Author's Note: Hey guys! Um, not too much to say. We're winding down to the end of the story (gasp!), so that's really exciting. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Soaring

March arrived with gloriously warm weather. The trees in the Forbidden Forest shrugged off their dead look and started to bud and bloom. Students could be found frequenting the castle grounds much more often. The courtyards were full of teenagers who yearned for the feel of sun against their skin. Spots near the lake were particularly enviable, but only appropriate for dry days. It was becoming a habit for First Years to flee through the castle corridors away from Filch, who had resurrected his old vendetta against all forms of filth.

The last Quidditch game before the final was to be played within a week between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. It had already been determined that Gryffindor would be in the Championship game – even with Harry gone, Ginny still made a better-than-average Seeker. Ron's goaltending had steadily improved as the year progressed, thus locking their bid for the Cup. Ravenclaw was officially out, getting trounced by Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, who, to everyone's surprise, had quite a threatening team this year.

His alarm buzzed and Draco snaked his hand from under the blankets to turn it off. He had been actually been awake for the last thirty minutes, watching the time go by, concentrating on just how important this next game was. He and his team had studied Hufflepuff's moves and plays until they were memorized. They had gone over counter-play after counter-play, having two moves for one of their's. They were ready, and Draco knew it. But he still could not shake the nervous feeling that took residence in his chest; there was a lot riding on this game.

In the time leading up to it, Zabini and his two buffoons had stopped beating on him. 'For once, they have their priorities straight: win the game, then make my life a living hell,' he thought with a wry grin. It was the one time Draco could recall where he was glad about being an afterthought. He had the feeling, too, that if they won this game, it would be a long time before he felt the sting of their hexes again.

With a sigh, Draco got up from bed and snapped for a House Elf. The little creature handed him is hot chocolate and Draco headed to the balcony. He sat in silence, looking over the forest, his body covered in goose bumps. So involved was he in the dawn that he did not notice Hermione come in until she snaked her hands over his bare shoulders and around his neck. Draco's goose bumps became more pronounced at her touch and a shudder ran through his body.

"Are you okay?" she asked, placing a small kiss right below his ear.

"Worried about the game."

"It's not until this evening."

"Five o'clock, I know. But it's just such a big one..." His thoughts trailed off and he gaze was captured by the forest once more, its long branches swaying in the gentle early-morn breeze. Apparently the sight had captured Hermione as well, for she did not speak, but sighed quietly.

"You are coming, right?" he said, not taking his eyes off the woods. It was a good thing Hermione could not see the anxiety etched into his face because of this simple question.

"Yes," she said simply.

His features relaxed almost at once and he nodded, taking a sip of his chocolate. The sun was just beginning to rise above the tips of the trees, turning the sky into an artist's pallet. Hues of color, from the receding deep purple of night to the soft yellow of a newborn sun, painted the sky. A flock of birds took off from the forest, flying across the sky and off into the distance. Draco took one of Hermione's hands and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently before turning into his room for his ritual shower and shave.

XOX

Hermione remained on the balcony, more than content to watch the remainder of the sunrise. Her thoughts were not tranquil, though. Last night, she had received a letter from Moody. The Order had finally verified the location of Voldemort's hideout. They needed one more piece of information as confirmation, which, the letter stated, was coming within the week. In light of this new information, the Order was planning a number of sting operations on the Death Eaters, designed to weaken their numbers. This gave the Order about two weeks to assemble a task force and brief them on their mission.

This news simultaneously gave Hermione hope and a stark sense of dread. It was now possible to stop Voldemort, or at least weaken him before the final battle. But what would be the loss on their end? The thought of losing her friends, no, her family, terrified her. While she knew it was necessary, she did not want them to risk their lives. She wanted to talk to someone about it, someone honest and relatively objective.

'Draco,' she thought. 'I want to talk to Draco.' Words from Moody, Channing, and the mysterious specter in the basement of Grimmauld Place reverberated in her mind: beware of whom you trust. She shook her head, trying to dislodge these thoughts, these doubts which formed an invisible wall between them. Hermione reflected on all that Draco had done for her over the past months, on how much he had changed, and she smiled.

'I trust him,' she thought with certainty. The sun completed its journey and was now fully above the horizon. 'I'll tell him tomorrow,' she thought, rising up from the table. She heard the shower taps turn off and made haste towards the door, allowing Draco his privacy.

