Love Once Never

"I still can't believe I'm stuck with you, Granger!" Draco Malfoy complained for the twentieth time during their plane ride.

"Oh for god's sakes, Malfoy! Deal with it!" the brunette shot back. "I'm surprised you're not more worried about missing out on two months of committing mass genocide."

"Oh trust me, Granger. If it weren't for my father I wouldn't be here. Two months out in the middle of nowhere, trying to find something that probably doesn't exist is bad enough. But being with you? It's like adding insult to injury."

He turned his head around in his seat and looked over at her. Hermione couldn't help but smile at his apparent discomfort in being so far up in a Muggle invention. She couldn't help but play with it.

"Don't worry, Malfoy. I'm the least of your worries. If the plane goes into turbulence, your whole head feels like it's about to explode. Who needs torture devices when you've got turbulence? Lucky I've got some medication for it. And crashes? You won't believe how often planes crash, Malfoy! You have to be an excellent swimmer to survive."

Hermione smiled as she saw the blond gulp and look out the window at the endless sea underneath them. She had never really imagined that knowing about his fear of swimming would have come in handy. But here he was, looking even more somber than normal with his fair skin and tousled hair.

The plane was a fairly large one, with two decks and recliner seats. Hogwarts had held back no expenses in ensuring their students' comfort during the flight. They were sitting in downy purple chairs in Executive class, and a special stewardess was assigned to make sure they had all the comfort they needed.

But still Malfoy had blatantly refused to touch the 'filthy Muggle' headphones or watch the 'clichéd' in-flight movies. Of course, after his statement, Professor McGonagall had taken all of five seconds to walk from the First Class compartment down to the Executive and hawk at them both about not being careful in Muggle environments and how lucky they were that they were the only two people in the section of the plane.

It had been the same for the whole half hour they had been on the flight. Most of the time was spent either sending glares or attempting to ignore each other. The rest of the time was spent actually enjoying their respective books or bickering. The unintended ritual was only interrupted by Professor McGonagall's voice.

"How are the two of you doing?" she asked.

Hermione looked up to see her professor standing in the alley. She turned to look next to her and saw Malfoy still engrossed in an old copy of Diaboliche. She nudged him in the ribs and nodded at the Professor.

"We're living," Hermione replied half-heartedly.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic, Granger," Malfoy said. "We're in living hell!"

The old woman shook her head, but had a hard time hiding a small smile at the boy's response.

"Just remember why you're here," she said.

"And may I ask exactly why you picked the two of us when we're only in sixth year?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione was shocked at his blatant disrespect for authority. But she couldn't help wondering herself why Hogwarts really had chosen the two of them to research such an important cure.

"Because," the professor replied matter-of-factly. "The both of you are two of the most promising and dedicated students we have. If you two can't find the cure, then no one can. However, I will have to ask you to look after yourselves as a council has been called regarding the Dark Lord's uprising,"

Hermione looked at her in shock. Two months. On a deserted isle. Living, alone, with Malfoy. But she still couldn't help but smile at being called one of Hogwarts' best. Of course, there was still the issue with two months on a deserted island.

"But, Professor!" she protested. "We can't live alone together! We'd probably end up killing each other! We're not exactly on the best of terms, you know that. Professor McGonagall, listen to reason! We just can't!"

Malfoy, surprisingly enough, found himself agreeing with the girl.

"It's ludicrous! She'll be nagging me the whole time I have to work! And we'll be stuck cooking, and cleaning. Ughh! It's peasant's work!"

"Then you'll just have to get used to it," the aggravated woman said. "In times like these we must work together. You two must find a cure for the curse and I must attempt to gain the Ministry's confidence. The Dark side's supporters are rising and ours are dwindling. How else are we to get through these times?"

Hermione sighed and sank back into her chair. It was true, what she said. The only thing was, she had a funny feeling that one of the Dark side's supporters was sitting right next to her.

Malfoy only shook his head in mock seriousness. "See? That's what happens when you spend all the money on weapons and not enough on advertising."

