Refusal and Acceptance
Chapter 12
Refusal and Acceptance
Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at the sight of them. “You look… different,” she said evenly.
“Is it a good different or a bad different?” Robb asked, running a hand over his freshly shorn cheeks as Jon tugged at his own much shorter locks with distaste.
She shrugged with an easy smile. “Just different. Don’t worry,” she added, looping her arms through each of theirs, “you’re both still as handsome as ever. Any southern ladies that cross your path will surely swoon at the very sight of you.”
“While you will be fighting the men off at every turn, my lady,” Robb countered. “I’d better stay close by you to keep the scoundrels away.”
“You can if you like,” Hermione replied smoothly. “I’ve already given my word to Sansa that we can get dressed for the feast together and I’d be quite interested to see what different ways I can style your hair.” She reached up to touch this newly immaculate locks but Robb jerked his head away.
“If you mess up his hair, Lady Stark will cut your fingers off,” Jon warned with a chuckle. “She’s going to be in a bad enough mood when she sees Harry.”
“Why? Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked in concern.
“He’s still being done; nothing seems to be able to tame that hair of his,” Jon explained. “Tommy’s tried to brush it, cut it, oil it, but it still looks exactly the same.”
Robb leaned forward, “You should have heard him. He said the hair is cursed. It’s the only explanation for why it fails to cooperate.”
Hermione only laughed. “Good. A non-messy-haired Harry doesn’t sound right.”
The household of Winterfell was beginning to gather in the courtyard, ready for the king’s arrival. Lady Catelyn was walking around telling people where they should stand. When she glanced over in their direction, Hermione quickly brought her arms back to her sides, but judging by the frown on Lady Catelyn’s face, she had definitely noticed. Hermione had long since given up trying to get Catelyn Stark to approve of her. She was grateful to Catelyn for letting her be a part of her family and Hermione tried to be as polite as possible to her. But the truth of the matter was that they had been brought up very differently, and as such gave importance to different values. Not to mention that Lady Catelyn’s treatment of Jon grated against Hermione’s very core.
“Robb, come and stand here,” Lady Catelyn instructed, pointing to the front of the gathered group, before turning her eyes back on Jon and Hermione. Hermione was sure Robb’s mother would like to send them to the furthest corner, far out of sight of the king and queen, but the arrival of Sansa, Bran, and Rickon diverted her attention. Robb beckoned for Hermione and Jon to stand behind him.
“I don’t think Lady Stark would want a bastard so close,” Jon muttered to her.
“I don’t care,” Hermione replied lowly, planting her feet firmly behind Robb’s shoulder and Jon joined her somewhat reluctantly. A couple of seconds later a slightly breathless Harry and amused Theon appeared. Mercifully, Harry’s hair looked as untidy as usual, just wet.
“Never again,” he muttered, roughly rubbing his cloak against his head to get rid of some of the moisture. Lady Catelyn turned in their direction and Jon quickly stood in front of Harry to hide his disastrous hair from her wrath. Theon sniggered and Hermione tried to contain her own laughter as Lady Stark looked at them all suspiciously.
The last few members of the household got to their places until the only vacant spot was next to Bran.
“Where’s Arya?” Lady Catelyn asked, noticing the absence. “Sansa, where’s your sister?” Sansa shrugged in response, causing her mother to frown.
Despite her objections to staying for the king’s visit, Hermione couldn’t deny that she was quite excited to see the royal family. The tales of Robert’s Rebellion were some of the first stories she’d read about in this world. She was interested to see how the real people compared to the rumors she had heard.
A small helmeted figure scurried into the courtyard. “Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Lord Stark objected, stopping the figure. “What are you doing with that on?” He removed the helmet to reveal Arya peering back at him with big eyes. Hermione shared an amused look with Jon, Harry, and Theon. Lord Stark motioned for Arya to take her place down the line. “Go on.”
Upon seeing Bran in her rightful position, Arya shoved her little brother out of the way. “Move!” Thus were they all assembled to see the king, and just in time too, for the leading horsemen came trotting into the courtyard a moment later.
Behind these men Hermione saw a boy ride in. he was probably only a couple of years younger than herself. He was draped in a fine red cloak and his light hair stood out in contrast to the dark stone walls of Winterfell. An air of arrogance sat heavily around him as he smirked at Sansa from his horse. Hermione could tell by the way that Robb’s head had turned in his sister’s direction that he had noticed too. It was quite obvious that this was Prince Joffrey, the heir to the Iron Throne. Hermione tried to ignore the uncomfortable similarities she immediately felt between Prince Joffrey and Draco Malfoy and turned to watch the rest of the party arrive.
A big ornate coach trundled into the yard, decorated in colors of crimson and gold, followed by more guards. A large man rode in amidst them and Lord Stark knelt with his head bowed, Hermione and the rest of the residents of Winterfell swiftly following. So that was the King?
