Disclaimer: JKR, not me. Alas...
Dedication: To all the pirates at the HMS Overworked and Underappreciated. This started out as a one-shot cookie, but is now growing.
Notes: Okay, this is the requisite Hermione can't fly fic. I think every fan of Hermione has to have one where [insert male lead here] helps her slay the Broom. I try not to think of it as being unoriginal, but more as contributing to a long and noble tradition...it gets me to sleep at night.


Really, Hermione thought, you'd think the school would make the grass on the Quidditch pitch a bit softer. What with all the falling from high places at fast speeds, it only made perfect sense. Not that one could call falling from three feet very high but it was fifth time that night and quantity had to count for something.

She thought she'd rest her head down on the illogically hard ground all the same.

"I'm seeing stars," she said a bit dazedly as pain bloomed throughout her body.

A throat cleared somewhere to the left. "Well, I would hope so. It being night and us being outside."

"There's something grammatically wrong with that statement."

The voice snorted and Hermione noted the source had moved closer. "If you can say that, I think I'll skip on bringing you to Madame Pomfrey because you must be okay."

Despite everything, she giggled.

"Or maybe you did hurt your head, knocked out your brains? Stay here, I'll look about for them."

"Like I was going to get up," she said, bemused by the whole situation. "You're funny."

"No one's ever told me that before."

"I find that very hard to believe, mystery voice."

"You know, if you opened your eyes, which by the way solves the mystery of why you wondered how you could see stars, you could name me properly instead of making up things."

"But if I opened my eyes, eventually I'd have to get up, and then I'd have to fight the broom again."

"So that's what you were doing," he said as if having figured out a difficult Arithmancy equation. "Broomfighting. Sounds like something one would do while waving a red cape and wearing a sequined hat."

"Humph," Hermione expressed her disapproval. "I'm learning how to fly."

"I'm going to have disagree with you, my dear. It looked more like broomfighting and the broom was winning."

"I am not your dear."

"Would you like to be?"

"I liked you better when you were more funny, not at all pervy."

"Ah, 'better' indicates you still like me, though." He, the mystery voice was decidedly male, nudged her side softly with his foot. "Come on then, open your eyes, get up, and prepare to slay the broom."

"No."

"But I'll be your trusty assistant. I can scream 'look out' at all the appropriate moments of danger and, after your victory, clean your sword of all the nasty broom entrails."

"I'm not hiring."

"I'm not looking for pay, just to bask in the crumbs of your glory and hope they rub off on me in a completely not pervy way, of course." He paused, "You're smiling."

"You were mixing your metaphors."

"Still, I think you like me better again."

"You have a strange way with words."

"Its because I don't use them often. I'm usually very quiet."

"I find that hard to believe. You've been a regular chatterbox."

"Its the ambience: the stars, the moonlight, the girl, the concussion."

"I do not have a concussion!"

"That's what they all say. Now get up. I can't let you fall asleep because you just might have a concussion."

"Do you romance girls this way often?," she felt strong hands lift her up.

"Not at all. You're my first seduction. This would be easier if you opened your eyes; my good looks are irresistable."

"Not until you stop manhandling me."

"When I manhandle you, you'll know it." He dropped her.

"What was that for?"

"It got you to open your eyes, right?"

"With pain! My eyes opened at the incredible shock and pain!" She stopped to look at him. Even though he'd been joking, she noted that he was handsome in a non-flashy way, "Do I know you?"

The tall, dark haired boy looked down and scuffed his shoe on the pitch. "Probably not. We've only had class together for seven years."

"I...," her voice trailed off. Obviously he knew her, at least by reputation, by the earlier joking about grammar. But she simply couldn't place him.

"It's okay," he looked back up at her and smiled shyly. "Like I said, I don't talk much. And I seduce even less often."

"Oh, well, I think you're doing rather well for a first attempt," she blushed.

He covered any of his embarassment by handing Hermione her fallen school broom. "I think it still has some fight in it."

"But do I?" She joked half-heartedly. He was nearly as tall as Ron, she had to crane her neck a bit to look him in the eye.

He looked at her suddenly, "Do you really want to learn to fly?"

Before she could respond, he went on quickly, "Brooms can tell, you know? I remember you at our first lesson, the poor thing only rolled over when you told it to go up. They won't listen unless you mean it."

