Chapter 11

Warning: Animal Abuse :(

Hermione, dressed in the traveling garb she had packed for herself, was going out to wander the city for the afternoon. A shy young dwarf had dropped off bread, cheese and some dried meats for her breakfast and lunch, but had only stayed long enough to see the bundle into her hands before he had scampered off. She had eaten, made note of what had happened to her thus far in a small journal that Ginny had insisted that she keep, and had then found herself rather at a loss as to what to do with herself.

When she opened her door, however, she felt as though her heart was ready to leap out of her chest.

Strung by a rope in front of her door was a dead cat.

She had been so startled that she had let out a strangled gasp, before slamming her door shut, her heart hammering in her chest. Obviously someone was less than pleased to have her staying in the area. Gathering her wits together, and hoping her heart would slow its thunderous pace, Hermione paced over to the window and peaked out at it.

She could, of course, just banish the thing and be done with it, but she wasn't sure if Dwalin and Thorin meant for everyone under the mountain to know that she was a witch or not. While they had not indicated such in so many words, she could tell that they had been uncomfortable with it, and if people were hanging dead cats outside her door for merely being a woman? No, she didn't think that going around casting magic any which way would be earning her any favors.

She would have to deal with it on a physical level then, and the thought made her stomach churn. She had always been a self-proclaimed cat person, and this reminded her all too much of what had happened to poor Mrs. Norris all those years ago.

Rummaging into the traveling bag that she had left unshrunk, she quickly found what she was looking for. The knife that she had brought along was tucked safely into its sheath, and Hermione quickly fastened the straps around her thigh. She was not going to be going wandering around the city unarmed if there were such malevolent characters running amok.

She would need to bring evidence of this to the guardhouse though.

She quickly found a discarded piece of parchment and transfigured it into a sack. The idea of carrying the dead cat all the way to the guard house made her stomach churn, but they really ought to know. Pulling out the blade, she opened her door and holding her breath began hacking at the thick rope that held the cat. It was done quickly and she almost dropped the poor thing when the last bit of the rope was severed. Careful not to touch it, Hermione gently guided the cat into the sack.

She let out her breath and quickly shut the sack so that she wouldn't have to look at it anymore. Thinking there was no time like the present, she turned smartly and shut the door of her house and was about to walk away when she stared down at the lock. There wasn't that much inside, she had left out the traveling bag which held some clothing, cooking gear and a sleeping role, but she wasn't sure she felt comfortable leaving the entire place unlocked. It would be something else that she would have to talk to the guards about. Maybe they had the key to the place.

With a sigh she shouldered her way back into the room, shrunk her pack and stuffed it hastily into her pocket. The thought of leaving it, just felt like asking for trouble. Glancing around the room, she decided that there wasn't really much more she could do. If anyone did come in, she didn't want there to be anything that would make them any more suspicious of her.

Shaking her head at the trouble, she quickly went back out her door, and was down the dim alleyway without a backwards glance.

Once she was out onto the main road though, she wished she were back in the privacy of her temporary abode. When she had walked down the street yesterday with Dwalin there had been the impolite staring that occurred, but it had mostly been dwarves trying to snatch glances on the sly. Now as she walked, her head held purposefully high, there was a constant muttering buzz that seemed to follow her and the dwarves had no reservations about stopping what they had been doing and openly appraising her. She could feel her cheeks burn at the unwarranted attention, the bag in her hand feeling like it weighed ten tons.

Was the dwarf that had left her such an ominous surprise one of the dwarves that stood on the street now? The mere thought made her palms sweet slightly, and she desperately hoped that it was not the case. Despite her long and purposeful strides, the walk seemed to be taking forever. When she had been going the opposite way with Dwalin it had all seemed to fly by so quickly, with so many new sights to take in. Now, she could care less about the amazing architecture, and just desperately wanted to be out of the open.

Finally, she saw it. The squat building that sat in the middle of the main road, causing the road to split off into two directions. There was a single guard standing outside of the building, and as she approached she could feel the dwarf's eyes on her. She had expected to be let in with little trouble, but as she moved to climb the short stairs into the building the guard had thrust his spear in front of her path.

"What business do you have here?" the dwarf asked. His tone was cold and suspicious, and the cold eyes that glared down at her did nothing to ease her worries. Were all dwarves like this, Hermione thought to herself. Were Thorin, Balin and even the unsociable Dwalin exceptions to the rule?

