Going Native
Chapter 7
Going Native
Hermione softly let out a breath, allowing the air to flow gently through her slightly parted lips so she wouldn’t disturb the peace that surrounded her. She knew that a bird was singing in one of the trees near her but she did not hear it. She was aware that a breeze was blowing slowly through the clearing and that the ground was wet from the summer snow, but she did not feel the way the wind moved her hair or the dampness that was seeping through her clothes.
Denying her senses had taken many weeks of practice – though the sight of Harry sitting a few feet away from her was easier to shut out for she could simply close her eyes. The next phase was the hard one though; trying to clear the hundreds of thoughts that darted through her mind every minute.
A sudden mental image of the bespectacled Professor Trelawney, looking as insect-like as ever, rose unbidden, telling her to relax her conscious mind and Hermione scowled. The senseless voice she’d created around herself broke and the rest of the world came rushing back to greet her. She shivered as she became aware of just how cold it truly was.
The seasons of Westeros made little sense to her. Somehow, it was possible for summer or winter to last for years, rather than months, and there was no way of telling how long each season would be. Maester Luwin had told her that the current summer was seven years long. Though you wouldn’t know it, she thought, as she eyed the small patches of snow that hadn’t yet melted.
In her mind, today was Halloween. She felt nerves bubbling in her stomach but attempted to dismiss them with a roll of her eyes. What was bothering her was that important things tended to happen on Halloween. It could be a coincidence of course, but the troll in the girls' toilets, the first basilisk attack, and Sirius Black’s first attempt to get into Gryffindor tower had all occurred on this day. Even Harry’s parents, James and Lily Potter, had met their ends on Halloween (though she wasn’t sure whether Harry knew this or not). She knew she was being silly, especially as it wasn’t really Halloween in Westeros, just in her head.
The passing of days was calculated differently here, like the seasons, and Hermione had very quickly drawn up her own calendar to correspond with when she had left Hogwarts to stop her from losing her mind. The evening that the time-turner had broken had been the sixth of June and it had still been evening when she’d woken in Winterfell. So she labelled her arrival as happening on the sixth of June, too.
On Harry’s “birthday” (or nameday as they called it here), she had made him a very simple card from a piece of parchment Maester Luwin had given her. On the front she attempted to draw a pictures of him celebrating with the Quidditch Cup that he had won a few moths ago, but it wasn’t a very good likeness; she had never been particularly artistic. Finding him a gift had been more problematic, especially as her wand hadn’t been returned to her by that time.
Hermione instinctively felt the lining of her cloak to make sure that her wand was still in the hidden pocket she had sewn there. She was grateful that her wasted hours in needlework had been useful for something after all.
So, with no magic and practically no possessions of her own, her gift options were fairly limited. In the end, she decided on something practical—an English to Common Tongue dictionary. She translated some of the most common words for him and wrote the phonetic spelling, too. Harry had seemed very grateful for it; though she had a feeling he had referred to it only a handful of times.
They were both fairly fluent in the Common Tongue by now, but Harry’s reading and writing of the new language was much poorer than his speaking or listening. It was understandable that is should be that way as he used those skills much more. She wished that he’d put a bit more effort into his academics, but she tried very hard not to nag him – especially not since they’d been given their wands back.
Her own birthday had passed by a few weeks ago, not that she had told anyone about it. Harry’s following of her calendar was casual, at best, and he hadn’t realized that it had gone past her birthday until about three weeks later. He had seemed incredibly guilty, but she reassured him that she didn’t mind. Nevertheless, he had gone to the kitchens and convinced them to bake her a round almond-flavored cake. With some leftover almonds he created the number fifteen on the top and then stuck a candle in the cake, too. He presented it to her in the great hall that evening, much to the bemusement of everyone else who dined with them. She blew out her candle with a grin, unsurprisingly wishing for them to find a way home.