Hermione sent him a death glare while Professor McGonagall shook her head.

"You have four hours to sort out your differences, understood?" the Professor proclaimed. It was more of a statement than a question.

Hermione nodded glumly.

At the mention of four hours, Malfoy almost leapt out of his chair and began complaining about the unfairness of it all and how he'd like to introduce the professor to a lovely little thing called a Portkey.

Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall was already walking away and the only thing that seemed to have heard him was the fly sitting on his shoulder. He looked at the girl sitting next to him; her face had the look of utter defeat plastered all over it.

"Four hours, Malfoy," she said. "Four long hours."

That was when he lost his cool.

"Four friggin' hours with a friggin' Mudblood and after that eight friggin' weeks on a deserted friggin' island looking for something that probably doesn't friggin' exist," he announced to himself. "Great! Just friggin' great!"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at Malfoy's outburst. She felt a hint of pride that the cool, collected Slytherin prefect was loosing his composure over her.

"I thought you said swearing was beneath you," she said.

"Not when it concerns four friggin' hours in a friggin' sparrowrain with a friggin' know-it-all."

She laughed some more, and wondered how such an intelligent boy could be so misguided. There were things in the world that were so much worst than four hours in a plane with your worst enemy.

"It's an aeroplane, Malfoy."

This only caused Malfoy to become even more irritated than he already was. Picking up his leather bound book, he plonked it on his lap and began flicking through the book, trying to find his page.

"I can call it whatever I friggin' well like, Mudblood."

And so the ritual of reading and bickering began again.

An hour later and Hermione found herself sitting with her worst enemy's head on her shoulder. She had been perfectly content, sitting curled up with one of the courtesy blankets and re-reading Pride and Prejudice, when all of a sudden she felt a heavy weight resting on her left shoulder. Looking around, she found her nose half an inch from the boy's silver hair. It was slightly unnerving at first, and her back still ached from the minutes when she had tensed her whole body and contemplated on what to do.

She finally decided to just leave him as he was. After all, an unconscious Draco Malfoy meant a silent one. The smell of mint chocolate and cologne coming from him wasn't half bad either.

With his head on her shoulder, Hermione had the chance to study his features. She could never quite figure out why so many girls lusted after him, he was just an average 16-year-old boy. Then she looked at his porcelain face and tousled hair. His long eyelashes, and the way his skin seemed so white against his black coat and jeans. So maybe there was a legitimate reason for them to lust after him. Even with all their horrible history together, he seemed so innocent in his sleep that Hermione found herself wondering if the eight weeks would be as horrible as she thought.

That was until she heard him speak.

"What the hell is going on, Granger?"

She rolled her eyes at the irony of it all and felt the weight lifted off her shoulder as he sprung up from his position and sat himself as far away from her as possible.

"You fell asleep, you prat."

"Oh."

She shook her head and pressed the assistance button to order coffee.

It didn't take much time for the wonderful steaming mugs to arrive, and as much as both of them hated the sound of it, the issue of co-operation was soon brought up.

"No," Malfoy stated simply. "Just, no."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, look. You think I'm a know-it-all Mudblood and I think you're a git extraordinaire. But either we get this over and done with or we can get sent back to Hogwarts," she reasoned.

Looking at the defiant face of her companion, she began guzzling her coffee at record speed.

"We are going to be stuck together on a deserted island for EIGHT weeks, Malfoy," she added. "EIGHT weeks of trying to find a cure for Avada Kedavra on Svelbarhd. Just try to get along for eight weeks then you can go back to calling me an undeserving Mudblood. I don't care, as long as I get my work done."

For reasons unknown, the last statement caused a smirk to form on Malfoy's lips.

"You know you could be a Slytherin?" he finally said.

"Reptiles and the slaughter of innocents aren't really my thing," she replied sarcastically.

He put his hand to his heart in mock offence. "You don't know what you're missing out on."

Malfoy seemed contemplative for a moment before clicking his fingers and turning around in his chair to face her.

"Let's play twenty questions."

She raised her eyebrow.

