A/N: Have ya missed me? I've missed you! No internet is a heavy price to pay for a week in California! Ah, well. At least it's given me a little time to work on the story...I think there's only, like, four chapters left. Enjoy chapter 12!
How High Does The Sycamore Grow; If You Cut It Down It Down, Then You'll Never Know
The time until the first meeting was drawing closer, and the excitement was practically tangible. Everyone that had been at the meeting in Hogsmeade continuously shot looks at Harry, mostly anticipatory.
Harry had taken to freaking out lately; he barely found time to talk back in class, as he was constantly writing down lesson plans. Umbridge, the conceited hag that she was, believed that she had gotten him to see her way and that he was writing notes from the book; Hermione tried to convince him he shouldn't be writing DA plans in DADA, but he was confident Umbridge would never figure it out.
Not that the paper was charmed to be read only by him or anything of the sort.
Hermione, ever the over-achiever, always completed all her notes and gave them to Harry the night before each lesson so that he could prove to the toad he was actually doing something—which he wasn't, but why did she have to know that?
His lesson plans generally revolved around disarming, shield, and stunning spells with some added things later on, such as the Patronus charm.
Hermione, as Harry put his plans together, was busy working out the mechanics of the whole plan; where would they hold it and should they start spells right away or do something else?
No one had any idea of where to hold the meetings, because anywhere they thought of was too small for the amount of people that would show up. Hermione wondered if she could place an expansion charm on one of the rooms, but Umbridge was surely monitoring spells on unused classrooms and the magic could be traced back to one of them.
So that was why, two nights before the first meeting, Hermione was sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, nearly pulling her hair out. It had been her job to find a room or a place for them to meet, and now she was failing miserably, something she was not accustomed to. She dropped her head to the table and stared at the same word on her Potions essay, wondering if the ink had tattooed itself to her forehead yet, but not bothering to check.
Harry and Ron were looking at her, concerned, but trying not to say anything; when she was in a mood, she was a right fright to behold.
"I'm going for a walk," she announced, standing suddenly. Harry called to her as she reached the portrait and sent a low-power scourgify spell at her forehead; perhaps there had been a few words inked backwards about dittany and its properties in a blood-replenishing potion?
The Fat Lady nodded to her as she strode from the portrait with no destination in mind. Feeling nostalgic, she skipped to the second floor girls bathroom, Myrtle's bathroom, and traced the now-clean wall where once there had been horrible messages written to people like her. Second year had been no fun, especially when she had spent the last third of it frozen on a hospital bed. Still, it had been very educational, what with her knowledge of how to brew Polyjuice and all that.
But Myrtle's bathroom simply would not suffice for their meetings.
So she continued to walk about the castle, claiming patrol duty twice to different teachers, nodding at her fellow prefects.
She reached the base of the Astronomy tower, looking as far up the stairs as she could. Third year, saving Sirius from a fate worse than death, Harry and she had illegally released him from one of the rooms on the very top—rooms that were numerous and enormous.
But the Astronomy tower was off limits to non-prefect students after hours and would be far too suspicious.
As she was walking down the third floor, she continued to think about where they could possibly hold a meeting that no one would notice.
Suddenly, she heard a noise that stopped her in her tracks. It was high-pitched and low at the same time, smooth as silk and cold as ice, calling her name in an even tone.
"Hello?" She followed her steps back the way she came, peeking around corners, her wand out and at the ready. As she continued, she thought herself crazy. 'You've been concentrating on finding a room for the meeting so hard, you're going insane,' she scolded herself.
Then, she heard it again, from the other direction. Was it toying with her, or was she really going insane?
Probably a bit of both, and she was going to go even more insane if she didn't think of a room soon!
Even as some incredibly creepy voice stalked her, all she could think about was a room!
Suddenly, without warning, a door materialized from the wall, startling her into losing her footing as she tripped over the hemming of her robes. Now she was positive she was insane; in five years, she had never seen such a door on the third floor, and she knew all about the third floor; her first year was proof of that.
Shivering at the mental image of Fluffy that thought had conjured, she stepped carefully towards the door, making certain her wand was pointed at anything that could come out.
A distant clattering alerted her to the fact that she had dropped her wand, but none of that mattered when she took in the contents of the room.
Shelves lined one end of the room with titles such as 'Advanced Defense: A Guide to Everything You Want to Know and Some Things You'll Wish You Didn't' as well as 'Beginner's Luck: Simple Defense Spells to Get You Out of a Bind.'