Keeping her head down, Hermione glance up to watch King Robert dismount from his horse. A large wooden block was brought forward to make it easier for him. The accounts she had read of Robert Baratheon described him as a fearless warrior, the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms. But the man before her was easily past his prime. A sizable belly protruded over his waist and his beard was more grey than dark. The King strode towards them, a huge sheathed sword knocking against his leg as he walked. Hermione lowered her gaze again so that he wouldn’t catch her looking.
After a few moments, Hermione sensed the people in front of her getting to their feet and she rose too. King Robert stood before Lord Stark, seemingly searching his face. This wasn’t quite the happy reunion between friends that Hermione had been expecting.
“Your Grace,” Eddard Stark greeted, bowing his head.
“You’ve gotten fat!” The King accused. There was an awkward pause as everyone waited to see how Lord Stark would respond. Hermione didn’t see what happened next but suddenly both men were laughing and embracing. It had been a most strange exchange. “Cat!” The King turned to Lady Stark and embraced her warmly before ruffling Rickon’s hair. “Nine years. Why haven’t I seen you?” King Robert asked his friend. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours,” Lord Stark replied as two children descended from the carriage, followed by a tall, slender woman who was obviously Queen Cersei. She had long golden hair and wore a thick cloak over a beautiful red gown. Her beauty was obvious, even from a distance, and it would be even more striking if the Queen smiled. But she didn’t.
King Robert greeted the rest of the Stark children with an easy manner, complementing Sansa’s beauty and proclaiming that Bran would be a soldier. Hermione found him instantly more likeable than the cold queen and arrogant prince.
While Lord and Lady Stark greeted the Queen, the King’s eyes travelled over those in Hermione’s row. His gaze halted on Harry for a few seconds before he turned back to Lord Eddard.
“Take me to your crypt,” he ordered. “I want to pay my respects.”
“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” Queen Cersei interjected. “Surely the dead can wait.”
“Ned,” the king commanded, ignoring his wife. It was another awkward moment. Hermione had a feeling there were going to be plenty of those during the royal family’s stay.
Lord Stark followed his king, leaving Queen Cersei standing on her own. Her eyes flickered over the gathered Starks before her gaze too paused on Harry. Hermione hoped that it was only because of his glasses; the residents of Winterfell were so used to the device by now that they never mentioned them, but to a newcomer they would surely look strange.
“Your name boy,” the Queen demanded. A few heads turned in Harry’s direction.
“Harry, Your Grace,” he replied, with a stilted half-bow. “Harry Potter.”
“Harry?” Queen Cersei repeated faintly, still staring into his green eyes.
“Harry is a ward of Lord Eddard’s, Your Grace,” Lady Catelyn explained to break the silence. “He came to us from Lorath.”
“Where’s the imp?” Came Arya’s hissing question to her sister, interrupting the moment. With a final lingering look at Harry, the Queen turned and was led away by a man with hair that was identical to hers in color. Was that perhaps Jaime Lannister, her brother then? The people around them started to move, getting back to their jobs.
Their friends all turned to look at Harry curiously.
“What’s got the Queen so interested in a scrawny thing like you?” Theon asked with a bemused grin.
Harry shook his head blankly. “I have absolutely no idea.”
Hermione jumped at the frantic knocking on her door. She quickly closed the lid of her trunk, locked it and then replaced her wand in her cloak. “Coming!” she called.
A beaming Sansa was waiting on the other side of the door. “Oh, Hermione,” she exclaimed, taking her friend’s hands in her own and squeezing tightly. “You won’t believe what’s happened!”
Hermione stepped backwards in alarm. She had never seen Sansa so animated before. “W-what is it?”
“Prince Joffrey and I are to be married!” Sansa laughed but Hermione gasped. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Hermione opened her mouth but couldn’t find any suitable words. “Sansa, I don’t know what to say.”
Sansa laughed again and pulled her so they could sit side by side on the bed. “You’re happy for me though, aren’t you? I’m going to be queen one day!”
“But you’re so young; you’re only thirteen!” Hermione pointed out, still shocked at the proposal. “You can’t get married yet!”
Sansa’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until my first bleeding. There’s no point in me taking a husband before then, but I’m sure it won’t be long.”
The actual practicalities of Sansa being married hadn’t dawned on Hermione until then. The very thought of that smarmy Prince Joffrey laying a single hand on Sansa made Hermione feel sick. The disgust obviously showed quite clearly on her face.
“Oh, you don’t think he finds me ugly, do you?” Sansa asked, her face lined with worry.
Hermione shook her head with a smile. “Of course not. It’s just the idea of marrying someone so young is a very foreign concept for me. Where I come from, most people don’t get married until they are past twenty.”
Sansa’s face was almost comical in it surprise. “But that’s so old! No wonder you haven’t shown any inclination to marry yet. I always hoped that you’d marry Robb so that we could be true sisters, but I suppose Princess Myrcella will be my sister now.”
“Me marry Robb?” Hermione repeated with a laugh. “I don’t think so, Sansa.”
“I know you haven’t got the right breeding to marry someone of Robb’s status, but he’s quite clearly in love with you.” The laughter died in Hermione’s throat and Sansa looked at her in surprise. “Oh, didn’t you know?”