Robb’s nameday celebrations had taken place only a few days after that, as he too turned fifteen. She suspected that Harry had inadvertently started a Stark family tradition when he was also presented a cake, complete with a candle to blow out. There had been music and dancing, too—much to Hermione and (mainly) Harry’s horror. Luckily they could use their complete ignorance of the dance steps to avoid taking part. She wasn’t particularly averse to dancing; she just didn’t want to make a fool of herself by not knowing what to do. She’d watched the couples closely; the way their hands crossed or intertwined, how the man would turn the woman, the way they’d rise and fall together. She had plenty of would-be partners: Theon, Robb, Jon, even Jory and Ser Rodrick Cassel had all asked if she’d like to dance before it was understood that she truly didn’t know how to. She had blushed furiously every time she had to turn one of them down, but not as much as Harry did when approached by Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole. Sansa was scandalized by their ignorance and she made them promise that they would start attending her dance lessons. Harry looked less than pleased after that, muttering about what Ron would say if he found out.
“Your turn,” she said to Harry. He stepped into the place she had been occupying and closed his eyes, trying to enter into what Hermione called “the senseless bubble”. A yellowing bruise lingered over his left cheek where Robb’s practice sword had hit him a few days ago. The force of the blow had separated the arm from the rest of his glasses and had required magic to fix it after practice. She didn’t know how he explained the miraculous repair but hoped he’d been discreet, as neither of them really wanted to reveal that they were capable of magic. The Stark family and their household had been extremely welcoming and accepting of them in the last few months (although Hermione sensed that Lady Catelyn disapproved of her) but she didn’t quite know how they would react to playing host to a witch and wizard. This society seemed very similar to the middle-ages of Europe and they had performed more than a few witch burnings at that time. She and Harry had already witnessed one execution and she didn’t want the next one to be her own. It had been risky enough to admit to Lord Stark that they didn’t come from anywhere he might know in his world. He had taken the news surprisingly calmly, which made her believe that he’d suspected as much from the start.
But it wasn’t as though tales of magic and magical creatures were unheard of in Westeros. Aegon the Conqueror had used dragons to assist him in becoming king nearly three hundred years ago, but it was believed that all dragons were now extinct. In one of Maester Luwin’s books about known creatures of the world, she had seen reports of manticores, unicorns, krakens, centaurs, basilisks and sphinxes. When she had read about the Wall of the Night’s Watch, it was said that the man who created it eight thousand years ago had used giants as well as ancient spells and sorcery. She’d also read that before man had even come to Westeros the land was home to human-like creatures called the Children of the Forest, who were supposed to have supernatural powers that allowed them to control other animals, possess them, and even see into the future. Some of the tales sounded extraordinary even to Hermione’s ears, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t believe them to be true. In her world, nearly all muggles believed magic and its creatures to be complete myth and look how wrong they were!
If there was some sort of secret society of witches or wizards in Westeros, Hermione had no way of knowing. It wasn’t as though she could just go up to Maester Luwin and ask him. Though she was seriously considering enquiring whether he had any books that were more specific to magic because only three years of Hogwarts tuition didn’t seem nearly enough knowledge to help her travel back to her own world.
If she was being honest with herself, Hermione knew she possessed more knowledge of magic than the average third-year Hogwarts student. Despite her busy timetable she had managed to find the time to memorize a lot of the fourth-year curriculum. She had read all seven grades of Standard Book of Spells before the end of her first year of Hogwarts and some of the other more advanced texts for her other subjects. She couldn’t remember all of it, of course, but she had spent the first few months at Winterfell writing down every piece of magical knowledge she could recall. Suffice to say, this took up a rather substantial amount of parchment. She would feel guilty about using up nearly all of Winterfell’s paper, if she wasn’t so determined not to lose any knowledge. Hermione had forced Harry to do the same, in case he remembered something she missed, but he wasn’t quite as thorough as she was. Thankfully he did put a bit more effort into his description of the Patronus charm, even though there actually may not have been any dementors in this world.
