English Oak by Animagus-Steph

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 14/08/2005
Last Updated: 14/08/2005
Status: Completed

The trio goes Horcrux hunting, and Harry gets a lesson about what it means to stand alone.




1. English Oak
--------------

Title: English Oak

Pairing: Harry/Hermione

Rating: PG

One-Shot

Entry for Felix Felices Fan Fiction Competition

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended with this work. No profit is being made from
this work. The characters involved in this fiction are the property of Jo Rowling. What she does
with them is her own business. What I do with them is mine.

A/N: Thanks, WizardKira, for your smashing help, if I do say so myself. ;)

English Oak

Bill and Fleur’s wedding was exactly everything Harry expected a Weasley affair to be, and then
again, it was nothing like what Harry expected either. First, the debate of whether to have it in
England or France was debated—they settled on England, as Bill’s family was exponentially bigger
than the Delacour family. The ceremony was a flood of white-blonde and flaming-red haired people,
and ended with Ron nearly going into cardiac arrest when he met Fleur’s wedding attendants. As for
himself, Harry was surprised at how easy it was for him to remain platonic with Ginny. They never
mentioned what had happened just weeks before, and as if by silent agreement, Ron and Hermione
pretended that Ginny and Harry never happened at all. An ache, longing, or something he expected to
be there, unexpectedly was absent. His resolution to protect her from Voldemort was solidified that
week at the Burrow, and it seemed as if even his emotions were with him in his resolve. Someday
this would be all over and he could pick up the pieces with her.

Shortly after the wedding, the three spent a week at Grimmauld Place trying to find the locket
Horcrux. Along the way, they found some papers in what was once Regulus’ old bedchamber. After days
of sorting through it all (which was a job left to basically left to Hermione, as she had a knack
for spotting the subtle), revealing blank documents, and translating parts written in Ancient Rune,
the three thought that perhaps they had an idea of where to go next. Black had various maps of the
United Kingdom, and on a few he had circled what looked like a dense forest in Northern
England.

In the meantime, Harry and Ron tried to destroy the locket, which just a few years ago they had
thrown aside because they could not open it. In the end, Hermione, tired of hearing their
round-robin discussion of the matter, took a sledge hammer out of the closet off the kitchen and
swung it down onto the Horcrux. Whether it was the simplicity of the act or all their attempts
combined, it worked. With a great gush of air, the kitchen filled with a strange light and threw
them to the wall. After the light had faded, Harry walked over and helped Hermione up. She still
held the handle to the sledge hammer with a tremulous hand. Pale from the exertion, she lifted up
the chain of the locket with one finger. Ron ran his hands through his hair.

“Blimey, that’s one down then, is it?” he stammered.

Harry looked blankly from Ron to Hermione, “I guess so.”

The handle fell from Hermione’s hand and clattered to the worn wood of the kitchen floor. She
fell gracelessly into a chair and said weakly, “I hope the rest are as easy as this.” After more
silence, Harry insisted that she get rest for the night, as she looked truly spent. A few days
later, with the vague information they had garnered from Black’s documents, they left the safety of
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place behind.

^*^*^

Trudging through the damp fallen leaves of late October, Harry, Ron and Hermione were searching
in vain for *something* linking back to Voldemort. As they walked further north, night
continued to fall and a light fog crept in among the trees. Curling around their feet and billowing
around their cloaks, soon fog covered the ground in white as the weak sun set over the horizon.
Harry had a feeling that they were getting close to *something*, and so they lumbered on until
they could go on no longer. Hermione tried to light her wand with no result. Ron and Harry followed
suit, both failing to produce even a feeble light. Within a minute, they had lost direction and
were completely consumed in a fog which had swirled above their heads, blocking everything but the
palest moonlight, giving their new world an eerie glow.

“Well, what are we supposed to do now?” Ron asked, exasperated. They had tried everything from
Hermione’s clever bluebell charm to *Diffendo* to cut through the fog. The Four-Points charm
failed to tell them which direction was north, and though Harry still felt that they were close,
they couldn’t walk blindly into a trap.

Hermione, who was frustrated by the ineffectiveness of her wand, turned to Ron sarcastically, “I
don’t know, Ron, I guess we’ll have to stay here until something happens, won’t we? I mean, unless
you know something Harry and I don’t, and if that’s the case, why don’t you just deliver us from
this mess right now?”

Ron, Harry could tell from his outline in the fog, was about to get defensive, so he jumped in.
“Why don’t we just wait the fog out? The worst that could happen is that we have to wait the night.
We probably should have stopped before nightfall anyway.” He waited for some disagreement with what
he said, and hearing none, continued. “Let’s just sit down around this tree until we think of
something else, or until the fog clears, whichever comes first.”