Hermione’s mouth had suddenly become very dry and she felt like the temperature in the room had been raised about ten degrees. “Of course, Robb’s not in love with me, don’t be absurd.”
“But he asked you to dance first with him every night of his nameday celebrations, he’s always making you laugh and going out of his way to be courteous to you,” Sansa pointed out, but Hermione shook her head.
“He’s just doing it to tease me,” Hermione explained. “It’s like a game between us, nothing more.” Sansa didn’t look particularly convinced so Hermione decided to change the subject. “Let’s start getting ready for the feast.”
As she watched King Robert get overly familiar with a serving woman while his wife sat across the hall, Hermione found her opinion of him steadily decreasing. Now she could understand why Queen Cersei was so cold. The feast hadn’t even begun yet and this was how the king was behaving? Hermione hated to imagine what his conduct would be like in a couple of hours.
There was no place for either her or Harry at the high tables that night but she didn’t mind; she honestly didn’t want to watch Sansa making eyes at Prince Joffrey all evening. She had already had to listen to her gush about how handsome the prince was as they were getting dressed.
Bran and Rickon walked past her towards their seats, escorted by Robb. He paused and offered her a little bow and greeting of, “My lady,” like he normally did.
“Not now,” she said, pushing him away. “They’ll think I’m someone special.”
He frowned at her. “But you are special.”
With Sansa’s earlier words still ringing in her ears, she pushed at him again. “Go on, they’re waiting for you.” He gave her a curious look but nevertheless walked to his seat.
Hermione wanted to hide her face in her hands. With just a few simple words, Sansa had made her feel entirely unsettled around Robb. She liked her friendship with him exactly the way it was and now, just a few days before she and Harry were finally going to be setting off on their journey, Hermione would be on edge around him.
She looked contemplatively at the goblet of wine in front of her and picked it up, intending to take a large gulp, but a raucous laugh from the king made her change her mind and put the goblet back down. She searched around for a distraction and noticed that someone was missing.
She turned to Harry, who was in a conversation with Jory Cassel, and tapped him on the arm. “Where’s Jon?”
Harry looked around the hall with a frown. “I don’t know.”
“Did he say he was coming?” she asked.
“He didn’t say that he wasn’t,” Harry replied.
Hermione got to her feet. “I’m going to go find him. No, it’s alright. You stay here,” she said as Harry moved to join her. She picked up a large hunk of bread and moved between the benchest and tried to avoid bumping in to anyone as she exited the Great Hall.
It was a mild night by Winterfell’s standards but Hermione’s breath still rose in a mist before her when she stepped outside and she desperately wished she had her cloak with her.
Hermione had no qualms walking around Winterfell at night as she knew the layout of the castle so well by now. But also, ever since her first animagus transformation a few months ago, she had found her senses had improved considerably when she was in human form, not just as a wolf. She smiled as she sensed Jon’s direwolf, Ghost, coming towards her. All of the other direwolf pups would whine or make some other noise upon seeing her (which was quite difficult to explain to those who didn’t know about her wolf-form) but Ghost was always silent. Jon had chosen his name wisely.
Hermione bent down to stroke his head. “Come on then, where is he?” She asked Ghost. The pup scampered off into the darkness and Hermione followed. Soon she heard the distinct sound of steal on wood coming from the courtyard. She couldn’t fathom what Jon was doing practicing with his sword when there was a feast going on. As she got closer, she saw that he had set up a dummy and seemed intent on chopping off all of its limbs.
“I brought you some bread,” she called loudly, so she could be heard over the din he was making. He turned to her with a frown on his face. “Why aren’t you at the feast?”
“Why aren’t you?” He countered gruffly, ignoring the bread she held out to him.
“Because I came looking for you.”
He turned back to the dummy to strike a couple of arching cuts to its chest. “You shouldn’t have bothered. Bastards aren’t welcome at feasts with the royal family.”
Hermione winced at the anger in his voice and realized who it was probably directed at. “I assume you’re picturing chopping off the arms of Lady Catelyn as you do that?”
Jon turned sharply, with a worried expression. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that.”
Hermione laughed and threw the bread at him, which he caught with his free hand. “I know you don’t really want any harm to come to her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be angry at her. I am.”
“You?” Jon asked around a mouthful of bread. “What are you angry at her for?”
“Because of how she makes you feel,” Hermione replied with a shrug. “I take it a bit too personally when someone upsets or insults a person I care about.” She took the sword out of his hand. It was one of the blunted tourney swords Ser Rodrik kept for more advanced swordsmen to practice with. Hermione had only ever held one once before but it was only slightly heavier than the wooden swords she and Jon practiced with each morning.
She prodded the dummy with the sword experimentally. “Gods, a year of lessons with me and that’s the best you can do?” Jon exclaimed. “Your opponent would fall over from laughing.”
He was changing the subject but Hermione didn’t mind. She was more than aware that Jon’s illegitimate birth was a highly sensitive issue to him. It didn’t matter one jot to her or Harry though and they made sure he knew it too.
