Chapter Seven

Before, when Severus had first carried her into the air, Hermione had been too scared to really take any of it in, but now each of her senses was filled almost to bursting by the experience. Little if any of it, however, was thanks to the startled birds darting past them or the way the breeze rustled the treetops as they passed.

Now that she was paying attention, really paying attention, even the magic of flight faded into the background when compared with the overwhelming presence of the man who held her.

She'd practically wrestled him into a half-Nelson before lunch , but had been blind to anything other than the fact he needed to put her down, now, thank you. With the fear firmly locked away in the special compartment of her mind set aside for Things That Got in The Way – a place previously reserved for a deep, abiding distaste for camping, and moral scruples over the use of blackmail, especially of journalists – it was almost impossible not to notice him.

Severus smelled of cigarette smoke and the beer he'd drunk at lunch. The leather of his jacket was soft and cool to the touch. His cologne was spicy, deep and masculine, and it was with some difficulty that Hermione resisted pressing her face against his neck to drink in the heady scent of him. He smelled incongruously, she decided, of danger and of safety. The rollercoaster effect, she realised with a smile.

"Yes," she sighed at last, shifting her weight slightly. "Tell me the spell."

His hand moved from its light hold on her waist to her hip as he pulled her closer. Hermione was delighted and flustered to find herself pressed against his chest as he dipped his face into her hair to bring his lips level with her ear. She felt each puff of breath as he whispered his secret to her.

"Volanti?" she demanded, pulling back and breaking the spell. "That's it? The spell is just the name of the spell?"

Severus smiled, and it was so different to the smile she had seen in the pub that her heart forgot all about racing and did something fluttery instead. "You know how magic works," he reminded her. "Just try it."

It was nigh on impossible to focus enough to perform wandless magic, but Hermione was determined to succeed. Was that what he had been trying to teach her each time he had tried to distract her with his lectures? Possibly... probably... either way, his lessons had been well learned. Reaching inside herself, Hermione fed her magic into each syllable, taking care to copy his precise enunciation.

"Volanti..."

It was a curious sensation, not a bit like the spells that had allowed her to join Severus in the sky. No, this was much more like being made suddenly aware of the pull that gravity had on her and, she discovered with a few careful tweaks of magic, her ability to fight it. Summoning more magic, Hermione focussed her intent on moving a few inches left, then a few to the right. Her movements were jolty at first, but amazingly, it allowed her to control her movement through the sheer force of her will.

She knew she must look ungainly, like a novice contemplating their first time out on the ice rink, only moments from her feet sliding out from underneath her. Hermione could feel herself move ever closer to losing her balance and was wondering how Severus remained so perfectly centred, when she remembered the other spells he'd been at pains to teach her.

"Stabilis," she recited. "Calfacio. Minus Ventus. Volanti!"

Holding so many spells at once was difficult, like trying to hold a litter of squirming Kneazle kittens without allowing any to wriggle free, but her magic rallied, and suddenly she went from not falling, to flying.

And it was wonderful.

Sitting on a Thestral or clutching at the rough, shifting scales of a dragon could never have prepared her for the sensation of slicing through the air like this.

This was better than cauldrons, pointy hats and broomsticks. Turning a matchstick into a needle had been pretty damn impressive when she had been twelve, but it had been years since a spell had held such enchantment for her. This was magic with none of the trappings of a children's story. Glorious, unfettered, and unlike anything she had done before.

Although still nervous, thanks to Severus' coaching, there was a new fluidity to each move she made as she swooped cautiously from tree to tree. Hermione laughed out loud; perhaps one day, she might aim for the clouds or perform loop the loops in the sky, but for now, this was everything she had ever hoped for.

She allowed her toes to drag along the utmost leaves of a horse chestnut, before sinking a few feet to allow her fingers to do the same. Moving to the next tree, she startled a wood pigeon. It stared stupidly at her for a few moments, somewhat nonplussed at finding itself confronted with a human visitor, before taking to the air with a disgruntled coo. Hermione followed it to its perch in the next tree, and the next, before the poor thing took to the sky in search of a quieter roost. Hermione watched it go, aware of the childish wish to chase it through the sky, before remembering her silent, watchful companion. She blushed.

