I own nothing except bits of the plot

Chapter Nineteen

Hermione ignored the confused and curious glances thrown her way by the people of Laketown. Her audience with Thandruil hadn't gone unnoticed by the townspeople though they were too nervous and frightened to directly confront her about it. Alfrid wasn't to be included amongst those villagers for he had no problem sprouting out rumours for her presence with the elf king and while many were happy to ignore the ramblings of a distrusted man there were still some that paid attention and began to glare at her with suspicion. Normally Hermione would've just shrugged it off but her nerves were on edge as she thought about the upcoming confrontation with Thorin, so she snapped at anyone she caught looking toward her and if it hadn't been for Bard interfering she would've punched Alfrid. The bowman had firmly redirected her away from anyone who could potentially trigger her anger; since there were limited places in Dale that weren't already occupied by either elves or villagers Hermione was guided toward a balcony that overlooked Erebor.

"Get yourself in check." Bard had said quietly but firmly once they were far enough away.

Hermione shot him a glare and watched as he turned on his heel and down a spiral of stairs. She cast a warming charm on the balcony as the frigid air became unbearable. The effect was immediate and she uncrossed her arms to lean on the barrister (after first checking its strength) to look across at the lone mountain. The gates of Erebor were hidden yet the torches still flickered in the night sky, the fire bright but not particularly welcoming. She wondered what Thorin was doing, if he was still searching through the gold piles like a crazed man for the Arkenstone or if he was trying to fight the influence of the gold. She liked to think he was fighting it, that Bilbo was mistaken but that was her heart hoping while her brain told her to expect the worst. For all she had said to the men earlier, she wasn't sure she would be able to pull Thorin away from the curse of gold sickness with only words; it would take magic to override such dark power and she wasn't sure where to begin looking for such spells. There were cleaning spells and cleansing charms that she'd read of but had never attempted since they were for students in seventh year and even if she had wanted to cast them, she doubted the maturity of her magic to do so.

With a sigh Hermione turned her back to the mountain and slumped to the ground. She needed to form a plan because even though the confrontation with Thorin would be unpredictable, she didn't want to go completely unprepared. First, she would try to reason with him and, hopefully, with the other dwarves; if she could get them to see that his behaviour wasn't normal perhaps they could convince him to listen to reason. She doubted that would work; the company were loyal to Thorin and even if they doubted the wellness of his mind, they wouldn't betray him. Still, there was a chance she could reach him. Should that fail, they would resort to using the Arkenstone against him; surely he would give whatever jewels or coin away to get it back? After all, the journey had been to retrieve this particular gem that was so dear to Thorin and the dwarves. Her last option, and her least favourite, was to use magic. A number of spells could easily subdue him while she removed the barricade Bilbo had described so that she and Bard could collect what was necessary. There was always the option of trying to cleanse the illness from his mind before any attempt at getting past the blockade and into the mountain.

That was the part she was struggling with; what in her world could cure an illness like gold sickness? It didn't even exist in Earth. The closest thing she could think of with similarities would be the effect dementors had and that comparison was weak at best. She supposed the patronus charm could work given its uses for pushing away creatures of darkness with light however Thorin wasn't being attacked by a dark creature; it was his mind. Although, her mind whispered, magic was different in this world. She had already seen the change in her patronus charm when cast in Middle Earth; who's to say it couldn't work? It couldn't hurt, she decided, nodding to herself.

Needless to say, Hermione didn't sleep well that night; in fact, she barely slept. She had sought out a sheltered room by a fire to sleep and had spent the night tossing and turning restlessly, her mind playing different scenarios in an attempt to predict what might happen in the morning. By the time the sun began to peak over the hillside Hermione was nursing a cup of warm tea, the dark bags under her eyes a telltale sign that sleep hadn't come easy. She could barely manage to drink the tea although the heat helped to warm her icy fingers.

"Hermione, have you seen Bilbo?" Gandalf hurried to her, his hand grasping his wooden staff anxiously.

She shook her head, "No, not since last night." She eyed the older wizard with something close to exasperation, "What now?"

"I cannot find him," he admitted begrudgingly. "I told him to leave; once Thorin finds out what he did..." he trailed off uncertainly.

Hermione sighed and stood, stretching out her tired muscles. "Bilbo will be fine; he's survived this long, hasn't he?"

Truthfully Hermione was more worried about Thorin and the darkness that had over taken him. She still wasn't confident that she would be enough to cleanse the gold sickness from his mind, soul mate or not. What did she know about soul mates that could truly help? That was really the only reason anyone had taken her seriously since she had fallen into Middle Earth – because she was Thorin's soul mate. She knew that wasn't entirely true; she had been the one to kill Smaug and her magic was greater than that of Gandalf's but a large part of her still doubted what so many others believed; she had a soul mate.