"Twenty questions?"

He folded his arms and rested them on their joint armrest.

"Yeah, you know, twenty questions. That way we get to know each other," he said nonchalantly.

Hermione felt like she was about to faint at the fact that they were actually having a halfway normal conversation.

"Why?"

"Because I'm king of the world and I said so."

She sent him a look of disbelief. She would never understand how someone could be so egotistical.

"Okay then, you arrogant git. But how do I know you're not lying?"

He looked as if what they were doing was the most natural thing in the world for a pureblooded Slytherin and a Muggle-born Gryffindor to do.

"It's called trust, Granger. A little goes a long way," he said

She shot him a glare before carefully putting her book away and turning to face him. Hermione had a funny feeling he didn't know the meaning of the word.

"Ready, then?" he asked with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes at him, which only caused him to widen his smirk.

"Ladies first."

Hermione smirked right back at him.

"About time you learned manners, Malfoy."

Questions began running in and out of her brain at lightning speed. But as she decided there was still another good three and a half hours to go on the flight, she would ask the most relevant first.

"Why did you suggest this?"

She expected some insight into his shielded mind. He wanted to see what it was like to be a Gryffindor, or maybe he wanted some insight into the Muggle world. She never quite expected:

"I was bored so I figured I'd learn your weaknesses."

That was it. She was talking to a clinically insane sociopath.

It was as if he didn't care the slightest bit that she had heard his plan. She would never get over how someone could be so self-assured. He could have suggested a spell, but he didn't. It was unnerving to be matched in intelligence with someone. Their rivalry had only been in the classroom. But now, everywhere they looked, everywhere they went, the other was going to be there.

"Your turn," she said.

He looked around at his surroundings, then at her.

"All right then," he began. "What do you really think of me?"

She considered it for a moment. Should she tell him what she really thought, or what everyone else thought?

"And I mean you, Granger. Not Golden Boy and the Weasel."

She crossed her arms and looked at him, her head tilted to the side.

"If that's what you want," she said.

He leaned closer and locked his eyes with hers. She could see he was curious, but those grey eyes practically wiped her brain of thought.

"Okay," she started uneasily. "I don't know you. To everyone you're just a snide little ferret who likes insulting people, but that's a two-dimensional look at you. But other than that, you're your father. Everything he says is law. I highly doubt you've ever questioned his principles in your life."

He blinked. Her reply was unexpected. He assumed that she would carry on about how he had no manners and how he was an annoying git.

"I am not like my father!" he exclaimed.

"Oh yes you are," she replied, defiantly. "Everything you do is because of your father. The Quidditch team, this. What was the first thing you did on your own accord? What was the first thing you did that your father wouldn't have agreed to?"

His back straightened and he stared into her eyes.

"I am not my father."

She backed away slightly at his body looming over hers. He was so tall compared to her. But she was determined to prove him wrong. Even though his voice was filled with conviction, she knew he was just in denial.

"You sure 'bout that?" she asked.

Before he could do or say anything, she grabbed his left wrist, ripped off his silver Rolex, and froze in shock. There, on his pale skin, was the Dark Mark. Branded in all its full glory, a black skull with a snake for a tongue. She almost screamed.

It was one thing to assume he was a Death Eater. It was completely different to find out firsthand. Her hand was still wrapped around his wrist and she was panting, hard. She couldn't tear her eyes away from it. The one thing she had been fighting against for five years was sitting right next to her.

She finally looked up to see Malfoy glaring at the back of the chair in front of him.

"Is that what you wanted to see, Granger?" he whispered.

She was scared to death. She had to turn him in. But could she really ruin his life for him like that? But then again, this was the boy who had been mocked her for as long as she had known him. But he was just a teenager, like her. There were two many 'buts' running through her mind. She had to learn more before she could decide.

"Is that what you wanted to see, Granger?"

His question came again. This time, he was looking straight into her eyes and his voice was a filled with malice.

She didn't know why, but she could feel tears rolling down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, tried to tell herself that he was just Malfoy, the boy who had made her life hell. But she couldn't hold them back; it felt like she had just lost someone she could have saved.

