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Characters: Ron & Hermione Setting: Outside the Burrow Rating: G Summary: Hermione gets flying lessons from Ron to try and conquer her fear of heights. Ron's a bit clueless, but this marks his first real attempts at being the least bit romantic.

"You're locking your knees, Hermione," Ron pointed out, grabbing her foot and giving it a tug, "Don't lock your knees." He had a hold on his broomstick with his other hand, keeping it steady as it hovered low, her feet hanging just above the ground. He was careful not to let it take off while she was still on it.

Ron casted a glance back towards the Burrow, grinning, "Bet Mum would love to see this." He directed his attention back to Hermione, but the grin wouldn't leave his face. He knew exactly what she thought about flying when he suggested it that afternoon, but he wouldn't leave her alone until she at least agreed to learn.

"It's not so bad, is it?"

Hermione swallowed and flitted a nervous glance at the ground just a few inches below her toes. "Not this part. It's the part with the heights that's bad," she muttered tartly. Ron knew perfectly well that she hated heights; flying was one of those things he did quite a bit better than she did, which was probably why he'd taken it upon himself to improve her flying technique. She had no problem flying if she absolutely had to; she just found other ways to travel when she could.

"I took flying lessons back in first year, remember," Hermione reminded him, averting her eyes back to Ron's face and forcing some of the tension out of her legs. "I know how to do this, I just don't like it." Her voice was slightly higher than usual, and ended on what might be -- correctly -- interpreted as a pleading note.

"Well, you didn't learn much, did you?" he simpered. Perhaps Ron was enjoying this a little too much, but only because there was so much she had always informed him. Now it was his turn to correct her. "You can't very well fly high looking like that," he eyed her skeptically.

"You really should relax, you know," he let go of the broom to bend down for another, though it was a much older model. The bristles were going off in all different directions and the wood was splintering. He frowned at it for a moment, and looked a bit sheepish, even if Hermione could care less about brooms and models.

"Now, don't go too high -- see that tree?" he asked, pointing towards it, "No higher, all right? You don't want to explain to dad that he'll have to obliviate someone if they see you." He gave her back an encouraging pat, "So, give it a go already! If you learned so much about flying our first year."

Hermione bit her lip and shot him a glare. "I did perfectly well on my flying exam, Ronald," she bit out, tightening her death grip on the handle of the broom. "I just -- haven't really flown much since then. And I think it's safe for you to assume I won't be going anywhere near as high as that tree."

She took a deep breath and pulled the broomstick slightly higher in the air, reflexively tucking her legs up underneath her, since it made her feel slightly safer. At least hippogriffs and thestrals had something substantial for her to hold on to; a thin pole of wood between herself and open air had never been a terribly comforting thought.

"I hope you're not expecting me to play quidditch with you," Hermione told Ron idly. "Because there is no way I'm taking my hands off this broomstick to throw a quaffle at you -- unless you really make me mad."

"I've got Harry for that," Ron laughed, hopping on the other broom and pulling upward. He zoomed straight past her, then came to a hault, hovering just where the top branches of the tree reached. "I can't believe you're afraid of this," he said leaning back, his arms outstretched to either side of him. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, enjoying the last bit of warmth from the sun before it started to set.

"Actually..." he leant back, opened his eyes and found her once more. Ron had a strange look about him; he was biting his lip and whatever it was he was thinking tinted his cheeks red. "I thought I might be able to take you somewhere," he finally admitted quietly, after descending to sit at her level.

His fingers picked at a splinters and his eyes avoided her own while he waited for her response. It was obviously difficult for Ron to admit it. What if he honestly wanted to do something romantic and she couldn't take him seriously? He cleared his throat and hoped he wouldn't have to explain that he had actually thought out something so potentially embarrassing.

Hermione wobbled a bit in surprise and blinked up at Ron. "Really? Where?" she asked with a puzzled look, forgetting her acrophobia for a moment. He wasn't making her dizzy now that he was hovering in one place, and something in his tone of voice peaked her curiosity.

"Well, uh," he seemed to go blank for a minute. Clearing his throat again, like he always did when something made him nervous, he gave a feeble response, "Somewhere." Shrugging his shoulders and slowly circling her, he added, "Somewhere nice."

His hand swept at the back of his neck and a very pained expression crept along his features. Apparently Ron didn't know the first thing about asking a girl on a date. Maybe twenty feet off the ground wasn't the best place to do this, but he didn't think twice about it.

