Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: This is the first Harry Potter fic I've written in well over six years, and the first thing I've written in any fandom for over two years. So what do I choose? Possibly the most clichéd plot in the Potterverse. Oh, well. Gotta start somewhere, right? And yes, this is the result of listening to "A Whole New World" one too many times. This takes place in between sixth and seventh year, though doesn't really fit with the book very well. That just seemed to be a good time for it to take place.

The sun was just peeking over the hills, the world was still. Birds chirped in the distance, and frogs croaked morning greetings to each other in the pond a few yards away from the Burrow. The sky was painted in dusky pinks and purples, threatening to blot out the stars that had twinkled all night. A breeze swept through the tall grasses in the fields on the outskirts of town, a welcoming balm to an already over-warm day. The world was still fast asleep, except for a thin, bespectacled boy in Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry Potter rolled over in his borrowed bed at the Burrow and gave his pillow an exhausted punch. He'd been with Ron's family nearly a week, and had accumulated about an hour's worth of solid sleep since then. The ongoing war and his involvement in its conclusion had dominated his thoughts, as well as the strained relationship between himself and his friends. He felt so far away from them. Ginny was refusing to be in the same room with him, let alone speak to him, especially after he had once again let her down gently. He wanted to scream that it wasn't her, it was him, but that felt way too much like a corny line from a Muggle romance movie. And to make matters worse, he no longer knew how he felt about Ginny. His mind felt like a jangled mush of emotions, and it was hard to sort out what was what. He and Ron were still as chummy as ever, but Harry could feel that Ron felt caught between a rock and a hard place. And Hermione…he and Hermione hadn't been on the same page in ages, and he missed that friendship the most. She'd always been able to keep his feet on the ground and wasn't afraid to tell him he was acting like an idiot. He briefly wondered if she missed their closeness as much as he did. Probably not, he mused. There was something going between her and Ron that Harry didn't care to think about.

Rolling over to his stomach, Harry peeked out the window at the coming dawn. The small metal alarm clock on Ron's nightstand ticked away, happily informing Harry that it was four in the morning, and two hours since he'd been able to fall into a fitful sleep. Harry ran a hand across his face and gave a deep sigh. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. For one, Ron was snoring loud enough to beat the band and the audience, and there was no way he was sleeping through that. For another, Mrs. Weasley would be calling them for breakfast in a couple hours, and Harry knew he'd wake up even more exhausted than he was now. He reached down to the floor where he'd not-so-carefully placed his glasses and put them on. He tugged on a pair of shorts and his worn out sneakers before quietly sneaking down the stairs and out to the backyard, stopping to grab his broom on his way out. There was only one remedy for a cluttered mind-a nice, long flying session. Maybe after some time in the clouds, Harry would feel more down to earth. Glancing around the backyard by instinct, he pushed off.

For the first time all summer, Harry felt free. There was something so comforting about the familiarity of flying-the rough feel of the broom handle beneath his fingers, the wind tousling his hair and ringing in his ears, the cool air making goosebumps rise on his arms and legs. From this vantage point, he could see for miles. The houses looked like matchboxes, and for a moment, Harry could imagine that all of his worldly problems were just that size. As though he weren't a seventeen-year-old boy with the weight of the Wizarding world on his frail, bony shoulders. Harry shook his head and rolled his torso, as though to dislodge the feeling of heroics from his body. He hadn't come up here to dwell on his problems, he'd come up here to get away from them. Granted, he was freezing his arse off, having dressed only in a pair of oversized shorts and a thin hand-me-down t-shirt to combat the mid-August heat, and he'd kicked off from the ground and ascended so fast his glasses were still fogged up-but to get even just a second of peace? It was a small price to pay.

Harry quickly lost track of time as he zoomed around the clouds, practicing elaborate Quidditch dives and barrel rolls. When he finally righted himself to take a break, he noticed the early-morning light had faded into the unrelenting brightness of midday. And that he was no longer alone in the Burrow's backyard. He noticed a small figure hunched in the shade of a large oak tree, watching him intently. The lack of red hair assured him it wasn't a Weasley, which for reasons he didn't care to explore at the moment, Harry felt very relieved by. Upon closer inspection, his suspicions were confirmed-not a Weasley, but a Granger, propped against the tree and staring into space. A large book lay in her lap, her finger marking the page and thumb smoothing over the pages and making them ripple.

