Alright, I love this chapter. And, for your information, the song 'High' by James Blunt, is the song I've always thought was the love song for Oliver/Aly. Easily.

Want to hear more love songs, or songs I think go well with them? Guess what, I made a playlist on finetune.

/playlist/2190243

Just go to finetune's homepage and add that. Don't ask me why the editor is freaking out about adding the link, but it is. I'm not allowed to type in a web address or anything.

:)

I sighed as I made my way down to the pitch, disgusted by the nearly perfect weather conditions. My stomach rumbled – I felt much too nervous to eat a lot at dinner, and was relying on the house elf who cleaned my room to take care of me later.

But as the wind blew gently, I remembered that no matter how comforted I could be by the kind old lady house elf who listened to the problems that I have with my teachers during my late-night cram sessions, it wouldn't help my imminent detention.

I'd never ridden a broom before this year, but my reaction with Bry assured me that I would be terrified. It also had convinced me that brooms were uncomfortable and completely unnecessary. They're so easy to fall off of, who would even want to risk it?

I bit my lip as I stood in front of the unlocked entrance to the Quidditch Pitch, quite aware of the fact that I'd only been able to stall long enough that I was seven minutes late exactly and that Wood probably hadn't even noticed my absence. Hell, I don't even know if he has a clock anywhere around here. I could be going completely on the honor system.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and stepped through the entrance and into the cool, shady hallway leading towards the field. I'd gone to enough Quidditch games that I knew how to get around in the hallways down here, but not enough that I thought I could walk them with my eyes closed.

So I opened them to the dim torch-light, following the signs that were nailed to the wall to make it to the large Quidditch field, where Wood stood, leaning on a single broom.

"Darling," he called, Scottish accent painfully evident, "You're late!"

Guess he does have a clock. "Sorry, professor, I got lost," I called lamely, hoping he wouldn't return to his big-mouth tendencies. I let my barely-averaged length legs take longer strides to reach Wood, who was standing in the middle of the field, "So, sir, what are we going to do today?"

Wood wrinkled his nose as he shifted his weight off his broom and quickly mounted it. I stared in amazement as he made some comment about not calling him sir. Holy crap! His legs are like freaking water! They just swing every which way!

The broom started to hover, lifting Wood a few inches into the air, and he comfortably took his hand closest to me off the handle in a welcoming position, "Well, come on then."

"What," I said, finally tearing my eyes away from the hovering broom and his slightly-bulging leg muscles and realizing just what I had been doing.

"Are you deaf, or just a scardy-cat," Wood smirked at me, "I said that we'd be going flying."

My brow furrowed, and I tried to think of a polite way to say HELL NO! "With all due respect, sir,-" that's always the way to start off something that you want to be polite but is really very rude, like correcting your teacher's teaching. "I don't think, given my experience, that it would be the best idea for me to fly."

"With all due respect, m'am," Wood mocked me, letting his hand not gripping the broom to rest on his thigh, "I think it's the only way to get you to start flying. You're terrified to be up in the air."

"Am not," I replied lamely. It's not the air that bothers me, it's the broom part. The part where only man-made objects are supporting me.

This was, quite honestly, the first time I'd ever wished that I could tell someone about my animagus form other than the few select teachers that need to know about it. Before third year it hadn't ever come up, and after that Dumbledore had approached me and advised that I kept it a secret from everyone other than my most personal friends, for my own safety.

I realize now he meant because of the war – nothing's more valuable than a spy who can fly at forty miles per hour undetected by magic as anything more than a mere bird, and we all know the Dark Lord doesn't care about what he has to do to attain a valuable ally.

"Are too, you were clutching to a girl while hovering no more than a few feet in the air."



"Then Professor," I interjected, dropping the point. If we keep arguing about that, I might just get myself into more trouble, "I feel the urge to point out that I'm not sure that you and I sharing a broom would make the best of impressions."

"And who is going to tell them, me," Wood questioned, smiling, "I won't tell if you won't."

"You have a rule about flying two to a broom."

"I can make exceptions to my own rules."

I bit my lip – I wasn't quite sure I had a choice in this. Something told me that Wood was certain he was right, and was stubborn enough to deny me the lessons until I agreed to it. I only wished that I could misconstrue the flight into something that could get him fired. Let him go back to playing professionally; I don't know why he ever left.