The door behind her had melted into a wall of mirrors, and the rest of the room was the definition of a training room, sparse yet full, empty yet protected. How had she never seen this room before?
"I'm telling you—on the third floor, there is this amazing room that simply opens up into a training arena!" Ron and Harry both thought she was crazy; this much she knew.
"And how again did you find it?" Ron spoke slowly, as though to a two-year-old; she glared at him, complete with a pout.
"I walked down the corridor near Fluffy's old room," twin shudders at this reminder, "and I heard this creepy voice saying my name. I walked down the hall and when I turned around, it just materialized."
"Then dematerialized? So how are we to find it again, then?" Ron gave her an 'I thought so' look when she shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
"Hermione." Here we go, she thought. Now Harry's going to make fun of me. "When you walked by this room, how many times?" She cocked her head. Now why would that matter? She asked him as much.
"Dumbledore told me about this my first year. He said he had to go to the bathroom but was unable to locate a bathroom quickly." Ron and Hermione nodded; such a nonsensical thing was right around the Headmaster's line of thinking. "He said he was pacing the corridor, and when he walked by a third time, there was a door, and inside, hundreds of chamberpots were stacked floor to ceiling. When he came back later that day, though, it was gone."
"What does a chamberpot storage facility have to do with Hermione's nutty training arena theory?" She shot him a glare.
"I walked by three times, Harry."
"And you were thinking about a place to hold the meetings, right?" She nodded. "Dobby says it's called the 'Room of Requirement.' He told me about it last year." Suddenly, Hermione was very uncomfortable.
Dobby had not had the best methods in finding ways to help Harry; between the Gillyweed and the Quidditch match, she just wasn't sure how much she trusted the house elf. She tactfully (a skill Ron had yet to learn) approached the subject about how much they could depend on the elf's word.
"Didn't I just say Dumbledore told me about it first year?" She muttered, nodding her head. "Great. Congratulations, Hermione—you found us a practice space."
"How are we going to let everyone know where it is by the first meeting?" Ron seemed to have conveniently forgotten he had been taunting her about it mere moments earlier.
"When's the first meeting?" Harry looked to Hermione, the designated keeper of everyone's schedules. She sighed; taking care of Harry and Ron was like having kids—she wasn't prepared to be a teenage mother of teenagers!
"Gryffindor has practice Thursdays, Hufflepuff on Mondays, Ravenclaw has Wednesdays, and Slytherins on Fridays, but Draco was the only Slytherin that was on the Quidditch team, and he quit." He told her he was bored with Quidditch, but secretly, she thought it was because he was tired of looking over his shoulder for one of the Death Eater beaters to knock a bludger his way.
"Today is Monday, so do you think sending the message now will give everyone enough time? About an hour after dinner should seem unsuspicious." Ron and Hermione nodded and Harry handed her the master galleon; he still had no idea how to work it.
She programmed the little golden coin and felt the corresponding vibration in her pocket to alert members of a meeting. The numbers melted to form 'November 26: 7 pm.' Inwardly, she gloated a little at her perfect Protean Charm; it was very complicated for a seventh year to perform, much less a fifth year.
Her gloating melted away as she thought of a certain blonde, though—one she had not thought of in twenty-four hours due to the stress of trying to think of a meeting spot. He had saved her and everyone else in their newly-formed army less than seventy-two hours ago, and, apart from classes today, had done nothing but stare at the ceiling in his room.
Determined, she picked herself up from the triangle the three of them formed and strode towards the exit to the portrait.
The Portrait did not swing open.
Knocking determinedly, the muted sound of the Fat Lady came from the other side.
"I can't let you out, dear—new policy, I'm afraid."
"New policy? Made by whom?"
"Educational Decree Number Who-gives-a-blast-ended-skrewts-blasted-end." It seemed the Fat Lady did not approve of this new policy made by the Ministry and its attempt to overtake Hogwarts.
"Well, by the old laws passed through the school centuries before the Ministry even began," Hermione stated evenly, though a hint of ice coated her words, "as a prefect, unless a further decree is made, I have an undeniable right to be out after hours if I believe not doing so will hinder by duties—I have to patrol in a half hour and I like to be early, so I need to leave."
"Dear, you need to use the special words." She could tell the lady on the other side was smirking at one of her favorite's use of the rules to circumvent the rules.
"Alright then." She took a deep breath and spoke once more. "I, Gryffindor Prefect Hermione Granger, invoke the right to bypass the new decree made by Dolores Umbridge of the Ministry in order to fulfill my role as outlined by Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She was as detailed as possible, which was apparently detailed enough for the old magic, because the Portrait swung open without further provocation.
