"I am not flying on that."

It was an achingly beautiful day in early October with a vivid cobalt sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. The temperature was moderately warm, but a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees in the Pitch, hinting at the coming autumn chill.

Seemingly unaffected by the splendour of the day, Malfoy was acting as git-like as usual and smirked, casually leaning on his Firebolt Supreme. "Scared of a little speed, Granger? I would've thought that years of running around with Potter would've cured that."

I crossed my arms. "That broom is dangerous. Don't you have another one for me to use?"

"Not with me, and it'd take at least a week to send for my Nimbus at home. You could, of course, use a school broom."

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of using of those clunky, obstinate, hard-to-control devices, then sighed, looking uncertainly at the long, slender broom coated with a shiny varnish. "I'd probably kill myself trying to fly that thing."

In all honesty, I'd probably kill myself trying to fly any broom, let alone one that could go almost as fast as a plane, not that he needed to know that. Well, maybe he should be made aware of that fact since he's never seen me attempt to fly before and if he did try to make me use the Firebolt, he would definitely need to be ready to cast a Cushioning Charm at a moment's notice.

"As much as I'd like to see you and your bushy hair plummet to the ground," he drawled, "I'd rather not be charged with the death of a war hero. So, you'll actually be flying with me."

I stared at him. "You want me to fly on a broom with you?" I asked in disbelief. Wasn't he afraid of getting my Muggle 'germs' on his pristine Pureblood self?

He rolled his eyes. "Not particularly. I'm merely suggesting this because I only have one broom with me and I promised to teach you how to fly. Slytherins know the importance of keeping one's word in business deals."

Ignoring his classification of our arrangement as 'business deal', I gaped at the sleek racing broom in trepidation, vaguely recalling Harry and Ron gushing over how the new Firebolt could go from 0 to 300 miles per hour in less than 10 seconds.

"I haven't got all day, Granger, so you can either get on the broom or choose to remain completely incompetent at flying."

"Fine," I huffed, annoyed by his condescending tone. Flying is most definitely difficult, and I was not a little frightened by the prospect of being at least a hundred metres in the air, supported by only a piece of magical wood. "Just… try not to fly too high or too fast. Please."

He shook his head in exasperation or amusement, I couldn't really tell, then mounted the broom and motioned for me to sit behind him. I gingerly climbed on and wrapped my arms around his waist, barely noticing how firm his muscles were, and fervently prayed to not throw up, or worse, fall off and die.

The second I was seated on the broom, Malfoy pushed off of the ground and we were suddenly rising rapidly through the air and I shut my eyes, my head spinning and my heart thumping erratically as I frantically thought "please don't let me die, please don't let me die, please don't…".

After another minute, we didn't seem to be rising any higher, although I could feel air moving by us at an alarmingly fast rate which meant that Malfoy had disregarded my plea to fly slowly.

Git.

"All right, Granger," called Malfoy over the whoosh of the wind as we sped through the air. "The first thing to know about flying is that you have to open your eyes."

How the hell does he know that my eyes are closed?!

"No thanks!" I shouted, shaking my head slightly, my heartbeat not quite stable. "I'm quite fine as is."

I could feel, rather than see, him roll his eyes as he snapped, "For the love of Salazar, stop being such a bloody chicken and open your damn eyes!"

"Hey, who are you calling chicken?!" I exclaimed, offended. In spite of the fact that my breath was coming out in frenzied gasps and I was nearly shaking from the fear of being on the broom, I refused to be called a chicken by Malfoy of all people, so I slowly peeked one eye open, squeaked at the sight of the ground that was much too far away for comfort, then gulped and shakily said, "Malfoy, I want you to promise that you won't let me fall."

He sighed in exasperation and grumbled, "Whatever."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, then finally inched my eyelids open, holding tightly onto Malfoy who was surprisingly fine with my leech-like behaviour. I then blinked in amazement at the sight before me, all open, blue skies and glorious, rolling fields of grass with the occasional gently swaying tree.

"Bloody hell," I breathed, borrowing Ron's favourite phrase. "It's beautiful up here."

And then Malfoy, being the prat that he is, decided that it'd be a great time to do some sort of loop in the air, causing me to shriek in alarm as the world rotated until I was hanging bloody upside down for a moment, then everything continued to turn until I was once again upright, my pulse hammering in my body as Malfoy let out a whoop of joy.

"What the hell was that for?!" I yelled once I had gotten my breath back. "I could have let go and died, you idiot!" If I wasn't currently a hundred metres in the air, I would have punched him like I did Third year… except with maybe a bit more force this time around.

All I got in response to my furious question was another long, drawn out whoop, full of adrenaline, as he leaned forwards and the broom flew even faster than it did before and I began to seriously fear for my safety as I watched the Hogwarts grounds pass by at breakneck speed.

