The Falling Oak

A/N: So I was doing a little archiving to my LJ and found this story/series of drabbles on my computer. This was written prior to HBP (in April of 2005), but still works to a degree despite the outcome of book 6. It's simply a turning point…I seem to favor those.

The Falling Oak

The roots of the great oak tree enveloped Harry on either side as he sheltered from the biting winter wind whistling across the lake. This was the last place in all of Hogwart's that offered some measure of solace from the pall hanging over the school. Here, amongst the resilience of the roots, Harry felt the only semblance of strength that he wished he himself possessed. Year after year, this tree had defied the elements and reemerged each spring with thicker bark and larger limbs, strong and silent in its renewed challenge to the chaotic Scottish weather.

That ability to resurface from adversity was something that Harry had once believed he shared. How many times had he eluded Voldemort's grasp now? How many more times would he face him again? But each time Harry confronted Lord Voldemort someone was lost, Cedric, Sirius, and now Dumbledore. The headmaster's sacrifice had driven the last vestiges of hope from him, shattering what little remained in his heart and taking with it the confidence of the Order and the rest of the wizarding world.

Voldemort, the Order, everyone knew that Harry's training was not complete. He was not prepared to take on the mantle of leader and with the exposure of the prophecy, all eyes had turned to him and Dumbledore. Dumbledore would prepare the Great Harry Potter to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. In the pair of them, everyone saw an escape from the terror of the Death Eaters. They saw a future outside the shadow of Lord Voldemort. But with Dumbledore stricken down, Harry ceased to be the Boy Who Lived and seemingly every wizard or witch saw what Harry himself had long feared, that he was just an ordinary young man bearing a scar and desperately trying to survive to adulthood.

The wind was picking up again and carrying with it the rain off the North Sea. The vacant tree limbs yielded to the rushing wind, but did not give way. Harry rose and pulled his cloak tighter to him as he abandoned the oak. From the wind, the tree had provided a rare haven, but the rain would not be stopped as it pervaded everything. He began walking around the lake and cast a hesitant glance towards Gryffindor Tower. A solitary figure stood in the window of the common room, back lit by the evening fire and student's candles. It was Hermione, searching the grounds for him, he knew it was.

#

Harry was thankful for the early nightfall and heavy clouds that hid his movements. He would need to straighten out his own thoughts and feelings before he could be begin to be able to address Hermione's. Ignoring the driving rain, he turned his gaze to the north where distant rumblings echoed amongst the hills.

Eventually, his attention returned to the loss of Dumbledore and Harry recognized the latest macabre twist of fate residing before him. In having Dumbledore beside him in this fight, Harry had someone with all the skill and knowledge necessary to defeat Voldemort, if only lacking the backing of an obscure prophecy to do so. However, without the headmaster's support, Harry would need to discover on his own the abilities required to put an end to Voldemort. Dumbledore was his guide. With his help, Harry could find the right books to the right spells. In him, he had an equal that could perform the magic adeptly enough to help Harry through the mechanics of performing the spells correctly, but all that support and guidance was lost with the headmaster's demise. In his mind, Harry feared there was no other he could turn to that possessed those qualities. No other individual had the strength and cared enough to step in and shoulder his burden when the magic just wouldn't come. Ultimately, he was lost in the chaotic sea without a lighthouse to guide him. And Voldemort--above all, Voldemort always knew where to find him.

Harry rounded the far side of the lake and the clouds erupted into a fury of activity. The initial clashes of thunder--so far off before--had quickly taken up residence in the sky above the lake and seemed quite content to remain where they were. Flashes of light danced from one cloud to another as the storm grew in intensity and loosed its rage upon the landscape. Harry picked up his pace, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before the lightning found its way to the ground. He ventured another look towards Gryffindor Tower, but Hermione had apparently abandoned her search, allowing him to wander alone amidst the gloom of the night.

Harry shook the rain from his hair and wiped away the moisture obscuring his glasses. He knew they would get wet again, but he hoped he might be able to see clearly for a few minutes at least. As he continued around the lake, he forced himself to set aside his feelings about the past. Dumbledore was gone and he could not change that simple fact. There did not exist enchantments or spells to return the dead to life and he needed a plan of action for how to prepare for and survive the next encounter with Voldemort. The trouble was he didn't know where to begin. Dumbledore had not laid out a grand plan with a series of boxes to be checked in preparing Harry to fight Voldemort. There was no map that led him from point A to point B. He stood at the crossroads of a thousand avenues and each path was as unlikely as the next.

#

Harry dropped his head against the icy rain, focusing on treading a steady path through the saturated soil. The first arc from the heavens struck at the edge of the lake, near the oak that Harry had sheltered in earlier. The second struck on shore, slightly to the south of the tree. The third strike finally got in right, striking at the heart of the oak to cleave it in two. The storm seemed to admire its handiwork for a moment as a silence persisted long enough to allow Harry to hear the two halves hit the ground together.

Harry knew he should resist, but he was drawn to the corpse of the tree. He slogged along the last leg of the path surrounding the lake, watching as the flames succumbed to the rain. Harry arrived at the remains of the tree. He could still see the remnant of his footprints leading away from the oak and into the gloom. The scent of charred wood hung thick in the air.

It was ridiculous, he knew, but Harry felt a profound loss at the destruction of the tree. It went beyond the lost memories of his walks with Hermione around the lake or study sessions with her and Ron. It was the more intangible loss of something familiar. The loss of the last place of security he felt in the wizarding world. He was truly alone now with no solace to be offered in all of the wizarding world.

Fury swept over him and stormed over the edge of the lake turning his eyes skyward.

“What more do you want from me!” he roared. “Is this all some sick fucking game to you?! JUST KILL ME AND BE DONE WITH IT!”

He fell to his knees and let his head sag to his chest. In his life, nothing was sacred. Not his mentor. Not his family. Not even the casual schoolmate. He felt more alone than he had ever felt before. Without Dumbledore, he was nothing, just a boy with a scar and some old fraud's condemnation.

“End it,” he breathed. “Just end it.”

He didn't know when it started, merely that some indeterminate time had passed before he recognized his name being called.

He lazily turned his head to look over his shoulder. Hermione was standing between the two halves of the shatter oak with her hands cupped around her mouth. A slight smile fought its way onto Harry's face. It was painful and he didn't want it, but it was there.

I don't know how she does it.

“Are you all right, Harry?!”

Harry rose, trying to hide the weariness he was feeling. One glance at Hermione's face told him he wasn't successful.

“Talk to me, Harry,” she pleaded. “Tell me what's going through your head.”

Harry started to answer before changing his mind.

“C'mon,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away, “let's get you inside.”

She reluctantly allowed him to lead her to the castle, pausing only on the steps of the entrance hall. Harry cast a last look at the fallen oak and another at the waning storm.

“I'm going to miss that tree,” Hermione said softly.

Harry turned to look at her as if just realizing she was there. They were still holding hands, he realized and that simple contact with her comforted him. She comforted him; she always had.

“There'll be others,” he said, pushing a bundle of her brown hair out of her eyes. “There'll be others.”

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