Disclaimer: As much as I love Draco Malfoy/Tom Felton, I don't own him, nor anything that belongs to J.K. Rowling. Can't we just talk about it, Jo? I swear I won't misuse them…
Author's Note: It's been a year since I wrote fanfics, and a year since I was a Harry Potter fan. My knowledge about it is quite limited now, so if there are any mistakes on the facts, please point it out for me (I'm currently adding back the lost knowledge xD). And I do not have a beta-reader, so any grammatical errors or spellings are mine to blame. The rest, are yours to say. Reviews are very much appreciated, constructive criticisms are welcome too.
Summary: Confronting your fears is about facing it with someone your trust. Seems likely, just that Hermione never know it will be with a particular Slytherin. He can't be the one to stop her fall. He can't. OneShot, DHr
My Wings Diverged
Hermione admitted she had no talents in flying. None. Zilch.
Maybe she was acrophobic, or it was her terrible roller-coaster experiences while on a school field trip when she was seven. Stupid Joseph Boswell, daring her to ride the Cursed Mine without knowing there would be a 90 degrees fall.
Nevertheless, this Gryffindor witch did not like flying.
Everyone knew how much she detested the idea of Quidditch (including her Quidditch-worshipping best friends, who found it awfully odd). Muggle football was an intense abomination to her, what more of a sport that involved flying broomsticks and lethal objects that were much more destructive than Grawp?
Though, Hermione never denied her curiosity.
Curiosity was the reason she became the brightest witch in her year. Her fervent curiosity assisted her and her best friends in accomplishing mind-wrecking riddles and enduring life-threatening situations.
Curiosity was what brought Hermione Granger, famous Quidditch-condemner, to the Quidditch Pitch. She was sitting at the lower stands with uncertainty in her face, a worn-out broomstick lying wistfully beside her.
It merely took experienced stealth to steal that broomstick from Madam Hooch's office (borrowed, as Hermione insisted to her strictly-rules-abiding mind, since she would be returning it), but it took more than sorting out her nerves to decide she needed to overcome her fears.
Why, though, on a gloomy Tuesday morning?
One: because she didn't have classes till after lunchtime.
Two: Harry and Ron, along with most of her year, had double Divination with Trelawney (that bamboozling hag) and extra Tranfiguration classes since hardly anyone (aside from no one other than yours truly) could successfully transmogrify a worn-out stuffed doll into a real-life meerkat (god, whoever in this wizarding world couldn't do that?). So that meant Mr Potter and Mr Weasley wouldn't be disturbing her till then.
Three: no one would be awake at six o'clock in the morning and flying around the school grounds during the later – freezing – weeks of November.
A perfectly-devised, ingenious plan.
Now she just needed to stop cowering and just get on with her original task.
She fought vehemently with her mind, giving logical excuses to avoid this. The weather was getting too cold; the broomstick was too ancient to be ridden on; she was just too cowardly to do something that simple –
Oh, shut up.
Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around her and wrapped her arms around herself to keep her warm. Okay, no kidding, it was really cold out here, and the sun had hardly risen yet.
As how much suicidal it sounded, Hermione insisted her month-long plan would not go down to waste.
She stood up and grabbed the broomstick rather violently. If she decided she was to be a complete idiot and ride a broomstick without knowing what the hell she should do, she certainly would do it.
"Granger?"
Hermione immediately froze. Not because of the temperature, but because of that familiar voice.
She looked left and saw Draco Malfoy walking towards her in an amble canter. His striking green Quidditch robes were an eyesore among the dull, misty surrounding.
"What're you doing here?" he asked, a slight suspicious tone in his voice.
Hermione regained her composure and pointed her chin. "Nothing," she replied casually.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, that doesn't look like nothing," he remarked, pointing at the broomstick partially-hidden behind Hermione.
Hermione's attempt to remain cool didn't seem to work, as now her whole plan was in ruins, thanks to a certain Slytherin. And her cover was blown. Well done, Granger.
"To you, it's nothing," Hermione insisted hastily, pushing the broomstick further away from sight.
