Raucous laughter, fueled by butterbeer and firewhisky bounced off the rafters of The Three Broomsticks. Around the collection of pushed-together tables a motley bunch of survivors sat, drinking, joking and building houses out of coasters. Hermione, Ginny and Luna were the only girls, muddled in with Weasleys and a bunch of other Gryffindors. The maleness pervaded everything.
"Just, juss essplain to me," Luna slurred, balancing the point of her wand precariously on one fingertip, "Why d'you lot like girls on brooms sooo much,"
There was another rumble of laughter and some knee slapping from Charlie, who was rocking back on one leg of his chair and brandishing a mostly empty tumbler of firewhisky.
Hermione rolled her eyes. One butterbeer was not enough for this.
"There's nothing at all about a woman with 'wood between her legs' that you think might appeal to sex crazed men?"
This earned another round of drunken laughter.
"Oh, oh, it's more complicated than that," said George, wiping tears from his eyes, "You see-"
"No, it's not!" howled Dean, "Hermione's always right!"
"Girls with dragons," Charlie slurred, "That's what I like. Gimme a girl with a dragon,"
"Girls are sexy on brooms," said Seamus, waving a hand wildly, "They're so… zippy!"
"-you've got your classics," George was saying, counting things off on his fingers, "Quidditch players: lithe, sensual, energetic; you've got your girls-who-think-they-can-fly: adorably useless- that Hannah Abbott girl for example, never been more attractive than that time she got stuck halfway up the astronomy tower and couldn't work out how to get down-"
"Flying is brilliant," Harry was saying, "It's all whoosh! Best thing ever! WHOOOSH!"
"And then you've got Ron's type," George said, grinning like the devil, "Girls-who-never-fly-without-a-big-strong-man-to-cling-to,"
A sudden hush descended, and just as suddenly a teasing 'wooooo' chased it's way around the table, and Hermione found everyone was looking at her expectantly.
"You're all deranged,"
"It's true though, isnit?" said Neville, suddenly, "You only ever fly with Ron. Never seen you fly with Harry. Never seen you fly with Ginny. Never seen you fly with…" he frowned trying to think of another person, "George. Never seen you fly with-"
"You're drunk, Neville,"
"Yeah, s'excellent," he grinned.
"Is that true?" Charlie was asking. "Is that true? Ron- OI RON! Is that true?"
Ron was bright red and looking down at is drink, peeling the label off the bottle with one hand.
"Is that true?"
"S'true! S'true!" trumpeted Seamus gleefully, slapping Ron on the back
"Oi, so, what if it is true?" demanded Ron loudly, stamping the bottle down in the middle of the table, "Why shouldn't she fly with me?" he turned towards Hermione beside him, and half bowed in his seat, "You're welcome to fly with me anytime," he said graciously.
Thunderous laughter and applause. Ginny winked, and took another swig of something.
They piled out into the snowy night, half wrapped in cloaks and hats, still drunk and swaying.
"Hey, who- whose got the de-drunkinator?" demanded Dean, "I've got- I've got, wassat thing? Wassat thing? Oh yeah. Work, I've got work tomorrow,"
"Soberrup," hiccoughed Seamus, "S'a soberruperah, not a de-drunk… de-drunkilater…. S'gotta be Hermioh-Hermioneee. She's not drunk,"
Hermione sighed and pulled the Deluminator out of Ron's coat pocket. He blinked at her in surprise.
"Hey!"
"Hey, yourself," said Hermione, fiddling with the settings. No good taking the street lamps out.
"D-joo ever think about getting a dragon?" said Charlie, suddenly lurching over to hang a big arm over her shoulders, "You'd look great witha dragon, you'd be-"
Definitely time to head back to Hogwarts. With a flick of the wrist, a twist and some clicks from the deluminator, alcohol vapour started to pour out of them into the freezing night. Luna blinked blearily, Harry shook his head, Neville rubbed his eyes. Charlie gave her shoulders a squeeze and kissed the side of her head.