I finally simply sighed, pushing the broom down a few feet so that I could lift my leg over it easier. My nose wrinkled when I saw that I had to push it so low that Wood was actually standing on the ground, but ignored it as I started to, er, mount behind Wood.

"What do you think you are doing," Wood questioned, and I paused as he looked over his shoulder at me.

I pouted, wondering what I could've done wrong. Did I forget my seat belt? "What?"

Wood rolled his eyes, patting the broom in front of him, "I don't want you sliding off the back, or missing the view."

The view? "I don't think that's the most appropriate position, professor."

"I won't tell if you won't," Wood repeated, smirking mischievously in a way that made my heart flutter a little, just like his smile had in the dungeons.

I gulped, more worried that Wood had magical vision and could see the sudden tension in my chest than of the rumors if anyone happened to walk in right about now. Quickly, I made my way towards the front of the broom, Wood holding it down ever so graciously as I kept my eyes lowered.

I swung my leg over, not aiming for Wood's face but secretly hoping to hit it accidentally anyway. Could he fly with a swollen eye? I think not, at least not when I'm a passenger.

But I found no such luck, and instead found myself lifted a few inches into the air before Wood was even hovering a little. "Are you alright," he questioned, wrapping his two strong arms around me and letting his head come to rest over my shoulder.

"Huh?" I questioned, my chest letting up only a little. I knew it! He's got one of Professor Moody's freaking eyes! He sees it!

"With this height – you should probably be comfortable with this height before I take you any higher."

Oh. "Y-yeah, I'm fine," I said, finding it hard to speak past my recent mild heart attack. Oh, come on! "Really, Wood, I'm not scared of heights. You're being ridiculous." That's better.

"Alright, then, if you say so," Wood said, "But you might want to hang on."

"How can I hang on? You're massive hands ar-WHOA!" Wood lowered a few inches to the ground before springing us up a hundred feet into the air and, mindless of where his hands were, forcing me to grasp the broom's handle.

The broom slowed to a floating stop above the Pitch, leaving me tense and hunched over the broom, clutching my thighs and digging my nails into Wood's hands. He tensed momentarily, too, but I hardly noticed as I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Oh, but you aren't afraid of heights?"

"It isn't the height that scares me," I protested, eyes, thighs, and fingers still clenched, "It's the broom, the goddamn BROOM!"

"Shh, everyone'll hear us," Wood said, sounding smug and amused behind me.

I would've turned and clawed his freaking pretty-boy brown eyes out, if I didn't feel the broom quiver underneath me, sending another wave of terror and a little bit of nausea flowing through my system and affectively shutting me up and keeping me wherever I felt most protected, which happened to be just the position I was in.

"Now, m'am, I want you to open your eyes."

"Of course they're open," I lied easily. Lie to my teachers? No sweat... Why am I Head Girl?

"Oh really? What part of Hogwarts are we facing, then?"

"The Forbidden Forest," I answered, visualizing the map of Hogwarts in my head.

"Wrong."

"What? When did we turn? How far?"

"Open your eyes and you'll see."

I groaned, "Why can't you just tell me?"

"Because then you'll never open your eyes and I'll have to teach you to fly with your eyes closed, and you'll never pass the test."

"Curiosity killed the cat," I pointed out, "And slow and steady wins the race. I'm on the broom and not dying, that's my step for today."

"What's the next step, dying? At that rate, you'll be here 'til next Christmas and I'd like to think that you're brighter than a cat anyway."

My eyes opened in shock, and I looked over my shoulder in confusion, "Was that a compliment?"

Wood just smirked at me, "Your eyes are open."

My brow shot up in confusion, and I only had to look down for a moment before screaming and shutting my eyes again, "I HATE YOU WOOD!"

"Shh, if someone hears you then you're going to be the one dealing with the rumors. It's no sweat off my back if the first years think I bang you in the broom closet."

My face contracted as I turned to face Wood, "That's disgusting."

"Just look at where we're facing."

I rolled my eyes, resolving to stop shaking and never look at the ground while flying again. The wind blew my hair in my face, and I deftly raised my trembling hand to my face to tuck the blonde mass behind my ear before seeing that we were facing, "The Forbidden Forest. Jerk."