With a grimace, Hermione entered her room and grabbed the jar of Floo Powder above her fireplace. As much as she dreaded it, she could no longer put off talking to Moody about Channing. Her suspicions of the man had only increased and, due to the recent developments, she decided it was now or never.

She threw a handful into the flames, which turned from bright orange to bright green in a matter of seconds. Tying her hair back, she knelt down and stuck her head into the flames. "Grimmauld Place," she commanded and almost instantly, the charcoal grate of the hearth was replaced by the dusty warmth of the Order's drawing room. In a stroke of luck, Moody was walking by at that exact moment.

"Professor!" she shouted from the fireplace.

She should have known better. Moody's blue eye swirled manically as the older man dropped to the floor in a duck, whipped out his wand, and blasted a hole in the fireplace somewhere above Hermione's head. She dodged the bits of rubble and tried to amend her mistake.

"Professor Moody, it's Hermione. Hermione Granger? I'm so sorry to have startled you…I should've written before popping in."

"Too true, Miss Granger," grumbled the old professor, picking himself up off the floor.

"Again, I'm sorry," she reiterated, "but I have to talk to you about something."

Moody levitated a chair near to the fireplace and sat down with a quiet thump. "What is it?"

"It's about Channing," she said conspiratorially. She scrutinized Moody's face for a reaction, but the ex-Auror looked entirely nonplussed. She continued. "I don't think he can be trusted. There were a few instances where I just got this feeling from him…I don't know how to describe it…Just the feeling that there's more to him than we know…than we can see…I'm just not entirely sure that his loyalties lie solely with us."

Moody looked attentive, but bored. "Do you have any proof?" he asked more out of custom than curiosity.

And it was here that Hermione was stuck. "No," she said honestly, "I don't. Nothing concrete, at any rate. But I can't help but think that things are a little…off'with him."

"Well, without more evidence, there's really not much I can do, is there?"

"But sir, if you could just look into the matter…just a bit…I know I would feel a lot-"

"You've said the word 'feel' far too often in this conversation, Miss Granger," Moody snapped. "I'm surprised someone as rational as you would make this kind of wild accusation without acquiring some sort of evidence to back it up. You know very well that we're over our heads here in planning and that I don't have time to chase the suspicion of a seventeen year old witch."

"But sir-"

"Listen, Miss Granger, and listen well," Moody continued, "as deep as your personal distaste for the man may run, we don't have the resources or the time to investigate it further. You're going to have to trust me: we would know if there was a traitor in our midst."

"Just like you did with Professor Snape?"

The words sprang from her mouth before she could stop them, and Moody's reaction was instantaneous. His electric blue eye stopped spinning, focusing directly on her, and the scars on his face deepened as he frowned in anger. "I think our business here is finished, Miss Granger," the man all but growled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have important business to attend to." He clunked out of the room with surprising efficiency, leaving Hermione alone and angry in the fire.

'Well that was completely useless,' she fumed, pulling her head from the grate. She stalked to the balcony and threw open the windows. The crisp air was at once soothing and clarifying. Moody had a point. Her decisions this morning had been entirely too rash. Accusing a fellow member without a shred of proof? Acting on a feeling?

'What the hell was I thinking?' she thought, her disbelief growing. Ignoring the urge to Floo him back and apologize, Hermione contented herself by harboring a small piece of regret in her heart and grabbing her Ancient Runes book. She made her way down to the Common Room to study for a few hours – a tried and true cure for any ill.

XOX

"Draco, you should eat at least something," Hermione said, shoving a dinner plate of bangers and mash in front of him. His stomach flipped at the very sight of food and he pushed it away.

"I told you I'm not hungry," he snapped. They had been having this conversation for the past five minutes and Draco was growing weary of Hermione's concern, no matter how appropriately placed it was.

"Fine," she said, her voice full of affront. "Don't eat. See what I care when you fall off your broom halfway through that silly game…" She crossed her arms and leaned back against the couch in a pout. Draco rose and began to pace before the fireplace. The locker rooms would not be open for twenty more minutes, meaning that Draco had nothing better to do than wait. He chewed his lower lip and ran his hands through his platinum hair for the tenth time in a minute, obvious signs of his agitation.

"Will you settle down?" Hermione snapped. "You're making me nervous."

His attitude on pins and needles, Draco lashed out. "What reason do you have to be nervous? You're not bloody playing today, are you?"

"No," she retorted, "I'm watching you play that death-trap of a game which, for some reason beyond all comprehension, all you men are obsessed with! You could easily fall to your death and then where would I be?"

