A/N Everyone who's reviewed this story rocks. It's so encouraging to read them. Thank you. Means a lot.
Chapter Eleven:
If you are trying to soothe an antagonistic Granian, don't march up to it full of purpose and intent; it will read your body language and fly away or attack. Instead, use your peripheral vision and approach at the neck or shoulder. Be sure your posture and words are as conciliatory as possible.
Extract from "From Wild Beast to Wizard's Steed, a how-to guide on taming Granian".
Draco spent the next day trying to put his plan into action, but it turned out a forewarned Hermione was an elusive Hermione.
Wednesday morning's classes were shared with the Gryffindors, and Granger had surrounded herself with Potty and Weasley like the world's ugliest Protego charm. Following lunch, Draco hurried to Ancient Runes in the hopes of catching the usually irrepressibly early Granger alone, but she was the last to arrive, entering alongside Professor Babbling.
Throughout the day, whenever she saw him approaching, she would abruptly change direction or, if trapped by surroundings, burst into vivacious conversation with the nearest, occasionally startled, bystander. If Draco had had any doubts remaining as to the purposeful nature of these occurrences, they were dispersed during supper. He had stolen repeated glances towards the Gryffindor table and on one occasion Hermione had looked up at the same moment. Their gazes locked; Granger stuck her nose in the air and looked away.
Clearly, Draco needed a change of tactics.
The following day they both had the first two lessons free, and no matter how mad Granger was, he thought it very unlikely she'd pass up the chance to spend some time studying amongst her beloved books. No doubt she'd stay well away from their study area, which meant it could take a while to track her down, but the intricate layout of the Library should actually play to his favour... at least, once he'd found her.
Hogwarts' protective enchantments meant that it wasn't possible to cast locator spells without special dispensation, so Draco had to look by sight alone. His knowledge of Hermione's likes and dislikes helped. After ten minutes of searching, he spotted her ahead of him in the Reference section, wandering down an aisle as she lovingly ran a finger across the spines; a contented smile was tugging at her lips.
Draco had never been more envious of an inanimate object.
He slipped into the adjacent row, travelling in the same direction as Granger. Up ahead his row met a walkway, which cut across Hermione's; he needed to time this carefully.
He turned right just as Hermione drew level with the walkway and fell into step beside her. "Hello, Granger."
Hermione's brows jerked up in surprise; the dreamy smile fell away. She stopped walking and folded her arms. "What do you want, Malfoy?" Her tone made ice seem warm.
It was an inauspicious start, and Draco lost no time in making it worse. It had been so long since he had heard that tone from her, he was flustered into a mistake.
"To help you," he smirked.
"I don't need your help." Most life forms would not survive at the temperature her tone had now dropped to. It appeared he was going to have to take unprecedented action. He winced inwardly.
"Fair enough." Draco shrugged. "I just figured a good Gryffindor such as yourself would welcome the idea of helping a Slytherin to do the right thing."
Hermione paused, interest apparently piqued in spite of herself. Much better. But then her face closed off again. Draco was used to her myriad expressions, her eloquent eyes and vibrant tones. This was all wrong.
Her eyes ran over him distrustfully. "What's behind your back?"
"Peace offering," Draco replied, bringing his arm round to reveal his hitherto concealed Firebolt. "I figured since you helped me in a subject I'm weaker in, I should return the favour and help you." The words actually physically hurt a little.
Granger's nose was in the air again. "What makes you think there's anything which you're better at than me?"
Draco gritted his teeth, then realised a way in which he could turn her words to good account.
"Don't be foolish, Granger – it doesn't suit you. There are things I am better at than you, just as there are things you are better at than me." He stumbled a little on those last words, but got them out. "Whether we're talking flying, translating ancient runes or how magical someone is, that's how it goes with people – all people." Draco met her eyes, willing her to read between the lines and recognise this for the apology it was. It was as close as a Malfoy could get. Indeed, he'd broken around a dozen family precepts just saying that much.
Come on, Hermione, don't let me down.
Granger's features remained forbidding, her mouth opened, and for one panicked, horrible moment he felt sure she was gearing up to a refusal; his chest tightened with something very like pain.
Hermione paused, chocolate-caramel eyes scouring his face.
After what felt like forever, her expression softened.
"Okay," she said. "Let's do it."
Draco wasn't prepared to let Hermione on his Firebolt until he knew he could trust her not to damage herself or, even more importantly, his broom. So they borrowed one of the school brooms from the equipment shed before heading out towards the Quidditch pitch.