"Very nicely handled, my dear." The Fat Lady winked at her. "I must say, that toad of a woman has gotten far too comfortable where she is, and it's about time someone gave her a taste of what it's like to be outdone." Hermione couldn't agree more; Umbridge was locking people in their dorms after curfew?
What about the students in their fifth year and up who had the right to be up one hour later than curfew? Were they to be locked out or not allowed their rights at all?
She couldn't help the stomp to her step as she proceeded to her, now Draco's, private chambers.
'Narcissa Iris Black.' The door, unhindered by Umbridge's magic due to its ownership by a prefect, swung open to reveal a crackling fire and obscenely tidy room.
"Draco?"
He heard her voice, but he had been hearing it all day, so what was one more time? It wasn't like he was going insane or anything.
The golden coin that now twirled between his thumb and forefinger lay still after vibrating, rather annoyingly, as the figures melted and shifted to form the date and time for their meeting—tomorrow after dinner.
Amusedly, he realized he was turning into quite the slug, doing nothing but staring at the shifting patterns of silver and gold on his ceiling, only rising to use the bathroom and call a house elf so he did not need to travel down to the Great Hall. The only moments he had left the prefect rooms had been for classes and patrol in the last few days—ever since Hogsmeade.
After such a daring escape, most would have reveled in the aftershock, making the story sound more extreme than it was, like when he was 'attacked' by that hippogriff during third year. His mind, though, had not been on the attack or the escape, but the aftermath.
First, there was the discussion with Dumbledore about how crucial and appreciated his swift actions had been followed by interrogation, though it was not obvious—subtle was more Albus Dumbledore's style—about why he had been able to round up so many people and why they were in the Hogs' Head. Surely Zonko's would have been much preferred, or perhaps the Three Broomsticks, rather than a dingy Death Eater hide-out.
He was pleased to say that not only did he say nothing, but he did not succumb to the innocent 'get you something to drink' bit or accept a lemon drop—Severus had told him about the Veritaserum.
Then there was the Golden Trio bursting through the door as Hermione threw her arms around him like she never wanted to let go. He never wanted her to let go.
But she did, and it felt as though she had felt scorched by his touch; she pulled away so suddenly as though realizing what she was actually doing. Was being with him so revolting? Was she only concerned for him as she was for Harry and Ron? Had he been demoted to friend status indefinitely?
In the back of his mind, he knew he was being stupid; hadn't her actions and Pansy's words on Saturday made it more than clear that the two of them were still in love? Hadn't his and Hermione's words to each other in the library that day made it clear they were simply trying to work out the reasons for this love?
He knew why he loved Hermione. She was strong, but knew when to give a little. She was stubborn, but most of the time because she was right. She knew how to gracefully accept defeat and learn from her experiences.
But those were things that most people knew about her.
How many people, besides Harry and Ron, knew that her favorite treat was French fries and a chocolate shake? That she didn't call herself a vegetarian, but never ate meat? He doubted she even realized her tendency to shy away from beef or any other animal meat.
And that was simply one more reason he loved her—she was completely oblivious to the quirks that made her everything she was. He loved the fact that she stood for everything that was right with the world simply by living day to day. How she smiled even when someone called her a 'Mudblood' or spat an insult at her simply because she was Harry's friend and the school was in the middle of a 'We-Hate-Potter-Fest.'
She wasn't perfect, and she knew it, but she was perfect for him, and he loved her for it.
But why did he fall in love with her?
After all, these were all things he'd learned about her since beginning their friendship and, quickly thereafter, their relationship.
What made him go from taunting and hating her that day she had detention to them falling in love and then all this?
It was these thoughts that were the reason he never left the room anymore; how could he face her knowing all he had thought about for the last two days was her and the fact that he still couldn't pick apart why he loved her? He couldn't—simple as that—so he wouldn't.
But that still left the stupid whispers he kept hearing of his name, raising to normal speaking level, followed by worried shouts. Why would she be shouting; she wasn't even here.
"Draco, where are you? Are you in here? I will summon you with an Accio spell; don't test me!" Despite the threat (why would an imaginary voice make a threat? Wouldn't he want it to be saying 'I love you' or something equally mushy?) the voice still sounded truly worried, and he hated for Hermione's voice, whether it be in his head or not, to sound so distressed.
"In the bedroom; I'm back here!" The last thing he truly expected was for her to appear in his doorway a mere half second later—she couldn't have been faster if she apparated.