Wood laughed a deep laugh in my ear before slowly leaning to the right, causing my heart to jump as he forced me to lean with him precariously to one side of the broom, "Ya, but it worked. Now just watch."

As we turned, Wood gave the play-by-play about what he was doing, which I promptly ignored and tried to figure out how I was going to get out of next week's lesson. I couldn't take much more of this - I've only got so much stress I can take before my brain overflows and drips into my potion, making Wiggins hate me even more.

I heard Wood sputter behind me as he leaned forward, pressing his chest to my back, "Darling, will you please do something about your hair."

"And what do you suppose I do," I questioned, glancing anywhere but at the ground, which is hard because Wood is leaning down more so we go faster, and the only way I don't see the ground is if I look sideways.

"Use one of those ponytail things."

"I am not taking my hands off this broom."

"If you don't," Wood said, using a semi-threatening tone of voice, "I will. The choices are get your hair out of my face or I'll end up steering us into the castle and you'll miss the view."

"What is this view you keep talking about," I slightly begged.

"I can't tell you if I'm choking on your hair! You're like Medusa, or something!" Wood coughed for emphasis.

I started to panic at the idea of taking my hands off the broom, certain that if I fell I wouldn't be able to change in time. "I am not taking my hands off this broom."

"I thought the broom scared you," Wood pointed out, leaving me to be angry and silent and in need of a muggle respirator. Wood sighed, "Do you at least have a ponytail?"

"Yes," I said, before he started to awkwardly grope at my wrists, hooking his thumb into the rubber-fabric hybrid and pulling it off my wrist.

He then took his hands off the broom, and it gave a sudden lurch. I screamed as I gripped it tighter and tried to steady it, but Wood didn't seem to mind as he worked his fingers through my hair. My throat grew as tight as my chest, but I just ignored the fear and concentrated on keeping the broom still.



"If you hadn't been a baby about putting up your hair yourself," Wood said as he laid his hands back over my own, and I welcomed them and their control quietly, "I could've kept the broom steady."

"I am not taking my hands off this broom."

"Will you at least loosen up with your legs? I'm pretty sure you're going to snap the broom in half."

I half-heartedly released the smallest possible amount of pressure in my legs, "Sorry."

"It's alright, just look up."

Wood straightened, moving his hands back and I could feel his sickening pride radiating through him, but for this one moment it seemed completely warranted as I looked up and saw the sun setting over the lake, "Holy shit. This is intense."

And it was - I'd never bothered to watch the sunset from way up in the sky, and it's a completely different experience. The colors seemed... brighter. Like there was somehow less atmosphere to interfere with the rays of sunlight, which were bursting out of the sun at every which way.

"Don't you wish you could see this more often?"

Momentarily awed and dumb-struck, I nodded my head. Wood, then, wrapped his hands around my wrists, lifting them off the broom and straight out to my sides, where he let them dangle.

"Now, m'am-" I could hear the smile in his voice as he used his apparent name for me. The sunset was starting to fade and become less fantastic, and I was starting to realize just how high I was in the air, and the fact that my hands weren't on the broom, "I need you to just relax. Don't let your arms fall."

"But... this is uncomfortable," I complained. It was - my arms could not keep this up for very long.

"I know," he stopped whispering, and the spell of the sunset ended abruptly, "But you've got to learn to trust that the broom won't break. Just trust that you won't fall off, and I'll have you ready for the test in three weeks."

Wood made his way back to the pitch quickly, much too quickly for my taste. He smiled, apparently pleased when he landed, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze as I nearly tripped off the broom. The moment I touched the ground, I realized how idiotically far this had gone in my head.

I half-heartedly had realized that, somehow, the fear of brooms didn't seem intense enough to cause all my physical symptoms, and I was thinking clearly enough to realize the rather picturesque timing of some of my mild heart attacks.

"Same time next week?" Wood's deep Scottish voice brought me back down to Earth - apparently I'm still flying around in the warm glow of the sunset.

"Yeah," I responded, feeling myself blush and cursing myself for it. I tugged my hair out of its ponytail so I could pull at it, "Yeah, I guess so." Not.

"Alright, the-"

I ran out of the pitch, yelling that I really had to get to my homework. My stomach was grumbling, remembering its hunger in the absence of fear. Yes, that's all. Fear. Because Professor Oliver Wood isn't even mildly attractive.

Not even a little.