She launched a more serious attack on the dummy this time; a slice at the imaginary neck, a cut to the ribs.
“That’s better,” Jon said approvingly. “Keep your elbow up.”
“Is he dead yet?” A voice called, causing Hermione to nearly drop the blade in surprise. She and Jon turned to see a man ride into the courtyard. He was dressed all in black and had a long face that seemed almost familiar, though Hermione was sure she’d never met him before.
Jon walked confidently over to the man as he dismounted but Hermione hung back, almost embarrassed that someone other than Jon had seen her using a blade.
“Uncle Benjen!” Jon greeted, embracing the older man warmly. Hermione realized who the man was; Benjen Stark, Lord Eddard’s brother and a ranger in the Night’s Watch.
“You got bigger,” Benjen said, pulling away to look at Jon. “I rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters.” He glanced curiously at Hermione.
Noticing his gaze Jon brought him over to her. “Uncle Benjen, this is Hermione. She and her friend Harry have been Father’s wards for over a year.”
“I see,” Benjen replied, his eyes shifting between them.
Hermione wasn’t sure what the appropriate greeting was for a man like Benjen Stark so she simply smiled and inclined her head slightly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Benjen nodded with a small smile. “You’re not half bad with that,” he tilted his head at the sword in her hand.
Hermione blushed. “Thank you. I had a good teacher,” she explained, nudging Jon slightly with her shoulder.
“Why aren’t you at the feast?” He asked them
“Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst,” Jon replied bluntly.
Benjen grimaced and nodded. “Well, you’re always welcome on the Wall,” he offered. “No bastard was ever refused a seat there.”
“So, take me with you when you go back,” Jon suggested.
Hermione gasped. Jon wanted to join the Night’s Watch? Why had he never told her that?
“Jon…” Benjen sounded doubtful.
“Father will let me if you ask him, I know he will,” Jon argued with more force than Hermione would have expected.
“Jon,” Hermione said softly but he ignored her.
“The Wall isn’t going anywhere,” Benjen said calmly.
“I’m ready to swear your oath,” Jon claimed.
“You don’t understand what you’d be giving up,” Benjen argued, with a confused glance at Hermione, who was looking on in silent dismay. “We have no families. None of us will ever father sons.”
“I don’t care about that,” Jon stressed.
“You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen countered solemnly. It seemed they had reached an impasse. A crashing noise came from the Great Hall. “I’d better get inside. Rescue your father from his guests. We’ll talk later.” He nodded at Hermione before turning to make his way to the feast.
“You should go with him,” Jon suggested without looking at her. “You shouldn’t miss the feast because of me.” He took the sword out of her hand.
“But—”
“Don’t,” Jon said quietly.
Hermione let out an angry breath through her nose before walking off to the Great Hall too. Jon might have pushed her away tonight but that didn’t mean that tomorrow she wasn’t going to let him know exactly what she thought about his desire to join the Night’s Watch.
“No, wait outside,” Hermione ordered, looking down and Nymeria, Arya’s direwolf pup. “You know you’re not allowed in here.” Nymeria sat down obediently, but not without a whine, as Hermione opened the door to Winterfell’s library. “I won’t be long; I just want to do a last check.”
The library at Winterfell wasn’t anywhere near as extensive as Hogwarts’s but it was still a great source of historical records and knowledge. Hermione had scoured its shelves many times but she couldn’t resist having a final look before she and Harry left in a few days’ time.
She ran her fingers over the spines of some aged leather tomes before carefully inching one of them out to have a closer look.
“Not the most stimulating choice,” a voice commented behind her. Hermione whirled around, holding the book to her chest. She knew at once by his height who the speaker was, even though she hadn’t set eyes on him before. It was the Queen’s brother, Tyrion Lannister.
“Your pardon, my lord,” Hermione said hurriedly with a quick curtsey, “I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.”
“A common occurrence when one is a dwarf,” Lord Tyrion replied easily.
Hermione’s eyes widened, fearing that she had offended him. “Oh, no, my lord, I didn’t think anyone else was here because, well, I’m the only person who ever comes to the library. I like to read, you see,” she finished meekly for there was something about this small man that she found quite intimidating.
“Yes, I’d gather as much,” Lord Tyrion said with slight amusement. “It’s refreshing to see in a young person. I often weep when I think of the future of this kingdom with ignorant halfwits like my nephew in charge.” He smiled, but Hermione didn’t dare laugh at a joke at Prince Joffrey’s expense in the presence of his uncle—even if he was the one to make the joke in the first place.
Lord Tyrion waved a hand as he noticed her stiffness. “Be at ease, girl. No one can have a lower opinion of Joffrey than I. Gods be good that little beast won’t sit on the Iron Throne for many a year yet and I won’t have to guard the words that come out of my mouth for fear of my tongue being cut off.” Hermione blinked in surprise at his frankness but she supposed that Tyrion Lannister wasn’t nicknamed the “Imp” for nothing.
“I suspect there are others who would not mourn for long, should that come to pass,” Hermione suggested with a hesitant smile.
