"Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall."— Sir Walter Raleigh, said to have written on a window with a diamond to Queen Elizabeth I
"If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all." —the queen's response
Hermione crashed into a hard surface, expecting the snap of broken bones, but the hard surface was soft as well, and she found herself clutching Malfoy, who had flown directly beneath her. He had caught her in his arms, one arm around her waist, the other under her knees. "I've got you," he said hoarsely, climbing again.
She wanted to bury her head in his shoulder and bawl, but Astoria was undoubtedly watching, so Hermione just nodded. Her arms tightened around Malfoy's neck as they rose until he began gasping for air.
Hermione loosened her grip slightly. Malfoy swung around on his broomstick, using only his knees for control. He hovered high over the pitch, holding Hermione to his chest, before a frowning Astoria and a white-faced Ginny.
"That was a dangerous, vile trick, Astoria," he snarled.
"It's not my fault that Granger can't control her broom," Astoria sneered.
The hand under Hermione's legs began twitching; Malfoy was trying to summon his wand. His breath came in rapid pants and the arm around her waist was like iron. "Don't," she said to him, her voice low. She released one hand to place it on Malfoy's spastic one beneath her. "Draco."
"Bound to the earth," Astoria drawled, "yet so desperate to fly."
Malfoy snarled again and now Ginny had her wand out. Hermione pulled her hand from Malfoy's to draw her own wand, pointing it at both Ginny and Astoria, her other arm half-choking Malfoy once more.
"NO," Hermione said in harsh, commanding tones. "We start trading hexes up here, and someone will truly end up dead."
Ginny's smile was cold. "You can't stay up here forever, Greengrass."
"No, Ginny," Hermione said, looking straight at Astoria. "She's mine." Astoria blanched slightly, then tried to cover it with a disdainful sniff.
"Enough, I'm taking Hermione back to the castle," Malfoy said.
"You are certainly not," Astoria said. "We have practice."
"Fuck your practice," Malfoy snapped and turned his broom away.
"Draco!" Astoria called. "You leave this pitch and you won't be playing Quidditch at all!"
He continued his course. "Then I won't play!"
"Malfoy, I'm fine," Hermione said.
"That's what you think of me?" he asked. "You think I'd just dump you on the ground and fly off with Astoria? As soon as we get back to the castle we are reporting—"
"No," Hermione repeated. "I will handle Greengrass." She frowned up into his face. "No reporting, no Slytherin revenge, no little accidents in Herbology." She squeezed the hand under her legs again, now distractingly warm against her thigh. "Trust me."
Malfoy's jaw tightened, but he nodded, turning the broom again. "Where are we going?" Hermione asked.
"Over the Forbidden Forest," he said. "You are getting over this ridiculous fear of flying before you kill yourself."
Hermione nodded, slipping her wand back in her pocket and linking both arms around Malfoy's neck again. Her anger had faded, but she couldn't stop trembling.
"Hey," Malfoy said, halting the broom. "It's alright," he whispered, just as he had during their dance at Slughorn's party when she'd had a flashback to the Ministry's fall. "We're alright now." He placed her on the broomstick before him, both of her legs dangling off one side, and wrapped both arms around her. Then they sat silently, the broom hanging still in mid-air, waiting for both of their breaths and heartbeats to slow.
Hermione didn't know how long they remained like this, but eventually she emerged from her contented daze to feel Malfoy's soft lips on her temple, brushing down the curve of her cheek, and she straightened and released his neck. She now felt secure enough to look around, still holding his arm, and see they were already far beyond the pitch. She carefully did not look down.
"I hate brooms," she muttered as Malfoy put one hand on the broom handle and flew forward again.
"Is it the height?" he asked. "Have you ever flown on anything else?"
"A hippogriff. And a thestral. Oh, and a dragon, too."
Malfoy stopped dead in the air again, staring at her. His arm tightened around her waist. "A dragon?"
She tossed her head. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Tell me about the thestral then," he said. "Come on, Hermione, I just saved your life. Surely that's worth a story."
His grin widened. "Unless you'd like to thank me another way."