Touching down a few feet away had no effect; Hermione was far too distracted to even notice they were in the same universe. She seemed troubled, and instinctively, Harry felt the need to help. He leaned his broom up against the tree and sank down beside her. She snapped out of her reverie with a gasp and then graced him with a sheepish smile.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Harry shrugged in apology. "I'm surprised you even noticed me sit down. You were a million miles away."

"I was just thinking," she sighed, putting her bookmark in her book and laying it down beside her. She didn't make any move to elaborate, which Harry found odd. When had they grown so far apart? He could remember a time when she had been eager to share her ideas and feelings with him. He frowned.

"Thinking about anything in particular?" Or anyone? he thought. It was no secret Ron and Hermione had been tip-toeing around each other all summer.

"Nothing. And everything. All at the same time," she gave a chuckle. "My mind is all over the place at the moment. You seemed to be having a good time, though. It was nice to watch you fly. You always look so at home up there."

"It's a nice escape," Harry agreed.

"That was something I could never do."

"What? Escape?"

"No," she looked up towards the white fluffy clouds. "Fly."

"You're kidding me," Harry grinned, sure she was joking. "Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of our age-can't fly?"

"It's not funny," but she smiled in spite of herself as she gave him a playful shove. "I've never been good at it. I couldn't even get my broom to jump into my hand during the first-year flying lessons. I figured Apparition or the Floo network would be fine travel alternatives, so I guess I just gave up."

"Were you afraid? Brooms can sense that sort of thing, you know."

"It's a broom, Harry, not a horse."

"You can cast spells from an enchanted stick and you doubt that brooms can sense fear?"

"Fine, yes, I was afraid. I've never been particularly fond of heights," she looked away. Harry rolled that over in his mind for a minute. The immense distance between him and the ground was t he last thing he thought of when he was up in the air. He couldn't say he was afraid of heights, but after one too many spills off his broom, he could say he had a healthy respect for gravity.

"You don't think about the height when you're up there, though," he told her. "There's only blue sky and open air. It's amazing. So long as you don't look down, I guess."

"Isn't that the same advice they give tight-rope walkers?"

"I guess it's the same principle," he laughed. Struck with a sudden idea, he glanced between his broom and Hermione. Flying was a basic Wizarding skill. And if he were to be practical, in the times ahead, it could mean the difference between life and death for her. He leapt to his feet and grabbed his broom. "Alright, come on."

"Come on? What do you mean 'come on'?" she looked confused, by instinctively reached for his outstretched hand to be pulled to her feet.

"I'd say you're far overdue for a new flying lesson," he had to suppress a laugh as her eyes widened comically and her jaw dropped several inches.

"What? Harry, no-"

"It's a good skill to learn, Hermione."

"But-" she stuttered as Harry ignored her protest and shoved the broom into her trembling hands.

"The first thing to do is to mount it. Which is pretty self-explanatory." He waited until she had awkwardly climbed onto the broom. "Okay, now push off." Hermione squeezed her eyes tight and willed the broom rise, but nothing happened. Her feet stayed firmly on solid ground. Harry noticed her hands were clutching the handle so hard her knuckles had turned white. Okay, this obviously wasn't going to work.

"Let's try this a different way," he reasoned, putting a hand over hers and easing them away from the broom. He mounted the broom himself and pushed off so the tips of his worn sneakers were barely brushing the grass. He then extended a hand to her. She looked at it warily, as though this whole situation was suspect. And in reality, it was. This definitely wasn't the kind of thing Harry and Hermione usually did together, but her really couldn't think of a better way to teach her to fly. Cautiously, she took his hand and let him pull her so that she was sitting in front of him on the broom. He'd never flown with anyone else on his broom before, and he contemplated the new sensation as he slid his arms around her waist to guide her hands to the handle of the broom. She stiffened slightly at the tight embrace, and clutched the handle firmly like before when she realized her feet could not touch the ground. She made no sound, though, and Harry had to chuckle at how typically Hermione her response was-show no fear.