"Didn't I tell you to not fly fast?" I shouted, both in awe of the view and the unsettling but surprisingly exhilarating feeling of weightlessness, and extremely peeved that he had completely ignore my earlier requests.

He laughed. "But what's the fun in going slow?"

I sighed. Malfoy may be a right tosser, but he was still a boy, and from my adventures with Harry and Ron, I knew that all teenage boys, whether they be smarmy buggers or loveable friends, are adrenaline addicts.

We made a pass over the Forbidden Forest and I marvelled at the sight of the enormous forest and how it extended so far in all directions that I couldn't see its outer edges, even from such a high vantage point. After a bit, we lazily turned around to head back towards the Pitch and Malfoy began to make some general notes on how to fly a broom properly.

"Flying's pretty simple," he stated in a rather supercilious manner. "You lean forwards to speed up and sit up to slow down, and lean to your left or right to turn." He demonstrated each movement, and I thanked Godric that I wasn't flying on this broom alone, as even those small manoeuvres seemed dangerous to me. "All you really need to remember, since I doubt you're going to play Quidditch, is to not lean too far in any direction and to not let go of the broom."

I snorted with laughter, then replied, "You really don't need to tell me to hold onto the broom, Malfoy. I'd be a fool to let go. A dead fool, at that," I added, frowning at the rather unpleasant thought.

"You know, for the smartest witch at Hogwarts, you really are rather insecure about your abilities."

"I am not!" I exclaimed, glaring hard at the back of his head. "I'm perfectly comfortable with intelligence, thank you very much. It's only flying that I'm not good at."

"If you say so."

After a few more minutes of gliding through the sky, I caught sight of the large, glinting golden hoops of the Pitch and he finally slowed down, angling towards the ground, then landed with a soft jolt. I stumbled off of the broom in a far less graceful manner than he did, and then walked a few steps, testing out my balance. My legs felt a bit wobbly and I was a tiny bit light-headed, but for the most part, I was fine, surprisingly enough.

When I turned back to Malfoy, I said, "I think that's enough for today."

He smirked. "Shall we head back, then?"

I was a bit surprised by his offer to walk back to school together, but shrugged off my hesitations and fell in step with him. We didn't say much until we reached the door and quietly entered the school, heading for the staircase that would take us directly to the sixth floor.

"I actually had fun today," I blurted, breaking the silence. "I mean, I was scared for my life for most of it, but…" I trailed off, noting that his expression hadn't changed much from his usual blank, vaguely smug look. "I guess brooms aren't that bad," I finished, somewhat lamely, in my opinion.

An awkward quietness then stretched between us until he said, dryly, "I would've thought that you, being a Gryffindor and all, wouldn't be scared of flying."

"I don't like heights," I admitted sheepishly. "I'm not sure why, but being up high makes me uncomfortable."

"It's the opposite for me, actually." He glanced quickly at me, his face a bit more relaxed than before, then returned his pale grey gaze to the hallway in front of us. "I love flying. It makes me feel invincible and liberated, if only for a few hours."

I nodded and replied, "I can understand that. Flying is a nice experience, although I'm still not that comfortable with it. It doesn't feel very safe, honestly."

He didn't say anything for another minute, instead choosing to gaze at the far end of the hallway, and I wondered what he was thinking about.

Finally, he spoke. "I read that book you gave me."

I was surprised. "You already finished it?" It was impossible to convince either Harry or Ron to even start reading a book that I recommended, and Malfoy had already seemed disinclined to read my book, so it seemed odd to me that Malfoy had managed to finish the novel so quickly.

He nodded. "It was… interesting, I suppose. Did American Muggles really discriminate against coloured people?"

I thought for a second, then answered, "Well, not just Americans. A lot of Europeans enslaved African Americans a long time ago, but slavery has been outlawed for a while now." I waited in anticipation for what he would say next. I could tell that he was thinking about all of the pureblood wizards he knew that were of African or non-European heritage and that he was appalled by the idea of treating them as lower class citizens, but would he make the analogy between race prejudice and blood prejudice?

He shook his head in annoyance. "Muggles are barbaric," he suddenly stated in a slightly vicious manner. "What kind of bloody idiot gives a damn about the colour of one's skin? Filthy, sodding wankers," he hissed, glaring at the flameless torches ahead of us.

"Oh, and believing in blood purity doesn't make wizards cruel or ignorant?" I spat, unable to keep a hold of my temper. "They're discriminating based on something just as intrinsic and unchangeable as skin colour – the so-called 'pureness' of one's blood is determined solely by chance, as is ethnicity!"

He looked at me, his raised eyebrows and slightly open mouth betraying his shock from my vehement tone, then turned to face the hallway without saying anything.

Finally, he spoke. "I know why you gave me the book."

"Oh, really?" I asked, sardonically.

"You want me to think that skin colour and blood purity are equivalent, right?"

"Not exactly," I replied, shaking my head emphatically.

"Well, they're not."

