#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
Hermione had always wondered what became of begotten broomsticks, quills, and the like within the muggle world. Did they become normal utensils or novelties for living? Were they disposed of entirely? Or did the Ministry of Magic confiscate said items and obliviate their acquired owners? Of course, there were better questions to be pondered, but that did not mistake the flashing thought in her head.
She cannot imagine what the muggles must be thinking as the quartet fly above their blinded heads, small on the back of a dragon and one who's been chained for years. With rock, plaster, and scales falling from the body of said beast, likely into the suburban backyards of Brits, Hermione must assume the scales are disposed of by the Ministry. But, wouldn't that lead Voldemort right towards their Golden Trio, given he controls the Ministry and knows they escaped on a dragon?
Her heart rocks with pain at the thought, anxiety creeping up her already tensed neck and across her shoulders as they cower low to the body of the beast. With legs strewn wide and hangs gripping the boney spines of the Welsh Green, there is not much fear of the dragon knocking them off, but the forceful wind itself, singing songs into the drums of the four human ears. And though it is greatly frightening to be so high above the ground, given her fear of heights, she must admit the wind is a relief to her burning skin, the least of the four people. With Tom having been especially avid in keeping her from harm, she bears near half the burns of the other three individuals, Harry being the worse given his climb.
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It is most peculiar, like screaming into a fan, when Ron begins bellowing in great joy and relief, never having expected to ride a dragon, especially in this rather mundane task of hunting horcruxes. But accompanying Harry Potter provides the most interesting of experiences and company, a dragon not so shocking as it ought to be with their near twenty years of life. Indeed, Charlie had not seen one until he was twenty-two...a fact Ron will brag about later.
"That was brilliant!" Ron shouts gleefully and proudly in a mist of positivity that makes Hermione less queasy, "Brilliant!"
But, perhaps on a second thought, it is not as brilliant as he so assumed prior to looking at the ground. Thousands of feet in the air, the ground barely perceivable beneath the wispy clouds, Ron is sure no one could survive the fall, even with the force of magical abilities. At the realization of one mis-motion leading to death, the boy goes green in the face, throwing his head back to look at the dragon rather than the sky.
"Bloody hell," the boy mumbles sickly, that Gryffindor courage lacking at the sight of physics, a notion that has Tom laughing. Knowing that he is more than capable of keeping himself and Hermione safe, the boy feels no reason to fear their predicament, currently enjoying the freedom and power of flight upon a dragon. With the darkening clouds, deeper chill, and slowing day, it is a particularly good moment for the once Dark Lord.
