Love Once Never

"Why?" Draco asked for the seventh time that day.

"Why not?" Hermione retorted, getting quite frustrated by his lack of co-operation. "It's not like we have anything better to do."

"Just because I'm stuck on a bed and can't move..." he grumbled. "You do know that if you weren't the only one who could cure this bloody gash, you would be receiving an earful at the moment, don't you?"

"Then I suppose I've just got to be glad that I am." Hermione shook her head, mockingly. "Oh, the joys of being stuck on a deserted island with Draco Malfoy!"

The brunette looked over at him, eyes still sparkling with mirth.

"You're not as much of a bad arse as you like to tell yourself you are, you know that?"

"Is that a compliment?"

She laughed. "No, it's a fact. Now, unless you suggest something better to do while we wait for this stupid spell to work..."

"It is not a stupid spell! I spent a whole three hours on it. And admit it, it works great, Granger. You never would've thought of it."

"Because I believe in hard-work and toiling for your gold."

"And you're a Gryffindor? You sure they didn't make a mistake there? Perhaps in particular, may I suggest, Huf-fle-puff?"

A blush crept up her cheeks, which to his dismay, only managed to make her look...Merlin forbid, his father would kill him for this...attractive.

"They can be a bit...hard-working and rule abiding, can't they?" she admitted with a small chuckle. "I dated a Hufflepuff once, Zach. Was a bit like you at first, all insensitive and arrogant, but people change. Of course, being a true Hufflepuff, he didn't even dare sneak to the kitchens with me to leave Dobby a present."

Why was she telling him this? Draco was a bit surprised by her little anecdote, considering she'd never really bothered to share something personal with him before. But more importantly, was it supposed to be a hint? ...Was a bit like you at first, all insensitive and arrogant, but people change...How sad is this, Malfoy? You're analysing what she says...

Draco proceeded to mentally give himself a good kick up the derriere for the momentary bout of insanity. He was being stupid and pathetic, and frankly, Malfoys were never stupid and pathetic. And what was this business with analysing what she was saying, anyways? The time spent idle in bed had definitely done something to him. He couldn't concentrate properly and had that many mood-swings that he was starting to question if menstruation really was a purely female phenomenon. All in all, it was driving him crazy. Either that or the Nundu scratch was affecting his brain, after all.

"How's Dobby doing, by the way?" he asked, trying to get his mind off the subject of a particular Hermione Anne Granger.

Merlin, were her parents illiterate or something? Acronyms anyone? They might as well have tattooed a "Tease Me" sign on her forehead. Of course, being Granger she wouldn't have allowed anyone to tease her, anyways. Apart from him, Draco couldn't help thinking as a smirk crept unto his lips.

"He's alright..." she said, obviously apprehensive about telling a Malfoy about house-elves. She quickly changed her tone, however. "What are you smirking about?"

Draco laughed, caught off guard, but recovering quickly.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, I always smirk. It's my trademark. Do you have a problem with that?"

She gave him an amused look. "Well, actually, I have to say that constantly trying to argue about nonsense and refusing to play perfectly reasonable games is your trademark."

That was just too good an opportunity to miss.

"Well, it all depends on perspective," Draco began. "I say Strip Poker is a 'perfectly reasonable game'. Would you like to play that afterwards?"

He flashed her his most innocent smile, but Hermione just glared at him.

"It's not like I've never seen you topless, Malfoy," she retorted. "And may I recommend you don't get on my nerves anymore than you already do when I have a hot towel, and may I remind you, your life, in my hands."

She flashed him a perfect representation of his previous smile.

"I'll do it! Happy?" he said. Hermione always had a way of nagging people until they did exactly as she wanted. "Have I been reduced to this?"

"Oh shut up, Draco."

"So I'm Draco now, am I?"

"Yes you are, now get used to it."

"So Hermione, who goes first?" the blond asked, already regretting his easy submission.

He turned his head to look out the dusty window of his bedroom. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was finally starting to set. Rain was pouring bleakly from the sky, clearing up every now and again, only to start its pathetic descent down to Earth once more. What he wouldn't give to be out of the dungy little cot and, despite his well trained manners, walking under the sad excuse for precipitation. Even on a dismal day like this, to be walking around and just being...active, would be better than lying on the bed and watching Hermione completely engrossed in what she was doing.