"Hermione, relax. We're not even off the ground yet," he reached around her once more to place his own hands on the handle, and had to mentally reassess when he realized this position brought her back flush against his chest. It was different, but not wholly unpleasant. And he had to give her credit. She did at least try to relax; he could feel the tension in her shoulders easing slightly under his arms. But he could tell she was still terrified. "Take a deep breath. You trust me, right?"

"What?" the question came out as a squeak.

"Do you trust me?" he asked. She nodded but remained stiff. "Then you know that I'd never let you fall or get hurt, right?"

"Right," she said, but sounded unconvinced. He shook his head and smiled.

"Alright, then. I'm going to push off and we're going to hover, okay?"

"Okay."

"On the count of three. One, two, three-" On three, he gave a small push against the ground and steadily climbed until they were level with the top of the tree they had been sitting under. Hermione had gone back to her death grip on the broom handle and Harry could tell her eyes were squeezed firmly shut. She was nearly hyperventilating and she'd started trembling. Of their own accord, his hands released their hold and traced soothing patterns on the back of hers where they rested on the broom handle. After a few moments, she relaxed against him.

"Hermione, you've got to open your eyes. You're missing all the fun."

"They are open," the statement curled at the end like a question. A quick peek over her shoulder confirmed that her eyes were in fact, tightly closed.

"Liar," he chuckled. "You're perfectly safe up here. You're not going to fall."

"Promise?" she asked in a small voice. It was a very un-Hermione-like response, and for some reason, Harry felt touched by it. He reached one of his hands under hers and loosened it from the broom handle. He gave it a tight, reassuring squeeze.

"Promise," he answered. The next moment, he heard a loud gasp. He bit his lip to hold back an amused laugh. He'd had almost t he exact same reaction the first time he'd flown (or rather, the first time he'd flown and taken the time to appreciate it). In the Muggle world, such sites were usually seen in an airplane or on the hundredth floor of an office building, separated from the experience by thousands of tons of glass and metal. Mountain climbing came close, but it was a totally different experience to feel weightless, to feels as though you were one with the sky. Even though they hovered only handful of feet off the ground, they could peek over the roof of the Burrow and gaze at the cliffs and fields on the horizon.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "You can see for miles."

"It gets better. Are you ready to go higher?"

"Er-"

"Come on, it'll be fun." he gave her hand another squeeze and tipped the broom handle up to climb higher into the skies. Once they were hovering well above the Burrow, he righted the broom and let it rest just to the right of a large, fluffy cloud.

"Everything looks so small from up here," Hermione noted.

"Just remember to not look-" he didn't get a chance to tell her not to look down. In an instant, she was shaking again. Her eyes were glued to a space just below their feet, which showed they were a sickening thousand feet in the air. The hand that was gripping his tightened so forcefully Harry was sure she'd broken several bones, and that he'd probably care a lot more about that if he wasn't so sure she'd faint. "Okay, it's okay. Hermione, breathe." She took in a shuddering gasp. The hand she wasn't crushing came up to wrap around her waist in attempt to make her feel a little more secure. Being the seventeen-year-old boy he was, Harry couldn't help but notice the intimacy of this new situation, and the lack of awkwardness he associated with it. It seemed perfectly natural to draw her a little tighter against his chest and mutter reassurances in her ear. When had Hermione become such a-girl? Those curves were definitely not there the last time he'd hugged her. One thing at a time, Potter. Let's concentrate on not letting her fall off the broom and we'll explore this later, alright?

After a few moments, the shaking stopped and she seemed to at least have come to grips with being nearly half a mile in the air. Harry couldn't blame her for the fear and felt a pang of guilt at having pushed her too far. He didn't dare bring them back down, though, not until she'd actually learned how to handle a broom. In places where Apparition was forbidden and a Portkey or Floo Network wasn't available, knowing how to fly would be an invaluable skill. Glancing down below them, however, he conceded to himself that learning to steer could have very easily have taken place hovering next to the tree, rather than among the clouds.

"Alright, first lesson," he said. He chuckled. "Rule number one: don't ever look down."

"I don't think I'll be doing that again," she gave a watery laugh. "Rule two?"

"Rule two: hold the broom firmly, but don't strangle it," he put his hands over hers to demonstrate, guiding them to grip the handle. "If you squeeze too tightly, you might accidentally tell the broom to move when you don't want it to. Plus, your hands get really tired."

"Okay, gentle. Got it." Hermione was in student mode now, he could tell.