"You're a good sort, Hermione. You send me an owl if you change your mind about getting a dragon," he winked and disapparated on the spot.
The non-Hogwarts students started disapparating with cheery goodnights and backslapping, and a general grin and a thank you for the sobering. She hadn't thought there'd be this much drinking involved in their seventh year. But it made sense. Everyone was trying to forget. At least for an evening.
Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way through the snowy streets of Hogsmeade back towards the castle.
"Haven't seen Dean that pissed in a while," said Harry, chuckling
"Haven't seen Luna that pissed ever," said Ron, sounding impressed, "Merlin's ruddy- did you hear what she asked Neville? God, I'd've just about died- poor Neville! Mind you, I'm beginning to suspect he's clumsy on purpose- did you see that, Hermione?"
"You mean, when Luna asked about the male fascination with breasts and Neville knocked her butterbeer all over her?" she said dryly.
"That's the one. Blimey, who knew!"
They wound their way back up to the castle, and climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, Harry yawning loudly.
They would be gone soon, up the stairs to their dormitory.
"Ron? D'you have a minute?"
Ron glanced back at her.
"Yeah, sure." He came loping back down the stairs, "What's up? Bit too raucous tonight? Got a bit lewd, I grant you, but you did say you wanted to come. I can have a word with them if you like,"
Hermione shook her head.
"No it's not that,"
Ron tipped his head to the side, considering.
"Did you mean it?" she asked, finding she was slightly breathless.
"What?"
"About the flying?"
"Hey? Oh, sure. Any time," he gazed back at her, eyes wide.
Hermione took a breathe.
"Now?"
His eyebrows shot up.
"You want to go flying now? At night? In the cold? After we've all been drinking?"
"We're sober now,"
"Well, yeah, but…" he trailed off, and cast her an odd look, "Sure, ok. Got a destination in mind?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Just… wherever."
"Oh. Ok." He just looked at her for a moment. Then he gestured towards the portrait hole with his head. "C'mon then,"
Hermione followed him back down all those flights of stairs, and back out into the snowy night, deliberately ignoring the voice in her head which was saying very pointed things about flying on broomsticks with boys.
Don't think about it, she told herself firmly, it's just flying. Metaphor or no metaphor, this is literally just flying.
Her breath was white in the cold moonlight, and shallower than she'd like. Calm down, you fool. It's flying. Just flying.
With Ron. Oh god.
Ron was cloaked in shadow, unlocking the broom shed, quietly muttering spells. He was so funny about his broom. Flyabout extreme- stupid name, Hermione folded her arms against the cold, and tried to stop the impulse to mentally recite everything she knew about his broom. She'd heard it all often enough. Multi-purpose sports broom, best suited for distance, height and speed. Suitable for Quidditch, but not one of their specialised models. Made of River Red Gum, same hardwood they used to make bridges and paving out of in Sydney in the 1800s. Longer than most. Better for heavier flyers. Also something about strength and density and temperature control for flying at heights. Adapted for broom surfing, free falling and a very violent Australian game officially called Muzzbucket, or 'Muzzo' if you were local. She'd walloped him with a textbook when he'd shown her a picture of a wizard post-flyabout-accident. Told him if he killed himself flying it, she curse his afterlife. Read enough black magic books last year to just about do it too.
"Ready?"
Moonlight glinted off the broom handle, dark and reddish, not unlike his hair post-shower… Hermione swallowed and nodded.
He swung a leg over and looked at her. Eyes in the night. He looked… so damn masculine.
Oh god, just move, he's staring at you, you asked for this…
Hermione unstuck her feet from the ground, placed one hand lightly on his shoulder (oh god his shoulder) and swung a leg over the broom. She was suddenly acutely aware of her arms and legs and had no idea what to do with them. Usually, when she was in this position, she was hanging on for dear life, because it was a life threatening situation, or because Ron had scooped her up mid-backyard quidditch game, despite her squealing protests, because he knew by the time they came down again she'd be laughing.