When she had first been given her wand back, she was desperate to use her magic straight away, but on the way back to their rooms, she and Harry had a rapid whispered conversation (despite the fact that no one would understand them), agreeing that they would only perform minimal magic in the privacy of their own chambers at this time.
It took her a long time to give herself up to sleep that night as she kept indulging in little spells in her room—levitating a quill, making her ink flash multi-colored, extinguishing and then relighting her fire, even making her shoes dance across the floor. The only magic she’d been able to do previous to having her wand back, was to experiment with some of the ancient runes and arithmancy she had studied. Although, she was now also able to employ her potion-making these days at the request of Maester Luwin, once he found out she knew how to brew. It didn't take long after that, for her room to become filled with plants, ingredients, notes, and implements.
She and Harry had even attempted some wandless magic, though that had various results. There had even been a few instances of uncontrolled magic around the castle when their emotions had gotten the best of them, though nothing serious enough to cause them any suspicion from the castle residents.
Hermione had gotten immensely frustrated with Catelyn once after the awful woman had yet again criticized poor Jon for no good reason, using her favorite term “bastard” when addressing him. Jon only hung his head and took it, though to Hermione, it looked like he was trying very hard not to cry. As much as she really, really wanted to, the girl knew she wasn’t allowed to tell the Lady of Winterfell off for it. Thankfully, at that moment, the seamstresses came to present Lady Catelyn’s new dress meant as a gift for her nameday. However, she would never get the chance to wear it around anyone, as the next day she went to her closet to find a swarm of moths fly out the very moment she had opened the door. Her new dress was completely ruined, having been eaten down to the seams by the mysterious swarm over-night.
It caused a great stir around the entire castle and though no one thought it had been magic, Catelyn had been shaken up considerably over the ordeal. On the other hand, Jon’s mood was unusually cheery for the next few days after that.
On another occasion, little Rickon had been distracted by a bird that had built its nest in the rafters outside of his mother’s room. Hermione had pointed it out to both Rickon and Bran the day before. He had been so enamored by the creature as it flew back and forth to feed its babies that he had leaned too far out and had suddenly fallen out of the window. Septa Mordane’s scream had alerted Harry who had been alone to practice his aim with a bow and arrow not far outside of the same tower. He looked up in time to see the little boy tumble head first out of the window and it was like the world had suddenly stopped as Harry’s panic sunk in.
The next thing he knew he was suddenly directly at the base of the tower, looking right up at the little boy as he was falling straight at him. The teenager reached out and the child landed in his arms. The clumsy catch caused his foot to slip in the mud and he hit the ground hard on his back as the wind was knocked out of him.
Rickon shook in his arms and soft crying soon followed. Yells from Septa Mordane came from the window and several people were rounding the corner asking what happened.
Harry was having trouble explaining himself, but Septa Mordane was quick to yell from the window that Harry had saved Lord Stark’s young son. Rickon himself was crying profusely, having been shaken up about the whole ordeal. He had just wanted to look at the pretty birds and only remembered falling out of the window before being caught by someone. Once that had been the established account of what happened, there were many congratulations and thank-yous and pats on the back for Harry and his heroism.
The Stark children were all so happy that their little brother was safe and Lord Stark was especially grateful, offering him a generous reward, to which Harry politely professed was unnecessary, as the man had already done enough for both him and Hermione by just taking the two of them in. Even Lady Catelyn was a little nicer to him after that.
It was only a few days after that when Lord Stark and Hullen gave them permission to ride horses into Winterfell’s surrounding woodland so they were less likely to be disturbed when practicing new magic. In fact, the lord seemed almost gleeful when Harry asked, happy to grant his ward such a reasonable request after the rescue of his little son.
They managed to go out roughly every other day when the weather wasn’t bad, but they tried not to go to the same places too often.
