A/N: First attempt at writing. Totally new at this. Attempt at 55 Fiction.
Based in third year, where I thought it was a miracle Hermione hadn't jumped off a cliff yet.
The wind whips her air into a frenzy.
The sun makes the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
With one air languidly swaying on thin air, she prepares to take the plunge. Only to be pulled back by warm, strong hands.
The storm in his eyes was heightened by the calm in hers.