To do this on purpose, to volunteer… what the hell was she supposed to do with her hands? She wrapped her arms around his waist, hands resting on her own wrists- and he took one hand and pulled it further round, tighter, so her cheek was pressed to his back.
"Sorry. Don't want you falling off," he said, "Count of three?"
Hermione wrapped her arms more securely around him, bit her lip, and nodded against his back. She felt the ghost of a laugh as he counted them in, and all at once she felt the spring of his long legs kicking them off the ground and that strange weightlessness of the broom's cushioning charms kicking in. Almost like how she always imagined anti-grav- but not as strong. Just sort of floated you a little bit in the seat area- so unnerving. Always made her feel like she was going to fall straight off. And here she was, squeaking in alarm, and hanging onto him for dear life all over again, hovering twenty metres off the ground.
He let out a bark of laughter.
"You really don't like flying, do you,"
"Well I haven't done very much of it," she found herself saying in a voice much higher than her own. "And I'm not overly fond of heights,"
"Yeah, I know. Great night for a fly though. Nice clouds, light breeze. Tell you what, close your eyes for a bit,"
"You think they're open?"
He chuckled again, and she could feel the laughter through his back, warm and rough.
She had no idea where they were going- up, she supposed, or straight ahead- it was disorienting with her eyes closed, and her heart in her throat, and his warm back pressed up against her front. The cold air rushed past, tearing her hair from its braid, and she tried to squash the bubble of panic flying always caused. She could feel his breathing, the small movements as he changed his grip or scratched his knee… they weren't flying fast. She'd flown fast with him before, on older brooms- ones that couldn't go as fast as this one could. She shivered.
"Oh, sorry, hang on," he did something, she felt his arms move, shoulder blades shifting, muscles moving, and it was warmer, instantly, the air on her face still cold but not biting. Hermione let out a shaky breath and tried to concentrate on his lungs. They must be enormous. Filling with air. Deflating. Filling again. Soothing. Very human. She felt her breathing slow, more in time with his. Her knuckles released their death grip on his jumper. Moist air kissed her face, damp like- cloud?
Her eyes flew open, straining to see through the mist of the cloud, grey and endless. There was no ground below, nothing, in any direction, her mind and instinct instantly at war, instinct soothed by the absence of ground, mind terrified by the knowledge that it must be very far away.
The grey grew whispy, and they were suddenly bathed in bright, white moonlight, streaming down and bouncing off the clouds below them. She felt the direction change, and found herself breathing relief as they leveled off.
She gasped, and felt him chuckle, as her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw the blaze of stars against the night sky. So much closer, so much clearer, so much more infinite and far away and dazzling than they had ever been from the astronomy tower or through a telescope or in the pages of her school books or in the ceiling of the great hall… a great blaze of light scattered across the sky like freckles…
Oh my god, he's giving me the stars!
She let out a surprised laugh at her own sentimentality, and he chuckled too, and she thought for a second maybe he'd read her mind.
"What?"
"Ah, nothing," he said, "That was just a really classic gasp,"
He was sort of lounging on the broom now, hovering, so casual, so comfortable, like he did this all the time. Which he did. Hermione felt a lot of the nervous tension slip away. Cautiously, she moved her arms, running her hands up his chest, and relaxing into his back with a shaky sigh. Whoops. Bit obvious…
He didn't seem to mind. Just pointed out some constellations she hadn't realised he knew the names of, and began telling her utterly outlandish stories which bore little or no resemblance to the mythologies they'd been taught in class.
She loved hearing his voice rumble through his body, and his low chuckles, and the feel of his chest underneath her palms- especially when they were both laughing…
They subsided into a peaceful quiet, and Ron dipped them down, toes skimming through the cloud, slowly picking up speed. Hermione rubbed her face against his back instinctively, and she felt him smile. She wasn't sure that was even possible, but there was something, some subtle change she knew meant that lopsided grin.