Hermione was teaching Harry the charms and transfiguration spells they would be learning if they were in their fourth year at Hogwarts, though truth be told, she was teaching many of them to herself too. Hermione had taught herself spells many times before but it was slightly disconcerting to know that she was solely relying on her memory to perform the magic correctly. She was pleased that she’d been successful with all the spells they had tried so far, even though some of them had taken a couple of weeks to master.
Harry was a little more ambitious than she was and suggested they try experimenting with their own spells. Hermione was a little reluctant to do so, as inventing new spells could wind up being considerably dangerous and there were no experienced witches and wizards to help them if something were to go horribly wrong. However, if she was being honest with herself, she wanted to try some of the spells she’d been sitting on for a while now, too.
They tended to have various results.
There was a spell Hermione had wanted to try that was supposed to imitated the concealment charm that hid Hogwarts from muggles, but was significantly smaller in scale. The basic principle involved pointing at the ground and slowly chanting the spell as the caster walked around in a wide circle until they had closed it. The end result would hide those inside the circle while additionally repelling anyone or anything that tried to approach the area.
Hermione knew it was complicated magic, and she was still working out the wording for it, but it felt like such a useful idea, especially for the world they lived in now, that she wanted to at least try it out once before shelving it for something else.
Harry also liked the idea of hiding in plain sight, especially when they went out like this. Even if they were now away from the prying eyes of Winterfell’s residents, they both felt somewhat vulnerable in the forest where anyone could approach them with no warning.
They took turns drawing the circle around themselves, using only approximately two or three feet of diameter, while the other stood outside to test whether or not it had worked. It took several weeks of mastering the disappearing part alone and even that wasn’t always perfect. Several times Hermione hadn’t disappeared entirely but became transparent, similar to a ghost while standing in her circle. What’s more, the repelling part of the spell didn’t seem to work very well. Harry could step into the circle fine enough when he wanted to, though he also became transparent to Hermione when she stepped out of it to view the results for herself. Another thing she had hoped it would do was muffle their noises just as it hid them from view, but that didn’t seem to be working very well either.
After some discussion, they decided that maybe they needed to layer it with several different spells instead of making it one big spell. The results were a lot more effective after that, though the soundless spell was still being worked out and Hermione wanted to test it with something like a bird before they did it with themselves, especially when there were all kinds of ways it could go wrong, one among those possibilities making either or both of them suddenly mute.
While they had been trying to work out the kinks, Hermione had optimistically suggested that they try to become animagi. She had researched the theory as part of her transfiguration homework a few months ago (having been given a permission slip from Professor McGonagall to view it), so she at least had a pretty solid understanding of what was involved. She knew that mastering how to transform into another animal was an exceptionally difficult piece of magic, and she would have changed her mind about them attempting it, if Harry hadn’t been so enthusiastic about the idea. It was foolish and dangerous to try and transform without having someone experienced to watch over them (though they did take it in turns), but she couldn’t deny that the possibility of succeeding was much more tempting than any doubts she had.
Should they become animagi, it would be a useful bit of protection for them were they to be in danger—providing they didn’t turn into something even more vulnerable like a snail or a goldfish. Hopefully, she didn’t have any traits in common with either of those animals because according to her research that is what was considered. She didn’t have any choice what she might be, which was a relief in one way as it meant she wouldn’t have to come up with the perfect animal but could also mean all her efforts were for naught should her turning into a snail or fish come true.
They had been attempting the animagus transformation for over two months now and it had taken that long for Hermione to feel like she had grasped forming her “senseless bubble”. This was apparently essential so that you could then clear your mind and make a connection to the animal within. She took comfort in that it was supposed to get easier once that first contact had been made. Although, according to Professor Lupin, it had taken his friends three years to manage to complete the transformation. Hermione certainly didn’t plan on still being sat in the mud in three years’ time.