"When are they leaving for the mountain?" Hermione asked tiredly once Gandalf had stopped muttering under his breath about foolish hobbits.

He furrowed his brows and pursed his lips as if contemplating the best way to tell her. "Hermione, they already left. They are approaching the gates as we speak."

Hermione felt her eyes widen and anger swiftly broke through her normally calm nature. She was on her feet, hands quickly moving to secure her sword to her side as she walked. She only quickened once the blade was secure, jogging lightly through Dale on the road that led directly to Erebor. As she made her out of Dale and down the rocky path, Hermione pushed aside her fear and uncertainty to make room for her determination and Gryffindor courage. She could do this, she chanted to herself. She forced herself to ignore the army of elves marching in unison, her eyes zeroing in on the two figures riding on horses (or moose) and knew she had to get to them. By the time they had stopped in front of the gates she had reached the bottom of the smaller mountain that Dale sat upon. She broke into a sprint, adrenaline pumping furiously in her veins. She didn't notice her breathlessness or the ache in her legs, all she could focus on was the backs of the elves in front of her. When Hermione finally reached the elven army she had assumed that they would let her pass. There was no break in the line for her to slip through and as she made to push through, the elves tightened ranks and held steadfast.

"Move!" She demanded, now unable to see what was happening at the gates. She was too short to see over the tall statures of the elves.

None paid her any attention, eyes set firmly in front waiting for orders to attack or move. Any attempt Hermione made to push through was useless; physically, the elves were stronger and although she was desperate to get to the gates, she didn't want to do more damage by attacking the elves with magic. Her somewhat pleasant (if it could be could that) relationship with Thandruil was timid and there was no doubt in her mind that the King could be ruthless as he was petty.

"Come on, Hermione, think!" She muttered to herself angrily.

Aside from using magic to push the elves aside (which she was not willing to do - yet) or somehow managing to be quick enough to crawl through their legs, there was no doubt that she was stuck. Had she been older it wouldn't have been an issue; she would've been able to apparate where she wanted.

However...

There was no reason, really, that she couldn't try it. There were no underage laws in Middle Earth that prevented her from the magical transportation and really, if anyone could do it underage it would be Hermione. She had read enough about the theory to understand how it worked and the dangers associated with it and she was confident that she had the ability to avoid being splinched. She bit her lip and took a few steps away before taking a deep breath. She concentrated on her mental picture of the gates of Erebor, focused on the rocks and the destroyed bridge and commanded her magic to take her there. It was a strange feeling, almost as if she were being sucked through a hole and spat out, a loud crack bursting around her. It took a little too long for her to recover, a slight ringing in her ears and an ache throughout her body that hadn't been there before. The overachiever in her wanted to cheer loudly that she had managed to apparate without splinching herself while underage and she nearly did, until she remembered she wasn't alone.

Hermione noticed Thandruil and Bard looking down at her with disbelief and awe. She mustered her most intimidating glare that always worked on Ron and Harry; she wasn't disappointed, Bard's expression shifting into one of guilt and apology. Thandruil on the other hand responded with amusement and that only made her angrier.

"Forget to tell me something?" She asked snidely.

Bard winced at her tone while Thandruil cast his gaze back toward the mountain, "My mistake." The elven king drawled unapologetically. "Although I must admit, your timing is impeccable."

Hermione frowned, following his gaze up the stone wall to the balcony. She could see the faces of the dwarven company although none were looking down at the army below, too busy trying to pull Thorin off of Bilbo. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face as Thorin grabbed the hobbit by his shirt and dragged him to the edge, ready to toss him over.

"Thorin, no!" Hermione shouted.

Thorin froze, his eyes moving from Bilbo's face to frantically search below. His eyes widened and even from a distance she could see the glaze covering his blue eyes. It was unnerving for her to see and she could only hope her words would be able to break through the spell overtaking him.

"Hermione?" He said her name with such longing.

Even from the ground she could see his grip on Bilbo loosening although he didn't let her go completely. "Thorin, stop this." She pleaded quietly. "Erebor is yours; no one's going to take that from you."

"The Arkenstone..." he started, his thick brows furrowed in confusion.

"All they want is the gold they need to rebuild their homes," Hermione said gently, "They don't care about the Arkenstone; they'll give it to you. Just let us in, let me in."

Thorin seemed almost entranced by her words and Hermione began to hope that she wouldn't need to resort to magic. Then his expression shifted, his eyes growing dark and his hands tightening on Bilbo yet again. She had no idea what had caused Thorin to react but knew she needed to get control of the situation. She didn't know if she'd be able to apparate so soon again – she couldn't even say if her first had been a fluke.

"Thorin, no!" She cried, watching as he hauled Bilbo further over the edge.