Severus had remained close by as she swerved artlessly from tree to tree. He didn't crowd her or provide instruction; he simply let her test the spell for herself, exploring her new found limits.

She drew towards him, circling him clumsily. He turned with her, and their movements suddenly reminded her of a stately, old-fashioned dance. He moved so beautifully that Hermione felt a strange yearning in her chest, an almost painful longing to possess such grace, such unconscious elegance and complete magical control.

The sudden tiredness ought to have been expected, but the abrupt heaviness of her limbs took Hermione by surprise, and she felt herself begin to sink. A sharp burst of panic raised her a few inches, but the heaviness won over, causing even her eyelids to droop. It reminded her of a few moments during the Final Battle when no amount of adrenalin, no amount of raw terror, could persuade her to fire another spell or take another faltering step. All she had wanted to do was lie down and sleep, no longer caring that stopping, even for a moment, would probably result in her death. It had been Ron, tugging on her hand, who had saved her then. This time it was Severus.

His magic caught her just before he did, pulling her towards him and decelerating her fall. Hermione had a few fleeting moments to enjoy the sensation of being clasped against him before they landed heavily, but safely, in a pile of limbs amid the undergrowth.

Hermione blinked slowly up at her rescuer. Her magic was already recovering, but the delicious, heavy fatigue still filled her, leaving her disinclined to move. There was something digging into her shoulder, and she could already feel the slight damp of the ground beneath her, soaking through her clothes, but the discomfort faded when compared to the wonderfully warm weight that pinned her.

Hermione was tempted to move her legs so that he could rest more comfortably against her, but she didn't dare risk any movement that might result in his pulling away. There was no preventing the silly smile from creeping across her face, though, as she concentrated on getting her breathing and her scattered thoughts back under control.

Eventually, she found her voice. "When you said the spell would be draining, I didn't think it would be like that."

To her surprise, Severus didn't move other than to brush back the hair that had escaped from its twist during her flight, smoothing it back with gentle touches. "You were safe," he assured her. "You would have stopped yourself if I hadn't."

Hermione had no idea if that was actually true, but as she resisted the urge to stretch like a cat beneath his petting, she decided it didn't really matter. Far more pressing was the growing suspicion that he might be about to kiss her.

Lazily, she tried to decide if she wanted him to and came to the happy conclusion that, yes, yes she really rather did. She tilted her hips, just slightly, and watched his eyes widen at the invitation before his hips pressed just a fraction more firmly back against her. Her body thrilled at the sensation. He wanted her too; she was certain of it.

"Granger..."

Abruptly, his weight was gone, and a vial of Pepper Up was thrust into her hand.

"You'll need further practice, but I'm sure you can appreciate it would be dangerous to do so without someone else present, or at least a good tethering spell."

And, just like that, he was gone.

Her parents were waiting to hear about her lessons, and she'd promised to let Harry know the moment she succeeded in flying – or driving Snape to distraction, whichever came first. Oddly, back in her room with her phone in her hand, she felt she didn't really wish to speak with anyone, not just yet. Instead, she ran herself a bath, using her shower gel to create bubbles in the water.

It had been cool amongst the tree tops, the wind stronger there, and the hot water felt wonderful. It suited the lingering drowsiness that filled her, even as her magic strengthened.

Hermione let her hand slide across her chest, imagining that it was his hand, that the heat of the water was his warmth. She tilted her hips as before, imagining that he had not hesitated in pressing back against her, that she hadn't hesitated in untangling their legs to cradle him between her thighs.

Her hand moved lower as she let the scene play out in her head. This time though, he didn't pull away, but instead he dipped his head to brush his lips against hers...

The image refused to form. There had been moments when she had been certain that he meant to kiss her, but each time, her certainty had proved false. Now, even in her own mind, she couldn't imagine him closing the gap between them and claiming her lips with his own. Frustrated, she let her hand drop.

Perhaps her imagination was as exhausted as the rest of her. Or perhaps, having come so close to the real thing, no paltry fantasy was going to suffice.