Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.

Posted 12-7-09. Hey, y'all. This is a birthday fic for Escoger. You should totally go over and read his work, particularly Cursed to Relive or What if? The Purgatory of Lily. Anyhow, he has a challenge up on his profile page, which I endeavored to fulfill, somewhat, in this little fic. The stipulations for said challenge are below...very, very far below. Many Happy Returns, and hope this isn't a chore to read.

Revised, edited, and reposted 2-3-10

The Dool Tree

Chapter 1

Climbing trees wasn't a specialty of Hermione Granger's, but Ron compelled her.

"Come on, 'Mione, kick off your shoes and just try it!"

She'd been hesitant from the upstart, and gazed in horrified fascination as the boys climbed the old, gnarly sycamore. Even if she wasn't the sort of girl who preferred to keep her feet on solid ground, she didn't like the idea of climbing the tree.

"Listen," she demanded, "hasn't either of you read Hogwarts, a History yet? This tree, was used by the Highland Chieftains of the old wizarding clans to hang criminals. It's what they call a Dool Tree, 'dool' meaning 'sorrow'. See how it's on this little hill? It's called a Moot Hill."

"Aw, shove it, 'Mione," Ron said dispassionately, but Harry stopped climbing and looked at her.

"How long has it been since they hung anyone here?" he asked carefully.

"Hundreds of years, of course," replied Hermione with a huff. "They stopped such barbaric practices on school grounds during the reign of Victoria, when they first built the fence around the castle gardens."

"All right," Harry said, no longer spooked. "Then join us up here. You'd like to experience this piece of history, wouldn't you?"

He knew Hermione so well; of course he was right. The temptation was great, and Hermione eventually gave in, though she was still wary. She didn't like heights as a general rule, and she cast her eyes up the tree to estimate how high she dared to go.

"All right, but only for a moment," she said, removing her shoes and spelling her socks so that they wouldn't get moist on the grass. She then hesitated; the tree was bereaved of leaves this bright October day, and it occurred to her that taking advantage of its undress by climbing on it would be dreadfully uncouth.

"What're you waiting for? Don't worry about Umbridge, when we left Potions she was trying to make Snape—the greasy bat—change his teaching curriculum. She'll be at it a while; that Snape can be a real brick sometimes."

"The Inquisitional Squad could come around," she replied as a half-hearted excuse.

"Who cares?" Ron insisted. "We've got the advantage from up here. If we see the little blighters, we'll come right down, all right?"

He extended his strong warm hand, which she accepted. Soon, she was on the first branch, but Ron didn't let go.

"Ronald," she reminded him firmly, and his cheeks got red as he hastily withdrew.

She looked around her and was pleased at the sight. Perhaps a new perspective isn't half bad, she decided, admiring the view of Hogwarts from a vantage of four feet higher than usual. A shiver—not from the brisk temperature of the autumn afternoon—came to her as she shared the same view that dozens of men across history had seen in their last seconds. Honestly, it could be worse, she thought to herself. What's it like from higher?

"Blimey, there she goes!" exclaimed Ron with enthusiasm as she followed the boys up into the tree, higher and higher.

"It's not that exciting," Hermione said when they paused to stop. They were about fifteen feet in the air, and the three of them sat on a long, strong branch. If the view below had been inspiring, the one up there was exhilarating.

Maybe next summer, mum and dad and I can go somewhere other than France for the holiday, she decided. Someplace that we could take an airplane to get to. Florida would be nice.

Her mind drifted back to the death that had taken place under that tree, and she cast a glance around her, looking for any indication as to what branch might have been the one favored by executioners. Irony being as unpredictable and unexpected as love, there was a deep ridge at the end of the very branch below that on which they rested.

How awful, she decided, extending her legs down until her feet touched the curveature of the other branch below. Soon she was standing on the gallows branch, and she shuffled sideways, like a crab, towards the end of it. She tried to tell herself that she was not driven by a fascination with abomination, but instead curiosity about what it'd be like to rig the rope. To help her keep her balance, she kept her belly up against the bigger branch from which she'd descended.

"Careful, 'Mione," interjected Ron, and Hermione whipped her head upwards to look at him. Despite his evident concern, Ron's mouth was agape, indicating that he enjoyed his view of what she kept down her shirt.

"I'm perfectly capable of managing myself, Ronald," she retorted, hitching up her blouse with a jerk. Then, having reached the end of the branch, she lowered herself down to a squat. Running her fingers in the deep cut in the bark, she supposed that it had been smoothed by many ropes with struggling victims on their ends. It was sickening.

She stood again, feeling mildly queasy. For one blissful moment, she saw everything that there was to see in the Hogwarts gardens: under the gracefully-aging rowan and oak trees (and the distant Whomping Willow) lay a vista of hearty Scotch roses, clusters of velvet-red hydrangeas, and patches of dainty fuchsias, with large patches of heather here and there. Not a quarter mile away from them was the enormous castle's doors—and out of them was coming a smirking Draco Malfoy et company.

Startled by the sudden appearance of The Ferret, Hermione yelped and took a step back. This was a terrible mistake, considering the branch didn't exist where she laid her foot.

The last words she heard before she hit the ground were, "It's Malfoy!", but she couldn't tell if they came from Harry or Ron.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

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