He had no good response to that, but yelling was making him feel better; he chose a different line of attack.

"You're not wearing one piece of green!" he accused.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Because that would make sense," she said. "The Gryffindor Head supporting the Slytherin House in what you consider 'the biggest game of the year'. Yeah, Draco, that'd go over real well."

"So you'd rather save face with your House than support me?"

Hermione launched herself up and placed herself in front of him, halting his pacing steps, arms akimbo. "What I would rather do," she said angrily, "is not arouse suspicion and alienate my friends! You know as well as I that we have to keep this a secret!"

"Whatever," Draco said, angrily taking his flashing steels eyes away from hers and looking at the clock. The locker rooms would be open by the time he got there. Without another glance at Hermione, Draco turned and stormed out of the portrait hole, effectively slamming it behind him, earning a disgruntled shout from the portrait guardian.

XOX

Hermione took a deep breath as she exited the castle and walked towards the Quidditch field. 'It's a beautiful day for the damned sport,' Hermione admitted. It was hard for her not to be soured by Draco's ill-humor not but thirty minutes prior, but the blue sky, light wind, and sun certainly did help a bit.

She heard her name shouted from somewhere behind her. Before she could turn around, Ron, with Lavender hanging off his arm, and Ginny were at her side.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Ginny piped up from her other side. "I thought you hated Quidditch."

"I don't hate it," she explained, "I just think it's silly. But I figured it's such a nice day, why not come out and enjoy it?"

Ron cocked an eyebrow. "That's never been a reason before. Usually you just come when Gryffindor plays. Today is Slytherin and Hufflepuff…Hermione, why are you really here?"

Hermione did not miss a beat. "McGonagall," she fabricated. "Since there's been so much trouble at the games this year, she wanted one of the Heads to come. And obviously, since Dra- Malfoy is playing, that means I had to come." She rolled her eyes to heighten the effect.

This answer appeased both Ron and Ginny, and, if she even cared, Lavender. Together, they headed to the stands where they met up with Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Luna. They barely had time to sit down when streaks of yellow burst from the locker rooms. The Hufflepuff team zoomed around the field while the announcer, a Fifth Year Ravenclaw named Zoe, provided the commentary. The stands were in an uproar, almost everyone in the stadium showing obvious favor of Hufflepuff.

The Hufflepuffs gathered in a corner and seven green blurs took to the skies. Hermione struggled to refrain from cheering and refused to hiss in displeasure with the rest of her compatriots, though none of them noticed anyways. Hermione tried to catch sight of Draco, swearing she saw his bright blonde hair pass directly in front of her stands. But whether or not it was him, and whether or not he saw her there, she had no idea.

The game started on Madame Hooch's whistle. Fourteen figures launched into the air and whizzed around the stadium. While the game may have been physically draining on the players, it was emotionally exhausting to Hermione. Every close encounter Draco had with a Bludger took ten years off her life. Each time he slammed into another player or another player slammed into him, Hermione jumped. She had to bite her tongue to keep from yelling in outrage when a Hufflepuff player fouled him, making him bleed profusely from above his eye.

She was so concerned about Draco that she did not notice the state of the actual game. Three hours had passed already. Hufflepuff had a tenuous hold on the lead and the Snitch had been spotted twice. The crowd was becoming increasingly rowdy, as were the players. The fouls were more blatant and the cheers from the crowd were more outrageous. Just within her own stands, Hermione almost had to break up a fight between a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw who, to her knowledge, had no reason to be fighting in the first place. The mood was getting desperate; the game needed to end soon or else something bad was going to happen.

As if the game were somehow in tune with Hermione's thoughts, the Snitch made an appearance. Both Seekers saw it and the chase was on. The entire stadium was on edge, sharply watching as Draco and the Hufflepuff Seeker vied for the little gold ball. With an extra push on his broom, Draco stretched out his hand. A gasp went out from the entire ground as his fingers glanced the wings. The Hufflepuff pushed and brushed the wings as well. Hermione impulsively brought her hand to her mouth as she saw Draco almost launch himself off his broom and grab the Snitch.

All except the Slytherins burst into screams of rage and disappointment. Hermione simply took a seat and hung her head between her legs, trying to catch her breath. Ron obviously interpreted her deep breaths as extreme disappointment, for he patted her on the back and said consolingly, "We'll win in the end, Hermione. Don't worry."

