Love Once Never

Now I know why I hide my love from you sometimes

No, I don't mind keeping this bottled inside me

You came along and tore this world out around me

Looks like you found me

---Nickelback

It wasn't as if it came as a shock for him, when she stormed off in a huff and slammed the door so hard the damn picture she kept staring at fell of the wall and shattered into pieces. What else could one expect? This was Mudblood Granger after all, the strange girl who took all his insults with her chin up but then lost it and slapped him across the face for calling Hagrid a blubbering oaf -- which he was.

Draco turned back to his work, not giving Hermione much thought. He'd dealt with the texts much better than she had, but its contents had surprised him, nonetheless. He had heard of muggles being inferior, autocrats, and servants, just to name a few -- but never mercenaries. Sure, there were stories of the World Wars, armed forces fighting on an open field. But this...to have killed a witch, a wizard...to have had such an effect on a Malfoy...

Perhaps they had been underestimated, after all. Granger was proof of that. As much as he hated to admit it, it had been a challenge for him just to be her equal at Hogwarts. Not her superior, but her equal. And for reasons completely unknown to him, he had liked it. Had liked having a rival. Potter made a good enemy, Weasley was simply pathetic, but Granger. She matched him in intelligence, in wit. It was frustrating, yet satisfying at the same time.

The sun was setting, changing the sky from blue china to black velvet; its brilliant rays decorated the horizon like splotches of orange and pink paint. Draco decided to give himself a small break and got up for a short walk around the cottage. He picked up the picture that had broken and casually repaired it with a spell before hanging it back on its hook. Granger had liked it so much, and he still owed her for that mug of surprisingly delicious hot chocolate.

Being hit with a small hint of inspiration, the blond set out to make himself a mug of the drink. But when he settled on the living room couch, intent on enjoying his well-earned drink, Draco could only shake his head in disappointment. His hot chocolate didn't seem to have the creamy texture that hers had.

A strange shape moving pass the room's dirty window caught his eye. Draco slowly levered himself from his seat and peered through the glass for a closer look, mug still in hand. He could have sworn that a cat-like creature had passed across the window, but when he scanned the landscape, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Hermione was sitting on a rock, no doubt still moping about his behaviour. Draco allowed himself a small smile, it was a half-way entertaining game, and the seemly way the blood slowly drained from her face when she got angry was well worth the effort. He shuddered at his relapse in control. Here he was, Draco Malfoy, describing Hermione Granger, of all people, as seemly. Well, he tried to justify it to himself, she only looked adorable when she was mad -- which, unfortunately happened to be most of the time, when it concerned him. This was getting him nowhere. Another shudder. Adorable? A week without the right medication - a good Slytherin like Pansy to keep him in line - and he was starting to become weak. Draco Malfoy had always hated Hermione Granger, but now, desperate times called for desperate measures. He was tired, he was bored, he was hungry, he couldn't cook, and he was going to, Merlin forbid, apologise. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, hell has indeed frozen over.

Draco made sure to clean up his futile attempt at a hot chocolate before opening the door and stepping out into the chill air. It was one of the codes of conduct in the Malfoy Family: If at first you don't succeed, destroy all trace of ever trying. The sky had grown even darker during his minutes of contemplation, and even with the well trained sight of a Seeker, it took Draco a while to find the path leading to the sulking Hermione.

Just as he was about to leave the safety of the cottage's pathway, he saw it again. The strange shape. It was definitely cat-like, almost like a leopard. But as far as he knew, there weren't any leopards in Norway. Unless Professor McGonagall had conveniently omitted that detail. Draco stood still has he could, making sure not to make a sound in case the leopard-thing decides to pounce on him. But instead of jumping on him, the creature disappeared into a clump of bushes.

After a tense moment of silence, Draco remembered to breathe again, and continued to make his way quietly to the rock Hermione was sitting on. Unfortunately, just as he'd deemed it to be safe, and the excitement to be over, she chose the exact moment to angrily fling a rock into the bush next to her, and causing the creature to leap out at her.