“Oh, hundreds of them at the last count, but what’s life without a few enemies?” He quipped.
“Peaceful?”
“Boring,” Lord Tyrion corrected. “And there’s nothing worse than being bored. However, you and I must have different definitions of boredom if you intend to read that account of fishing communities on the Iron islands.”
Hermione looked down at the book still in her arms. She had chosen the tome in case it held any mention of what lay to the west of Westeros, for she held a ridiculous hope that some place with magical knowledge existed there—not that she’d be telling Lord Tyrion that.
“My friend Theon comes from the Iron Islands and I wanted to know more about them,” Hermione said instead. “They sound very interesting.”
“That’s not the word that I would use,” he replied delicately. “But to some, I’m sure they have a certain desolate appeal.” He paused. “You’re Ned’s Stark’s Lorathi ward, are you not?”
“Yes, my lord. Hermione. Hermione Granger,” she answered, surprised that he knew who she was.
Lord Tyrion nodded. “I saw you last night with Jon Snow. You know, I can count on one hand the number of people I know with a keen interest in both books and swords and none of them are women,” he told her with lightly curious eyes. “It’s an intriguing combination.”
Hermione had learned that extensive reading was not a common past time for most ladies, or men come to that. They left the reading to the Maesters and called on their knowledge when it was needed.
“I am faced with quite a long journey, my lord. I just wish to be prepared for any eventuality,” Hermione explained.
“You make this journey alone?” Lord Tyrion asked.
“No, with my friend from Lorath, Harry. We are to go to the Citadel so that he can study to be a maester.”
“How interesting,” he said, with a slight tilt of his head. “He is to train to be a maester and yet you are the only one who is ever in the library.”
“He visits the library quite often, actually. I just visit it more,” she commented.
“Then was there much researching in the library between you two in making those water pumps around the castle?”
Hermione smiled. He wasn’t the first lord to have gained an interest in the lever water pumps. During Robb’s nameday celebrations, there had been many a commotion gathered around the devices as various noble houses gathered round them to dissect how such inventions worked. One or two lords had approached either Harry or Hermione on how they could construct some for their own keeps.
Hermione decided to give him the same answer as they had done with those lords. “I would be more than pleased to share the designs with you. I’m sure a noble lord such as you can afford the cost.”
“Indeed. I can easily see the importance of such an investment. If you would give me a quote, I will gladly provide payment at the time of installation.”
Hermione couldn’t help but smile. He was just as shrewd with his language as she was; withholding the funds until he saw the item in question. Smart.
“Of course, though if you would permit this discussion to be held later, I’d be glad to speak of it in more detail. I have other matters to tend to at this time however. So, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I had better be on my way.”
“Of course,” he replied. “If there is even more time before this visit is over, I could also pass on some reading recommendations that might be a tad more interesting than the one you’ve got there.”
“I would like that very much, my lord,” Hermione said warmly. “Thank you.” She started to open the door but turned back with a thoughtful expression. “My Lord, I’m sure you have heard of the intended marriage between Prince Joffrey and Sansa Stark.”
“I have indeed,” Lord Tyrion confirmed. “Poor girl.”
“Yes, well, knowing the prince as you do…” she paused, wondering how to word her request. “I’m worried for her. She’s very naïve and doesn’t seem to have any inkling of his…”
“Malice?” Lord Tyrion put forward. “Barbarity?”
“Quite,” she admitted with a sigh. “I’m sure with the King and Lord Stark nearby to keep an eye on him he won’t be too bad, but if he is, I won’t be there to help. I wonder if you could possibly watch out for her, if you can? I know it’s a lot to ask but if you could do this kindness for me, I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Lannisters aren’t known for their kindness, hasn’t anyone told you that?” He asked.
“I’m sorry, my lord, I shouldn’t have—”
“I would be honored, my lady,” he said with an incline of his head.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, then frowned. “But I’m really no lady.”
He shrugged. “Not by birth, perhaps.”
She smiled. “Good day, Lord Tyrion.”
“Good day, Hermione.”
Nymeria was waiting obediently for her when she opened the door.
“Good girl,” Hermione said before walking down the steps of the library tower. “Come on, let’s go free Arya from Septa Mordane’s clutches. I believe the boys are engaging in a bout of sword fighting and you and I both know she wouldn’t want to miss that!”
Arya was happy to see them. Hermione told a little white lie to Septa Mordane about Arya being summoned by her mother, which excused the girl from needlework with her sister and Princess Myrcella.
The two girls found Jon observing the sword bouts a reasonable distance from the courtyard, Ghost at his heels. The direwolf pup stood up at the approach of Nymeria but after they sniffed each other for a moment they quickly became at ease in each other’s presence. Jon eyed Hermione and Arya curiously as they approached. “Shouldn’t you be working on your stitches, little sister?” He asked Arya.
“Hermione freed me from that torture,” Arya explained with a shrug.
Jon laughed. “You’re a bad influence on her,” he told Hermione.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m leaving then, isn’t it?” She retorted lightly.