"Merlin, you gave me a heart attack!" He noted briefly that this probably was not an apparition of any sort, but he gave her no more notice than eye contact, a nod, or a shake of the head. Anything else might give too much away, though too much of what he couldn't decide.
"Is this what you've been doing for the last three days?" She sounded worried.
"No." His answer was probably rude, but technically, it was also true—he had gone to classes today as well.
"I see." She was definitely smart enough to pick up the false note in his answer, no matter how short and brief. "Well, what are you doing?"
"Thinking." There; he would reveal no more than that.
"About?" A simple question; nothing more or less.
"You." He made no sign that he had given away more than he intended. How had she managed to provoke a truthful response with nothing more than a curious look and a simple word? She did not look uncomfortable with the answer, just slightly thrown.
She decided to change the subject before he could become uncomfortable with what he just said. Still, he thought over what he had said. Had someone slipped him Veritaserum? No, he would have answered her first question seriously and then would have no idea where he was. He wouldn't be able to question his being under the potion's influences while under it.
"Did you get the message?" She was, of course, referring to the galleon; he nodded. "I thought I'd tell you where we're meeting—you can get word to the Slytherin's better than we can." So her true motive for coming down was business in the end; why was he not surprised.
"That's not the only reason I came down, though," she said firmly—had she read his mind?—as she noticed the scowl creeping slowly onto his face. "I came down to talk to you."
"About?" Would his simple question evoke such an answer as hers had?
"Us." It had. He would have to remember the usefulness of that word in the future when dealing with her. "Just because we're not dating," here he cringed, "doesn't mean we can't talk. Friends talk." True, but they were more than friends and less than dating; it made the subjects they could cover rather uncomfortable and less broad at times.
"So talk." He hadn't meant to sound so crass and blunt, but he felt hurt—he didn't know why exactly—and he thought the sooner she left, then the sooner it would, too.
Apparently, the only thing it served to do was infuriate Hermione, but she seemed to quell her anger rather well in his opinion.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy, don't you dare push me away in such a manner," she told him in a low, smooth and even voice; he should have known she wouldn't fall for such a trick. "Just because I still love you, don't think I'll tolerate you treating me like an old shoe and then come back when you've sorted through all of your feelings. This is just as confusing for me as it is for you, but I've treated you no less kindly than everyone else in my life." He told himself that he was treating her no differently than everyone else in his life at the moment as well, a fact that he could tell rather annoyed Pansy and Blaise, who expected to be treated better.
"Granted, I'll give you that you're treating me no differently than everyone else around you," how did she always manage to do that, "but rather than simply treat me this way, you're treating other people who care about you, your friends, this way, too, and none of them deserve it. I don't quite frankly know why I deserve it, but it's getting bloody annoying regardless!
"I came down here to tell you why I love you, or why I fell in love with you, rather. It was because you were strong-willed, patient, and always knew how to get what you wanted, but how to do it the right way. You were a strong, supportive, and true friend, though never to me until a few months ago; you defended them with an intensity and fierceness mirrored only by Harry." So he was just like Potter—wonderful.
"But you have so much that no one else does. Your friends have never defined you; Draco Lucius Malfoy is his own person and you take responsibility for everything you do, whether it would be in your best interests to fess up or not—unless it was in Potions and you were sabotaging the Gryffindors, but I'm willing to let that one slide," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. He grinned—Potions always was amusing with those Gryffindors.
"I fell in love with you because you were things that I wanted to be, but never thought I could. I'm still in love with you because you helped me see sides of me I never thought were there, sides that mirrored yours so well—at least," she added, standing with a disappointed lines etched into her face and her tone, "at least I thought they mirrored yours—but how can they mirror yours if you don't seem to have them anymore?"
He shot up from the bed as she turned away, beginning to run for the Portrait door. Casting a silent locking charm at the door and hoping it would slow her down, he sped to catch up with her before she figured it out. Luckily, his hand latched to her wrist just as her wand began to rise.
"Please, Hermione…don't leave." He clung to her desperately, searching her eyes with his, willing her to stay with just those words and his eyes. She did. He began choking on the words he forced out, and he could never seem to get a full one to emerge.
He could see the mirth in her eyes as she placed one finger gently to his lips, silencing his feeble attempts at speaking coherently.
"Prove me wrong, Draco. Prove you haven't changed," she whispered, mirth replaced with longing.
His words died as her finger dropped and she looked towards the floor; she never seemed to notice when he released her wrist that he so desperately clung to mere moments earlier.