After several attempts, Granger got the broomstick to fly into her hand (not helped by the extreme age of the broom), managed to mount it, and took it up into the air, allowing Draco to see what he was working with.
It wasn't pretty.
Granger was slouched over the front of the broom, jerkily flying it back and forth. Her wild curls were bouncing behind her, and she was gripping the broom so hard he could see her white knuckles from the ground; she also seemed to be emitting a low-pitched keen of despair. The fact she had her eyes squeezed shut was not helping matters when it came to her balance or sense of direction.
This was hopeless. He'd have to rethink his strategy. "Bring it in to land, Granger!" he yelled from between cupped hands.
Granger quickly pointed the broom down, trying to reach terra firma as quickly as possible. Halfway through her descent, the decrepit broom's magic suddenly deserted it, and she found herself plummeting like a stone with nothing to slow her.
The low-pitched keen became a high-pitched wail.
Draco rushed forward, moving faster than he ever had before, and caught Hermione before she could crash into the ground, his magic perfectly placing him in the nick of time.
A small part of his mind registered that with surprise – he hadn't had his magic work independently from him for years. Not since before Hogwarts. That kind of instinctual magic rarely manifested itself post-training.
Thankfully, Granger had not flown that high to begin with, so receiving her weight only sent a slight jolt through his body; equally thankfully, she had released the broom mid-fall so that it fell harmlessly alongside them instead of painfully bopping him on the head.
Draco's arms reflexively curved around her. "Are you okay?" he asked, with genuine concern.
Hermione's eyes had remained squeezed shut throughout her ordeal, and she now seemed reluctant to open them again. "Am I dead?"
Draco deliberately adopted a mocking tone. "So you're saying your idea of heaven is being in my arms? I'm flattered, Granger." Hermione's eyes immediately popped open; she quickly extricated herself from his arms.
Draco wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or glad that his gambit had worked, snapping Granger out of her fear.
He walked over and retrieved the broomstick – or rather sticks. It had been snapped in two. Draco surveyed it.
"Oh, no!" Granger had joined him and was now conscience-stricken, hands flying to her mouth. "I've destroyed school property!"
Draco shook his head. "That broom was liable to go at any moment," he reassured her. "If anything, the school should be apologising to you. You could report them to the Ministry." He looked at the two halves again. "Considering how little magic there was in it, you actually did rather well. Even getting it in the air was an achievement – especially with your poor technique." He grinned as he looked at her, unsurprised to see a look of umbrage on her face, which quickly changed to horror at his next words. "You'll do better next time – with my help."
"Next time?" Granger's voice was decidedly shrill; to his surprise, this just made him grin even more. This was the Hermione he knew. "Are you mad?"
"Come now, Granger – where's that Gryffindor bravery?" She stuck out her tongue at him, which made him laugh out loud. Then he paused, considering. "I'm surprised you struggle with flying so much."
Granger glared at him. "Aviophobia is a very commo—"
Draco cut her off. "No, that's not it – I wasn't serious when I implied you were scared. You're too strong – not to mention too stubborn – for it to be a bravery issue. I think it's a mental thing."
Granger's manner turned haughty. "What do you mean? I did all the relevant preparatory work. I checked out practically every book the Library has on flying – twice! I just can't get past the idea of all that space under me…" She shuddered. "And once you're up in the air – there are just so many possibilities, so many variables to take into account. I mean, what if—"
Draco cut her off again. "You're overthinking it, Granger – flying isn't about rules and facts. You can't learn how to do it from a book. It's instinct, gut reactions – it's something you feel, not think. It's interesting, actually. I would have thought an overemotional Gryffindor like you would be able to access that part of yourself quite easily."
Granger looked huffy, but then smirked (she did that quite often now, he realised; clearly he was a bad influence on her). "So, the fact that you 'excel at it' means... what? That you'd make a good Gryffindor? Maybe you were placed in the wrong house, Malfoy."
Okay, point to Granger.
"Stop trying to change the subject," Draco deflected. "You need to turn off that oversized brain of yours – let someone else lead for a moment."
"I… I can't."
"Then I'll do it for you," he promised. Retrieving his own broomstick from where it was lovingly propped against a tree, he placed it on the ground then firmly commanded "up"; the Firebolt obediently elevated until it was hovering at thigh-level. He crooked a smile at her. "Get on, Granger," he commanded. Hermione shook her head, firmly, arms folded. "We'll barely go any higher than this, and I'll be right behind you," he reassured her. "I'll be the one flying." To his exasperation, Granger still looked wary. "Granger, a fall from this height wouldn't hurt a House Elf – now, get on!"
