[Wow. It's a good thing Harry has the prospect of flying to distract him, because he's never been at his best around pretty girls, and the highlands of Scotland (not to mention Little Whinging) had never offered much chance for pretty girls to lie around in bathing suits like that.

But flying, flying is his first love, and there's only a brief wobbly moment before he's back to confidence.]

Nah, I've done it loads of times. It's magic, remember. But you might want to, erm. It might not be as warm up there as it is down here.

[He isn't going to even begin to mention the idea of chafing. She'll likely sit behind him, on the comfortable bristles, but how comfortable will they be like that?]