I sighed. "They're not the same exact thing, but discrimination based on either race or blood will only end in pain, Malfoy. You probably haven't learned anything about Muggle history yet, but from World War II and, well, a lot of other wars, it's obvious that bigotry and hate just bring the destruction of what's good in this world."

Silence ensued.

We were finally nearing the portrait of Knight Percival when Malfoy abruptly stopped and looked me dead in the eye for the first time this year.

"I don't hate you, Granger."

I snorted, amused by his blunt statement. "Nor I, you," I replied lightly, wondering what had brought upon this declaration of his lack of outright animosity towards me.

He nodded slowly. "It's rather difficult to not dislike Muggles when I've spent over seventeen years doing so, and I still think you're a swotty bookworm."

Why thank you, Ferret, I thought, rolling my eyes. I'm glad to know that you're still a git.

He wrinkled his nose in an expression of distaste. "Following Voldemort was, however, not the best course of action, and I can only wonder why Father let himself be sucked into that life."

I stared at him, slightly shocked by this revelation. How unexpected, I mused. I wonder why he's admitting this now.

"I still don't really like Muggles," he continued, still gazing at me with fathomless grey eyes. "But the war was horrible." His voice cracked a little and he looked resolutely over the top of my head. "There was so much pain, Granger, so much fucking pain and death and I'll never forgive myself for… for…" he shook his head, apparently unable to continue, and my heart ached because I, too, felt that pain and found it hard to forgive the Death Eaters and Voldemort for killing my friends, and myself for not being able to do something to save them. If only...

"Hermione?" I blinked at the sound of a familiar voice, then peered to the left of Malfoy and saw Ginny and Harry standing in the hallway.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked, looking between Malfoy and me with concerned green eyes.

I blinked rapidly, trying to think of something acceptable to say. "We're just talking about… uh, telephones," I eventually replied, hoping that he wouldn't notice my fib.

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow, but thankfully just shrugged and said, "All right, I guess we'll be off, then."

I waited until the two of them were far enough away before turning back to Malfoy.

"We should get back. I'm not quite finished with the Charms essay," he said, already walking towards the portrait. I followed him to the entrance, a tiny bit annoyed with Harry and Ginny for interrupting the first real conversation, other than the one that consisted mostly of yelling, that I'd had with Malfoy. When we were inside the Common Room I said, "I'll see you on Wednesday, then?"

He merely nodded in reply then headed towards the boys' rooms, presumably to do homework, while I decided to join some of the other Eighth years that were relaxing on the couches. Looking around as I made my way to the area in front of the fireplace, I took in the view of the Common Room and smiled at the sight of each House's colours found in various couches, rugs, and miscellaneous knickknacks. Apparently, our dorms were decorated to promote inter-house unity.

"Hey, Hermione," greeted Ron as I neared the group, and the others joined in, calling out a welcome.

"Hi, guys," I replied, settling into a vacant spot on a couch next to Parvati.

"Is Malfoy behaving himself?" asked Dean, leaning back into his armchair.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, he's been pretty decent so far, thanks for the concern."

"Are you sure that you don't want some backup, though?" pressed Seamus. "I'd love a chance to go after the Ferret."

I sighed in irritation. "Oh, come off it. He's honestly not that terrible, Seamus. Sure, I wouldn't consider him to be nice or anything, but he's not as much of a git as he was before."

"We're just concerned about you, is all," said Ron. "I mean, what if he's just pretending to be decent to gain your trust, and then when you're not expecting it, he'll attack you?"

"Do you really think that he'd attack me at Hogwarts?" I asked in disbelief. "In my opinion, it's highly doubtful. Besides, as I told you before, I'm not defenceless! I'm quite handy with spells, thank you very much."

"I don't think Ron's doubting your ability to take care of yourself," Parvati said in a sympathetic tone. "Malfoy isn't very trustworthy, though, and no one wants anyone to get hurt, not when the War ended just a few months ago."

"Malfoy's not dangerous," I replied, evenly. "He didn't kill anyone, he only seriously tried to harm someone when Voldemort was threatening him to, and… well, I don't think he'll try to hurt me, anyway."

Ron sighed deeply. "Please just be careful, 'Mione. I don't think I could stand it if you were sent to the Hospital Wing."

Oh, Ron, I thought. I love you, but sometimes you are really overprotective.

"I'll be fine," I said, smiling at him.

He nodded silently, though I could tell that he was still unconvinced, and then turned to Seamus and began talking about the Chudley Cannons' chances of finally winning a match this season, which I imagined were rather low. I began chatting with Parvati about this year's classes and how Runes was much more interesting this year than in previous semesters, and how Flitwick was still as short and squeaky as ever, until it was time for dinner.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully and that night, my dreams consisted only of the peaceful feeling of soaring through cloudless blue skies that stretched on endlessly into an infinite, unbounded ether.

A/N: Sorry this is a bit late! Let me know what you think of it!