The girl obeyed and advanced towards him, looking around. Trying to get used to the feeling that the broom was her only fixed point. The feeling of being so far off the ground. Draco rose with his broom, little by little, without taking his eyes off her, forcing her to follow him. Always at a certain distance. Helping her to get used to the emptiness in her stomach. The feeling of vertigo. Hermione found herself having to descend to the ground several times, overcome by the sensation. Then, when her legs stopped shaking, she mounted the broom again with determination. Malfoy was waiting for her high above, impassive. Rather more patiently than Hermione would have expected him to be. He seemed to have realised that rushing her would do no good. He was an impatient boy, but he wasn’t stupid. And he knew that you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.