"No," she whispered.

And it was the truth. She had liked to imagine that he was just a lost little boy who enjoyed harassing Harry. That somehow, he was just an exhibitionist who did anything to get attention. She had never thought, and always hoped against the fact, that he was truly evil.

Hermione felt a rush of determination sweep through her. So maybe he was a pain, but she had to help him. She couldn't let him throw away his life like that.

"You're sixteen!" she said. She was so frantic she almost yelled. "You can't just throw away your life like that! Sure you hate Harry, Ron and me, but do you really want us dead? Malfoy, think about it for a minute. Why did you do it? And if it's only because your father said so, then it's about time you sorted out your priorities."

He looked down and noticed that she was still holding his wrist. The blond quickly snatched it away from her grasp, took the watch from her other hand, and began putting it back on his wrist. She had to look away.

"You wanna know why?" he said. His voice was filled with loathing and his eyes were like blades of ice. "Well, I'll tell you why. See, there's a lovely little agreement amongst Voldemort's supporters that a lovely little thing happens to their sons if they don't get converted. They get killed!"

His face was inches from hers and she could feel his warm breath against her skin as he panted.

"And you know what? I actually believe in some of the crap they're trying to shove down our throats. Muggles and Mudbloods are insignificant, but of course you should already know that. The quicker we wipe them out the better."

She slapped him hard across the cheek. Tears were running down her cheeks like rivers now, but she couldn't care less.

"Look out that window," she said. "Look out that window and tell me you want to destroy the peace and love those people have. Look out that window and tell me you want to destroy all of that just because you don't think we're deserving of you."

She leaned back into her chair and stared at the ceiling.

"We're not any different from you, Malfoy. If we were then I wouldn't be here."

He did as she said. They were flying fairly low now, and he could see the little villages near the Norwegian airport. He could even see the marina where they would catch a ferry to the island. There were cars driving along the streets.

It brought him back to the time when he was being driven to King's Cross Station to send off his elder cousin.

A Muggle beeped his horn at them when the chauffeur ran into the back of his truck. Nonchalantly, Lucius wound down his window and muttered the dreaded words, Avada Kedavra. A flash of green, and the Muggle's body fell limp.

Completely oblivious to the piercing screams of the dead man's wife, they drove on.

"Father, what was that for?" he asked, looking back to see the women stand in the middle of the pavement, crying and screaming as if her whole world had crumpled down around her.

"Because Muggles are below us and must be destroyed," came his father's cool answer.

He had been five, and from then on, he had never questioned the statement. Until now.

How could he have been so foolish? Hermione was right. He was his father. What heartless person could not have been affected by that poor woman's heart wrenching screams?

Shaking his head desperately to try to erase the horrible moment, Draco stood up and dashed towards the bathroom.

As soon as he had locked the door behind him, he stood in front of the small medicinal mirror and stared right at his reflection. They were right when they said he was a spitting image of his father. Right down the angular face and the eyes that showed only hatred.

It was a cramped room, and Draco fell against the wall as the plane jerked to the right. The white walls were made of the same material as the rest of the plane. They seemed so close. Like if he stayed in there for too long they would squeeze the life out of him. He couldn't get away. Not from the walls, not from his father.

He could almost hear Lucius's words in his ear.

"Laugh and the world laughs at you. Cry and the world laughs harder. Don't show any emotion, Draco. Your heart is steel."

How many times had he been brainwashed by that statement? How many times had he stood like a petrified toy in the corner of the dungeons while Lucius and his merciless friends murdered innocent Muggles just to see them die?

Frantically, he began splashing ice-cold water onto his face and attempting to hit some colour into his cheeks. Anything to destroy the uncanny resemblance he had to the man he called Father.

Draco slowly looked back up, hoping for all hope that his father's face would disappear. But alas, there it was after all, dripping wet as if he'd just been for a swim in the freezing waters of the family lake.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," he whispered to himself, laughing at the irony of it all. "I am my father after all."