A shrill scream filled the air, and before he had a chance to think, or even try to dissuade himself, Draco found himself sprinting towards Hermione. He flung curse after jinx after hex at the thing, but they didn't seem to affect it in the least. It seemed that once it had its prey, the beast wasn't about to change its mind for anyone. But there wasn't time for Draco to marvel at its determination and Malfoy-ish-ness, and still not knowing quite why, he grabbed Hermione by the arm and pushed her behind him.

It lunged.

He fell.

She screamed.

He didn't quite understand why, but falling down didn't seem to hurt. Draco was sure that somewhere, deep inside, his head was actually feeling like it was about to explode and his back probably felt like it had landed on a pile of sharp rocks - which it had. But he didn't feel it at the moment. Thank Merlin.

When he finally got himself up again, the beast was still standing there, panting, with strange green mist spraying from its nostrils. And he could hear himself being stupidly sacrificial and screaming at Granger to run, but all she would do was stand there, drawing out her wand as if she could actually do something. Which, come to think of it, she probably could. And they both hexed the creature at the same time, and it yelped, and he couldn't get over just how damn BRAVE the girl was. Pansy would've ran screaming by now, even Crabbe and Goyle would've probably 'gone for help'. But no, Mudblood Granger just had to prove his theory about Muggles being inept and cowardly completely and utterly wrong.

But there was no time for that.

Dodge a claw, scream at Granger, hex the thing, scream some more. But nothing seemed to work, it just kept springing back up, again and again. And Merlin, what WAS this thing?

Then a flash of white light, and he couldn't see. But in his head, he could just hear her, panting so hard next to him, and he could feel her, leaning into him. He could tell she was about to collapse, but as his legs fell from under him, there wasn't much he could do. So Draco just decided to lay there, Granger looking half-dead next to him, and wondering...

What had he come out of the house for, anyway?

"Sorry about being such a prick, Granger," he whispered, not having enough energy to even look at her.

"You saved my life," she said, he could hear the disbelief in her voice. "We're utterly and completely even."

That was when the pain finally caught up to him and he felt like he was about to die. It wasn't as painful as Cruciatus, but it wasn't a walk in the park. The cuts and bruises weren't too bad, just like severe Quidditch injuries. But the damn gash in his chest. That hurt.

He wanted to scream, but Malfoys didn't scream. Then again, Malfoys didn't apologise either, or save people's lives. So considering that he'd already done two stupid and un-Malfoy-ish things for the day, he might as well do a third. So Draco Malfoy opened his mouth, and screamed. If this had been a movie, the camera probably would've cut out to a flock of bird fleeing the trees. But it wasn't, and all Draco cared about at the moment was the blood flowing from his wound, and the fact that it...hurt...like...hell.

He could barely see her looking down at him, her frizzy hair now looking like someone had gone mad with the teasing wire, but he could practically feel the worry oozing from her.

"We need to get you out of here, Malfoy," she said.

And his world went black...

*

"Malfoy?"

Draco strained his ears to listen, tried with all his might to make his brain recognize the voice, but all the organ seemed to be able to do was to process that fact that it was a beautiful tone, indeed. Maybe hell wasn't as bad as he'd expected.

"Draco Malfoy, talk to me!"

A slap across the face. What was that for?

"Oh my god. Malfoy! Malfoy! You are not dying on me! Draco!"

A girl's voice. Pansy?

"This has to be a concussion. Er...spells, spells....Come on, Hermione! You're top of the class; your bestfriend is a Quidditch lunatic. Concussion spells....um....er...,"

So that's who it was. Granger!

He slowly opened his eyes one by one. And there she was, kneeling next to him on the bedroom floor, a total wreck.

"You...called me Draco..."

He tried to smile, but just as he got his face muscles working again, Granger had thrown herself at him and started sobbing hysterically into his chest.