"Ready for some speed?"
"How much speed?" she asked warily
He was laughing again.
"Just enough,"he said, flying faster already. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion it was a little like taking a run up. Oh god… no, really, don't…
And they were diving, plummeting down, air tearing past them, through the damp clouds and down towards the dark ground, the castle getting bigger and bigger, the great lake gleaming like a giant mirror, blood pounding, breath gasping-
"Ron!"
His name was whisked away from her, a breathy gasp in his ear, and his answering shout of laughter vanished on the wind. She'd slipped forward with the dive, further up his back, her chin over his shoulder, cheek pressed against his neck and his ear and the soft sandpaper of his jaw- she'd never been this close to his face before, never been this high up, or this fast or falling like this-
And just like that it was over. He pulled them smoothly out of the dive, shooting out across the rolling grounds of Hogwarts towards the Forbidden Forest, slowing to a less terrifying speed. Right way up now, gravity dragged her back down, and she buried her face between his shoulder blades, and breathed, trying to calm the swirling eddy of emotions coursing through her. God, her hands were shaking so much- giddy nerves-
"Too much?" he asked, covering one of her hands with his own.
She mumbled unintelligibly and indignantly into his spine. He was chuckling again, and she turned her head to hear it as he swung them round in a lazy circle over the forest, the trees in miniature below.
"We should head back anyway," he said, letting go of her hand, "It is pretty late and the temperature control only takes the edge off. You'll be frozen solid if we stay out much longer. Any requests?"
Yes.
"Uh…"
"Yeah?"
"Great Lake?"
"Ahh," He sounded interested, "Nice. High or low?"
Low.
"You choose,"
"Hmmm,"
And they were off, sweeping up round the Astronomy Tower, stonework and stained glass windows rushing past, up into the sky again. He'll go high, she thought, he likes flying high… but when they reached the top and shot out over the castle, she found herself sliding slightly forward again as they angled down towards the lake.
It gleamed like a bowl of silver… she didn't know what it was about the lake- it made her think of him. Summer afternoons under the trees… they flew lower and lower, until she could see their dark shape reflected on the water. Arms and legs and bodies and broomstick, like a sort of strange wingless creature- but they were still descending…
"Ron, I didn't mean in the lake- over the lake will do fine,"
"Don't worry," he said, "No intention of pestering the Giant Squid."
"Then why-"
"Hold on tight with your left hand,"
"What?"
They were close to the water's surface now, that rippling bed of light. He grabbed her right hand in his and pulled it a way from his chest, at the same time leaning forward and dragging her with him so they were stretched out the length of the broom.
"Just hold on with your left,"
"Like I'm going to let go!" squeaked Hermione lying flat along his back, "What are you doing, you lunatic?"
They were close, but clearly not close enough. He took them lower and lower, their strange shadow flashing beneath them as they flew. He prised the fingers of her right hand open and flat, his thumb holding flat across her palm, his own fingers long and straight, his hand so much bigger than hers. She realised with relief that they'd leveled off, just above the water, and was about to ask him what exactly he thought he was doing, when his arm tensed and he plunged their hands into the water, the back of her hand pressed flat against his palm from the water pressure.
"Oh!"
They swung round in a tight, leaning circle, pivoting round their hands, stuck like a paddle in the water. Then they were shooting back out over the lake to do it again, swinging lightly round, feeling the drag of the water against their hands. His arm was like… Hermione smiled into his shoulder. They skimmed across the lake, back towards the Quidditch pitch, gaining height. He pulled them both upright and tucked her icy, dripping hand back in against his chest, keeping his own wet hand firmly over hers to stop it from getting too cold.