Studying her, he realized he had known exactly why he fell in love with her all along, whether or not he had known how to express it to her the way she had to him. Empowered by his revelation, he placed a hand gently on her waist and pulled her to him, wrapping his other arm around her waist and letting his head fall to her neck.
Surprised, she steadied herself by placing her hands on his chest, but when his arms wrapped around her, she leaned into the embrace with a deep sigh.
A tear escaped his eyes, long overdue, and he could tell she felt it when she pulled her hands around him to return the comfort he was offering her. He noted how perfectly she fit into him, her head so securely tucked beneath his, their arms wrapped around each other just right.
He pulled away and looked down into her tearful eyes that mirrored his own; this was the girl he loved, the girl he would always love. One hand tipped her chin to look back at him, as she had become rather uncomfortable with the seemingly intense scrutiny he was giving her.
Their eyes connected and her lips parted and his came down, resealing the love the two shared in an explosion of power and excitement. Fireworks lit up behind his eyes and he felt Hermione struggle to remain standing, clinging to him for support, and he knew that this was how everything was meant to be.
This was right; not those lost days they'd spent wishing for one another's company, but this, being together, was what was right. He felt every perfect puzzle piece lock into place and he knew—he was home.
Maybe it was all a matter of being patient. If you didn't take the time to listen, to think, to actually realize, how would you ever get your answers?
If you cut down the sycamore tree, how will you ever know how high it can grow?
She'd been so stupid to come down to Draco's room with a message that could have waited until classes. Instead, not only had she broken out of the Gryffindor tower without permission, but nothing had been accomplished; Draco was still a hopelessly lost cause drifting in and out of consciousness on the bed, moping.
What a classic Slytherin, she snorted.
Stupidly and, of course, with the true idiotic bravery of a Gryffindor, she had confessed everything to Draco, seemingly before he was ready to hear it, and he'd responded with nothing. Had it been too much to ask for? Had he even been thinking about their conversation in the library as she had been for the last three days? Of course, those thoughts had to find room within her worries about the meeting location, but they still dominated plenty of her active thoughts!
But as she reached for the Portrait handle, a neon orange glow bathed the cracks before subsiding and she lifted her wand to counteract it with an Alohamora; his locking charm was only slowing her down, not stopping her. The hand on her wrist was a more permanent method of getting her to stay, however.
His thin, pale fingers were curled tightly, but loosely, around her wrist to make sure she stayed without hurting her; the mere contact alone would have made her stay. Although if it hadn't, his next words would have.
"Please, Hermione…don't leave." She looked at him and sighed, her heart breaking just a bit; had she done this to him? Had he ever been this vulnerable?
Suddenly, her guilt at his vulnerability vanished as his stuttering began; he seemed incapable of forming a coherent sentence beyond those four words, and she couldn't help but chuckle. His silver eyes pierced her, and she dropped her gaze.
"Prove me wrong, Draco. Prove you haven't changed." The two of them sat in silence for only a few moments, Hermione looking forlornly at the floor—he was being awfully silent.
When he pulled her to him, she nearly toppled over; could he have been a little less intense? Still, the warmth his body emanated, the safety she felt from being so close, made her feel like nothing could go wrong. Why couldn't they simply stay like this forever?
And then she felt the warm tears on her neck, dampening her skin—Draco was crying. She wrapped her arms firmly around his waist, offering him the same comfort he was offering her, whether he knew it or not.
And then he pulled back, and his hand on her cheek felt amazing, the softest touch with the most meaning.
And then they were kissing like nothing had ever happened between them, like the two of them had never even been arguing. His hands held her, safe and sound, and she realized this was where she always wanted to be—with Draco—with her love.
A/N: VampireAlchemist: Oh, I am SO good...another chapter in the bag!
Harry Potter: *I'm Harry Potter...I'm Harry Potter...I'm Harry Potter*
VampireAlchemist: A bit of identity confusion, Potty?
Harry Potter: It seems the muggles have discovered the existence of wizards through Neville's alias...NielCicierga! He released the names of the six most important characters in the Wizarding World through his annoying rendition of the 'Harry Potter Puppet Pals!'
VampireAlchemist: I fail to see the problem...
Harry Potter: The problem is it's stuck in my head and that is just *not* cool!
VampireAlchemist: So it's *not* about revealing your names to the Muggle world?
Harry Potter: *Duh.* You've already done that, along with the millions of other fanfiction-ers...and J.K. Rowling.
VampireAlchemist: JUST GET IT OVER WITH.
Harry Potter: Uh, Please Review.
Next Chapter: Unheard Wolf Cries
