When Hermione suddenly shot skyward, all the young witches and wizards below cheered, thinking she was heroically rushing up to stop the duel between Harry and Draco.
But then her scream pierced the air.
Cheers faded into confusion. Whispers turned to worry.
Something was wrong.
Alex's eyes narrowed. These kids actually believe Hermione knows how to fly?
He was already moving before the rest caught on. His legs clamped tightly around the broom, knees bent, and he kicked off with all his strength.
The broom howled under the sudden acceleration, shooting upward in a streak as he raced toward the panicking Hermione.
"Don't move, Hermione! Stay balanced!" Alex shouted against the wind as he closed the distance.
But Hermione couldn't hear him — or if she did, panic drowned out his voice. Her white-knuckled fingers clung to the broom, her body stiff with fear.
Then it happened.
Her broom jerked violently. Something must have misfired, or maybe she nudged it by accident — either way, it suddenly veered at full speed toward the Forbidden Forest.
And she was slipping.
Alex's heart pounded. He lowered his body flat against his broom. The old Comet groaned beneath him, every bolt and twig trembling with the strain.
But he didn't care. He pushed it harder.
He saw her fingers go.
Saw her body twist in the air.
Saw her falling.
He shot forward like a bullet.
Two meters above the ground
He caught her.
His arms wrapped around her just in time. Her momentum drove them downwards, the broom shrieking under the combined weight, nearly breaking apart from the stress.
The bristles scraped against the grass. Alex fought to level out, gripping with his knees, leaning back hard.
They landed in a tumbling slide. The moment they touched ground, the broom split apart under them with a series of loud cracks.
Gone. Completely wrecked.
But Hermione shaken, shocked, trembling was safe.
She stared up at him from his arms, mouth agape, frozen in disbelief.
And then, all at once, the tension snapped.
She burst into tears.
"Wahhhhhh!"
It was the kind of cry that tore at the heart raw, overwhelmed, and absolutely unrestrained.
"Merlin's beard! What in the name of Hogwarts do you think you're doing?!"
That voice thundered across the field. Alex turned.
Professor McGonagall was storming toward them, fury in every step. Behind her trailed a sulking Harry, his head hung low.
Further behind though still valiantly trying to catch up was Professor Flitwick, panting like mad as his tiny legs pumped across the grass.
"Mr. Gaunt! Miss Granger! You two—!"
McGonagall's words caught in her throat as she reached them and saw Hermione sobbing uncontrollably in Alex's arms. Her expression softened. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Alex said calmly, not rising from his crouch. "It wasn't Hermione's fault. She was trying to help."
He quickly explained what had happened emphasizing that Hermione had launched by accident, and that she hadn't meant to disobey orders.
McGonagall's stern face wavered. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then sighed.
Alex had just saved a student from a nasty fall a student from her own house. It would be inappropriate to scold him, let alone punish Hermione.
"Mr. Gaunt, are you all right?" came a squeaky voice as Flitwick finally arrived, out of breath.
Alex nodded with a smile. "I'm fine, Professor. But Hermione… she could use some rest."
He glanced down at the crying girl still buried against his chest.
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. "Mr. Gaunt, please take Miss Granger to the hospital wing. And… thank you. Twenty points to Ravenclaw."
She turned her gaze on Harry. "Potter. You're coming with me."
Hermione was still sniffling, but she'd quieted down. Seeing her tear-stained face and trembling body, McGonagall made a decision. No point embarrassing her further. Let Alex handle it.
Without waiting for permission, Alex shifted his grip and lifted Hermione into a princess carry, cradling her gently.
She didn't resist.
. . .
Inside the hospital wing, the room was quiet. Alex sat down on a low cot, Hermione still in his arms, her face buried in his robes.
"Alright, Hermione," he said softly. "It's just us now. You can let go."
No response.
"…Seriously. If you don't let go soon, my clothes are going to be soaked."
At that, the little witch finally stirred. Slowly, she looked up. Her face was still streaked with tears, cheeks flushed a rosy red, eyes puffy and shining.
She looked like a lost kitten that had just found shelter. A mess of misery and embarrassment — and absolutely, heartbreakingly adorable.
Alex smiled. "It's all over now. Just a fluke. With practice—"
"I'm never flying again!" she snapped.
It was sudden and fierce, cutting off his attempt at reassurance.
Alex blinked. Then chuckled. "Okay. Okay. No flying. I get it."
He wisely didn't argue. Pushing her now would only make it worse.
So he stayed beside her, gently coaxing her, keeping his voice low and warm. Eventually, her breathing evened out, her eyelids drooped.
The tears dried.
And Hermione Granger brilliant, bookish, stubborn Hermione finally fell asleep in his arms, safe and sound.
After everything that had happened, Alex figured:
She'd earned it.
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