(A/N: This ones from iowa-tarheel, the first one brave enough to leave a request! *blows confetti, applause, applause* Gracias darling, gracias. Hope it's at least close to what you thought.)
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She was going to die.
She, Hermione Jean Granger, muggleborn and proud, recent graduate of Hogwarts, was going to plummet a hundred feet to her death and break her neck and DIE.
She clung to Harry's back as tightly and closely as physics and anatomy would allow, with her face smushed into his neck and her fists buried in his clothes, muttering about how in the hell she'd let him talk her into this-
-and the broom wasn't even in the air yet. He, of course, was laughing his arse off at her, completely at ease. "Mione, come on. Don't you trust me?"
Yes, she did, she'd seen him on a broom before and knew that he was no amateur, far from it.
"It's the BROOM I don't trust."
It's a Firebolt! Stop being a chicken."
"I'm not a chicken! And yes, I've heard all that before, oooh, a Firebolt, I don't care! People aren't meant to be up that hiIIIIIGH HARRY HARRY NO NO MERLIN MERLIN OH GOD-"
The broomstick rocketed upwards before she could even realize it, leaving her stomach on the ground. Harry was laughing wildly, gleefully. He turned up sharply, and Hermione was too breathless and terrified to even scream.
'He's mad. He's stark, raving, rabid mad and he's going to kill us both.' She shut her eyes tight and begged silently for it to end.
"Mione. Mione, look." Harry was no longer laughing. His voice had gone gentle. He reached behind his back- what was he steering the broom with?!- and slowly removed her hands from their death grips on his shirt.
"Look..."
Gasping, shaking, Hermione peeled her eyes open the smallest degree and peeped through her lids. She saw him first, his smirk and self confident face, calm and mocking. Behind him though...
The sun was halfway set behind the hills of the campground he'd taken herto, painting everything tones of bloody red, deep purple, and vibrant orange. The shadows stretched for miles, making the land look like an oil painting.
"Oh," she breathed, opening her eyes wide and forgetting her mortal terror. "It's beautiful... You see this all the time?"
"Mmhm." he sighed. He looked content, which was something rare... He looked carefree, easy, and relaxed like he never was on the ground. "There's nothing like flying." He glanced back at her and grinned, managing to make it look scandalous. "Well, almost nothing."
"Oh hush, you."