"Well, I want to learn before we graduate. I refuse to leave this school unless its on a broomstick."

He grinned, "That would be something. I can see you giving the valedictorian address, rocketing up, and then diving down to grab your certificate before zooming off again."

"That would be something," she admitted. "But its not going to happen tonight."

"See, that's entirely the wrong attitude. It will happen tonight. We're not leaving the pitch until you've beaten the broom into submission."

"Oh, I imagine it wouldn't fly very well if we beat it. I mean, yes, I'd like to beat that stupid bundle of twigs right into the dirt or maybe set it on fire-"

"You're rambling. Get on the broom."

"Wow, how can I deny such gentle persuasion. Oh, like this." She handed the broom back to him.

"Graduation's only a month away. We're on a deadline, you should get on the broom before exams are upon us. I'm surprise you're not studying right now, as it is."

"I said I'd fly before graduation, and I will." Hermione gathered her courage and then put it back down and replaced it with her best pleading look. "Do I have to?"

"I'll have you know that I am an excellent flying instructor. I have taught no less than two brothers, four sisters, one cousin, and my grandmother how to fly."

Well, if a little old lady could fly...She contemplated mounting the broom.

"They're all professional Quidditch players now, you know. Milan and Puddlemere had a right bidding war over Granda Sofia."

She put the broom back down and looked at him sternly.

"I'm joking. I'm a funny guy, remember. I meant it about teaching though. Look, I'll prove my experience." He withdrew his wand from his thigh sheath and waved it towards her, sending a swirl of gold sparks over her body. "Cushioning charm, now even if you fall, you won't get hurt."

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you don't have my experience," he winked at her.

"There's a very dirty joke hiding in there somewhere," she muttered as she got on the broom and managed to lift it a full three feet in the air before it collapsed beneath her.

"Have you ever flown before," he asked. "Maybe riding with someone else?"

She hoped he wasn't offering. He was charming to be sure, but she hardly knew him.

"Once, I did," she told him when she remembered the little chamber with the flying keys. "But it was different. A matter of life and death."

"One of those," he said with perfect understanding. She wished he hadn't, it was another reminder that while he obviously knew her, she didn't have a clue about him.

She nodded, "I think it was the adrenaline pumping through me."

He looked at her curiously.

"The excitement."

"Hmm, so maybe if you don't think?"

"There's this problem where I have a brain."

"I thought we lost that when you hit your head earlier."

"No, maybe I lost my mind when we started this conversation but my brain is intact and telling me to put the broom away and go to sleep in my nice, soft bed."

"Do you ever not think?"

"There you go again with the syntax." She paused, "I've reacted without thinking before. Hmm, when I yelled at Trelawney."

"I'd say you were thinking very clearly when you called the old bat a fraud," he laughed.

She joined in the laughter. "Or the time I slapped Malfoy."

"Well, that's it then," he smacked his hands together with finality. "I know where Draco sleeps. I'll just creep down to the dungeons, lure him outside, and he can irritate you into not thinking. You'll be flying in no time."

His look of satisfaction faded when he realized what he'd said. "Oh, so you've figured out I'm the enemy then. Evil green-clad, snake-loving Slytherin."

"Oh, don't go," she stamped her foot uncharacteristically. She didn't want him to leave. "And don't be silly, McGonagall wears green all the time, head to toe. And I actually figured it out awhile ago when you mentioned our first flying lesson. You're not a Gryffindor or I'd've noticed you, so you had to be a Slytherin."

He looked at her dubiously. "You're sure? Because your friends can be kind of scary and I'd hate for you to regret this the morning after."

She nearly giggled when she thought of the implications of the Muggle phrase he'd unwittingly used. "I solemnly swear not to sic Harry and Ron on you."

"Harry and Ron, my left foot. I was talking about Ginny Weasley, its always the quiet ones," he confided.

She looked him up and down, "Yes, it always is, isn't it?"

"I think you do like me better again," he smiled but blushed as if he hadn't meant to say it outloud. "And I solemnly swear that this is not an evil plot to kill you through misadventure, for example, broomfighting."

"I don't know," she said, "pretty convenient that there are no witnesses."

He saw that she was teasing and said, "Tut, tut, real Slytherins only do what they get can't others to do for them. If I wanted you dead, I would have let you continue to, er, teach yourself."

