postumously. Crossed Wands, Stars and Holly Leaves were additions that were even rarer---centuries could pass between one such award and the next.

"Much as I hate to remind you," said Professor Dumbledore, who had returned with the others from whatever place they had been, "it's now time to go back to Hogwarts. We'll be going back at the same time you are, but the spell that sent you here will have to be used to send you back---otherwise, there would be highly undesirable feedback, and our world and Arda would begin to 'leak' into each other. I don't think that the Obliviation Squads would appreciate having to deal with, say, an orcish war-band that landed in Yorkshire."

"No, I don't think so." Hermione grinned to herself at the consternation that would cause. Not that there weren't areas, like the Gorbals in Glasgow, where an orcish war-band or two could only improve things... Firmly shutting off that line of thought, she asked: "Do you have the portkey we used to get here?"

"I certainly do. You left it at Rivendell, and Elrond took the opportunity of studying it. I don't grudge him the opportunity---he, Gandalf, and the other wizards of this world have been extremely interesting to meet, and I've been having more fun learning than I did since I was at Hogwarts---back when dinosaurs roamed the earth." He held the portkey out. When Harry took it, he raised his wand, and he, Professor Snape, and Cornelius Fudge disappeared in a cloud of golden sparks.

Harry gathered the others with a gesture. "Remember how this thing works?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's not likely that any of us would ever forget, Harry. Shall we?"

"Let's." All four of them reached out to grasp the Portkey. In chorus, they said the triggering word, "Portare!" Hermione felt the familiar feeling of being jerked, and then felt herself falling, endlessly...and then she was standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle.

They weren't alone. The entire school seemed to be there, and when they appeared, a roar of cheers and applause erupted like nothing Hermione had heard since they had been presented to the Free Peoples. Gryffindors were hugging Slytherins, Professor McGonagall was beaming as though she'd just been presented with her first grandchild, and the whole school seemed to be in a frenzy of joy.

Then Hermione found hersel being swarmed by her parents. Laughing, sobbing, and talking all at once, she hugged them both as hard as she could. From what her parents were saying, they had been terrified for her all the time she was gone, but proud that she had been selected for this dreadfully dangerous mission.

A little way away, Harry and Ron were being fussed over by the whole Weasley clan; even Percy, whose relations with the rest of the family were strained according to the last report Hermione had heard, had forgotten all his dignity, dancing around with happiness as though he were five years old.

When her parents finally let go of her, her mother looked her over and clucked. "I can't believe it---the changes in you, darling! I sent away a teenager---I find myself now getting back a grown woman! And a beautiful one!" She grinned conspiratorially. "You'll have to tell me everything about this trip you've been on---me and your Dad!" Her father was wiping tears from his face, reaching out to touch her again and again as if to reassure himself that his little girl was back, safe and alive.

All of a sudden, Hermione thought of something, and her joy congealed into an icy feeling of desolation. "Mum---one of us didn't have anybody to welcome him home. You remember Draco Malfoy?" At her parents' puzzled nod, she went on quickly: "Draco's our friend now---he went along on the trip because it was prophesied that we'd have to have him. He agreed to it because the Dark Lord killed his parents last summer." As her parents' eyes opened wide with shock, she went on: "I think, down deep, he was kind of, sort of hoping that he wouldn't make it back. Now he's back and unlike me, Ron and Harry---" Harry was being fussed over by Molly Weasley, who was vocally aghast at how thin he, and Ron, had both gotten---"there's nobody to be glad to see him."

"Oh, my god! Poor boy!" Dr. Granger looked over at where Hermione was pointing; Draco was sitting off a little ways away, watching with a detached air. "If nobody else is glad to see him, I'll do it---the poor motherless boy!" She started over to greet Draco and welcome him home, but before she got five feet, Draco was mobbed by the Slytherins; Pansy Parkinson was hugging him as both his hands were being shaken by Crabbe and Goyle. The other Slytherins were getting ready to carry him around the hall on their shoulders, or just crowding close to wonder at his medal.

Hermione looked up and caught Professor Snape's eye. Very deliberately, Snape winked at her. The wink said, as plain as words: "I'm on your wavelength, Miss Granger---and, as usual, I'm miles ahead of you." She winked back, wondering at how much things could change. Professor Snape wasn't so bad, after all; he certainly cared about his Slytherins. She had been deeply touched that Professor Snape had "begged the privilege" of giving Draco his medal, but she knew that it meant a great deal more to Draco that it had come from him.

After things calmed down, there was a feast at Hogwarts to beat all the feasts Hermione sat with her parents at the Gryffindor table, with Ron and Harry a little way away among the Weasley clan. As she was finishing off a piece of meringue pie, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she was startled to see Crabbe and Goyle standing behind her, smiling.

"What do you want?" Reflexive suspicion edged her voice slightly; Draco might be a (mostly) reformed character, but she had no history with these two other than mutual enmity. Her hand crept toward her wand.

"We wanted to thank you---and Ron, and Harry Potter." Crabbe's voice was gruff, but he didn't grunt the way she would have expected. "Draco Malfoy's our best friend. He's about our only friend---he's the only person we were allowed to play with, before we got to Hogwarts. He means an awful lot to us." Hermione found her hand engulfed in Crabbe's huge paw, and then Goyle's. "Thank you---thank you from the bottom of our hearts for bringing him back to us alive."

Well, this explains a lot! thought Hermione. She stood up, and took their hands in hers. "It was our pleasure, boys. We couldn't have made it back without Draco. You Slytherins should be proud that he's one of you."

They grinned rather conspiratorial grins. "Just don't tell him that," said Goyle, in a stage-whisper. "Do you know the difference between a god and Draco Malfoy?" At her headshake, he went on: "No god thinks he's Draco Malfoy!" At this, Hermione giggled, and Harry and Ron, who had come over to see what was up, snickered. With further handshakes and promises of friendship, Crabbe and Goyle went back to the Slytherin table, where Draco was holding court like a young Oriental potentate. All he needs, thought Hermione, is a girl dropping grapes into his mouth! That was an idea, she decided quickly, that she was not going to put into his head.

"Well, it's good to be back," Ron said. "Even though we'll have to do a lot of make-up here at Hogwarts over the summer, we got a lot of extra-credit from our teachers."

"Yes, it's good to be back," Harry agreed. "Imagine my sorrow---no stay at the Dursleys' this summer! Woe is me!" he said in tones of mocking grief as the others laughed. "We've defeated one Dark Lord---let's try for two!"