Not that Granger-watching was by any stretch a boring sport, but it was the same as chocolate cake, really. It was a wonderfully delicious dessert, but if all you ate was chocolate cake, day in, day out, for breakfast, lunch and tea, then it wasn't exactly a wonderfully delicious dessert anymore. More like a frustrating consistent stream of processed flour and sugar, shoved down your throat at odd intervals everyday. It was interesting to watch Hermione bite her lip when she uncoded an interesting passage in the diaries, amusing to see her do it again, and just plain boring to watch her bite the same pink lip with the same perfectly white front teeth, thanks to him, he couldn't help but thinking, for the fourteenth millionth time.

The brunette picked up her cards and studied them carefully. He watched as she ran her fingers along each one, wondering what the hell they were actually playing.

"So, do you have a three?"

"Yes."

"No, you're not supposed to say that!"

"Then what?" he asked, slightly irritated. How was he suppose to know the rules if he didn't even know the game?

"Go fish, of course!"

"Go fish?"

He'd heard of that game somewhere before, and it didn't take much effort on his behalf for the memories to come rushing back to him; Pansy in a pink frilly dress at age seven, nagging him constantly if he thought they were too young to get married. And Goyle, dressed up in his Thursday best, trying to cheat unsuccessfully by looking over Crabbe's shoulder, who wasn't even playing to begin with.

"Yes, it's a card gam-"

"I'm not playing Gold Fish."

"Go Fish"

"Whatever."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a wussy little game for gay little kids who jump around pretending to be Uric the Oddball."

"For your information, Go Fish used to be my favourite card game of all time. My Aunt used to play it with me all the time before she...well...err...passed away."

He could tell when girls were about to get teary, and the last thing Draco needed right then was Hermione bawling about some dead aunt.

"Um...I'm sorry about your aunt?"

She shook her head, as if she was trying to clear her thoughts.

"Don't be. It's not like you threw her in front of that golf buggy."

He had to try very hard not to laugh at that.

Her hair was a mess, again, and it seemed that these days, not only had she assigned herself as Draco's permanent nurse, but decided to throw all selfishness -- and dignity -- out the window, and give her full attention to healing his wound. It was a miracle how she survived, really, apart from showers every morning, he practically had to force feed her his own meals to get her to eat.

But what he needed, right then, was to make her happy again. A Hermione Granger drowning in the depths of depression was useful to no one, especially him.

"But anyway," he said, the inner spoilt brat of a Malfoy getting the better of him. "Can't we play something more...manly? Go Fish is just so...girly and juvenile."

"Well, I am a teenage girl!" Hermione protested. Then added, as if an afterthought, "And how dare you call me juvenile, Mr. The-Wittiest-Insult-I-Can-Think-Of-Is-Scar-Face."

"Long name, can't you just call me Mr. T?"

"Uurgh!" the girl exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Okay, okay. Sorry. I know the Mr's a bit much. Maybe just T?"

She glared at him.

But nevertheless, a smile formed on her face and she began giggling in a mixture of disbelief and humour. Draco shook his head at the girl's strange mood-swings. It was strange, how over the time they'd been stuck together, the arguments so common back at Hogwarts had transformed into mere bickering over nothing. He had to admit though, that it was a welcome change. It was hard being a complete arsehole twenty-four/seven.

"You're such an insufferable git, sometimes, you know that?" she said, finally letting herself laugh fully.

Draco just shook his head some more, an expression of triumph on his face.

"It got you laughing, didn't it?"

Hermione stopped laughing and looked at him again. She began shaking her head incredulously, and Draco noted the way her hair seemed red in the sunlight, almost like it had been dyed from the overexposure to the Weasel King. The girl had a nice laugh, it was high-pitched and carefree, which was quite contradictory to her character.

But what did he know? He didn't 'hang around' with her that much. He wasn't her friend. Quite frankly, he was her archenemy and the only reason she even started talking to him was because they had been shoved on a deserted island for a seemingly hopeless cause. It wasn't like he was...Weasley, anything. And the moron had been what had brought this onslaught of depressing thoughts, wasn't he? And it wasn't like he cared that she had other 'friends' than him. That when they got back to Hogwarts, which, by god, they only really had six weeks left. Which normally, would've been ages but considering what he would have to face when he got back...

But that was beside the point. When they got back there would be none of this friendly bickering. It'd be back to the insults again. Hag, bastard; Mudblood, inbreed; Know-It-All, bigot.

Which, frankly, was how it should be. Malfoys didn't have time to bicker with Mudbloods.

Yes, that was it. He was a Malfoy and she was a Mudblood.

Damn bloody mood-swings.

"Yeah, yeah it did, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head and cleared his thoughts.

"Well, my mission in life!" he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Having successfully, though somewhat unintentionally, deflated his own high spirits, Draco could now only pay partial attention to what Hermione was saying.