Jon frowned, looking conflicted about something but a loud clang brought his attention back to the fight happening in the yard. Bran and Prince Tommen were currently holding the center of attention. Each boy had been severely padded to make sure that no harm would come to them—even their wooden swords were covered. It was a strange sight to watch the boys try to swat each other despite their cumbersome attire while Ser Rodrik Cassel watched on.
Robb and Harry were calling encouragement to Bran but Theon looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. Other young men stood watching that Hermione didn’t recognize, so she assumed they were part of the royal party. Prince Joffrey was there too, looking haughtily bored, as per usual. If she’d been in her direwolf form Hermione knew she would have growled at the sight of him. There was something about the prince that she really didn’t trust and Lord Tyrion’s comments had only made her more concerned.
Next to the prince stood a giant of a man with black hair. He wore armor, as did most of those present, but there were large burn marks all over one side of his face. She had heard of this man; Sandor Clegane, otherwise known as “The Hound”. He was something of a bodyguard to Prince Joffrey and Hermione didn’t doubt that he was good at his job.
Prince Tommen landed a soft blow to Bran’s thigh. Arya clicked her tongue. “I could do just as good as Bran.”
Jon stretched out a hand and squeezed the muscle of her arm. “You’re too skinny. I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one.”
Arya scowled at him.
There was a yell from the courtyard. Prince Tommen had fallen to the ground and with all the padding he was wearing he struggled to get up. Bran had his sword raised ready to strike again but Ser Rodrik called an end to the fight. The crowd applauded Bran’s victory.
Hermione rolled her eyes as Robb’s direwolf pup, Grey Wind, and Bran’s as yet unnamed pup joined their little party. The direwolves engaged in the usual sniffing and light nipping greeting before coming to a rest near her. Grey Wind pawed at her leg until she relented to let him nip her hand too.
“Who will go another round?” Ser Rodrik asked the assembled boys.
“This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik,” Prince Joffrey drawled.
“You are children,” Theon barked derisively.
“You lot may be children,” Joffrey said, his gaze lingering on Robb. “I am a prince and I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword.
“You got more swats than you gave, Joff,” Robb retorted. “Are you afraid of going up against me?”
“Oh, terrified,” the prince replied mockingly, causing some of his friends in the royal party to laugh.
“Joffrey is truly a little shit,” Jon commented, watching the scene closely.
“What are you suggesting?” Ser Rodrik asked the prince.
“Live steel.”
“Done,” Robb replied at once. “You’ll be sorry!”
Ser Rodrik put a hand on Robb’s shoulder. “Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges.”
The large burned knight Hermione had noticed earlier stepped forward. “This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?”
“Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it,” Ser Rodrik replied angrily.
“Are you training women here?” The Hound scoffed.
“I am training knights,” Ser Rodrik said evenly. “They will have steel when they are ready.”
“How old are you, boy?” The Hound asked Robb.
“Sixteen.”
“I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword.”
Robb stiffened with wounded pride. “Let me do it,” he asked of Ser Rodrik. “I can beat him.”
“Beat him with a tourney blade, then,” Ser Rodrik insisted.
Joffrey shrugged, smirk firmly in place. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not too old.”
Hermione clenched her fists as the courtyard echoed with more laughter from Joffrey’s friends. “I’m not allowed to slap a prince, am I?” She asked Jon.
His jaw dropped a little. “Of course not!”
“I thought as much,” she sighed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She moved along the edge of the yard, anxious not to draw attention to herself. Harry and Theon each had a restraining hand on Robb as he glared at Prince Joffrey.
“Come, Tommen,” Joffrey said loudly. “The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics.”
More condescending laughter rang out as Hermione retrieved her wand from within her inner cloak pocket and held it at her side. She waited until the prince was near a particularly muddy part of the yard before flicking her wand a couple of times.
Prince Joffrey’s finely embroidered breeches dropped to his ankles. With another flick of her wand and a whispered incantation the prince tripped, flying face first towards the mud. A final jerk of the wand had his surcoat, mail and undergarments rising quickly up his body, so that a semi naked prince landed on the ground with an audible squelch.
There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone stared at Prince Joffrey’s pale bare bottom.
Prince Tommen giggled and soon there were cries of laughter all around the yard. Joffrey raised his head from the ground, his face and hair caked in mud and Hermione almost felt guilty at her rash actions. The prince quickly stumbled to his feet, pulling up his breeches and ran for the nearest building. The little part of his face that was visible was flaming scarlet in color. The Hound strolled leisurely after him and Hermione thought that even he looked somewhat amused.
Harry looked at her in disbelief as Robb clutched at his side while he laughed, Arya rolled on the floor as she cackled, and Theon had to lean against the wall to keep himself upright.
She turned back to Jon and Arya, carefully tucking her wand out of sight.
“Please tell me you didn’t,” Jon breathed, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hermione replied. “I just went to stretch my legs.”
Jon scoffed and shook his head again, yet it seemed like he was struggling to be serious. Behind his forced-firm expression, he too was trying very hard not to smile.
The crowd in the courtyard started to depart, many of them still chuckling. Hermione looked over at Arya. “You’d better get back to Septa Mordane before anyone gets suspicious,” she advised.