He glared down at her as if she were an enemy, "I trusted him and he betrayed me! He stole the Arkenstone. You," he spat the words out, "you're helping them! They will not get a single coin from this mountain."

Gandalf chose that moment to appear, having no problem pushing through the army. "If you have a problem with my burglar then please, return him to me," Gandalf boomed. "You're not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain, are you, Thorin son of Thrain?" Gandalf called.

Hermione was relieved to see Thorin toss the hobbit aside and moments later Bilbo scurried down the stone wall on a rope while Thorin cursed those below. Bard tried to negotiate with Thorin, distracting him more than anything while the hobbit hurried to safety, for it seemed the dwarf king was too far under the effects of gold sickness to care. He didn't bat an eyelid at the threat of war, his eyes turning to scan the hillside with hope. Silence fell upon them and Hermione knew it was time to try a magic solution but as she raised her hand to cast a spell, a large black crow swooped toward the dwarves, cawing loudly. A smile began to stretch on Thorin's face and he looked back toward the hillside.

"I will have war." The words were quiet but powerful.

As if it were timed to his words, the distinct sound of metal clinking and unified marching broke over the hillside. All turned their gaze toward the hill as first long spears appeared and then the figures carrying them. Hermione squinted, unable to make out anything clearly except for a horde descending upon them with the sun rising in the sky behind them.

"Ironfoot." Gandalf muttered to himself.

As the horde descended down into the clearing it became clear it was an army of dwarves. A figure led them riding what looked suspiciously like a hog. The company above cheered loudly, clanging their swords against their armour. Hermione wanted to curse them. Thandruil steered his majestic moose through his army shouting out orders in elvish as he did so, Bard following on his horse and even Gandalf redirected himself toward the newcomers. Hermione hesitated, wanting nothing more than to go to Thorin and set his mind at peace but there was a feeling nagging at the back of her mind and reluctantly she followed the wizard in time to hear him name the newcomer as Thorin's cousin.

"I've always found Thorin to be the more reasonable of the two."

"Great." Hermione muttered under her breath at Gandalf's words.

The further through the elven army they pushed, the more anxious Hermione became and it wasn't because of the threat of war posed by the dwarves. Such were her nerves that she didn't even notice the loud voice of Dain as it rang through the air. The humans amongst the elven army backed away uncomfortably as Dain shouted threateningly at them while the elves stepped forward menacingly.

"Come now, Lord Dain." Gandalf called out, stepping forward to reason with the irate dwarf lord.

"Gandalf the Grey. Tell this rabble to leave, or I'll water the ground with their blood." Dain returned with eagerness.

Gandalf hurried forward, "There is no need for war between dwarves, men and elves. A legion of orcs march on the Mountain. Stand down." He pleaded.

It was useless it seemed but Hermione wasn't exactly surprised, "I will not stand down before any elf." He spat. "Not least this faithless Woodland sprite. He wishes nothing but ill upon my people. If he chooses to stand between me and my kin I'll split his pretty head open!" Dain exclaimed loudly so all could hear. "See if he's still smirking then!"

Hermione rubbed a hand across her forehead tiredly, wondering if she were dealing with children. Harry and Ron acted more mature, she thought.

"He's clearly mad, like his cousin." Thandruil returned testily.

Dain grinned, "You hear that, lads? We're on!" He nudged his hog until it turned and trotted back to the line of dwarves. "Let's give these bastards a good hammering!"

Everything shifted in that moment; the dwarves shouted to each other, shifting and clanging their weapons against their shields as they prepared for battle. The elven army prepared themselves too, archers moving gracefully into position and protected by spear wielders. There was no need for it, in the end. The ground began to rumble gently at first, and then more fiercely, stones bouncing in the dirt from the force of it. All eyes were drawn behind them to the distant mountains where the rumbling originated. Hermione braced herself for what was to come, Galadriel's words ringing in her ears. This was it; this was the war that orchestrated to end the line of Durin.

What she was not prepared for was a giant worm creature to burst out of the mountain. It careened through the air as if gasping for breath before it tore into the earth and disappeared as half a dozen more appeared. Even from a distance Hermione could see the orcs pouring out of the hill like ants, scattering across the barren land. The dwarves didn't need prompting, moving into position to take on the onslaught, their previous fight with the elves forgotten. Thandruil and his army, however, stood still, watching as the dwarves set up a line of defence.

"The elves? Will they not fight?" Bilbo murmured to Gandalf, his eyes wide with horror.

Gandalf turned to the elven king who remained unmoving, his grey eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the orcs move swiftly. "Thandruil! This is madness!"

Thandruil looked coldly at the wizard but did not answer him. Hermione took a deep, steadying breath before moving swiftly toward the impending battle. Bilbo cried out for her and she was vaguely aware of Gandalf calling to her as well but she was determined to help make a difference. It didn't matter that her body was tense with fear or if her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. The dark forces at work here couldn't win – she wouldn't let them. If there was one thing stronger than her fear right now it was her determination and a determined Hermione could achieve anything she put her mind to.