"Would you like to?" he asked, looking at her for the first time it what seemed like ages, "Go somewhere nice, I mean. With me." His brows furrowed and he kicked himself to spit it out, "Would you like me to take you somewhere nice?"

Hermione blinked again, caught off guard, and a slow smile started to blossom on her face. "You -- you don't have to," she murmured. "But -- if you want to -- I think I'd like that." She grinned shyly and arched an eyebrow at him. "Even if you do make me fly."

"You do?" he asked, almost just as caught off guard as she was. Then he smiled, "You do." Shaking the hair from his eyes, he quickly changed the subject. "Want to go higher?" he asked with a wicked grin, though he knew her answer would be no. "C'mon, at least race me around the house and back?" Both brows rose and he offered the most undeniable face he could muster.

Hermione groaned. "You're only making me do this because you know you can fly circles around me," she chided him. "How about we pretend we raced, and you won, and then you can take me wherever this place you mentioned is, as consolation?" She smiled sweetly at him; two could play at that game, after all.

Ron's mouth formed a tiny 'o' and he stared at her as if he went daft. He thought he had changed the subject. He looked down at his faded jeans and frowned. They were torn around the hems. Secondhand from one of the twins. He was their height now, but when they were initially passed down to him they still dragged on the ground; now they were almost too short for him.

"Like this?" he choked out, looking a bit disappointed. When he said nice, he had meant nice. Falling downward, his foot reached the ground and he stepped off the broom, head hanging slightly until an idea seemed to strike him.

Looking up, he called, "I know someplace better!" He motioned for her to come down, and waited until she did to add, "But we'll take one broom." He dropped the one he had been using, giving it a little kick, "That one, uh... it needs a rest."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest that brooms didn't need 'rest', but snapped it shut almost immediately. She flushed, pushing herself back on the broom to make room for them to ride double. "As long as you're sure that it's safe," she told him nervously. "And as long as you understand that I'm likely to accidentally strangle you if you dive without warning me!"

Ron grinned. "We aren't going far," he assured her, walking around back. His arms hesitated at first, but then quickly reached around her to grab a hold of the broom handle. "Hang on," he sang in her ear, pushing off from the ground. With a great jerk, the broom readjusted to the weight of two passengers and lurched upward.

Ron let out a howl of laugher as they took off towards the Burrow, heading straight for the top floor, where his room and the attic would be. Leaning forward, they'd go even faster, the grass below them stirring as they rushed past the large field, the one where they tossed all the gnomes from the garden. Thrusting themselves upward, they just barely missed the roof of the Burrow, where they came to a rough stop, skidding across the air like someone might across cement.

Panting, he adapted to the sudden rush of adrenaline, awaiting Hermione to smack him as he grinned sloppily. They sure hadn't gone far; one might think that he hadn't bothered taking her anywhere at all.

Hermione might very well have smacked him if she hadn't latched onto his arms with a startled yelp as soon as he took to the air. As it was, she had to concentrate to pry her fingers loose, and determine if her stomach had actually made it along for the ride. "Ron Weasley," she whispered in a strained voice, 'if you ever do that to me again, I will hex you six ways from Sunday!"

Ron couldn't help but laugh. He didn't mind her clinging so much. At least they made it to the roof top safely. He threw his leg over the broom and hopped off. Growing timid, he approached her side slowly. "Do you want down?" Hands found their way to her sides, though they were rather shy about it, and he helped her down. Hermione could have most definitely helped herself, but there was something sincere about Ron's intentions.

Sitting down on the warm shingles of the Burrow, he layed back, resting his long arms behind his head. "Well?" he asked, "What do you think?" Gesturing towards the setting sun with a nod, he looked back up at her. It may not have been the nicest place in the world, but it was the best he had to offer, for now.

"I bet you won't see that in Muggle London..."

Hermione took several deep breaths to slow her erratic heartbeat, and settled herself on the roof beside him, though still well back from the edge. Once she composed herself, she managed to relax enough to lean back on her elbows and brace herself against the sloping of the roof -- and to enjoy the sunset.

Ron always managed to surprise her, at least. Most other boys his age would equate 'nice' with 'fancy' -- or 'expensive'. But sitting there on top of the Burrow, hidden from the too-curious eyes of the rest of the Weasley clan, and just enjoying the sunset -- was quite a relief, she decided. With a contented smile, Hermione glanced over at him, and couldn't help but laugh at how he had sprawled out across the shingles, squinting against the fading sunlight.

"I think it matches your hair," she teased, hooking one of the stubborn locks out of his eyes with a grin. "Which means I like it very much, thank you."