Disclaimer: The wonderful Quidditch pitch and the characters all belong to Miss J.K. Rowling.

Hermione Granger stood in the middle of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, or at least what was left of it. It was just a mere ruins now, barely recognizable after the blaze of fire that had torn it apart.

She had never really been big on the sport, not being a flyer herself. She loved watching Harry and Ron fly; Harry for his gracefulness and skill on a broomstick and Ron for his, well, theatrical performances on a broom, but she had always been too scared to give it a go herself. Instead, she admired the sport from afar.

This Quidditch pitch had always been a secret getaway for Hermione. Whenever she needed time to herself, this is where she would come to, because no one would ever think to look for her here. When it was empty, she would pick a spot in the stands and sit there for hours at a time, taking in the beauty of the lush green grass, and the way that the gold of the goal posts shimmered when the sun caught them in just the right way. It was funny that the place that house the sport that frightened Hermione so deeply could calm her so easily and make her feel safe.

That was all gone now, however. The destruction of the pitch was almost too much for her to bear. The fire had torn everything apart save for one lonely, golden goal post at the end of the field.

This was the first moment That Hermione had gotten to herself since the end of the battle, and she used it to break down. Everything that she had gone through this past year, everything that she had seen all came flooding back to her now, forcing her down to her knees in a fit of despair. The sobs that escaped her mouth did not sound anything like her. There was no way that those sounds could be made by a human, much less herself.

Her tears exhausted her. She cried and cried until they ran out. They had won this war, yes, but at what cost? All those lives… all those people she loved and cared about…

"Looks like I'm not the only one who fancied a Quidditch getaway."

The thick Scottish accent was so unmistakable that Hermione knew who it was right away: Oliver Wood. She had not seen him since her third year, but he still looked exactly the same.

"It's the only place that no one would think to look for me," she responded with a sniff, her voice hoarse.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Oliver broke the gaze and looked around them, his eyes taking in the disastrous mess that was his beloved Quidditch pitch.

"Do you fancy a ride?" he asked her. "I was gonna have a quick go. I can't sleep," he further explained.

Hermione eyed the broom for a split second before making her decision. "Yeah, alright."

Oliver moved over to her and held out his hand, which she gladly took, allowing him to pull her to her feet. In one swift movement, he was on his broom. Hermione copied his movements exactly, and once she was safely behind him, he kicked off from the ground and rose into the air.

"I'll take it slow," he promised her.

Hermione barely heard him. She was astounded by just how different the world looked from a broomstick. Not even twenty-four hours ago she had been flying her own broom, but adrenaline had taken over then, which did not really give her the chance to appreciate it. Not to mention, she had been flying for her life. Now though, there was no threat and she was able to take in the whole experience.

It was something else, being this high off of the ground and feeling the cool breeze brush right past her. She felt free. For the first time in seven years, she felt perfectly at ease, with her arms wrapped around Oliver's Wood's waist and the wind softly brushing by her.

"Could you go a bit faster?" she asked him, and right away Oliver did as she requested.

Hermione watched as the stars flew by them almost in a blur and the wind whipped past her faster. The ground below them was a complete blur. She could barely make out the pieces of the rubble below.

A laugh escaped her lips, completely out of her control. It started out small and soft, but the faster they flew, the harder she laughed. And then she felt more than heard Oliver's accompanying laugh. It vibrated through his back, causing the smile on Hermione's face to widen.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear before gently placing a kiss on the side of his neck.

Not long after that, Oliver landed on the ground, and the two got off of the broom, but they did not part ways. Instead, they found a patch of untouched grass in the middle of the pitch and spread out on top of it.

Oliver held his arm open, asking a silent question, and Hermione answered by sliding into his arm and snuggling up against him. Neither of them spoke, deciding instead to take comfort in the silence. They knew that the events of tomorrow would have them speaking too much, would have them reliving the nightmares that they went through, and they did not want to tarnish the magic that this Quidditch pitch gave them with such talk.

Instead, they lay in each other's arms, staring up at the stars and holding each other tight. As the sky started to grow lighter, Oliver leaned over and kissed Hermione's forehead before whispering a "thank you" into her hair.

As the sun rose up over Hogwarts, casting a brilliant golden glow over the pitch, they fell asleep together, knowing that the glorious rays of the sun brought with it a new day, and feelings of hope, telling them that they would be alright in the end.

Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure where this idea came from, it just kind of popped up out of nowhere and I went with it. I actually like it a lot, and I hope all of you who read this do too. If you do, let me know. If you don't, let me know. If you just want to say hi, leave me a review. I love them, I really do. Please, seriously, let me know what you think of it. Thank you so much for reading!