Arya groaned. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” Hermione and Jon replied in unison.
“It’s not long until tonight’s feast,” Hermione pointed out. “A few more minutes of needlework and no one will ever be the wiser.
Arya grimaced. “Alright. Promise you’ll free me tomorrow, too?”
Hermione shook her head. “If I do it too often, they’ll know. There’s a big hunt tomorrow anyway, so everyone will be at that.”
Arya left, looking glum, Nymeria padding after her.
“I really do need to stretch my legs now,” Hermione said. “Fancy a walk in the Godswood?”
Jon agreed so Hermione instructed Grey Wind and Bran’s pup to go back to their masters.
“I still can’t believe what you just did,” Jon muttered as they entered the quiet woodland.
Hermione shrugged. “I told you. I don’t like it when someone insults people I care about.”
“You should watch that temper of yours,” Jon suggested. “It’s bound to get you in trouble one day.”
“Probably,” Hermione agreed. “But I bet Joffrey gets away with everything, just because he’s a prince.”
“Of course, he does,” Jon replied.
“Well, he shouldn’t,” she argued. “It’s not fair.”
“You and I both know that life’s anything but fair,” Jon pointed out with a grim smile.
They had reached the pool by the hearttree. According to Lord Stark it was here that she and Harry had first appeared. It felt like a long time since she’d woken up in that small room with the broken furniture. Sometimes it felt like her life at Hogwarts had been a dream, or something that had happened to someone else. Those were the times when she’d get scared. She didn’t want her time in her real world to feel fake. That was where she belonged; that was her home. Not here. It could never be here…
“Sansa’s desperate to have a dance with Prince Joffrey after the feast tonight,” Hermione said, as she watched a red leaf fall gracefully into the black pool.
“Somehow I doubt he’s going to be in a dancing mood,” Jon said wryly.
“Well, if there is a dance, I’ll partner with you,” Hermione announced. “Just to annoy Lady Catelyn.”
“She’d be more annoyed if you danced with Robb, believe me,” he replied, looking amused.
A hot sensation rushed through her. “Why?”
Jon shook his head. “Never mind.”
Hermione bit her lip. She shouldn’t ask, it would only make things worse… “Sansa said something very silly yesterday,” she said, staring at the water.
“Did she?” Jon didn’t sound surprised.
“Yes.” Hermione could feel her cheeks heating up. “She... she said... she said Robb’s in love with me.”
Jon didn’t say anything.
Hermione raised her eyes to his, desperately searching for confirmation that Sansa’s belief was as ludicrous as she thought it was. “She’s wrong, isn’t she?” Hermione pressed.
“He’s never said it to me in so many words,” Jon said cautiously. “But it’s plain for everyone to see.”
“Then everyone’s wrong,” Hermione insisted. She didn’t want to talk about Robb anymore; she couldn’t, it was too confusing. “I don’t want you to go to the Wall,” she blurted.
Jon started to clench his jaw. “It’s not up to you.”
“I want more for you, Jon,” she said. “You don’t deserve a life like that.”
“The men of the Night’s Watch have guarded the kingdoms for eight-thousand years,” he argued. “It’s a noble calling.”
“To spend the rest of your freezing days in the company of murderers and rapists? You and I have both seen what happens should you change your mind after taking those vows.”
“This is my choice. My life,” Jon maintained. “I’m a bastard.”
Hermione scoffed. “That shouldn’t matter—”
“Well, it does!” He was angry now. “In your world it might not be a problem but here I’m Jon fucking Snow! It’s who I am and who I’ll always be. The Wall is the only place that will treat me the same as everyone else. Is it so bad for me to want that?”
“But a family,” Hermione reminded him. “You’ll never have a family of your own. I don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t. And that’s your problem, Hermione. You’re determined to see the world the way you want it to be, not how it is. People will always treat us different because you’re a woman and I’m a bastard and there’s nothing you can do about it. Robb is in love with you and everyone knows it, and Harry doesn’t want to go to the Citadel!” He yelled, startling a few birds from a nearby tree.
Hermione stared at him, her eyes stinging. She blinked to wash the tears away.
Jon’s anger melted into regret as he realized what he had said. He sighed and took a step forward, hand outstretched. “Hermione, I’m sorry.”
She swatted his hand away. “Don’t.”
“I shouldn’t have said all that,” he admitted, looking ashen. She turned and started walking away from him so that he wouldn’t see that he’d made her cry. Jon tried to follow but she started to run. “Hermione! Wait!”
She didn’t stop running until she got to her room. She locked the door with a wave of her wand and threw herself onto her bed, sobbing.
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Not when she was so close to starting her journey home.
After a few minutes she rolled onto her back and stared at the stone ceiling.
Jon was right—at least where Harry was concerned. She’d seen the looks that flitted across his face whenever the Citadel was mentioned: worry, guilt, dread, she’d seen them all but hadn’t wanted to. She couldn’t pretend anymore. She needed to talk to Harry.