They sat around the tree, each one facing a different direction. They ate from the provisions
they had brought in their rucksacks in silence, listening to the white around them. When they had
finished, they put everything back and settled in for a long wait. Ron was rustling to the right of
Hermione and throwing things away into the nothingness.

“Ron, what are you throwing? Do you have to make so much noise?” Hermione asked.

“Acorns. We must be under an oak tree, I guess. And, yes, I *do* have to make so much
noise. Do you actually think that something could find us in this fog?”

“Well, they won’t have much trouble finding us if they can hear the racket you’re making Ron,”
Hermione replied derisively.

Harry sighed. “So, this is an oak tree, then?” he asked, trying to draw attention away from the
brewing argument.

Hermione and Ron snapped their heads to Harry, having almost forgotten he was there. Hermione
cleared her throat. “Yeah, it is.”

Again, the three settled into a thick silence, broken occasionally by the lonesome hoot of an
owl. After what felt like hours, Harry heard Hermione get up and stretch.

“Hermione?” Harry said.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere, Harry, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just need to stand up
for a bit. The ground is kind of cold.”

Harry saw the fog swirl around as Hermione stepped over his legs and continued to circle the
tree, her hand upon the trunk. She shuffled into Ron and stepped over him. He had fallen asleep not
long before. She did this about two more times and then returned to her original spot.

“Yes, this is an oak tree, Ron was right. The branches are a little higher than I expected, but
I think this is a pretty big tree. You know, some of the oak trees in continental Europe are over
one-thousand years old.” Hermione shifted and leaves crinkled under her. “I think this one has a
vine wrapped around it.” She reached over and took Harry’s cold hand in her warm one and placed it
upon what felt like a leafy rope.

“I thought it was kind of odd, but I’ve not been to this part of the country in a while, and I
imagine that we’re in sort of a grove of oaks. It’s not uncommon in this part of the country. This
one, I suspect, is *quercus robur,* the English Oak, or *quercus petraea*. They look
pretty similar, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Hermione was silent for a moment, and then continued. “I’m sorry, Harry, I’m just going on about
nothing. I think Ron’s got the right idea of things. If you want to get some sleep, I’ll keep watch
out, and then I’ll wake Ron in a few hours.”

Harry shook his head. “No, really, I didn’t mind. It’s better than listening to nothing. I
couldn’t sleep if I wanted to, anyhow. We’re too close. I can *feel* something in these woods,
but… well, we can’t do anything until the fog clears, and I won’t go anywhere until our wands start
working again, so we’ll wait until morning,” he paused, thinking. “There must be strong magic here,
if our wands won’t work with the fog. We’re in the right place.” He looked in her direction and
scooted closer. “I’m just glad I’m not here by myself. I don’t know why you and Ron stick with me,
but I’m glad you do.” He paused, thinking. “So, what else about these trees? There’s got to be more
to the story about them, especially if I can feel Riddle, like he’s right around the bend, or
something. I need to know everything I can—we do, if we’re going to find another Horcrux.” He
nudged her shoulder. “So, ramble on, if you must,” he finished with a laugh.

Hermione sighed and moved closer to whisper, their shoulders now nearly touching. “Well, oak
furniture, for example, is valued for its sturdiness, and its beauty, of course. And, they make
some of the strongest doors in the world. When my parents had their house built years ago, my dad
insisted on oak doors.” She paused. “Oak is a wand tree, too. Isn’t Hagrid’s wand made of oak?”

Harry laughed. “I have no idea, Hermione.”

“I think it is. Anyway, so, it’s a wand wood and it’s incredibly strong. It’s like the
stand-alone of trees, really. Kind of like you,” she said, quietly.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, truly listening by this time.

“Well,” Hermione cleared her throat, “you’ve always stood alone, distinguished—like the oak
tree.” She shook her head and Harry felt her hair against his sleeve. “This is stupid. I’m going to
shut-up before I make a jerk out of myself.”

“Hermione, it’s not stupid.”

“Harry—,” she began.

“No, it’s not. So, you think I’m like a tree…” he started.

“Well, when you put it like that, it *does* sound ridiculous,” Hermione laughed, pushing
his shoulder.

“Well,” Harry teased, matching the tone of her voice, “make it sound less ridiculous. I’m very
curious now.” Harry could feel the burn of her blush through the fog.

“Okay, some people stand alone. Like you. And, some, well… some are like vines, like the one
clinging to this tree. People cling to you, too. For example, Crabbe and Goyle are the vines to
Malfoy’s tree,” she finished hurriedly.

“So, Malfoy and I are the same, then?” Harry teased.

