A/N: This is the last chapter of our Bonus round story. It has been written by our incredible prefect 2DaughtersofAthena! The prompt is "running away".

I hope y'all have enjoyed our little story. Please leave a review.

Chapter 5

"What I need is for you to leave me alone."

Draco Malfoy stared back at me, eyes wide and lips parted, the pouring rain dampening his shock of white blond hair. The wind struck us hard, causing me to stumble forwards towards him. He furrowed his brow, shuddering from the sudden blast of cool air that rushed around us. Raindrops thrashed around us, smattering the ground and our faces with water. I turned away, furious with him and his silence. Maybe I had flown on his broom and broken it, but he was only there to laugh at me, to mock me. So that he would see me fall. In that moment, I hated him. I hated that I felt so drawn to him, and I hated him for the fact that I would have to actively try to avoid being pulled into him.

I furiously wiped away the wet hair from my forehead, hands already slippery from the downpour. It hammered down on us. The ground squelched beneath my feet as I began to walk away from him. I didn't want to see his stupid face, and I didn't want to rethink how I was supposed to be feeling. My face burned from embarrassment and fury. How dare he. How dare he watch if only for the reason of waiting for my demise. How dare he.

Hands clenched, fully intending to leave Malfoy behind, I ran. Footsteps pounding against the saturated grass. Behind me, Malfoy was running too.

"Granger! - urgh, Granger!" he hollered. "Wait, please!"

His words only made my run harder, which in turn prompted him to a sprint, quickly overtaking me and spinning around to a stop. I glared at him. Draco held up his pale hands in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt caught in the fluttering breeze, as if trying to prevent a wild horse from breaking free. I felt like a wild horse. I felt as though I might run him down, shouting out to the pouring skies and the whistling wind. I was drenched, my shirt sticking to my chest and gooseflesh manifesting over my arms. My hair was like Medusa; snakes' tails whipping around, coiling and curling.

"If you're expecting me to apologise, it's not going to happen," I cut across, harshly.

He was silent, catching his breath and waiting. But I was done. Done with flying, done with him, and done with this feeling; this utterly ludicrous clenching feeling in my stomach and chest that persisted whenever he was around – which was more frequently than ever. I was sorry to have let his words influence me, and that his taunting led me to flying. I was sorry that I had wasted time reading about physics and the theories of flying to perfect a method. I was sorry to have stolen his broom and attempted to fly it.

"I'm leaving."

On my way past him, our shoulders clash painfully.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked, voice finally breaking the silence.

I didn't stop, determined to walk away proudly and not give a damn about him until he annoyed me the following day. Rain splashed up my legs from the accumulating puddles. My chest ached painfully. I was heavy. Trying to bring back some semblance of warmth, I folded my arms. There was no use to it, though. And I didn't feel like casting any charms.

"I'm sorry!"

"You've never been sorry for anything in your life, Malfoy," I call behind me, bitterly, turning momentarily to glare back at him.

Draco stood there, defeated, his arms open in pleading frustrating. But I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry for him, because then I would have to think about all the other things I feel for him. I could not allow myself to think of him in any other way than complete disgust and disregard. It was easier to run away from him. Far easier to get away from him, and to let the air carry me further and further from this.

"Let me teach you," he offered, running a hand through his hair. "I can help you, if it's really something that you want?"

"I don't need you to teach me," I spat back, scowling. "I can do just fine without help, without you."

"Clearly!" he called sarcastically as I start moving backwards, ready to run again. I didn't want to speak to him anymore. Because if I spoke to him, that would mean I would really have to think about what I might want. I couldn't deny that I was attracted to him. His stupid hair, and his stupidly tall figure, and his horrible attitude coupled with a mind that I'd always considered somewhat cruelly brilliant. I figured it must be some sort of game he was playing with me. With me raging and half in love with him.

This is like living in a nightmare, I thought, turning around again so I didn't have to see him.

"Hermione, wait! Please," he cried out, frustrated. I threw out a hand behind me to tell him to just desist and leave me alone. "Come on, I want to help."

"No!" I yelled, anger flaring again as the pain hit me. "You want to see me fall on my face and fall, and fail." My voice broke on the last word, betraying a little more than I would have liked. "Just like you have this whole time, Draco. Here to watch me come to my untimely demise, and laugh while the mediwizards carry my mangled, dead body from the grounds. You'd love that."

"Stop it," he breathed, voice hoarse. "Don't say things like that."

"I'm not some sort of air-head bimbo you can manipulate, Draco. I know things, I read books. I am perfectly capable of handling myself," I shouted over my shoulder.

"Flying isn't about reading books, Merlin's beard Hermione!" he snapped. "Just listen to me, please."

I turned around for one final time, glaring at him, challenging him. Rain thundered down, the crackle of the sky not even daring to catch my attention for a moment. A flash of lightning struck the grey, casting it bright white for half a second. Still, I stared Draco Malfoy. This ridiculous boy that left a heavy, warm feeling in my chest when we spoke. This boy who was trying to tell me that everything I knew was wrong when regarding flying. This boy who was too smart, and too attractive, for me to even consider getting involved with him. I knew who he was, and I knew who I was. It would never work. I hated that I couldn't control it.

"It's about feeling," he sighed, moving closer. "Flying isn't about theory, or reasoning. It's about feeling, and about intuition. Doing what your heart and your gut is telling you to do. Not what your brain decides is the right decision."

For the first time, I felt like he was talking about more than just flying a broomstick. Flashes of light from another lightning strike catch in the glistening raindrops. Time slowed down, pausing perhaps just for this breath of a moment between us, where Draco had moved closer, and I had not backed away from him. The air surrounding us crackled with the electricity of the storm. I was drawn to him. In that raw, unadulterated moment, I was being pulled in by his eyes, his voice, him.

"You have to feel that swooping feeling in your chest," he murmured. "You have to fight what your mind is saying and give in."

"But my mind would never allow that to happen," I found myself saying, unabashed and for once unafraid.

Draco was right in front of me then, looking into my eyes, as if searching for a piece of my heart under all of the cold logic.

"Maybe you should let it." He smiled, melancholy.

I hardly had enough time to consider that it was completely unnatural for him to look at someone like that, let alone me. I hardly had time to think, and to breathe, and to wonder what I wanted to happen before his lips were on mine, and we were colliding in the pouring rain and whirling wind.

I understood, in that moment, as my heart soared higher than I'd ever dared to fly on a broomstick, what he meant. It was about feeling, not about what my mind had predetermined was the best. Kissing him wasn't about logistics, it was about a little piece of freedom in a world fraught with unspoken house rules.

The end.