He still gazed at her with a disapproving frown. It was annoying, as much his very presence was.
"Okay, I want to fly," Hermione finally answered, throwing an arm up in the air in exasperation. "Got anything against it?" she accused venomously.
"No, just that you shouldn't be dragging it on the ground, it's bad enough its tail is falling apart," he merely said nonchalantly.
Hermione couldn't help but stare at him with her jaw slightly hanging. What was wrong with him? Whatever happened to the usual taunts he'd make, or the usual term 'Mudblood' that would come out of that dirty cakehole of his? Surely she wasn't hallucinating?
Something happened, Hermione found herself assuming.
"Well, if you're going to fly, why don't you show me," Draco's rather loud voice broke her thoughts.
It wasn't a question.
"Eh?" Hermione's face scrunched up into confusion.
Draco was positioning himself above his broomstick. He jerked his head up and stared at her as if she didn't know how to peel a banana skin. Hermione could have sworn she saw a smirk form on his lips.
"You heard me, let's see what you've got. It'd be priceless if you fall," he added wickedly.
Hermione scowled at him. Malfoys will always be Malfoys: irritating and not a slight bit good-looking.
How are you so sure?
His ruffled blond hair was a change from his usually-slimy (yes, that was how Hermione described it) gelled-up, slicked-back hair. His cheeks were quite pink from the cold air, giving the idea that he was blushing instead. And his height; he was nearly a head taller than her. Hermione had never gotten this close to him to realise how much he had grown.
Snap out of it, Granger, you do not check out your enemy.
Draco kicked off the ground and flew into the air. Though instead of continuing flying higher, he descended to the pitch and got off his broomstick. He looked up at Hermione and sighed in aggravation.
"Aren't you going to come down?" he questioned audibly.
Hermione's rather dreamy expression fell. She looked over the wooden railing and fearfully looked down. It was at least twenty feet down! And she couldn't use the broomstick; she's rather jump right down than ride it in the cramped space.
"Er, I'll take the stairs," Hermione decided nervously.
"What, can't even ride on your broomstick?" came that oh-so-familiar drawl.
Hermione glared at him. Was that a dare? She could just sense it! No one would ever put that tone with her.
Suddenly feeling rather brave (or foolish), Hermione got onto the broomstick, though her legs were rather shaky. She gripped onto the handle with all her might, her insides swimming with anxiety. Thoughts were running through her mind, estimating how much force she should put into her feet, how much speed it would take to reach the ground…
And she kicked off the ground.
Unlike Draco's sharp and swift roar into the air, Hermione just hovered above the ground about five feet. That was enough to scare her, as she shut her eyes tight and clenched the scrapped handle hard.
Draco grew impatient with Hermione, so he gave instructions, "You're supposed to lean forward, and think of the direction you want to go."
Ignoring the fact that Draco Malfoy was actually being helpful, Hermione heeded, and desperately thought of reaching the ground safely.
Please don't result in anything embarrassing, or a night in the Hospital Wing, Hermioned pleaded inwardly.
She started relaxing when she felt herself jerk forward with the stick and started lowering to the ground. She peeked an eye open, and breathed a sigh of relief when she was edging closer to Draco.
See? Not so bad for a first try –
The broomstick suddenly tilted forward and caught Hermione by surprise. Thousands of emotions conjured into one appeared on her face, a veil of thoughts clouding her mind, hoping this wouldn't be the last thing she'd think of. She was too young too die, this rare talent would go to waste!
She fell forward; an echo of her high-pitched scream rang in her ears. She was falling, falling…
…and falling into the safety of something.
Following an impulse, Hermione tightened her hold around whatever-it-is. But because of the abrupt fall, the support fell onto the ground. Her breathing was heavy and rapid, a rush of adrenaline running through her body like she'd just ran five miles without hesitating.
She didn't feel any pain. Weird.
She was on something warm. Weird.
The grass wasn't that soft…
Hermioned opened her eyes and stared into the grey orbs of Draco Malfoy. Her own hazel ones widened in fear.