"Now, lean forward a little bit. That tells the broom you want it to go." She did as he told her, and was rewarded when the broom sluggishly moved forward a few feet. She let out a delighted yet surprised squeak, letting go of the broom handle completely to make it stop. Harry grabbed both hands before she could panic and brought them back down to the handle.

"Rule three: do not let go of the handle," he said. "To stop, pull up." He rested his hands on her elbows and helped her demonstrate. After a few moments, she was confident enough to do it herself, and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen such a large grin on her face before. It was infectious, and he couldn't help but smile back at her.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she was saying over the wind. "I'm flying!"

"You certainly are," he beamed back at her. She turned to look over her shoulder at him, and suddenly they were dangerously face to face. Harry froze, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. Hermione, too, seemed not to know what do in this situation and inadvertently making it worse by tangling the fingers of one hand in his t-shirt to steady herself. Harry wondered again…where had his bookish best friend gone and who was this woman left in her place? Harry had never given much thought to Hermione as a girl other than in the abstract sense. She was his best friend, not something to be ogled. And after suspecting that Ron had feelings for her, that had sealed the deal-there would be no noticing of Hermione as anything other than a friend. But up here, away from the obligations and the trappings of the world, Harry saw the things he'd been missing over the past few years. An awkward, gangly frame had given way to womanly curves, her shorter build fitting perfectly against his taller one. Her hair was still a flyaway mess (especially after flying), but he noticed that rather than frizz, it was made up of cascading curls stopping just below her shoulders. Her wide grin had faded after the surprise of being so close, and a small, traitorous portion of Harry's brain whispered that if he only leaned in a few inches, he could taste those lips that suddenly looked very pouty and tempting. Wait, what? Harry's conscious was a few steps behind his subconscious, as he moved to do just that.

He'd barely ghosted his lips across hers when they both jumped back in shock, the spell broken. Confusion shone in her eyes, and she looked down at her hand, her fingers still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. She squeaked in surprise and let go, turning around suddenly and clamping both hands around the broomstick handle. Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and down across his face. Good going, Potter. Now you've confused yourself and muddied your friendship.

"It must be about time for lunch," he reasoned, now unsure of where to put his hands. He settled for resting them at her waist, now acutely aware of how tense she saw. "I'll show you how to get down." He instructed her on how to descend, and they were soon safely on terra firma. Harry held out a hand to help her dismount before throwing the broom over his shoulder and heading to put it away. Hermione picked up her book from under the three and scurried inside to put it away. Unexpectedly, he looked up to find Ron leaning against the doorframe, trying unsuccessfully to look aloof and hide a scowl. Harry suddenly felt very tired. He really didn't have the energy to sort out what had happened in the air and deal with his jealous best friend. He prayed Ron wouldn't delve too deeply into it.

"Looks like you two had fun up there," Ron began casually. The tone of his voice held warning and suspicion.

"She needed to learn to fly. I was out flying, offered to teach her." Harry shrugged.

"And it had to be you."

"Look, I just happened to be out flying and thought that in the upcoming months, flying might be a good skill to have. You and I are good at it, but Hermione never learned."

"Right. Fine." Ron narrowed his eyes and glanced behind him as Hermione came back outside. "Mum sent me to get you two for lunch."

"Okay, thanks Ron," Hermione gave a convincing everything's-fine smile. "You coming, Harry?"

"Er, yeah," Harry walked towards the door. Hermione stopped him just as he was about to brush past her with a hand on his arm. He looked down at her with a questioning look, and for the second time in their friendship, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, and graced him a soft smile. She turned quickly and rushed inside. Harry looked up to find the scowl on Ron's face deepening. Bloody hell, what have I gotten myself into? he wondered as he made his way to sit down at the table. By now, Hermione was involved in a rather animated conversation with Ginny involving some book they'd both read. She glanced up at him as she sat down across from her and they shared a look of understanding. What happened in the air would be their secret. And Harry realized that no matter how this turned out in the end, this afternoon had been one of the most fun he'd ever had and he wouldn't have traded it for everything. And with that, he excitedly dove into the platter of sandwiches and turned to ask the twins how the shop was coming.

A/N: The end! Hopefully this will get me out of my writer's block. Reviews are very welcome!