When the other first-years saw Hermione rocket into the sky, the field erupted into cheers.
Most of them completely misunderstood what was happening.
They assumed she was flying up to stop Harry and Malfoy’s argument.
Some even looked impressed.
After all, charging into the air after two reckless boys seemed exactly the sort of thing Hermione Granger might do.
Then the cheering began to falter.
Because Hermione was screaming.
Not shouting.
Not calling out.
Screaming.
A few students exchanged uncertain looks.
Others frowned.
Something was clearly wrong.
Alvin, meanwhile, was utterly speechless.
A bunch of little idiots actually thought Hermione knew how to fly.
Some of them were still cheering.
Unfortunately, there was no time to educate them.
He kicked off hard.
His broom shot into the air.
Racing after Hermione.
The wind howled past his ears as he pushed the broom faster and faster.
The distance between them began to shrink.
“Hermione!” “Don’t move around!” “Keep your balance!” His voice carried across the field.
Unfortunately, asking Hermione to stay calm at that moment was like asking a drowning person not to panic.
She clung desperately to the broom with both hands.
Her knuckles had gone white.
Every muscle in her body was locked tight with fear.
Then things got worse.
Much worse.
Her hand slipped.
Accidentally striking something on the broom.
The broom immediately jolted.
Then accelerated.
Violently.
Like an arrow released from a bow.
It shot toward the distant trees at terrifying speed.
Alvin’s expression changed.
Instantly.
He flattened himself against his broomstick.
Leaning forward until his chest nearly touched the handle.
The old school broom beneath him groaned ominously.
Creak.
Creak.
The sound suggested it was reconsidering its life choices.
Alvin ignored it.
Because he could already see the problem.
Hermione’s grip was failing.
She was losing strength.
And she couldn’t hold on much longer.
A terrible feeling settled in his stomach.
Then it happened.
Her fingers slipped free.
The broom shot onward.
Hermione fell.
Straight down.
For a split second, she simply hung there.
Then gravity took hold.
Alvin pushed himself harder than ever.
The world blurred.
The wind roared.
The ground rushed upward.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster— There.
Less than two meters above the ground.
He reached her.
Without hesitation, Alvin released his broom with both hands.
And caught Hermione.
The impact nearly drove the air from his lungs.
His arms dropped under the force.
Pain shot through his shoulders.
The broom beneath him plunged sharply toward the ground.
For one terrifying moment, he thought they were both going to crash.
Instinct took over.
He locked his legs around the broomstick.
Shifted his weight backward.
And forced the broom to level out.
The descent slowed.
The grass rushed closer.
Then— They landed.
Safely.
For exactly one second.
CRACK!
The battered broom shattered beneath them.
Wood splintered in every direction.
The exhausted broom had finally given up.
Hermione simply stared.
Wide-eyed.
Frozen.
Still safely cradled in Alvin’s arms.
Her lips trembled.
Then— “WAAAAAH!” She burst into tears.
Loud.
Heartbroken.
The sort of crying that could make even ghosts feel guilty.
“Oh, Merlin!” A furious voice echoed across the field.
Professor McGonagall was charging toward them.
Behind her trudged a thoroughly miserable Harry Potter.
Further back, Professor Flitwick was hurrying across the grass as fast as his considerably shorter legs allowed.
“Mr.
Gaunt!
Miss Granger!” McGonagall’s voice carried all the force of an incoming storm.
“How dare you—” Then she arrived.
And finally got a proper look at Hermione.
The rest of her sentence died immediately.
The girl was still crying.
Still trembling.
Still clinging to Alvin for dear life.
McGonagall suddenly found herself at a loss for words.
“Sorry, Professor.” Alvin spoke before she could recover.
“Hermione didn’t mean to do it.” “She was trying to help.” He quickly explained what had happened.
Several times.
Emphasizing repeatedly that Hermione’s ascent had been entirely accidental.
Not deliberate.
Not reckless.
Just unfortunate.
McGonagall listened silently.
She knew exactly what Alvin was doing.
He was protecting Hermione.
Covering for her.
And after watching him risk his own safety to save one of her students, she found it rather difficult to object.
If anything, she probably owed him her gratitude.
At that moment, Flitwick finally arrived.
Slightly out of breath.
“Mr.
Gaunt!” His voice was unusually sharp.
“Are you alright?” The Charms Professor looked genuinely alarmed.
Earlier, he’d heard commotion from the grounds and noticed that something was wrong.
Then he’d witnessed Alvin diving through the air to catch a falling student.
The sight had nearly stopped his heart.
“I’m fine, Professor.” Alvin offered a reassuring smile.
“Hermione just needs a little time.” Which was true.
Physically, he felt perfectly fine.
Though admittedly, being forced to carry an adorable witch around wasn’t exactly a hardship.
McGonagall studied Hermione for a moment.
The crying had mostly subsided.
Only occasional sniffles remained.
At last, she nodded.
“Mr.
Gaunt.” “Please escort Miss Granger to the Hospital Wing.” Her expression softened slightly.
“And thank you for your actions today.” “Twenty points to Ravenclaw.” Several nearby Ravenclaws immediately brightened.
Then McGonagall turned toward Harry.
The softness vanished.
“Mr.
Potter.” Harry visibly winced.
“My office.
Now.” The boy immediately wilted.
Like a flower deprived of sunlight.
As for Alvin— He didn’t refuse.
Nor did he ask Hermione’s opinion.
Instead, he simply slipped one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back.
Then lifted her into a proper princess carry.
Hermione let out a tiny squeak.
But made no attempt to resist.
Together, they headed toward the Hospital Wing.
The Hospital Wing was quiet.
Madam Pomfrey had already checked Hermione over and confirmed that she was physically unharmed.
Which left Alvin with a different problem.
Hermione still refused to let go of him.
Her face remained buried against his chest.
As though releasing him might somehow cause her to start falling again.
Alvin sighed.
“Hermione.” No response.
“It’s just the two of us now.” “You can let go.” Still nothing.
“Hermione.” He glanced down.
“If this continues, my shirt is going to be completely soaked.” That finally got a reaction.
Slowly, very slowly, Hermione lifted her head.
Her eyes were red.
Her cheeks were damp.
Two faint blushes colored her face.
Whether from crying or from realizing how long she’d been clinging to Alvin was difficult to say.
Either way, she looked utterly miserable.
And undeniably adorable.
Seeing that she was finally willing to look at him, Alvin softened his voice.
“It’s alright.” “It was an accident.” “Everything’s over.” “You’re safe.” Hermione stared at him.
Listening.
“So next time, after a little more practice—” “I’m never riding a broom again!” The response came instantly.
Without hesitation.
Without room for negotiation.
Absolute certainty.
Alvin couldn’t help laughing.
Clearly, this was not the moment to discuss overcoming fears.
So he changed tactics immediately.
“Fair enough.” He nodded solemnly.
“No more broomsticks.” “They’re terrible inventions anyway.” Hermione’s eyes brightened at once.
Finally.
Someone sensible.
Someone who understood.
Seeing her reaction, Alvin wisely decided not to mention Quidditch.
Or flying.
Or broomsticks.
Possibly ever again.
Instead, he spent the next while gently talking to her.
Patiently.
One sentence at a time.
The tension gradually left her shoulders.
The fear faded.
The trembling stopped.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up with her.
Her eyelids grew heavy.
Her grip loosened.
And before long, Hermione drifted off to sleep.
The day had simply been too much.
A good sleep was exactly what she needed.