"Merlin, Granger, you're heavy…" Draco muttered, loud enough for Hermione to hear.
Hermione felt his arms loosen around her, and immediately she moved over and got onto her knees. She stared at her saviour in awe.
Draco Malfoy? Save me?
Draco got up. His face wrinkled in pain as he muttered incoherent words, which Hermione knew consisted of swearing that would make even Ron blush.
"A…are you alright?" Hermione asked in a small voice. She wrung her hands in nervousness.
Draco massaged his back while he turned to her. "After catching a girl as heavy as Goyle?" he retorted bitterly.
Hermione gave him an insulted, dirty look. Draco didn't seem to receive the fiery electric shock from her glares.
He got up to his feet, not even bothered to help Hermione up. What a gentleman. But instead the Gryffindor was panicking inside. Did she embarrass herself? Did she look ugly? Oh god, was she that heavy?
"You're not going to use that again," Draco told Hermione viciously, nodding his head at the abandoned broomstick nearby, "I'm not going to catch you another ten times if this were to happen."
"You could always use magic," Hermione refuted coolly, brushing the invisible soot off her cloak. "If you actually know your charms."
Draco ignored her, and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. It floated in the air when he let go, high enough for him to move on it without any trouble.
"Get on," Draco ordered her.
Hermione stubbornly refused to. She put her hands on her hips and glowered, "You can't order me around!"
"So you don't want to learn to fly then?" he concluded, his face expressionless.
Hermione went silent. She didn't want to ride in the air with him, it's insane! She would be deemed vulnerable up there with him, he could hex her or do something much more horryfing…
Just do it…
Fine.
Wordlessly, Hermione strode over and the broomstick lowered a little, so that it was the perfect angle and height for her. Once she was already seated, Draco moved over behind her, and Hermione sucked in her breath.
"First, you don't kick too hard if you don't want to go too high up," Draco drawled, rather in a taunting tone, "Now, try it."
Too wound up in her thoughts (she was going through a list of hexes that would leave Draco permanently crippled or disfigured), Hermione didn't do anything before Draco nudged her in the back.
"Ow!" Hermione grumbled under her breath, and obediently kicked the ground. The cool wind brushed her face softly as they zoomed higher.
Why am I blushing? This isn't supposed to happen.
"You don't grip too hard, or this bloody stick won't work with you," Draco continued.
Hermione would have snapped at him - or elbow him, as she wished for - to mind his language, but she shut her mouth when she felt his hands enclose over hers, a firm clasp, but not tight.
So warm…
She could feel his breath on her cheek when he exhaled. Her heart was beating faster than it should, and it skipped a beat when he leaned forward so that his chest came in contact with her back.
"Aim forward."
With his hands and his whole damn body touching mine, how in blazes do I do that?!
The broomstick accelerated, pushing through the air. Hermione purposely forced herself to look away from his hands. The tall, empty stands went past, and a triumphant, serene feeling washed over her insides. No longer was she frightened at the thought of falling, or the dread that she wouldn't know how to control the broomstick.
That day, Hermione realised how amazing flying could be. Especially when there would be someone who'd catch her when she'd ever fall.
The breeze, the beautiful scenery of the castle and the snow-peaked mountains, the fearful excitement of flying were so breathtaking, Hermione was sincerely awestruck. The grey morning skies weren't a desolate put-down of her mood anymore. It was a new feeling to her, as though she was hopelessly in love with someone.
I mean, not with Malfoy of course, it was purely a metaphor…
Intentionally, Hermione let go of Draco's grip and slowly spread her arms out. She closed her eyes, shutting Draco's alarmed voice out. She embraced the wonderful breeze, the corners of her lips curling into a broad grin.
"Malfoy?"
"What?"
Hermione smiled to herself. For that moment, she didn't care that Draco Malfoy was her enemy. She didn't care that he'd verbally abused her for years, or that he was the son of a Death Eater. Just for a while, she'd put those aside.
She lowered her arms and squeezed Draco's hands gratefully.
"Thank you."
You helped me find my wings.