Ignoring Gandalf and Bilbo's cries to her, Hermione put some distance between herself and the elves before reaching out a hand toward the oncoming orcs. Certain in her aim and intention, she let the magic flow out from her finger tips; she let her anger and frustration pour into her magic knowing just how much emotion can affect the outcome.

"Bombarda maxima!" Hermione shouted.

Hermione had never used bombarda in its maximum although she had seen it done by Umbridge. It had been strong enough then to blast open the walls of Hogwarts and that was by a rather average witch. Hermione expected something powerful but she was not expecting the first wave of orcs to be thrown backwards from the force of her spell and for the after effect of the explosion to ripple backwards and rip through the orcs still charging toward them. To their credit, the dwarven army didn't flinch at the sudden explosion and closed ranks, shields at the ready as they awaited the next wave. Hermione knew the orcs were too close to the dwarves for her to risk casting at them and instead directed her attention toward those still pouring from the mountain. She eyed the distance critically, doing her best to ignore the dwarven war cry not far from where she stood and trying to decide whether her magic was strong enough to carry over such a distance. Focused, she wasn't prepared for the rush of air that flew past as the elven army took action; she watched with wide eyes as the lithe warriors leapt over the dwarf barricade and into the stampede of orcs.

That was when the battle truly begun. Hermione didn't have time to think, unsheathing her sword as orcs made it past the dwarves and elves. She lost count of how many she cut down, mixing magic with sword to defend herself. No matter which direction she turned, there were orcs. It didn't matter how many she cut down, five more seemed to appear. There were screams echoing down into the valley from Dale; combined with the smoke rising into the sky from the old city Hermione knew the orcs were close to overtaking it. She had long since lost sight of Gandalf or Bilbo; she couldn't even find Thandruil on his regal stead or Bard atop his horse.

A brief scan around and she realised belatedly that Erebor was mostly left alone. There were no dwarves trying to get inside nor any elves or men begging for entry. Hermione knew Thorin had a part to play in this battle and she was determined to be there to protect him from his fate. She almost expected him to have already joined the battle but even from a distance she could see the top of his and the other's heads from the walls of the mountain. What were they doing up there? Why weren't they helping? The answer to both those questions was the same – the gold sickness. Hermione almost couldn't believe how long it had taken her to remember the illness still cursing Thorin and twisting his mind. That needed to fixed, she thought.

Carefully Hermione manoeuvred through the battle and back toward the Mountain, cutting and stabbing any orc that crossed her path. She stumbled over bodies littered on the ground and hastily avoided the swords swiping at her with deadly precision. More than once the edge of a blade caught her but she was quick enough on her feet that the most damage she had to endure were cuts to her arms and stomach. None were deep enough to need immediate medical attention and she pushed the pain behind the adrenaline and fear flowing through her. I'll fix them later, she thought.

Back in front of the keep, Hermione stumbled behind a fallen statue breathless. She rested her head back against the stone, her chest heaving from the exertion it took getting there. She was exhausted. It was beyond anything she'd ever experienced before; OWLs had been a breeze compared with this. With a groan, Hermione pushed back onto her feet; a second longer and she doubted whether her legs would've been able to hold her weight. Casting a quick glance around to make sure she wasn't about to be attacked, Hermione reached for the rope that Bilbo had used earlier and began to hoist herself up the wall. She didn't dare look down, the height making her nerves stand on end. Sweat pooled down her neck and through her hairline cleaning away the dirt that had accumulated on her skin from the fight. She ignored the beads trickling into her eyes and the temptation to brush them away, ignored the burning in her hands from dragging herself up the rope.

As she neared the top, she reached a hand out to the ledge and pulled only to freeze when her arms began to shake from overuse. Her fingers clutched at both the rope and the jagged edge of the stone wall, her breaths coming out in short puffs. She tried to focus, to push through the physical pain that was beginning to make itself known in her limbs, terrified that she would end up plunging to her death and failing Thorin.

Suddenly another hand was there, wrapping around her wrist tightly and tugged her upward. She used her feet to walk up the wall in an attempt to help and a force pulled her over the edge and onto solid ground. Panting quietly Hermione let herself be still and be thankful that she hadn't slipped and fallen to her death although she wasn't certain what awaited her in the mountain. She opened her eyes and blinked.

"What do you think you were doin' lass? Tryin' to get yourself killed?"

A/N: we're nearing the end now. Maybe two or three chapters left (I hope). I wanted to include more of Hermione and Thorin but it didn't quite work out that way but it'll definitely be there in the next chapter. Thanks for all the reviews! Let me know what you think.