If Maester Luwin did have some magic-themed books then she hoped they would point herself and Harry in the right direction to start their journey home. As much as she liked the people, she could see there was nothing here to help them get back. Their future wasn’t at Winterfell—not that people hadn’t tried to plan one for her. A couple days after Harry had given her the birthday cake, she had had an extremely awkward conversation with Lord Stark where he enquired whether she had any aspirations to become married.
Her jaw gaped open. “Not even a little bit!” She blurted before she could stop herself—half hoping he was joking.
“As I explained to you when you became my ward, part of my responsibility is to help you prepare for your future,” Lord Eddard said and his matter-of-fact tone convinced her that he wasn’t pulling her leg. “A marriage to a good man will offer you security. I know that you are still becoming accustomed to life here, but should you wish to wed, I will endeavor to find—"
“—My Lord, that is very generous of you,” she interrupted, finding it unbearable to hear another word. “But it is not needed. I do not want to marry!” She considered explaining that where she was from people didn’t arrange marriages and certainly not for someone so young, but he seemed to notice her sincerity.
“You are sure?” He asked.
She nodded, letting out a strange squeaking noise in response.
“Very well. If you should change your mind don’t hesitate to come to me,” he said before walking away. It had taken her a few minutes to gather her wits and seek out Harry to tell him what had just happened to her. She knew that Lord Stark had meant well, and in the histories of Westeros that she had read, it wasn’t uncommon for a woman as young as her to be married. But it still took her completely by surprise that it was ever a possibility for herself.
Harry had laughed when she told him, thinking she was pulling his leg just as much as she thought Lord Eddard had been pulling hers, but then realized she was being serious. She reassured him that Lord Eddard had let the matter drop quite quickly but he still looked concerned for her safety—as though he expected her to be abducted and forcefully married to some brute.
Unbeknownst to Harry though, she had been receiving some very basic weapons training. After their conversation about the possibility of being attacked, Hermione had resolved to find someone regardless of whether harry thought it was a good idea or not. She knew she’d never forgive herself if she got into danger and she hadn’t covered every way to defend herself. The question was, who to ask? She didn’t think many of Lord stark’s household would see it as a particularly worthwhile use of their time considering how busy they were with their other duties and seasoned warriors like Ser Rodrik, Jory Cassel and other members of the guard made her slightly nervous.
No, her best options were Theon, Robb or Jon. Seeing as she was already acquainted with them and they were young enough to remember exactly what it was like to learn. Theon Greyjoy was the most experienced of the three and had always been very courteous towards her. He liked to smile and tell jokes but often did so at the expense of others. Robb also like to joke with her by calling her “my lady” but that didn’t make her uncomfortable as Theon’s jests sometimes did.
Jon Snow was quiet and seemed to give things due consideration, which was a trait she valued. Hermione was sure that at times he must have found it very hard at Winterfell, given that Lord Stark had conceived him out of wedlock to a woman other than Lady Catelyn. In short, he was a bastard, though Hermione hated that term. Most of the starks treated him as though he was no different from the rest of them and Arya positively adored him. But Hermione had noticed that there was absolutely no warmth in Lady Catelyn’s eyes when she looked on him. It was perfectly clear that she hated Jon. Hermione could understand that many women wouldn’t want their husband’s illegitimate child around, but she didn’t think it was at all fair to blame it on Jon himself—it was hardly his fault. She knew what it was like to be looked down on because of the circumstances of one’s birth and she felt a connection to him. It was for this reason that she decided to ask Jon to help her rather than Robb. Robb probably would have been a perfectly good instructor too but she expected that Jon was often looked over for his half-brother. She hoped that she wasn’t showing pity for Jon (she doubted he would appreciate that), it was more like making him realize that he was important, too.
“You want me to teach you sword fighting?” He asked with raised eyebrows when she approached him.
“Yes and,” she clenched her fist and mimed punching him before drawing and shooting an imaginary bow; her use of the Common Tongue had still been quite poor during that time.
“How to shoot and punch someone?” He realized and she nodded. He stared at her curiously for a while then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t see why not. Let’s go get a couple of practice swords.” He pointed over towards the training yard but Hermione shook her head and put a finger to her lips.