Glancing out of the window, she could see that it was dusk. The feast would be starting but she was in no state to attend.
Despite her miserable mood, she smiled as she heard a scratching noise at her door. The entire litter of direwolf pups were waiting outside, bursting in when she opened the door. Hermione physically and magically locked her door before transforming herself. For a few minutes she could forget about what lay ahead as she looked after the pups, or rather, they looked after her.
Her ears pricked as someone knocked at her door. It smelt like Jon and food. She considered ignoring him but realized that he probably felt pretty wretched too. She became human again and unlocked the door.
He looked so morose standing there with a plate of chicken and loaf of bread, that she started crying again and threw her arms around him. He stiffened at first then hugged her back, plate of food and all.
“I’m sorry,” they said together.
Hermione pulled away and hiccoughed.
“Seven hells, that’s a lot of direwolves,” Jon said, noticing all the pups that sniffed hopefully at the chicken, tails wagging.
She set the plate down for them, not feeling too hungry. “They seemed to know that I was upset,” Hermione said thickly, causing Jon to wince. “I shouldn’t have pushed you about the Wall. I just want what’s best of you because you’re one of my closest friends and I care about you.”
“I’m not used to people caring about me,” Jon replied gruffly. “Thank you.”
Hermione sniffed. “You were right about Harry, but I honestly didn’t know about Robb. I’m not used to someone caring about me that way. People barely seemed to notice I was a girl before I came here.”
They watched the pups fight over the chicken for a while. It didn’t take long for it to all disappear.
“What are you going to do?” He asked softly.
“I need to talk to Harry,” she said heavily.
Jon nodded. “I’ll be around, after, if you need me.”
She wrapped an arm around him again. “You are a wonderful man, Jon Snow.”
Jon grunted, looking at her tear-stained cheeks. “I don’t feel like one.”
“You told me what I needed to know,” Hermione pointed out. “Not what I wanted to hear. Don’t lose that.”
She pulled away. “I’m going to wait for Harry,” she said. “If I don’t see you later tonight, come and get me for weapons training in the morning. I have a feeling I’ll have a lot of pent-up aggression to get out.”
Jon nodded. “Of course.” He walked out the door, Hermione motioning for the pups to do the same. “Good luck.”
“Hermione, why weren’t you at the feast?” Harry asked with concern when he saw her waiting outside his room. “Have you been crying?”
“Let’s go inside,” she suggested.
Harry frowned. “Okay.”
Once they had sat on his bed, she took one of his hands between her own. The gesture immediately alerted him. “Hermione, what’s going on?”
“I know you don’t want to go to the Citadel.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “What? Of course, I do. We need to find a way to get home.”
“Have you given up? Is that it?” She asked, ignoring his denial.
“I—I,” he stammered.
“We don’t belong here, Harry. We should be at Hogwarts! I can’t believe you’re happy to be stuck here for the rest of your life!” She told herself she was going to be calm, but she’d realized quite quickly that wasn’t going to happen.
“Of course, I’m not happy about!” Harry cried, pulling his hands back and walking away from her. “You think I like being here where things are so backwards and primitive?”
“Then why don’t you want to go to the Citadel?” Hermione yelled, getting to her feet. “Why aren’t you fighting this fate?”
“Because it’s impossible, Hermione! We don’t know the first thing about making a device to take us between worlds and no one at the Citadel will either!”
Hermione raised her hands in exasperation. “How can you know that when we haven’t even tried? Of course we’ll never get back if we just stay here and do nothing. It could take years, decades, a thousand different places to find the answers that we seek.”
“And what if we never find them?” Harry asked firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hermione, what if we’ve wasted our entire lives searching for something that doesn’t exist?”
“I don’t believe that.” Hermione shook her head. “Magic brought us here; it can take us back.”
“But what if it can’t?” He insisted.
“I don’t belong here, Harry,” she said each syllable with vehemence. “It’s different for you—you’re a man! You can do whatever you want. If I stay here I’d be expected to have a husband and some children. That’s it! I need more than that!”
“Then make it more. You’ve got magic—use it!”
“And what about our friends, family?” Hermione entreated.
“My parents are dead,” Harry pointed out flatly. “And I don’t miss the Dursleys in the slightest.”
“But what about my family?” She replied angrily. “What about Ron? And Sirius?”
Harry winced, then stared at her with a steely resolution she’d never seen in him before. “Sirius is gone, Hermione. Has been the second we fell off of Buckbeak. It’s over. There’s nothing I can do. You know that I don’t want it to be this way but… I can’t live my life clinging on to an impossible dream.”
“You promised me!” The tears started to fall again. “You promised we’d find a way home.”
Harry frowned sadly and walked forwards to console her. “I’m sorry, Hermione. We’ll figure something out, I prom—”
“Don’t you dare!” She cried. “Don’t you ever promise me anything again!” She turned her back on him and tried to make sense of what she was going to do now.
Harry hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Hermione took her wand out of her pocket. There was only one thing that she could do. “I’m sorry too, Harry.” She turned around and aimed her wand at him. “Stupefy!”