He slowed right down before landing- she'd seen him stop abruptly when he was flying solo, but he seemed to know how confusing that was for her. Even slowing right down, she still had the strange illusion of moving too fast, and she stumbled on the dismount, knees shaky.
"Whoah, don't keel over on me," He grabbed her elbow.
"I'm not," she said, annoyed, "Sorry, I'm like this getting off boats as well."
"S'ok." He gave her a curious half-smile, "I'll just put this away and we can head back in,"
She nodded, teeth chattering, and pulled out her wand for a quick warming spell, now that she was down on the ground and the wind wouldn't whisk it away. He was back in a moment and held his hands out to her, like she was a fire.
"Oh, me too," he said, "Never realise quite how cold it is up there 'til I get down,"
Hermione rolled her eyes, and waved her wand at him to include him in the spell.
"Ah, that's better. Right, bed time. Excellent notion of yours," he said as they made their way back into the castle and back up those flights and flights of stairs. "Bit of a nighttime fly, school rules be damned,"
Hermione found herself smirking in the dark.
"I could dock you house points if you like,"
He snorted.
They climbed the stairs.
Hermione kept one hand on the banister. Legs were still a little shaky.
"So… mind if I ask why?" he sounded… curious
Half the truth.
She shrugged.
"I guess… I realised I haven't ever flown voluntarily. Seemed… not very witchy,"
He let out a bark of laughter and clapped a hand over his mouth guiltily.
"Whoops, sorry."
"You will be if you wake a professor,"
"It's just, you realise how ridiculous that is, right?You're Britain's most powerful witch-"
"Utter nonsense,"
"-according to Witch Weekly, and you're worried about not being sufficiently witchy?"
"I never said I was worried about it. It's just- well, I've got the cat and the cauldron and the pointy black hat- I just kind of freeze when it comes to flying,"
He chuckled quietly.
"I have never seen you wear a pointy black hat,"
"Doesn't fit over my hair,"
He snorted
"I can't even remember the last time you had your cauldron out,"
Hermione wrinkled her nose.
"I never really liked potions that much. I mean, I can do it, but seems a bit pointless when you can get most things ready made and quality controlled,"
"-and as for your cat-"
"Crookshanks saved your life!"
"Not the point. He's not black,"
"So?"
"And you don't have a big hook nose, and a hump and a hairy wart on your chin,"
"Well, thank god for that!"
They lapsed back into silence.
"Fancy some remedial flying lessons?"
"Only if you're extremely nice to me," she said, "It does really freak me out,"
"I'm always nice to you,"
"Yeah, right. Peanut brittle."
The portrait hole swung open and they climbed through. Hermione tripped slightly and Ron grabbed her elbow again.
"Still a bit shaky? Really does freak you out, doesn't it?"
"I did just say that, yes,"
The common room was warm and full of flickering firelight and shadows.
"Was it too much? Tonight?" he sounded anxious suddenly.
"No. No, it was fine."
"Oh. You would say, though, right, you'd tell me to stop?"
"Of course,"
"That dive was ok? It's just, it's a bit of a rush, doing that, but if you don't like it-"
"It was lovely, Ron, it was… it was just lovely," Hermione slightly couldn't believe she was saying that out loud. It was a rush- but one she wouldn't at all like without him. She hoped he couldn't tell she was blushing. "Anyway, thanks. It was…" she bit her lip, "Just- thanks."
He nodded.
"Yeah, no problem,"
She nodded.
"Night Ron,"
"Night,"
She turned and made her way over to the staircase to the girls' dormitory.
"Hermione?"
She paused with her foot on the first step and turned to look back at him.
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but halfway through seemed to change his mind. He was looking at her with his head tilted to one side, like a curious bird. That lopsided grin of his stole across his face and she realised with a bolt of adrenalin that he'd finally worked it out. She felt herself blushing even more, tried to stop herself from smiling at him, and turned back up the stairs to the girls' dorm. That was quite frankly enough excitement for one night.