Chapter 4, Written by ElectricClover, Ravenclaw, Prompt: "It wasn't me", Theme: Air, WC: 1382

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I marched out to the Quidditch pitch, Draco's stolen Nimbus in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other. So what if that stupid, ferret-faced, egotistical, blond-haired, well-muscled prat had told me I couldn't play Quidditch? What did he know?

Admittedly, it had stung that Harry and Ron doubted me as well. They'd found it hilarious, only laughing more when I'd gone back into the Common Room to borrow Ron's broomstick. They hadn't let me borrow it, Harry suggesting I use an old school broom instead. I tried to show them what I'd been working on all day but Ron had just remarked condescendingly, "Books don't have anything to do with flying, Hermione."

That had just served to annoy me further, and it was that furious determination that had me sat astride the broom, all of my books and notes left on the sidelines. I had read them over at least ten times, but I still wasn't sure it would be enough. What if all my calculations, all my research, was wrong? No, I'd worked too hard to stop now.

I took a few deep breaths and let the cool wind wash over my face, clearing my head. There was no turning back now. I kicked off, my legs trembling as I pushed off from the ground. I hovered a few feet in the air, the broom wobbling slightly. Strong winds whipped around me and I had to struggle to get it under control. I felt sick, memories of when I first tried to fly flooding back to me. Memories of being sure I could do it, of that absolute delight of floating in the air, of plummeting to the hard ground below. I had to force myself to not get caught up with stupid fears, to focus on the challenge. Slowly, I looked up at the goal-posts, dizzyingly far above me. They were so high up, I almost wouldn't be surprised if they were surrounded by clouds. I guess I'll find out, I thought as I made my nervous ascent.

I had been rising for no more than 30 seconds when I felt my hand, slick with sweat, start to slide out of my firm grip. Fear froze me, and I just watched as it slipped off the handle of the broom. I was unable to move, unable to get my hand back into position. Horrified, I looked as it shifted completely off the broom and I fell to one side, making one, last desperate, grab. It didn't work, and I fell the short distance, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Only for a few seconds, though. Resolutely, I stood up and dusted off my robes. I promised myself, I couldn't fail again.

An hour later, I realised I could fail. I had, over, and over, and over again. I was covered in grass stains, I had splinters in my hands, and I had bruises all over my body from falling off the broom more times than I could count. Then, it had started pouring, making the challenge I had set myself all the more difficult. It was completely frustrating, to say the least. I took a few deep breaths and mounted the broom for what I promised myself would be the last time.

The broom rose in the air and for once, I felt in control. The broom didn't wobble or swerve from side to side. I rose higher and higher, until I was nearing the goal. It was tantalizingly close, if only the rain would clear for just a second and I could get a better view-

My broom swerved suddenly to the side, caught in a gust of wind, and I almost crashed head first into the post. If I had, if I'd fallen… No, I stopped myself. I would not think about falling from this high up.

I tried my hardest to keep concentrating on flying and only flying, but there was no doubting that I was deathly afraid. My head was spinning, my heart was racing, my limbs were trembling. I was a complete wreck.

I was so near now, almost on eye-level with the top of the hoop. I leant forward, hoping to see my target more clearly through the downpour. As I felt the slick wood under my fingers and felt the lurch in my stomach, I realised my mistake, I had overbalanced and the wet broomstick was far too slippery to hold on to. Suddenly, I was falling, and falling, and falling, the ground was rushing towards me.

I had to do something - no-one could survive that kind of fall. Pushing my panic to the back of mind, I cast a wandless cushioning charm, praying it would be enough. I closed my eyes, waiting for impact, and-

I was fine. Nothing much was hurting, except my pride. I had had so much of it, too. Everyone else had been right, even Malfoy.

"Aaaah!" I couldn't help the frustrated, defeated scream that escaped my lips. I got up off the floor, the dark clouds above reflecting my stormy mood. I turned around, my anger turning to horror.

There, lying on the ground a few feet away, was Draco's Nimbus. Draco's Nimbus, which I had taken, no, stolen from him. Draco's Nimbus that was snapped in two.

"This day could not get any worse," I muttered, sinking to the ground in a dejected heap.

"What in Merlin's name happened, Granger?" I heard a familiar, if slightly anxious, voice behind me. Of course, it was Dra-Malfoy, blond hair plastered to his head and his white shirt slightly see through from the rain, giving me a nice look at-

No. Back on track, Hermione, I thought to myself. As I stood up, obviously unhurt, a glint of something that I almost thought was relief flashed in his eyes.

"Malfoy," I spat, with all the venom I could muster. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was just enjoying a lovely walk around the grounds, and I couldn't help but notice the disaster that is you trying to fly." A weird sort of half-smile graced his lips, almost as if he was teasing me.

"It wasn't a disaster," I protested.

"Well, that utterly wrecked broom over there begs to differ." He offered up another nervous smile and gestured behind me with one pale, elegant hand. All at once, I remembered.

"It wasn't me!" I tried to sound cool, calm and collected but from the disbelieving look on his face, he knew I was lying.

"I'm sure." The sarcasm was all too obvious. "The giant squid crawled out of the lake and destroyed my new broom." He laughed awkwardly, and his surprising lack of anger made me feel all the more guilty.

"I swear, Malfoy, it wasn't me!" I tried again.

"I saw you, Hermione, so don't even start with all this 'It wasn't me!' nonsense." He looked at me, analytically, as if trying to gauge how I was feeling.

"You were watching me?" I asked, and I saw his poised facade slip, if only for a second.

"I wanted to see you fly." It was said with such earnest sincerity. Sincere was not a word I'd usually use to describe Draco Malfoy. It was just too hard to believe.

"Thanks, Malfoy. What, do you find it funny? You needed a laugh?"

"No, that's not-" I was far too heated to listen to what he was saying.

"Why do you have to be such a prat! I can't handle it! In case you hadn't noticed, this is important to me, I'm not here for your amusement. You're awful to me, day in, day out. Is it because I'm a filthy Mudblood, is that why?" Even Draco seemed shocked at my use of the word. "Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood. That's me! Can't even fly a stupid broom without breaking it-" I clenched my fists, trying desperately to stop myself from doing something I would regret.

Draco was staring at me, a strange expression on his face. Was that, concern?

"Hermione, I-"

"No, I don't need your pity!" That's what it was, he felt sorry for me. He was embarrassed for me. "What I need is for you to leave me alone."

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