Not feeling so faint now, Hermione lifted her head in time to see the Slytherin team take a victory lap. Draco led them, the Snitch still held tightly in his hand. His face was one of unadulterated glee and pride. Hermione's heart soared with his broom and she smiled as he passed, subtly catching his eye and smiling. He grinned madly at her, winked, and continued his flight around the stadium.

"Well, time to get going. C'mon Hermione," said Ron.

"Um, you guys go. I have to stay behind and talk to McGonagall about that fight."

Her friends, too weary to question her further, nodded and trod towards the castle a bit despondently. Hermione hid in the shadow's of the stands until the crowd was well on their way into the school. She then averted her attention to the pitch where she saw Draco talking to his teammates. Hermione heard them all cheer and head off towards the locker room. As she hoped, Draco stayed behind at the very center of the pitch.

Light was quickly fading as dusk took the sky. Hermione came out from the stands and walked towards Draco, who seemed not to notice her presence until she was standing directly in front of him.

She was about to say something when Draco's feverish lips landed on her own, drawing her into a passionate kiss. He ran his fingers through her hair and nibbled on her lip as she moaned quietly into his mouth.

"You played wonderfully," she said after their embrace.

He looked at her with his gray eyes, which were shining brightly despite the faint light. "Fly with me," he whispered, looking at her imploringly.

Hermione's eyes widened and filled with the smallest hint of fear. "Draco, you know I don't…"

"Fly with me," he said in an even softer whisper. "Please." He distractingly played with a ringlet of her hair and kissed softly at her neck as she thought. Hermione looked furtively at the shiny piece of wood hovering not but a yard from them. The broom, steel eyes, the broom again, and back to his shining eyes and soft smile.

"Okay," she said in a small voice. He took her hand and led her over to the broom, which she noticed was emitting a low-toned hum.

"Is it supposed to do that?" she questioned warily.

He ignored her question, instead motioning for her to get on the broom. After a moment of hesitation, she swung a leg over. Her breathing began to quicken, her body wracked with shakes. Scenes of death by falling flashed in her mind, making her break out in a cold sweat. She had half a mind to jump right off the broom when Draco lowered himself behind her. Her breath hitched as he settled himself down.

Their bodies were completely flush. Hermione's back arched as his hot breath hit the back of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her. She shivered as Draco whispered into her ear.

"You ready?"

"No," she replied faintly.

She could feel his smile. "I won't let you fall," he said as reassurance. And before she could say anything, Draco kicked off hard from the ground.

A shrill scream escaped Hermione's mouth as they ascended into the night sky. Wind rushed past her ears as her stomach dropped and she pushed herself further into Draco, closing her eyes tightly against the sight.

How he knew Hermione would never know, but right as her eyes shut she heard Draco from behind her. "Open your eyes."

Against her better judgment, she did. They were moving slowly around the Quidditch Pitch. The world was passing them as if by panorama. The castle, the lake, the forest. Long shadows were cast upon the nighttime statuettes, elongating the eerie structures. The world was darkly beautiful. She gasped, her fear temporarily replaced by awe.

Her body started to relax, but too soon. She heard Draco chuckle deep in his throat. Before Hermione could utter one scream, the sound was stolen from her throat as they dove towards the ground. Her stomach dropped as the ground approached them faster than Hermione liked. Right as she was certain they would crash, Draco pulled up and sped around the arena.

She heard him laugh maniacally behind her and let out of whoop of exaltation. As the stands passed quickly before her eyes, her heart lifted slightly. She let a smile grace her face and even allowed a small, appreciative laugh at his obvious talent.

'Perhaps flying isn't that bad after all,' she thought. 'Or maybe just when it's with him.'

Draco pulled up and soared towards the castle, landing gently atop one of its many towers. He dismounted first, then helped Hermione, whose legs were shaking so badly that she fell into his arms.

"You okay?" he asked in a bemused tone.

"Yeah, yeah…" she responded weakly. "It was…different…"

He quirked an eyebrow at her and took a seat on the edge of the tower, his feet dangling dangerously off the edge. Hermione's chest tightened with worry as he reached out his hand and pulled her down next to him.

"Different?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "Beautiful…exhilarating…utterly terrifying…" she laughed.

Draco chuckled as well and slung his arm over her shoulders. "I knew you'd come over to my side eventually," he smiled cockily.

Hermione playfully smacked his chest and laughed, brown eyes shining in the dark. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. They spent two hours in silence, then Draco flew them back to the ground. They dodged Helga's questions, ignored her knowing looks, answered her simple riddle ("What belongs to you but is more often used by others?" "Your name."), and parted ways for the eve.