Disclaimer: I hold no claims to any of the Harry Potter characters mentioned. And by any, I mean three.
Hermione Granger held herself to a higher academic standard than her peers. Harry Potter spent much of his time trying to get her to stop. She had unhealthily taken to the library under the excuse of the impending NEWTS ("Really, Hermione, they're not until next year," Ron groaned at her daily). Harry attempted to coax her out with food, chocolate, and even a bottle of Firewhiskey that Fred and George had given him for Christmas. Of course, none of these things had worked.
She hadn't been to a formal meal in three weeks, and the Gryffindors began to worry. It was always comforting to see Hermione studying intently in the Great Hall – it had become a staple to many students. Whole schedules were thrown off at her absence. Harry and Ron couldn't get through their breakfasts without quizzical stares from half the table.
Harry decided that it was time she reentered the real world. After lunch one Saturday, he made a beeline for the library to find Hermione, as usual, all alone, surrounded by stacks of dusty books. He sat down across from her. Nothing. He reached over and slipped her book shut. She jumped up, angry and confused, to see Harry staring calmly back at her.
"Shut up," he said immediately. "You're coming outside with me, and you're going to like it."
"No, Harry," she sighed. "I've got loads of work to do." He shook his head.
"No, you don't. And I'm bored. So let's go."
"Harry, I hardly think – where's Ron?" She asked, looking around the library, half expecting a sneak attack from behind one of the book shelves.
"He had all those detentions last week and McGonagall assigned a three-foot essay on why exactly he's an idiot."
"Oh," Hermione mumbled, moving back to her books. Harry rolled his eyes, grabbed her arm, and literally dragged her from the library. "Honestly! Are you so daft? I said I had work to do!"
"Shut up," Harry said cheerfully, making his way outside and across the grounds. Once outside, he was able to let go of Hermione's arm and she followed grudgingly. He came to a spot beside the lake and plopped down. Harry always had a way of making people want to go along with him. Thinking on this, Hermione didn't feel so guilty about leaving her books behind, and as the afternoon wore on, she realized that Harry had been right, damn him. A little break from studying was exactly what she needed. It had been far too long since just the two of them had a conversation for longer than ten minutes. Though she would never admit it, she was glad Harry had dragged her out of the library.
"Oh my god, I haven't laughed this hard since 3rd year," Hermione gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. Harry looked up, still chuckling, with a glint in his eye.
"I wanna teach you something," he said suddenly. She looked surprised. "Come on." He got up and began to walk away.
"Harry?" she called after him. "Teach me what?" Never one to turn down an educational opportunity, she jumped up and ran to catch him.
They came to a stop in front of the Quiditch pitch. Hermione cocked an eyebrow and Harry grinned.
"Oh, no," she said wearily. "Oh, no, Harry Potter, don't even think about it."
"Come on. It's time to stop being afraid."
"I am not afraid," she said, disgruntled. "Afraid of a little stick." She let out a bark of nervous laughter. "I just think that if I was meant to fly, I would've been born with the ability." She held her chin a little higher.
"Maybe the powers that be thought you'd look a bit off with wings." She glared. Harry had brought a broom from the shed. "What are you waiting for?"
"For you to stop pestering me about your silly obsession."
"Get on the broom, Hermione."
"I don't want to get on the broom, Harry."
"Fine," he said, starting to walk back to the shed. "I've just never known you to back down from a chance to learn something new."
Hermione hung her head. "For the love of Merlin, give me the bloody stick." Harry grinned and held it to her.
"Now, Hermione, you shouldn't be so negative. Brooms can sense these things." She grabbed it roughly and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Now the broom has feelings?" She laughed. "Let's all chip in for its therapy bills, shall we?" Chuckling to herself, she mounted it awkwardly and leaned forward. Nothing happened. She looked up at Harry. "Aren't I supposed to be hovering?" She rocked a little. Harry was smiling.
"Try talking to it." Hermione's head shot up. "Really." She looked a little more than uneasy.
"You're kidding, right?" He shook his head. She looked at the broom. "Well. Um. You're a nice broom, really. Just hover for me a little. Please? For Harry? You like Harry, right? Brooms like Harry. How much longer do I have to do this? I feel like a right idiot cooing this stick into submission. Oh, who am I kidd – Omigod!" The broom bucked forward, and Hermione flipped over the end and landed on her back. "Harry," she said to the sky. "Harry, I don't like this lesson."
"You're looking at it all wrong!" he laughed. He hauled her to her feet. "Alright, try again." The broom, hovering about three feet from the ground, shuddered in warning.
"I really don't think that's a good idea."