“Oh! No! I didn’t mean it like that, Harry! Malfoy’s like a cedar, or something that only grows
where people don’t want it. I just meant that you’re strong, that you can stand alone. You do.
People respect and look to you for guidance, look at the D.A. You don’t need support to stand
alone.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Merlin, this is ridiculous,” she whispered. “Vines cling to
other things for support. They can’t stand alone. In Herbology, it’s called commensalism. That is,
where the host isn’t done any harm, but the other, in the relationship benefits.” She paused.
“That’s it. I really am going to stop now. I swear I ate something bad, I never talk like
this.”

“No, no, really it’s fine, Hermione. Really,” Harry said assuringly. There was a reflective
silence between the soft punctuation of Ron’s snores.

“Not to change the subject, Hermione, but—,” Harry began.

“No, it’s okay,” Hermione said.

“If oak trees are strong, and last a long time, do you think it’s possible that one of the trees
is a Horcrux? That we could be looking for a tree—we could be sitting against a chunk of
Voldemort’s soul as we speak?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s completely possible, Harry. Though using a living thing would be
unstable, like Dumbledore said, I can see how ideal an oak tree would be. It’s strong, and it will
last for a very long time. In fact, lots of tree groves share a root system, so the chances of the
Horcrux lasting longer than a snake, for example, are high,” Hermione said, impressed with Harry’s
thinking.

“So, then, when the morning comes, we look for some sign that he was here,” Harry suggested.

“That’s as good a plan as any,” agreed Hermione. “Well, I, for one, am glad that something came
out of all that rubbish about trees,” she sighed. “Why don’t you wake me up in a few hours so you
can get some sleep?”

“Sure,” Harry said, already thinking about what the morrow would bring.

“Good night, Harry.” Hermione leaned up and kissed him on the cheek and then rested her head
against the tree trunk.

“’Night,” he murmured.

The night crept in around them and after a while, Hermione’s head ended up on his shoulder, and
he could smell the earth and her hair and the leaves. He fingered a root near the base of the tree
and found a vine that crept up the trunk. An owl hooted in the near distance, and the forest
slumbered on in relative peace. Harry, as he discovered was the norm lately, had a lot of time to
think about just about everything. How he missed Ginny; how futile his last journey with Dumbledore
was; how absolutely terrifying his life should seem now—and how it was that he was on an
adrenaline-pumped scavenger hunt, and it wasn’t terrifying at all. Maybe Hermione had a point.

*‘Some people stand alone. Like you. And, some, well… some are like vines, like the one
clinging to this tree. People cling to you, too.’*

As he rested his head on top of Hermione’s, he thought about what it meant to stand alone. What
she said sounded nice, but he hadn’t really stood alone at all. Ever since he’d gotten to Hogwarts,
he’d had Ron and Hermione by his side. In fourth year, he didn’t do one task on his own, and
Hermione started the D.A.—from concept to implementation, she did it. When he thought about it, he
still couldn’t believe that she placed her very education in his hands. It boggled his mind to
think about it. It wasn’t that he was standing alone, but it was trust like hers that held him up.
It was easy to lead when people believed in you. Even now, Hermione and Ron had given up Hogwarts
to follow him on a wild-goose chase. If anyone was standing alone, it would be those two. Hermione
used to have such high hopes for her N.E.W.T.s, and she hadn’t mentioned them once. If they were at
school now, she’d be Head Girl, and she’d be the reigning force in the library, doing research for
Potions and Transfiguration. Ron would be working hard at Quidditch, and trying to keep his marks
together for the Auror Academy.

If Harry were at Hogwarts, perhaps he’d be trying to find time for Quidditch, his studies, and
Ginny. Somehow, he’d rather be here, doing what he was doing, with Ron and Hermione, sitting around
this tree, and though not doing anything *at the moment*, they were out there, *doing
it.* That’s what he’d wanted since Voldemort regained a body.

That last thought ran though his mind again. *What* he *wanted.* Not what Ron wanted,
not what Hermione wanted. What *he* wanted. He still couldn’t believe that Hermione gave up
her N.E.W.T.s to traipse around the Kingdom with him. They hadn’t been finished with their O.W.L.s
five minutes, and she was already thinking about her N.E.W.T.s, and trying to get Ron and Harry
worked up about them too.

No, no matter what Hermione might be thinking about her being a vine, she was a tree all her
own. She stood up for what was right, even when it was hard, and other people looked up to her.
Dobby admired her. Luna looked up to her, Ginny looked up to her.

At the thought of Ginny, he wondered what kind of person she would be, if people were, in fact,
either trees or vines. She would be a tree, of course, like him. She was strong-willed, like in
Quidditch, and people always noticed her. Even her hair made her stand out among everyone else.
She’d taken a stand against Tom Riddle and lived to tell the tale.

But, as Harry sat and reflected upon that part of his life, he remembered how Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley had been there when she returned from the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny had always had a family
to cling to, someone to miss her if she’d left, someone to notice if she wasn’t there. She fed off
of attention—one thing he liked about Ginny was that she was the life of the party and he could
forget what was troubling him. She was a strong vine, but she was still a vine.