"I have come to see if Dwalin was here. I have something to discuss with him," Hermione said, keeping her voice steady as she met the dwarf's hard stare.

"He is not here," the dwarf replied quickly, although Hermione could not help but notice the way his gaze flickered slightly towards the building. "You will just have to try again later."

"Maybe there is someone else here that I might talk to?" Hermione tried. She was not leaving without talking to someone about this.

"Dwalin is the guardmaster. If you have business with him, you will have to speak with only him," the dwarf replied slightly smugly.

"I guess I will just have to wait then," Hermione replied, struggling to keep her own voice light. That did not seem to please the dwarf at all.

"There will be no loitering outside of the guardhouse!" he said, his voice fierce.

"Then maybe I could wait inside?" Hermione suggested, her patience growing shorter by the moment.

"Absolutely not."

"Look, I spent a good part of the day yesterday sitting in one of the rooms upstairs, surely I can -"

"Firun!" a new voice barked from the top of the stairs. Glancing up, Hermione felt her shoulders sag in relief. It was Dwalin. "Let the woman in."

Looking sour, the dwarf lifted his spear out of the way, and Hermione quickly climbed the stairs to where Dwalin stood. "Mr Dwalin -" she began before he cut her off.

"In," he said brusquely as he turned and walked further into the guardhouse, not turning to see if she was following him. He lead her into a small room, which upon looking around, was most certainly his office. He sat down behind a mighty stone desk, it's top so polished that the candles that sat upon its top made the surface gleam. "I believe I told you yesterday not to be making any trouble, and first thing today you come searching me out at the guard house," he said, breaking the silence.

"It was not me that was making the trouble," Hermione replied quickly, holding out the bag.

Eyeing the bag suspiciously, Dwalin raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "What's in the bag."

"A cat."

Dwalin's face wrinkled up in disgust, and he made no move to take the proffered sack. "Why in Mahal's name do you have," he paused sniffing cautiously, "a dead cat."

"It was hung outside my door," Hermione responded matter of factly. "I don't know if all of the visitors you have are treated in such a manner, but I will admit that opening my door to find a dead cat hanging in front of my face was not what I was expecting."

"Aye," Dwalin muttered, a rough calloused hand rubbing over his brow in frustration, "I expect not. Put the cat outside the door. I will see that someone disposes of the beast."

"And the dwarf that did this?" Hermione asked.

"I will have someone ask around and see if anyone saw anything odd," Dwalin replied as he leaned back in his chair.

This somehow did little to dampen the worry that she felt. She knew that were relatively little that he could do. In all likelihood if anyone had seen anything, and they were not keen on her staying the wouldn't say anything. "I would like the key to the house that you put me in."

Dwalin grunted in acknowledgement. "I dont have it in my possession, but I will have one of the lads drop it off when I do."

Hermione nodded at this. "Do you think this sort of thing will continue?"

At this, Dwalin let out a low sigh, before looking up at her, his gaze intent. "More than likely. The dwarrows that live here are not the most trusting bunch you will ever find," he said slowly, his eyes searching her face, but for what Hermione was not sure. "If you are looking for hospitality you would be better suited to try the Iron Hills."

"How unfortunate," Hermione said, with a small sigh of her own. "I seem to recall that someone said the roads would be impassable until the late spring."

At this, Dwalin let out a short bark of laughter. "Aye, lass. So they are." He stood up and took the sack from her, laying it against the wall. "Give the dwarrows some time. Once they see that nothing has really changed they will likely back off." He opened his door for her, before turning back. "I will post a guard outside your home this evening."

Hermione let out a tiny breath she hadn't known she had been holding. "Thank you," she said simply.

Dwalin only nodded. "Until then, try and stay out of trouble."

A small smile made it's way onto her face. Despite the bland manner in which Dwalin had said it, she could detect the slight hint of humor under it. Stay out of trouble, indeed. "I will try," she replied.

"That's all I ask."

Sorry it is short. This has been sitting on my computer for weeks upon weeks. I debated with myself about adding the next portion onto the end of this chapter, but I feel that it will make a better chapter by itself.

So, the story is not dead. Hurray!

... now I just have to keep on writing...