Final Kiss: Collision Course


**Dedicated to my Valentine. Thanks for the idea, Love.**


He's walking toward her.

The hall is crowded with students intent on putting their affections on display. St. Valentine's Day madness keeps her from neatly stepping out of the way before he spies her.

"Move, Granger."

Too late.

Resentfully acknowledging his presence, Hermione stops mid-stride for only a moment.

"You move, Malfoy."

With that, she tucks the book she's carrying under her arm, and sends him a hateful glare before steadfastly continuing forward. Believing he dare not touch her, she plays a game of chicken with the Slytherin, heading straight for his tall, lithe, obnoxious form. Silently challenging him not to be the first to stray off-course.

Before they collide, Draco sidesteps, grabbing hold of the strap of her bookbag. With it, he pulls her off balance, toward him and an oncoming stone wall. Releasing a sharp sound of dismay, she quickly regains footing, only to discover him too close for comfort. Placing a hand on the wall to steady herself, she unwillingly catches a whiff of his expensive cologne.

"I told you to move."

Menace laces his voice, his hand still grasps her strap. February morning light streams through the windows, flint-colored eyes flash silver. Against her ear she hears his harsh breath, so labored he might have run a marathon.

"And I told you the same," she replies acidly, stiffening at his nearness. "Let go of my bag."

His fingers release and his hand drops, but not before he steps closer. The heat of him bounces off of her in the infinitesimal space he's left between them. The spicy scent of him surrounds her.

Intoxicating.

But she can nearly feel his disdainful sneer before she defiantly juts up her chin. She flicks a glance at his mouth to confirm it is there. It is. Those insolent lips remind her just who he is.

Such comfort.

Malfoy's silence is more unnerving than any snide remark. The intensity of his stare has her insides squirming. There's an undefinable, unsettled look in the depths of his gaze. But it is gone so quickly she wonders if it was ever there.

"We share prefect duty tonight, Granger," he announces curtly, as though just remembering. "Do not be late."

With a sharp turn of his heel, he is gone, and she can breathe again.

Despite his abhorrence of tardiness, Draco is late for Potions. The only seat open is the one beside her. He groans, unhurried in his approach. She's to be his partner due to his unexpected delay. She seems less acerbic since their earlier confrontation, but her instant scowl at the sight of him has Draco snarling back.

"Saving this seat for me?" The words are teasing. His churlish tone is not. She sniffs her reply and turns to their assignment. She drags something off the table and turns again to him.

"Make yourself useful, you lazy prat," she hisses, thrusting the ingredient list at him.

Silver eyes never leave brown as he reaches for the parchment. He stiffens as he feels his fingers close around hers. The immediate look of alarm in her eyes is insulting. His grip on her tightens.

First touch.

Accidental.

Electric.

They both feel it.

Blaise notices his friend and the Mudblood. He raises an eyebrow toward Pansy who also hasn't let Draco's uncharacteristic behavior go unnoticed.

"Let go, Granger," Draco's voice deepens with command.

"How, Malfoy?" She attempts to wiggle her fingers out from under his. The small movement beneath his palm reminds him it must be him who drops his hand.

Again.

He does.

Both sigh, not quite in disappointment, nor in absolute relief.

The cauldron bubbles. He can't see. Her head is in the way. He dares enter her space. She freezes at the feel of his torso against her side. He's as firm as she'd always imagined. She feels a tug. He'd reached over to pull at her untidy mass of unruly waves.

"Do you ever brush it?" he leans further forward, snidely placing the criticism in her ear. "It's as though something furry died on the top of your head."

His additional movement brings her curves against the hardness of him. He wonders at the unexpected sensation of her feminine body beneath the robes. His fingers continue to absently toy with a curl.

"Hands off, Ferret," she grinds out, eyes blazing, hands shoving him away before turning back to their work. He's stunned, barely registering her hands on his person.

Soft.

Her hair was so soft.

Ron and Harry share a worried glance as they survey the exchange. Both grow concerned at the curious twinkle in Malfoy's eye, which he now aims at their friend busily stirring the pot.

In the darkened corridor, lit only with the flames of a nearby torch, she taps her toe on the cobblestone. Her arms are crossed at her chest. Annoyed, her eyes alight on the blond wizard coming toward her.

"You're late, Malfoy."

"You're early, Granger."

She huffs.

He smirks.

Fun game, this.

When she'd volunteered for this night's duty she had no idea the Slytherin beside her had done the same. He seems as reluctant as she to continue their slow walk through the castle on this red heart holiday.

Too many couples in passionate embrace. Too many darkened corners hiding young love. Too many needy sounds reaching their ears from behind closed classroom doors.

Both hasten before performing their jobs to clear the rooms.

There's been too many classmates casting them looks of disdain at their intrusions. Too many unveiled insinuations thrown at Hermione and Draco for volunteering to be together this night. Too many sly knowing smiles sent their way that neither prefect seems to understand.

The night duty is at last over.

Each lets out a breath neither realized they'd been holding. They stand awkwardly at the fork leading to their respective common rooms. Each taking silent stock of the events of this night.

Ten times their hands had brushed. Three accidental. Four due to his curiosity. Three because of hers.

Five times their eyes met in heated gaze. Each time their glances swiftly flew to examine curious onlookers in painted portraits. Except once, in the darkness of an abandoned classroom, when their eyes held one another in quiet regard.

Thrice did he recall the feel of her body against his. His attempts to cease such traitorous thoughts had been a herculean chore.

Once was she reminded of the intoxicating scent of him when an errant breeze delivered the spicy mystery of him her way.

Both shift where they stand, wanting desperately to ignore the undesired attraction that everyone else seems to see.

They stand facing the other, exchanging a nod. She turns without a farewell. But before she can walk away, he reaches to grab her hand.

Eyes lock.

No words.

They move closer.

His breathing is ragged.

Her heart is thrumming.

His stormy gaze rakes her face as if etching this moment into his memory. She lets out a small gasp at his unabashed scrutiny. His fingers tighten into hers. The moment in Potions, relived. Soft curves meet hard planes. Echoes of the soft needy sounds they'd heard earlier during their rounds emanate from their own lips.

His head dips, her face rises. The pull between them... undeniable.

Breathing as one, their lips threaten to seize the other's. A tumult of emotions ensnares them both.

This want.

This need.

Is mutual.

Then a moment of sanity.

Before they collide, each turns aside.

A soft touch of lips is placed on each offered cheek.

A breath.

A smirk.

Such comfort.

Eyelids at half-mast, fingers releasing hers, he whispers huskily, "Goodnight, Granger."

With a shake of her head, and the tiniest of smiles, she turns toward Gryffindor tower.

"Goodnight, Malfoy, and Happy Valentine's Day," is her breathy reply.