“No see,” she said, hoping he would grasp her meaning.
“You want to learn in secret?” He said, and again she nodded. She was prepared that she would be very bad at using weapons and fighting, but that didn’t mean she wanted everyone to see just how awful she was. “That might work better. I’m not sure Ser Rodrik would want to watch this anyway.” His lips pulled down as he considered what to do. “Give me a couple of days and I’ll find us somewhere to go.”
He’d been true to his word. Every morning, just as the sun was breaking over the horizon, Jon would escort her to a far corner of the Godswood to practice. When she had been shown the wooden area upon her arrival, Hermione had no idea that it was so big. Although they sometimes made plenty of noise, it seemed they had never been overheard or discovered, for no one had ever talked to her of it. Many of the household would still be asleep at that time, but there were also plenty of people hurriedly getting things ready for the day.
The first time she picked up one of the practice swords, she was amazed at how heavy it was. After only a few seconds of extending her arm out so Jon could check her grip and balance, the sword started to tremble as the muscles of her arm began to burn. Jon noticed the lack of strength and they spent the first couple of weeks just building up her muscles. She was more successful with the bow though, as the small one he brought for her to practice with didn’t require as much power to draw back. Her aim wasn’t too bad either, which she put down to a few years of having to be precise with her spellwork.
Jon chuckled at her first attempt to punch something. “Do you want to break your thumb?” He took her hand and remolded it so that her thumb wasn’t protruding anymore. “That’s better. Right, now punch me in the stomach.” He pointed to make sure that she understood but she bit her lip nervously.
“You are sure?” She asked. She didn’t want to hurt him.
“Hit me as hard as you can,” he confirmed.
Hermione gave a half-hearted jab at his stomach. He frowned and started walking back towards the main castle.
“Where you going?” She cried as she hurried to keep up with him.
“I thought you wanted to learn,” he shrugged, not looking at her.
“I do!” She insisted.
He stopped. “Then next time I ask you to do something, do it properly. If I’m going to help you, then I have to know what you need to learn. So, when I tell you to hit me as hard as you ca—”
She punched him in the stomach with all her strength, embarrassed that he thought she wasn’t being a good pupil. He hunched slightly at the blow but smiled just the same.
“Okay, that’s more like it, but a lot of the force from a punch comes from twisting your body.”
When she regained her wand, she only considered stopping her practices with Jon for about two seconds. It was still a very useful set of skills for her to develop, even if she could just magically stun anyone who attacked her now. Besides, she liked spending time with Jon, though she paid for it with a fair number of bruises and blisters.
After Hermione’s strength had grown and she had practiced the major strokes and cuts to Jon’s satisfaction, he had finally taken up the wooden sword against her. After losing five bouts in the space of a minute, Hermione found herself growing frustrated. She wasn’t annoyed at losing, that was to be expected, but she thought Jon might at least give her a chance instead of going into full battle mode.
“Can we do some fight that is no so… hard?” she suggested, but Jon just frowned.
“If someone attacks you then they’re not going to do it easily,” he argued.
“Yes, but I not be good if we do this way. It end too fast and I not learn.” Hermione held one hand up high. “This is you. You are very good.” She put her other hand low to the ground. “This is me. I am bad.” She brought her “Jon” hand down about halfway. “You be here so I can get to here.” She moved her “Hermione” hand up a little. He seemed to understand because it took her four minutes to lose five bouts after that.
Her proudest moment though had come only a few days ago. Jon had told her to meet him in their usual spot in the Godswood instead of escorting her there. She had thought nothing of it as she made her way through the trees in the watery light just after dawn.