"You're...you're...alive. Omegod, omegod, omegod... You're alive...I'm so sorry, for everything. You saved my life, and you almost died. Omegod, omegod..."

Her hair was like mattered hay, and he could tell she hadn't done anything to clean up after levitating him here. The doors and windows had been bolted and then enchanted, for the soft air of magic still lingered in the air. His brain wasn't quite ready for thinking yet, but nevertheless, Draco found himself wondering at how brave Granger had been. If anyone had told him just a term ago, that bushy-haired Miss Know-It-All would be saving his life, he would have laughed at them -- and then send them to the Hospital Wing in a matchbox.

But now, he couldn't quite figure out where he would be without her. Would he even be alive if she hadn't cast that spell? Would he be there, contemplating those very thoughts, and alive, if he had been caught on the island with say...Pansy? Sure, he'd have been having quite a lot of 'fun'. But....Draco shook his head. His brain hurt too much to think, but yet, the same horrible revelation kept popping up into his mind as quickly as weeds sprung up in the Weasley's gardens.

He needed her. Not just that day, but ever since he had met her.

He had needed her to keep things interesting, to keep his mind sharp, to keep him dedicated to getting high marks. Hell, he even needed her to do well at Quidditch. After all, wasn't it because of her comment about his lack of talent that made him train so hard? "Well, at least the people in Gryffindor got in on pure talent and didn't have to buy their way in..."

"I'm so sorry!" she was still laying on his chest, holding him so tightly he couldn't breathe properly. Not that being that close to her was a bad thing...Get a grip, Malfoy. "I'm sorry for everything. For being a sulk, for calling you a weak spineless prick, for being so stubborn..."

More crying. He didn't quite know what to do, so he just lay that marveling at the softness of her skin and how small her frame was. And then remembering all those sappy romances his mother had made him sit through, he reached out a tentative arm and wrapped it around her, holding her just a bit closer.

In all his years of life, he had never thought he would enjoy the feel of a Mudblood in his arms. But yet, here he was, Draco Malfoy, holding Hermione Granger while she sobbed into his chest, and completely oblivious to anything apart from the fact that this was probably the closest to heaven he'd ever be.

She finally removed her face from the folds of his shirt, but Draco was glad she'd decided to hold on to him for just a little longer. However, the moment didn't last long, and soon, Hermione had jumped up and started walking around the house, gathering various items and putting them next to Draco.

"We've got to get that wound fixed up," she said, every part the professional again.

Draco was truly confused when she dipped a sponge into steaming water and started wiping his forehead. His eyes almost popped out of his head when she started to unbutton his shirt.

"What do you think you're doing, woman?" he practically yelled. After all, Malfoys were very personal when it came to their bodies.

"Accessing the wound," she replied, seemingly utterly unshaken by his unexpected protest.

"Are you a witch or not?" He cursed himself for not being able to move properly, but still painfully shifted his hands so that he could remove hers from his chest. "There are spells for curing simple animal wounds, you know."

Draco was surprised to see the colour drain from her face at the comment. It was as if she knew something he didn't, which was normally the case anyway. What could have caused such a reaction like that? But then, just as quickly has it had faded, it had returned, even redder than usual.

"I, for one don't appreciate it that while I'm here trying to save your goddamn life, you're being the ever ungrateful prick and yelling at me. But...don't you know what that...thing was?" It seemed that six years of hatred couldn't be forgotten in sixty minutes, but the hesitance in her voice as she asked that last question was unnerving.

And frankly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know anymore. Remembering back to the blur of blood and fur, the creature had moved so fast, seemed so ferocious. It was a miracle that they had survived. He didn't want that miracle to be taken back.

"An extremely fast leopard with green stuff coming from its nostrils?"

She shook her and shifted her gaze away from him. He tried to catch her eye, but she simply refused to look at him. With a sigh, Hermione directed her gaze back to his shirt and began to undo the buttons. But he wouldn't have it. With one agonizing movement, he had a firm hold on her hands.