Sulking – really there was no other word for the delightful way she was sticking her lower lip out; Draco struggled with himself for a moment – Hermione finally got on the broom, looking like she was about to attend her own execution.
Draco got on behind her, steadying her with a comforting arm across her waist. Her soft, wild hair tickled his chin; he resisted the urge to bury his face in her hair and inhale her scent.
Converse to his expectations, Hermione actually relaxed a little once she felt his arm go around her. It must be because of his smell, he thought.
Resting his head on her frothy curls, he spoke softly. "Are your eyes open or closed?"
"Closed," Granger said tightly, apparently speaking through gritted teeth.
"Good," Draco responded. "Keep them that way." Then he gently nudged the broomstick into flight.
A small squeak issued from Granger as she felt the slight upward motion, but she made no other protest. Draco started leisurely flying the broomstick in a straight line, allowing Hermione time to grow accustomed to the sensation. After a few minutes of this, he noticed she had started to relax against him again. "So… when are we going to start flying?"
"We already are," he replied, with great amusement.
"What?" He practically heard her eyes pop open in surprise. There were a few moments shocked silence, and then: "But… I can't even feel it! It's so smooth!"
"Welcome to the wonderful world of Firebolts," Draco replied smugly. "No wonder you always struggled so much – trying to fly on those shoddy school brooms. The only thing they're good for is kindling." He sniffed disparagingly.
Granger's tone was disgruntled. "Then why did you make me fly one?"
Draco decided to ignore this rather than make the sure-to-be incendiary admission that he didn't trust Granger on his Firebolt. "Okay, Granger, are you ready to go higher?" She nodded against him.
Draco took the broom up; Granger squeaked again, but then quickly calmed.
Clearly, slow and steady was always the way with Hermione.
Draco gradually increased the height, letting Granger grow accustomed each time before flying any further. Hermione grew more and more at ease; after a while, her little gasps were stemming from excitement rather than fear, and she was urging him to go "just a little higher". By the time half an hour had passed, they were flying past turrets and Granger was whooping with delight.
Arms full of Hermione, catching tantalising snatches of vanilla and cinnamon, Draco was torn between heaven and hell.
So near… and yet so far.
Still, he had to admit it was vicariously fun to enjoy her first real flight.
He took her away from the castle so she could see the majestic snow-topped mountains in the distance, remembering how even his jaded spirits had lifted at first sight of them; her response did not disappoint as she gasped in wonder.
"Look at that view! It's spectacular! It's so much easier to appreciate when you're not on the verge of falling off the back of a Hippogriff," she added, in musing tones.
Draco's brows shot up in shock. Every time he thought he had her figured out...
"It's just… it's just amazing, Draco. And you're right – there's no need to think. It's… it's wonderful! Thank you."
Bemused, Draco realised she had called him by his first name. Even more surprisingly, he suddenly realised he had been thinking of her as Hermione for quite some time. When had that happened?
"You're welcome, Hermione," he replied, testing the feel of it. He decided he rather liked it. Almost as much as he liked the sound of his name from her. Still breathless with excitement, Hermione didn't even seem to notice. "Ready for the big finale?" Draco asked. He felt her pause, then nod eagerly.
"Okay!" Picking up the pace, he abruptly turned the Firebolt around and raced towards the Quidditch pitch at eye-blurring speed. Predictably, Hermione emitted an ear-splitting shriek, but Draco was familiar enough by now to recognise it as one of exhilaration.
He kept them zipping at full tilt just a little longer, until she laughingly begged him to stop, at which point he brought them to a gentle halt, still far above the ground.
Now apparently fearless, Hermione craned her neck to look down. "Is that people down there? They must be waiting to use the pitch. Draco – we should go down."
Not at all in a hurry to end their ride, or end having Granger in his arms, Draco was tempted to refuse, Quidditch practice be damned, but two things convinced him: 1) it might be Slytherin players down there, and 2) the more people they ran into, the harder their flying lesson was going to be to explain. He needed to get Hermione out of there quickly.
So he turned the broom downwards and began the descent.
His intention was to time it so he could land behind the people already on the ground and avoid a meeting, but his intentions were stymied. As they grew closer, it became apparent the two figures were determinedly keeping them in sight.
By the time they had fully descended, two things were perfectly clear: firstly, the two figures waiting for them were Potter and Weasley.
Secondly, they both looked absolutely furious.
A/N 2 We really are on the home straight now... I think I said that in an earlier chapter A/N - but I was premature :)