"So it was the summer after Sixth Year," Hermione began immediately, leaning away from him. He was flying in slow, wide circles now, so smoothly that it seemed they hung suspended while the world turned around them. The sun was low in the sky, turning streaks of clouds pinkish-orange. "The Order of the Phoenix was moving Harry from his aunt's house to a secret location."
"I remember that," Malfoy said quietly. Sure he does—Voldemort was at the manor that summer, Hermione thought.
She took a deep breath, looking at the silver embroidery on his chest. "We hoped to move him without Voldemort knowing."
"He knew," Malfoy said. "Severus told him."
"Yes," Hermione said sadly. She blinked a few times, her cheek now resting against his jersey. "To improve Harry's chances of escape, the Order created six more Harrys, each with a trunk and a stuffed owl. We drank Polyjuice potion and flew off in different directions, each of us with a protector."
"What?" Malfoy's body stiffened, and Hermione looked up at him, startled at his tone. "You were one of the Harry Potters?" He looked furious. "That Pot-head, he doesn't care how many bodies he has to hide behind—"
"Don't say that!" Hermione snapped. "He absolutely refused at first! The Order had to threaten force to get his hair for the potion!"
"There you go defending him—"
"I will always defend him, you prat! I thought you liked it when I defended people!"
"Not when you defend suicidal heroes with savior complexes!"
"Well it's better than defending egomaniacal former Death Eaters, but you don't seem to mind that!" Hermione snapped. She turned away from him and crossed her arms.
Malfoy huffed and steered the broom around the Forbidden Forest. "Fine. Go on then."
"I've told you enough. Take me back."
"You haven't told me anything but the Order's daft plan. Where does the thestral come in?"
She sighed. "I was paired with Kingsley Shacklebolt on a thestral, since they knew I didn't like brooms. We were headed to his country house, but as soon as we left ..." she trailed off.
His arm around her tightened again. "Go on."
"They found us. We were surrounded by Death Eaters." Hermione closed her eyes, leaning against his chest, her cheek rubbing against the scratchy embroidery. Malfoy's scent was all around her, his lips at her temple again. But she barely noticed, remembering the ring of black-cloaked fliers, wands raised to kill. "The thestral climbed above them and dove straight into the clouds, but two were right behind us, throwing curses blindly, hoping to get lucky. One knocked the trunk off the thestral's back. It was so wet in the clouds, so cold ..."
Another hand was in her curls and she could feel the weight of his chin on the top of her head. "We flew that way for ages, then suddenly descended, out of the clouds. There was a vast forest below. The Death Eaters were right behind us, still casting killing curses, but now we could fight back." Hermione began to tremble again.
"That's enough," Malfoy said above her. "You don't have to say anymore."
"I want to," she said, her eyes still closed, clutching his jersey. She hadn't talked to anyone about this—not even Kingsley.
"Kingsley was shooting killing curses back," she continued "He launched one after another—so fast. I couldn't do the same—you have to mean those hexes—but I tried blinding hexes, stinging hexes, anything I could think of ..."
They flew in silence for a time, Malfoy continuing to make slow and steady rings over the Forbidden Forest. Then Hermione spoke again.
"Kingsley steered the thestral straight down, into the trees, to try to lose them. The leaves were so thick we couldn't see, and I constantly worried we'd be brained by a branch or smash into a trunk. Then we shot upwards again, and there one of them was, like he was waiting for us, and I ... I ..."
"Open your eyes," Malfoy commanded. "Look at me."
She obeyed, looking into his grey eyes, so soft and serious. It gave her the courage to finish. "I shot a full body-bind curse," she whispered. "His arms and legs immediately slammed together, and he and his broom fell into the trees. I don't know if he died, he must have ..."
"He didn't," Malfoy said. "That was Jugson. He was found the next day, hanging from a tree, perfectly fine but unable to move."
"There was still one more, but before we could take him out, that damned stuffed owl ..." Hermione sighed. "It fell off the thestral and the Death Eater hexed it, slicing it in half, and all the stuffing fell out. It was obvious it was a fake owl, and that I wasn't Harry, so the Death Eater vanished."
Malfoy sighed with relief. "That Salazar for that owl!"
"No!" Hermione straightened in his arms, too enraged suddenly to care that they were now a hundred feet over the forest. "We failed! Our job was to lure away the Death Eaters so Harry could make it to the safe house! When our cover was blown, that was one more Death Eater Voldemort could call to him!"