"Good point."

"I thought so myself. Now get back on the broom." She hovered in the air, and he noticed the broom trembled slightly. He put one hand on the broomstick before her and one on her back. It wasn't enough support to keep her from falling off, but it was nice just the same. "Don't be nervous."

"I can't help it. I get on a broom and all I can think about is falling from a high place like Neville."

"Technically, Neville didn't fall from a high place. He kind of crashed into a wall, then fell from a high place a short distance onto the castle, hung on, then fell a bit more. It was incremental."

She looked at him increduously, "You're not helping even a little."

"Well, everyone else I taught hadn't been witness to the horrible spectacle of Longbottom on a broom."

"Be nice!"

"Its not my day to be nice. I'm being truthful and with a Slytherin, you're lucky to be getting one at all."

"You seem to malign your own House an awful lot."

"Of course I do. If we always talked about how great Slytherin was, all the rabble would want in, and we'd never have any peace."

She laughed and the broom lifted half a foot higher. "Oh my!"

"You're doing fine."

"Make me laugh again!"

"I know I said I was funny but-"

"When I laugh, I'm not thinking and its wonderful."

"Oh, alright, well...this Blast-Ended Skrewt walks into the Three Broomsticks..."

"That's not funny!"

"The pressure's not helping. And, hey, look, you're higher. Apparently, we were on the right track with Malfoy. Getting on your nerves does work."

"Maybe its just high emotion and preoccupation?" She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lip.

He refrained from pointing out that she was sitting three feet in the air, riding the broom with one hand and circiling him. It was a bit dizzying, actually. Or maybe that was just his surging boy hormones reacting to her proximity.

Then she realized exactly what she was doing and that her legs couldn't touch the ground anymore. She started to fall and in doing so, lifted both arms into the air and lost all control of the broom.

"Do something!"

And so he did what he had wanted for some time now, he kissed her.

A startled "meep" was muffled when she stopped falling and started kissing him back. She insinuated her arms about his neck, pleased to find that they were at the perfect height for snogging when she was on a broom.

The broom!

It clattered beneath her but luckily, he had put both arms around her waist during their kiss and managed to catch her before she fell to the ground for the sixth time that night.

She was breathing heavily, for perfectly understandable reasons, but managed to unlock her arms and slide down to the ground. He remained still, and blushed in the dark.

No, this wasn't at all awkward, she thought.

"No, this isn't at all awkward," he said.

It was nice to know he felt the same tension. There was no fun being uncomfortable by yourself but being uncomfortable together could amount to some small talk and good, old-fashioned flirting.

She smiled at him and he looked a bit more optimistic.

"So, I think we've solved your flying problem. I'll just kiss you every time you want to fly."

She looked at him strangely and he swallowed.

She started laughing again, "I think you just tried to chat me up!"

"I just meant with the high emotion and the not thinking..."

"It's okay. I mean, heavily cheesy, yes, but I didn't mind awfully."

"I rather enjoyed the kissing part myself."

"Oh, um, me, too."

They smiled at each other in mutual idiocy.

He broke the moment by leaning down to pick up the broom, "Its getting late. I don't know about McGonagall, but Snape is absolute murder if he catches one of us out after curfew."

"Right. We should go. So," she could feel a ramble coming on. "My name's Hermione which I can guess you already knew but I'd like to know yours. Since I do need to learn how to fly before graduation and you're a very good kisser, I mean you make a good assistant, and I need to know your name because I can't just say, 'Hey, you, clean the entrails off my mighty sword.' It would be rude, don't you think?"

He laughed, but it was a nice sound. "My name is Blaise Zabini. And you're my broomslayer."

"I can live with that." She looked at him slyly, "You said you'd work for free, right?"

"I said I wasn't looking for pay, I didn't say free. I can work for kisses."

"Those were implicit in the contract where you help me learn to fly," she teased.

"Those are different kisses, strictly in the line of duty. I'm adding these because I'm too clever to pass up the opportunity to snog you more."

"You have yourself a deal," she shook his hand but held onto it as they walked off the pitch, towards the castle. "I slay the broom; you're my assistant and funny guy."

"Did you know," he said after looking down at their clasped hands, "in other countries, 'broomslayer' translates into 'Blaise Zabini's girlfriend.'"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I did know that. That's why I'm the broomslayer."

END

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