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Hermione isn’t quite sure how it happened. She knows the phrase is opposites attract but sure there is something to be said about the fact that she and Oliver are polar opposites when it comes to Quidditch.
And flying.
It’s mostly the flying part, because while she still doesn’t care much about watching Quidditch, she appreciates the planning and strategizing of plays, and can – and has – listened to Oliver speak Quidditch jargon for hours on end. Though she will never admit, she has tackled him in his office more than once because of his strategies and flight formation ideas.
That does not mean she wants to fly, as well.
She knows now that the school brooms they were first presented with during her first years were not the best to learn how to fly. She also knows that the few times she’s been on a broom - rescuing Sirius, while on the run, and to prove she could at an annual Weasley party – weren’t the best times of her life. On the opposite side of the spectrum, she knows how much Oliver loves it, not just for Quidditch, but in general. He’s often spoken of the freedom he feels while up in the air, the embrace of the wind, and whatnot.
He does, she can grudgingly admit, make it sound wonderful.
This is the only reason she is currently in the backyard of his family home, standing next to a hovering broom, while Oliver instructs her on safety protocols.
“Ready, then?”
Hermione blinks, flushing slightly when she realizes she’s completely tuned out his words, focusing only on the cadence of his voice. Oliver looks amused, like he knows where her mind was, but he only raises his eyebrows at her. He stands with one hand on the forward part of the broom, and indicates with his other for her to get on.
She can’t.
It’s the fear of not having complete control, the idea that a single gust of wind could completely change a full course. In her mind, she sees images of white scales beneath her instead of (supposedly, according to Oliver) sturdy wood. Her heart races with anxiety any time she even thinks about leaving the ground below her feet.
“It’s alright,” Oliver says to her, his voice a low murmur meant to calm her. “I’m going up with you this time, remember? I keep my word.”
“Right,” Hermione whispers. She takes in a deep breath and straddles the broomstick. Her eyes shut, even as Oliver settles in behind her and she blurts out, “Can this thing hold both of us?”
Oliver chuckles behind her, but it’s not malicious at all. Instead, the sound soothes her; she can feel the vibrations from his chest on her back, and she lets out a large exhale. “Pretty sure you know the answer to that already, mo leannan. Now relax.”
Hermione’s heart soars at the phrase. She knows its importance, understands that he doesn’t call her his sweetheart lightly. With another deep breath, she tries to relax, to loosen her limbs, and pays close attention to Oliver’s words and instructions.
His hands are light on her arms as they slide down to meet her hands on the broom. He’s hunched over her a bit, but the weight further calms her. His voice is a low tone in her ear, and she nods that she understands when he asks for confirmation. He adjusts her fingers once more before he moves his hands to wrap around her waist, a loose reminder that he is there for her.
Her magic lifts them up. Hermione points her toes to keep herself on the ground until the very last moment until she feels the gentle push-off from Oliver’s legs that bump them upwards. She knows the moment her magic has fused with the broom, allowing the object to take over. A small shriek leaves her lips, but then Oliver is there, mouth against her ear, telling her, “It’s alright. Take control. I’m right here.”
Like she does in all her endeavors, Hermione concentrates on everything - the placement of her feet, how many degrees to lean in order to turn, the grooves beneath her fingers. Through it all, Oliver is patient, adjusting her body when necessary, correcting her motions when she falters. They go through the air at a steady speed.
After a while, Hermione fully relaxes, trusting her instincts and trusting Oliver. The sky is clear, a bright blue that soon begins to melt into the colors of a sunset. With a squeeze of his hand on her thigh, Oliver tells her they should head back. Not wanting to get caught in darkness, Hermione leans to her right until the soar in an arc that brings them into the opposite direction.
“Trust me, mo leannan?” Oliver asks. Hermione nods and feels him shift behind her. His arms stretch out in front of her, grasping the broom’s handle with both hands. He’s tight against her back and she can’t help but lean her head back against his shoulder a bit. His lips are warm and a little chapped against her cheek, but then he says, “Arms out.”
With a bit of trepidation, Hermione lets go and slips her arms from the circle of Oliver’s hold. Her elbows rest against his biceps as she stretches her arms out and pushes them back against him. This time, a loud shriek wraps around them when Oliver wraps his feet around her ankles and pushes against the broom’s footrests. The broomstick speeds up, faster and faster until the air whistles around them. Her curls whip around their faces, and Hermione can’t help but laugh when she hears Oliver sputter.
She’s not worried at the speed. Even if she’s a bit frightened, she also knows that Oliver would never let her fall. If anything, she trusts his skills in the air, and trusts that he’ll keep her safe. Oliver asks loudly, “Alright?” and Hermione nods against him.
The sky is beautiful, but Hermione shuts her eyes as she curls her arms over Oliver’s, holding him loosely. His muscles flex beneath her palms. She feels him press his cheek against hers and soon, their breaths match up. They slow a bit and Hermione’s eyes blink open. In the distance, she sees the Wood Estate, the house windows lit up. She knows his parents are probably getting dinner ready, happy that they’re visiting for a weekend.
But Hermione isn’t ready to land, not quite yet. So she turns her head, kisses Oliver’s cheek, and requests, “Just a little longer?”
He doesn’t answer, only leans to the right. One of his hands releases the broom handle and wraps around her waist. She can hear the smile in his voice when he agrees. “Just a bit.”