"Look at me, Hermione," he began. "You are not doing anything until you tell me what that thing was."

He could feel her uneasiness, which only served to heighten his own. What could be so bad? They were in Norway, after all.

She finally looked into his eyes, and for once, Draco Malfoy didn't know what to think.

"Draco," she took a deep breath. It was as if she believed that saying it out loud would make it more real, somehow. "That...was a baby Nundu."

"A what?!"

He had known it was bad. But this? How could it be? Nundus were arguably the deadliest creatures to have walked the Earth.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Granger. Nundus are African."

But he knew she was right. Hermione Granger, Mudblood Extraordinaire, was never wrong; even he had accepted that, years ago. Denial wasn't just another river in Egypt.

" I'm not stupid, Malfoy. And incase you've so conveniently forgotten, you are second to me in every class known to man, including Defence Against the Dark Arts. I wasn't sure at first. But the characteristics all lined up. It looked like a leopard, it was silent...and as you said, it breathed out a strange substance. Of course, in Africa the substance is blue. But other than that, it all makes perfect sense. Perhaps Norway has their own species of Nundu! It would all be such a perfect scientific discovery...well, if you weren't lying here like this because of it. But with the way you're behaving, one would think I ought to just leave you here to rot."

But the final part of her speech didn't have any effect on Draco. It was a strange feeling, the feeling that nothing mattered anymore. Like a silence had surrounded him and the world was closing in from all around. It was a feeling as if one was both submerged underwater and floating in mid-air, all at once. There was no way Granger could have understood the impact that her little speech had had on him.

She was right. A Nundu. He had been scratched by a Nundu.

"How long do I have?" his voice was husky, his throat sore from not having spoken.

Asking that dreaded question made it all seem more real, but he needed to know. Draco didn't want to believe it, didn't want to face the facts. But he had to -- he couldn't live a lie. And for some strange reason, he was glad that he would be spending his last few weeks with Granger. Much better than spending it with Pansy, or his so called friends.

"Draco Malfoy, look at me." Her voice broke his reverie. It was soft and soothing again, as if the single question had managed to calm her down.

He didn't want anyone's pity, let alone hers. But if it meant that she would stop being the feisty little Mudblood, and let him spend his last few weeks with the intelligent and thought provoking Granger, then it was probably worth it.

"It can be treated," she said, the statement echoing through his mind like La Fidele in Notre Dame. "The Nundu was just an infant so the wound isn't fatal. But you have to trust me, alright? I know we haven't had the best history together, but...trust me. Even you don't deserve to die like that."

He nodded.

She tentatively held his hand in hers, and the warmth emitting from her calmed him down -- it gave him a slight feeling of hope. The feeling that was the core of both a human's weakest and most powerful emotion. He only hoped this time it would be the latter.

"See this?" she said, directing his gaze to their intertwined hands. "I'm not letting go."

And so he laid back, and watched as one of his worst enemies removed his shirt and meticulously cleaned the wound with a steaming sponge. Her long fingers softly glided along his pale skin and he winced as they began to knead the wound.

"Sorry, I've gotta try to get the poison out."

He laughed, trying to keep the mood light. "I'm glad you haven't used this as an excuse and reverted to sucking it out."

She shook her head, fingers still nimbly ridding the wound of any remaining traces of poison.

"How can you do it?" she asked.

"What? Be so wonderfully handsome and charismatic?"

"No, be so confident and egotistic."

He laughed again. "My black humour keeps me sane."

She nodded, flashing him a smirk. "You know, when I first met you, I thought you were arrogant and obnoxious. And now, I see you are completely the opposite."

"Modest and pleasurable?"

"No. Obnoxious and arrogant.

