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The sun was beginning its dive toward the horizon, barely brushing the Atlantic waters with its rays. Hermione inhaled as the wind blew and caressed her face, its invisible fingers running tenderly through her hair. She basked in the warmth that still washed upon the earth, and blessed the day they had decided to relocate.
“Warmer winds are gentler on young feathers.”
She walked along the edge of the cliff, having conquered her fear of heights after countless hours flying, held in strong arms that wrapped around her and promised no hurt could come to her again.
She walked closer, and faced what would surely be a memory she would revisit in a pensive. She couldn’t hear them over the sound of the wind but could now see them. Draco knelt in front of their son, expression soft, explaining something unhurriedly and using his hands to mimic what could only be wings.
Scorpius, on the other hand, was the personification of excitement. She could tell because she knew how to look for the signs. He was a Malfoy after all, and stoicism was a predominant genetic trait. However, it was the little twitch of his toes and the inconspicuous way he tried to brush his hazel locks from his face that betrayed him.
He appeared determined, listening with rapt attention to the words of his father and his instructions on how to stretch his wings, on how to open up his chest and keep his legs straight, how to feel the wind and make it an ally. “The wind isn’t something you beat.” Draco had once told her, “It’s something you listen to. It will fly with you if you let it.”
They stood side by side now, facing the vastness beyond the cliff’s edge. Hermione settled on the grass, expectant, wracked with nerves and brimming with pride.
She could see now how the wind loved Scorpius. It curved around him playfully, brushing his hair upward and tickling him softly, calling for him to go and play along with. It drew joyful laughter from their son and the warmest feeling flooded Hermione’s chest.
Once he recaptured his attention, Draco folded his arms against his chest and wrapped his wings around himself. With a large snap, he unfurled his wings and extended his arms wide, the breeze caught them, rippling his feathers from shoulder to tip—welcoming him back in its embrace. Hermione watched as, not without difficulty, Scorpius followed the steps just shown. In his effort he filled his lungs and cheeks with oxygen, closed his eyes, and reached with his chest skyward, aided by his feet lifting his heels off the ground. His small wings trembled as he extended them, trying to keep them stretched. His brilliant hazel eyes met his father’s then, searching for approval, and finding it written all across Draco’s face, tender and glowing with pride.
For a moment, the wind picked up its steady dance and softly nudged Scorpius. But in its playfulness it unraveled the youngling’s instinct to feel the breeze and join in its waltz. Scorpius lifted for no more than a full second and was swept off the ground barely one meter back from where he was standing.
Everything stilled for just a heartbeat, as the three of them stared in disbelief. When the trance broke, feet stomped and stumbled to take them to each other. The three met in an embrace and the wind kissed their cheeks, joining in the joy and infinity of the moment.
A first flight. The first of many to come.
To the wind, Hermione whispered words of gratitude. And the wind whispered them back.