A hand clamped suddenly over her mouth as someone snuck up from behind and tried to drag her away. Her heart in her throat, her first thought was to reach for her wand but her arms were restricted by the attacker’s grasp. She struggled furiously and bit down hard on the stranger’s hand. There was a slight relaxation in their grip but it was enough for her to bring her heel back sharply between their legs. They let out a very pained grunt. She twisted out of their grasp and used the momentum to swing back with a hit that landed forcefully somewhere on their hooded face. They stumbled to the side and she launched a vicious kick at their knee as her hand groped in her cloak for her wand.
Her hand stilled just when her fingers grasped the wood, as she recognized the voice that cried out in response to her kick. “Jon?” He pulled back the hood of the cloak with a grimace and she let out a huge sigh of relief.
“Well done,” he panted, holding the place that was causing him the most pain.
Jon had to tell people he had fallen down some stairs to explain his bruised face and his limp. She was glad that nobody noticed her tender knuckles (though not as relieved as she was that she hadn’t jinxed him).
Harry let out an irritated breath and opened his eyes, bringing her back to the present. “That bird is driving me mad,” he muttered. “Do you want to have another try or head back?”
Hermione looked up at the cloudy sky, trying to gauge the time. “I think there seems to be enough light left to have one more go,” she said, trading places with him. She shifted to get herself comfortable and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. It was nice to breathe in the earthy, fresh air of the forest in contrast to the rather unsavory smells that one found around Winterfell.
She went through her well-practiced routine to create her “bubble”. She started at the tip of her toes, imagining them becoming weightless, disappearing into nothing. Slowly, she applied this to the rest of her feet, ankles, lower legs, shoulders and neck. As it passed over her ears and nose, her hearing and sense of smell were stifled. In the back of her mind, she wondered if this feeling was comparable to a caterpillar forming a cocoon, so it could transform into a butterfly. The comparison seemed incredibly similar. A butterfly needed to enclose themselves entirely, before their entire body could properly liquify and reform into a completely different animal. With that in mind, the bubble (or cocoon now) closed around her head, and she felt nothing.
Now she just had to let her thoughts still and allow her brain to relax so that the initial link could be made with her animagus form.
Time never passed the way one expected it to when one was trying to still their mind. Sometimes she thought she had lost her concentration after a few seconds though Harry would say it had been ages and other times it was the opposite.
Something in her lower back twitched.
“Hermione!” Harry’s voice burst urgently through her cocoon, and she cried out in alarm. His hand was on her shoulder, and he was shaking her but when she opened her eyes he darted back in shock.
“What is it?” She asked breathlessly, as her body struggled to cope with the sudden onslaught of senses.
He stared at her. “I thought…” He began uncertainly then shook his head. “Someone’s coming.” He pulled her to her feet and looked over to where the sounds of approach came from.
Hermione put her hand to her head, feeling a little dizzy and confused after being ripped out of her cocoon. Had she done it? Did she make the connection? She had felt something, hadn’t she? She put her hand on her lower back and tried to peer over her shoulder to see if there was anything there to give her a clue. As far as she could tell, her back was still its normal self.
The sound of slow hoofbeats brought her back to the current situation. They still had their circle up, so if it was an enemy, they at least wouldn’t find the two. Their own horses would be a little trickier to hide as they were outside of their concealment circle. Then they heard the familiar voices of Theon, Jon, and Robb and were quick to flick their wands to disburse the spells surrounding them before their horses had brought the boys into view. She relaxed and both she and Harry covertly tucked their wands away into their cloaks.
“What are you three doing here?” Harry asked, striding forwards with a smile as the arrivals dismounted.
“We have been dispatched by my dear sister, Sansa, to make sure that neither you nor Hermione are going to be absent for dance practice,” Robb grandly announced with a grin. “She was rather insistent about it.”
Harry frowned, his posture somewhat less enthusiastic than before. He said something in response, but Hermione didn’t hear as Jon came to stand next to her with a look of concern.
“Are you alright?” He enquired. “You look pale and...” he shook his head. “You just don’t look yourself.”