"What else can we do, then? While we wait for the self-decoding spell to work on those books. Because it'll take a while yet..."

But Draco Malfoy was getting sick of waiting. Lying in a bed for two days straight could do that to a person. He wanted to get up! Zoom around on his broom. For Merlin's sakes, the boy just wanted to move his legs and walk.

So that was what he did.

Or rather, attempted to do.

Because in his moment of desperation he'd forgotten one minor detail.

The damn gash in his chest the size of London.

"Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked, just as a particularly rude and creative string of expletives managed to escape from the boy's lips. "You idiot! You complete and utter idiot! How many times do I have to tell you you can't move?"

Without even letting him reply, she pushed him back down onto the bed with one hand, all the while shooting him the best glare she could muster. She unbuttoned his shirt to make sure that the wound hadn't torn, and then, giving him a little reassuring pat on the shoulder, moved off to check the decoding spell.

"You can't exactly blame me for being impulsive, you know, Granger," Draco called to her. "There's not much you can do when you're bed-ridden."

"Well it seems like you're doing a pretty good job of annoying me," Hermione retorted over her shoulder. She was rifling through the pages of one of the leather bound books now, practically dancing on the spot.

"What are you so excited about?"

She turned around to him and smiled. "Looks like you get your wish, Malfoy. The spell's working. There's three whole pages done already. You might want to read it aloud, so we can both hear at once."

Those words seemed to bring them both back down to planet Earth. They were here for a reason afterall, and this was it. To find a counter-attack for Avada Kedavra. The trivialties seemed to fade away as Hermione handed Draco the pieces of parchment and sat next to him on the bed, still brimming with excitement.

"Hate to admit it, Malfoy," she said. "But good job with the spell."

He smiled a little, apprehensive about the pages' contents. Perhaps Hermione had forgotten, but O'Toole didn't seem particulary fond of Muggles or their kin, and his journal entries most definitely weren't a leisurely read.

Draco took a quick glance at the first page, hoping that it wouldn't contain anything too explicit. The fear wasn't only for Hermione's sakes, he too really wasn't feeling up to a repeat of last time. Granger would get all offended, he'd be stuck trying to make sense of the rest of the text...

What he saw though, was even more shocking.

"Granger?" he whispered, awe obvious in his voice.

"Aha?"

"I think I found us."

"What?" She leant closer, forgetting for a second that the boy next to her was still injured and causing a sudden jab of pain in his chest.

Draco didn't pay it any heed, however. "I mean Norway. I think I just found Norway."

"Dear journal

It as been a while since my words last filled these pages. I have been alone, though the memories of Fienna still grace my thoughts and the sounds of her screams still haunt my nights.

The night before last I dreamt that I was back in Britain. I had read her letter, and Apparated instantly to meet her, to say hello, and that I missed her, and that I wanted her hand. She agreed, and in joy, we retired to bed.

But in the morn I woke to find only me, on the harsh cold floor of a village whose name I do not know. All that is left is the letter she sent me, and all I could do was to crumple it in anguish, only to smooth it out for a fourteenth reading, searching for signs that maybe, possibly, could have prevented this nightmare.

There has been little information of the mercenaries, but their trails have lead me to a place across the seas. People here call it the North Way.

Friendly faces are many, and mountains decorate the lands. There are many lush forests here, which Fienna would have adored, and the rivers and brooks are as clear as a seer's crystals. Food in the village is dwindling however, as the hunting men seem to have fallen ill with a strange disease. I can only hope that the sickness will not halt me in my quest.

Word has reached me that the mercenaries are under the pay of a wizard in these regions. He is said to be rich and powerful, though I do not yet know why he would have care of me or Fienna. But, while I know that he is still alive, no sickness or storm, flood or fire will stop me from finding him.

It is to few that I will admit, even now, and I can only hope that my words will not seem so childish to my ancestors if they were to read this journal as they do to me. But my love was, and always will be the first thought of my morning and the last thought of my night. She was the reason that I lived, and now, only hatred and vengeance fuels my existence. I am but a hollow shell walking in the hopes of avenging the death of one of god's angels.

Her's was the kiss that open my eyes, and mine the one that closed hers. Now, the feel of her cold skin has been burned upon my lips, and now the earth seems but a barren place compared to the neverending brightness that was our world.

But the scum will pay. The bringers of death. I will be there when they last see the sun, the moon, the stars. I will watch as their blood flows and seeps into the Earth, just as they watched as my beloved's drained from her body. Their last screams will be of fear, their last curses of my name.

The Muggle scum have sparked a fire which only their deaths and a bright green light will vanquish.