Hermione scrambled after him, taking a leap into the currents and making only slightly clumsy strokes as her wings protested the stretch. Soon, though, her muscle memory took over and she was soaring after him. She followed where he glided and flapped, trying not to notice the muscles in his back as they worked, the sheer size of his wingspan—twice as broad as her own, and oddly delicate looking as the half-light filtered through the membrane of dark skin. 