He was glad for the conversation, but it couldn't quite keep his mind completely off the pain. And the fact that if Granger didn't do everything right, if she didn't know exactly what she was doing, he could die. But the only thing he could think of to say led him right back to his possible doom. Draco shook his head. He had to trust her. Hadn't he said so himself, that she was never wrong? She'd saved Potter and Weasley so many times, this surely would be no different. Just that he was her enemy, and not her best friend.

"How bad is it?" he finally asked, letting the words tumble out of his mouth before he could give it too much thought."

She froze. Slowly, Hermione raised her head, doing what Draco could tell was a bad job of being optimistic.

"Nothing Madame Pomfrey can't handle."

"Pomfrey?"

"Of course. You didn't think I could just let you stay here for the next six weeks without seeking professional help, did you?"

Her face was the image of common sense, her voice a perfect imitation of McGonagall's during a lecture. But he couldn't go back there, not yet. Not when they seemed so close to figuring it all out, when he was so far away from the complications of life. He couldn't go back to his father as a failure. And more importantly, he couldn't go back to his mother still a Death Eater.

Draco paused, trying to come to terms with what his mind had been allowed to think. Not to go back as a Death Eater? He...it had been everything he had known. Grow up strong, Draco. Make us proud, be a trusted servant of the one true Master.

So why was he so confused?

Granger.

"I'm not going back."

It was the strongest he had sounded all damn evening, and he was glad. There was no way Granger could even consider sending him back there so unprepared. It was even more important than the Nundu scratch. She'd said she knew what she was doing; she looked like she knew what she was doing. She did know what she was doing. Hermione Granger had said that she could cure it, and Agrippa forbid, he believed her with all his heart.

"Draco, God-knows-what Malfoy. If you think that I would sacrifice anyone's life, Death Eater or no, for the sake of his own stupid pride, then you have a thing coming. I'm not just going to let you stay here and die because I've screwed up something."

"But you haven't," he replied.

"No...I haven't..." she replied, her defense broken for a slight moment. "But what happens if I do? In the future. What happens if..."

"I trust you."

And he did. For once in his life, Draco was telling the truth. Out of both Pomfrey and Dr. Bryant at St. Mungo's, a truly childish and determined part of him believed that if anyone could treat the wound, it would be a bushy-haired, know-it-all Muggleborn by the name of Hermione Granger.

"You said you can fix it, and I believe you," he continued. She couldn't send him back there, not now, when he was so annoying weak, so confused, so bloody vulnerable. "Granger, you listen now. You know perfectly well I can't go back to my father. I know perfectly well I can't go back to my father. If anyone can treat this bloody wound, it's you. I'm not second in everything to a loser who's incompetent and doesn't know what she's doing. Being with you...it's really opened up my eyes. I can't leave now that I think I'm just finding myself. You can't send me back there, back to the stereotypes and the glares. Not now. You can do it, Hermione. I trusted you, now it's your turn. If you don't trust yourself, at least trust me...please?"

So perhaps he'd made himself more emotional than he normally would be. And perhaps he was playing on the fact that every girl had a soft spot for a guy in grief, but he had meant it. Somewhere deep down, Draco shuddered to think, he had probably meant every single pathetic and clichéd word of that speech.

Unfortunately, instead of the desired affect, Granger seemed to be going as red as Weasley's hair.

"If you think something that completely and utterly fake is going to fool me, then perhaps you should go to that posh Malfoy family library of yours and brush up on your ignorance. I mightn't be stalking you and recording your every move, but I know you well enough to know that Draco Malfoy doesn't randomly spout sentimental drabble. But it's your own bloody life on the line, and if anything goes wrong, may I take this chance to remind you that it'll be your own bloody fault."

"It won't."

"Whatever."

"You know you care, Granger."

"Can it with the sentimental act already, you manipulating prick, you know perfectly well how I feel!"

She went back to work, shaking slightly, to his surprise, trying to keep her hands still; making sure to think carefully before moving a muscle.

"And it's Marvolo."

"What?"

"My middle name. It's Marvolo."