An owl returned from its night hunt and settled in a tree branch far above them. Hermione, by
this time, had turned her body into his. The night was cold and she shivered in her sleep. Harry
put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. There was no reason why she had to be cold.
They should have stopped for the night before they got into this mess.

Harry chuckled at the thought of Hermione swinging the sledge hammer and destroying the Horcrux.
He knew she didn’t expect anything to happen, and really, it was surprising that she did it at all.
She wasn’t an abrupt person, but she had a few surprises up her sleeve. She took it completely upon
herself to figure out where the next Horcrux was, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she
probably had the oak tree figured out before he said it. She was strong, too, but even trees are
allowed to sway in the wind.

Even as she clung to him in the fog, Harry became more convinced that it wasn’t just him that
people clung to, it was Hermione, too. Hermione, more often than not, knew the answer before he
asked the question. She helped him solve his problems, and she was a steady partner in the eye of
danger. At the Department of Mysteries, she took control of the situation and stared evil down,
resulting, to his great horror, in the near loss of her life. He subconsciously held her tighter as
he remembered that night, angry at the thought of losing his friends. Why couldn’t they have
listened—like Ginny did?

At that moment, it hit him. It wasn’t about clinging, or listening, or being a vine or tree—nice
analogy though it was. It was about doing the right thing, and sticking to your principles.
Hermione did what she wanted, and she always had, she always would. No matter how much Harry had
tried to keep her away—at the Department of Mysteries, she *insisted* that he not go alone.
Time and time again, she stayed by his side, and somehow, he understood she would always be there.
A decision like that could very well cost her her life. It was a risk she was willing to take—the
proof of which was currently snug in his arms at the moment. She wasn’t about to break away from
him—whereas others had chosen the other path.

The cold realization of reality settled in his bones. If you were as safe at Hogwarts as you
were anywhere else—as was the case these days—then why was it *Hermione* who was by his side?
Why wasn’t it *Ginny* who was comforting him?—because he admitted to himself that it was nice
not to be alone in this strange forest. Why hadn’t Ginny tried to even see how he was doing? He
*knew* he told her they had to call it off, but then, why hadn’t she even tried? His mum was
right by his dad’s side when they were in the Order. He didn’t have her sitting at home—and
somehow, Harry doubted that she would have at all.

Hermione mumbled in her sleep, bringing Harry back to the present. The vine that wrapped around
the tree was poking him in the back, so he shifted a bit to the side, Hermione’s hair tickling his
cheek. She mumbled again, “Hurrmph,” and settled back into sleep. He wasn’t going to wake her up;
she’d seemed a little drained since destroying that Horcrux. If Ron woke up and wanted to take
watch, he’d let him, but right now, she was going to get the rest she deserved.

Fear stole over him again as he thought of Dolohov striking Hermione down with that curse at the
Department of Mysteries. The grip of panic that stole over him that night outshined any feeling he
once held in letting Ginny go. He buried his nose in Hermione’s hair, deeply inhaling the spicy
scent of cinnamon that had become as familiar to him as the smell of a Quidditch pitch. Warmth
spread over his skin as he finally became conscious of the fact that he’d loved Hermione for a long
time. Here she was, by his side, after everything that should have driven her far away. She’d given
up her family, her dreams and a steady future to follow where he led. She gave selflessly and
didn’t ask for anything in return—he didn’t even have to ask. Ron, too, gave selflessly, but for
him, it was as much the adventure and getting out of school as it was standing by him. He wouldn’t
have to question that Ron would be there, but logic would say that Hermione should have been on the
high road ages ago.

He wanted to shake her awake to tell her all that he felt, and smirked as he thought of her
groggy response: “Is that all, Harry? I love you, too.” After he explained what he meant, however,
he wondered what she’d say. A part of him—a small part—believed that perhaps she loved him, too,
even if she didn’t know it yet. If he thought about it, everything she did concerning him assured
that notion… If that was possible, perhaps he stood a chance. A much larger part of him, on the
other hand, knew that the possibility of this was slim. Perhaps they were good friends and that was
all. For right now, it was enough that he knew; right now, he’d appreciate it for what it was.

There is a time and season for everything, Harry had heard once, and so he’d take his time with
this. He’d find the right moment to tell Hermione what he should have known and realized years
ago—that she’d be there, that she knew him for who he was, not what he was. Among other things,
this meant the world.

He thought of how she said he’d always stood alone, and somehow, he didn’t agree. She’d always
stood with him—the two of them together, as connected as a grove of trees. Harry held her as the
sun filtered through the fog early that morning, savoring the private moments he had until she
could be his.