"Of course it is. Pick it up." She touched it tentatively and flinched when it quivered. She felt Harry move behind her and grasp her hand. "It's about respect," he said softly, very close to her ear. Suddenly, Hermione was having trouble breathing properly. He guided her hand to the broom to hold it loosely. The broom was oddly still, confused at its two riders. Not knowing whose signals to take, it hovered stiffly in their hands. Harry ran his free hand down her side. "Relax," he said in her ear again. She nearly went limp. "You can't be afraid." She'd forgotten about the broom by now. My, Harry was close.
Suddenly, he was gone. Hermione nearly fell over in his absence. She gripped the broom more tightly as she realized she was hovering about four inches off the ground. It bucked again, but she held on for dear life.
"Calm down!" Harry laughed. "Think of this broom as an animal." Hermione gave him a strange look. "Give it a name." That's it, Hermione thought. Harry's finally gone 'round the bend. "Hermione, you're either going to name the broom, or be tossed off of it."
"Fine! So, how are you today, Twiggy?" She addressed the broom, blushing. The broom shook violently. She screamed and clung to it, trying desperately to regain her sense of balance. "Not Twiggy, sure, I get it! Lula? Jane? Mason?" The broom stilled. "Mason? Mason. All right." She trained her vision on the end of the broomstick, not daring to look to Harry – mostly out of sheer embarrassment. "Okay, forward, Mason. Let's move forward." The broom went nowhere. She leaned forward, shifted her hips, and made swimming motions with her arms. The broom stayed put. "Harry," she called pathetically. "Make it go."
He shrugged. "Mason's yours now. You make him go." She wanted to scream.
"Come on, Mason. Just a foot, please. Just move a foot, and I'll be happy." She knew Harry was laughing at her. "They always make it look so easy. I figured at least moving would be simple." Harry was behind her again, his hands on her waist. She sucked in a breath and told herself over and over to get a grip.
"Shift your weight back," he said in her ear, pulling her hips. "Find your balance here," he shifted her hips again and let go, moving his hands to hers. "Push forward with your arms and your mind. You have to want it." Oh, she wanted something. Again, he disappeared, and she was left to her own devices.
She cleared her throat, focused on the point she wanted to get to, and pushed the broomstick with all her might. She rocketed forward, reached her point of focus, and the broom stopped abruptly, sending her screaming through the air and landing in an awkward position on the ground. She groaned. The broom dropped to the ground and she stared at it with contempt.
"That was unique," Harry said, approaching the scene. "Obviously, you know what you did wrong."
"No, I do not know what I did wrong. I don't know what I did right." Harry looked surprised. It had never occurred to him that some people just could not understand flying logistics.
"Oh. Well, you focused on one point, but you pushed hard enough to get across the pitch. When you reached your point, the broom stopped." He helped her up, and they made their way to a comfortable spot underneath a tree.
"And you never had a problem?" Hermione asked. Harry looked at her blankly.
"No. I've never had a problem. Not like that. It's all about understanding. You and your broom form this bond. They have personalities."
"And did you name your broom?" she asked, amused. Harry blushed. "Oh, you did! Please tell me her name. I promise I won't tell anyone. Gryffindor's honor." He looked away and mumbled something. She leaned in closer. "What?" She prodded him with her finger.
"Trixy Broomington," he said loudly. Hermione was silent for all of three seconds before pitching over and giggling hysterically.
"Trixy," she wheezed, "Trixy Broomington!" She clutched her stomach as tears leaked from her eyes. He bristled.
"It's not funny. Loads of great Quiditch players name their brooms."
"Oh, you are not known for your creativity." Her laughter finally subsided and she lay in the grass, looking up at the sky. "Has Ron named his broom too?"
"He suggested Alvin von Fliesalot, but the broom tossed him 15 feet to the ground. Sort of a love-hate relationship there."
Hermione was amazed. She had never thought of brooms having personalities and emotions. Brooms and riders shared a respectful friendship. Maybe the reason she was never good at flying was that she couldn't bring herself to think of the broom as a living thing. Honestly, they're sticks.
Seeing her expression, Harry grasped her hand. "Anything so smart as a broom is bound to have other qualities. Sure, you can charm a branch to hover above the ground, but these brooms know. They know where to take you, and what you're feeling. I hope you'll get to see that soon."
"Thank you," she said quietly. He looked confused. "I may never understand, but thank you for sharing this with me. I love that you love it." Harry blushed again.
"Yeah, well, just don't go around telling people my broom's name."
She laughed. "Oh, no, I'm telling everyone." She got up and sprinted towards the castle. "Ginny," she called. "Guess what I found out!" Suddenly, she was lying face down in the grass and Harry was tickling her sides. She screamed, trying her hardest to push him away.
"Mua ha! Trixy Broomington shall be kept safe!" The tickling intensity increased.
As she lay writhing in the grass, she knew that everything would be fine. As long as Harry could laugh like this, everything would be okay.
A.N.: This was meant to be a one-shot, but another chapter may be in the works, if I ever get around to it. I have a problem with things like that. Please review, because I am unfortunately deprived, and need them for my deflating ego. :)