Conscious of what may or may not have happened a couple minutes ago, Hermione dismissed his worries hurriedly. “I’m fine, Jon. Just a little cold. We have been here too long. It sounds like some dancing is just what I need.”
Jon moved to undo his cloak but before Hermione could stop him, she found herself being draped in someone else’s. She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, Theon, thank you but it’s not—”
“I will not hear of it, Hermione. Snow’s right, you do look pale,” Theon said, his hands on her shoulders as he steered her towards her mount. “We don’t want you to catch a cold now, do we?”
Her horse had been grazing peacefully with Harry’s in the clearing while they had been practicing their magic. It seemed that people in Westeros, or in the North at least, didn’t name their horses, but Hermione found it much easier to get on with the animals if she felt like she could talk to them—and she couldn’t talk to something that didn’t have a name. The horse she rode today (a bay mare with white markings), she had christened, Whisper, due to her gentle nature and she was one of Hermione’s favorites.
Harry led both their horses by the reins, but as they neared Hermione and Theon, something seemed to spook them for they reared slightly and called out in distress, trying to get away. Theon moved forward to give Harry a hand but Hermione lingered nervously. She was a lot more confident with the horses than she was a few months ago, but they still gave her concern when they exhibited unsettled behavior.
“There’s a good girl,” she said in her most soothing voice once Theon had settled her down. “That’s it, Whisper, well done.” Hermione moved closer but Whisper took a few sidesteps away from her. “Easy girl,” she said, reaching out a hand to stroke her neck. She spoke slowly to the horse for a few more minutes, making sure to appear happy and relaxed.
“I’ll ride next to you in case the horse gets spooked again,” Theon declared as he mounted his stallion.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, knowing that he wouldn’t be dissuaded. She climbed into her saddle and was relieved that Whisper seemed to be back to herself.
They started the ride back to Winterfell gently to give their horses the time to warm up. After those unsettling couple of minutes in the clearing, the rhythmic sway of the horse ride was very comforting.
Robb and Harry rode in front, talking and laughing about something she couldn’t hear and Jon brought up the rear. Theon talked to her of his homeland of the Iron Islands and she listened with intrigue as he described Castle Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy.
He made her blush at one point by dismounting from his horse and picking some wild primroses. “As beautiful as they are, they pale in comparison to your loveliness,” he said, leaving Hermione speechless. He kissed the back of her hand and she took the posy numbly. Glancing around, she could see that the other boys were watching her too and she wished she could disappear like she pretended to in her “cocoon”.
Something at the back of her mind seemed to warn her of the danger before she truly became aware of it. She looked around. One second the woods were empty, apart from themselves—the next, it was swarming with a dozen wolves.
Their horses bolted in different directions with cries, accompanied by the shouts of the humans.
Hermione tried not to let her fear make Whisper even more panicked. She glanced over her shoulder for a split second and was dismayed to see that she was being pursued by four wolves. She thought she made out a horse even further behind, but before she had time to be sure, one of the wolves leapt up at her, its jaws barely an inch from closing around her ankle. She screamed, simultaneously hitching up her leg and drawing her wand. Another wolf drew level and she aimed at it. “Stupefy!” A jet of red light hit the wolf but Whisper was moving too fast for Hermione to see if it had truly worked. “Stupefy!” Another wolf was hit and the others seemed to give up the chase.
Before she could understand what was happening, Hermione found herself launched from Whisper’s saddle as the horse cried in panic. The trunk of a very hard looking tree seemed to hurtle towards her but she knew it was the other way around. She had a split second to look down and see that the ground was suddenly sloping quite steeply downwards, which explained Whisper’s abrupt halt.
Thankfully, her arms, shoulders, and head missed the trunk, but it caught her on her abdomen and hips with a burst of white-hot pain. The force of the blow twisted her body round and despite her pain she scrabbled furiously at the tree to gain some sort of purchase on it to slow her fall. As she made contact with the ground, her legs buckled underneath her, and the agony was so intense that the world turned dark in an instant.