Malfoy was angry, too—his face was flushed and his short hair streamed in the wind. His arm around her felt like iron. "You could have died!"
"I was ready to die! It would have been worth it!" she yelled.
The broom hung still in the air and their faces were inches apart. Malfoy leaned forward and his lips brushed hers. Her entire body thrummed at the contact, and her hands on his arms tightened.
"No, we're not doing this." She spun around, slinging a leg over the broomstick, her back to him. She grasped the broom handle with both hands, hitching forward. "We need to go back to the castle."
Malfoy said nothing, just steered the broom smoothly downwards until they landed on the grass outside the castle entrance. Hermione awkwardly hopped off and they stood facing each other, both still rattled by what had happened in the air.
He was shaking his head. "By Salazar, you'll defend anybody, won't you? You went on a suicide mission to save Potter. You faced off your best friend and the auror who saved your life to defend me. You even defended those Beaters to me!" He rubbed his hand through his windblown hair. "Merlin, you talked me into apologizing to a girl you don't even like!"
He stepped closer. "But you're being a coward about us. You won't accept what's going on. You won't admit what you're feeling—"
"Don't tell me what I'm feeling," Hermione snapped. "You made my life and my friends' lives miserable for years, bullied us, tried to thwart us at every turn, and if I'm a little skittish about jumping into bed—"
"I'm not asking you—"
"We both know what we're talking about here," she said coldly.
"You think this is about fucking? Because if that's all I want, there's no shortage of willing partners these days—"
"Including another Eighth-Year Gryffindor and certain bathroom ghost," Hermione snarled, hands on hips, feet planted wide apart. "Fine. Go play with them, then."
"That's the point. I am not playing here," Malfoy was flushed, and his hand clutched his broomstick so tightly his knuckles were white. "I made that clear back in those wretched woods. My feelings for you are serious. And you feel the same way—that business with my parents proved that. You continue to defend me. You believe in me. You understand what I'm trying to do."
Hermione sniffed. "As I said, I didn't like your mother's tone."
Malfoy sighed. "You're putting up walls again. Some Gryffindor you are. I'm trying to be patient, Hermione, but watching you deny what's in front of your face and fool around with Theo fucking Nott makes me wonder if you're so brilliant after all."
"Don't you try to bully me, Malfoy, I'll date whoever I want, when I want and—"
"Yes, yes, I've heard this too many times." He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I know I'm a prime arsehole and you have every reason to run the other way, but here's the thing." He stepped closer, suddenly more cheerful. "You like it. You like all of it. When I was teasing you up there on the Quidditch pitch, you were creaming your knickers. I could see it on your face."
"You're disgusting," Hermione said, crossing her arms.
"I am," he whispered in her ear. "And you like that, too."
A faint bell tolled from the castle, six tolls.
"Dinnertime," Malfoy stepped back with a mocking grin. "Excellent. Worked up an appetite, haven't we? I'll leave you to ponder all of this, maybe draw up a nice pros/cons chart. You know," he went on conversationally, "I look forward to your LOON plan—"
"LOOP!"
"Now, don't get bogged down by semantics, Hermione."
"Wacky Faint."
"Wro—ah, nice one. Just think of the lovely charts you'll draw up after this is all resolved in the way I intend: 'The Pros and Cons of Various Sexual Positions' and 'Five Nice Things a Day I Can Do for Draco.' Number one ..."
Hermione slapped her hands over her eyes so she didn't have to see his smirking face. "Stop, just stop," she begged. "I'd rather talk sex with Moaning Myrtle again."
"Now that is one story I don't want to hear," she heard him say. "Don't be late for dinner." He walked off toward the castle, or at least she assumed so, since his whistling grew fainter in that direction. She cautiously brought her hands down, relieved to see his green-and-silver back slipping through the giant front doors and Ginny walking forward to meet her.
Hermione took out her wand and summoned her book bag, which obediently streaked her way from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Then she went to join Ginny, thinking about how wrong Malfoy was. No matter what madness lay ahead, she was never writing a list of 'Five Nice Things a Day I Can Do for Draco.'