Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I don't own Harry Potter.
This is sad, but true.
Written for the "In Another Life" fest hosted by the wonderful Kyonomiko and In Dreams.
Massive thanks to mhcalamas for alpha-ing, and ravenslight for beta-ing *squishy hugs*
Prompt: "Draco drags himself out of the sea, his proud ship reduced o debris, on to a desolate isle, only to find he's not alone after all."
The first thing he was aware of was the sound of the rolling ocean. Waves crashed and retreated, echoing in his ears and making his head pound. The next thing he was aware of was a feeling of deep cold. His eyes snapped open, revealing the lilac sky of almost-dawn. Draco groaned and ran a hand down his face, the wet grains of sand scraping his skin and causing him to flinch.
As consciousness took hold, the bliss of ignorance faded, giving way to a sense of panic. It rose within him as distorted visions hurled through his mind, reminding him of just why he was laying in the shallows of a beach before sunrise.
The storm had been threatening for days before it hit, and he hadn't expected it to be as ferocious as it was. Waves like he had never seen before thrashed his ship, and it wasn't long before the vessel had tipped and then capsized. Faint memories of the screams of his crew filtered through the flashes of memory and a sob tore from Draco's throat. Guilt mingled with the panic and Draco wished that he, too, was lying beneath the unforgiving ocean with his mates.
He rolled to the side, crying out as his ribs connected with the rough ground and a stabbing pain flared from the point of contact. Stretching on his back again, he moved his hands down his torso; he hissed as his right hand connected with the flesh just below his ribcage. When he pulled his fingertips away they were stained with blood.
His body was waking up, responding to its new environment, and Draco was unpleasantly aware that he was injured. He wanted to stand, to survey his surroundings and figure out just where the hell he was, but his muscles seemed entirely against allowing him such a kindness.
The sun was peeking over the horizon by the time he had mustered the strength to attempt standing. One hand clutched the injury at his waist as he shuffled on the sand, forcing himself into a sitting position. His head spun and he used his free hand to clutch his forehead as his brain pounded against the inside of his skull. When the pain had subsided somewhat, he slowly lowered his hand and stared out at the ocean.
Debris floated on top of the seafoam, just small scraps of wood which had once made up parts of his ship, The Dragon's Wing. Draco's heart began to beat wildly and the urge to fling himself into the ocean threatened to engulf him. He had invested everything into that ship, and now it was gone. Tears stung at the corner of his eyes but he blinked them away, wrenching his focus back to the matter at hand—standing.
He grunted as he looked down at his legs. He could barely feel one of them, unable to even move his toes on his left foot. His right was a little more cooperative, but barely. He managed to bend his right leg at the knee and twist slightly so that he was kneeling, but his left remained stuck in a pathetic sort of position out to his side. Using his left arm, he hooked his hand under his thigh and dragged it in front of him.
On the count of three, he told himself. One, two, three...
"Fuck!"
His voice rang out, slicing through the air and resounding above the crashing of the waves and the roaring of the wind. Pain unlike he had ever known it shot through him, white-hot and blinding. He collapsed back on the sand, both hands now clutching his left leg; it definitely wasn't numb anymore.
Oh, shit, it's broken. He whimpered, his hands beginning to shake uncontrollably. How he was going to find shelter now was beyond him.
Somehow, by some morbid twist of fate, he had survived a sodding shipwreck. He was the only survivor, or that was what he was assuming, given the severity of the storm. And now here he was, the lone survivor—probably—facing certain death at the hands of a bleeding abdomen and a broken leg.
If he hadn't been in such a ridiculous amount of pain, Draco would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he sat back on the sand and looked over his shoulder towards the land. He guessed the white sand of the beach stretched for perhaps a hundred yards before reaching a dense palm tree forest. Frustration burned in his throat as he realised that he probably wouldn't have been able to drag himself there using only his arms even if he hadn't just been dumped unceremoniously from the waves of a wild ocean.
A shiver ran up his spine as another wave crashed, spraying him with icy water; he needed to find shelter immediately… but how?
He turned back to the ocean and wondered if it wouldn't just be better to end it all here and now. At least it would be on his own terms. A Captain should always go down with his ship, after all… How had he managed to screw even that up? He sighed heavily and decided against it. A slow and painful death was probably what he deserved, here on land, where his body would be ravaged by wild beasts, or possibly the natives.
The wind picked up again and he wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt at keeping the chill at bay. As the sun rose further into the sky and the tide somewhat retreated, his vision blurred and then faded to black. Exhaustion consumed him, the physical and emotional turmoil finally taking its toll.
It was like falling off the edge of the Earth. One minute he was conscious, though all he could see was black, and the next it was like he was being tossed off the edge of a cliff, falling, falling, falling, enjoying the nothingness of the dark… until he was back again, conscious and annoyed at having to think.
A hand gripped his shoulder, jolting him out of his latest round of blissful unawareness and Draco growled. Peering through foggy eyes, he first thought the natives must have found him. A cloud of bushy brown hair hovered above him and he blinked furiously in an attempt to focus on the features of his assailant.
A sharp stabbing pain in the middle of his chest lowered his gaze and he noticed the dagger first, gripped in a delicate fist.
"Hey!" Draco rasped, bringing his hand up to grib the offending piece of jagged wood. "What are you doing?"
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you!" Her breath was coming hard and fast, and a tremor in her voice told Draco that she was terrified, though for the life of him he could not imagine why.
As his brain turned over sluggishly, he attempted to push himself into a sitting position. "Well for a start, I'm injured." He nodded his head towards the gash in his side and his useless left leg. "And I'm also unarmed." He winced, the force of talking sending sparks of pain through his midsection. "If it's a fight you're looking for, I'm afraid you're not going to find one here."
"How can I trust you?" she spat, digging the dagger deeper into his skin until Draco felt it draw blood.
"Ow!" he hissed, trying and failing to wrench the dagger away from his person; she was surprisingly strong, this mad woman. "I'm injured," he repeated. "I think I've broken my leg, and with any luck I'll bleed out from this—" he lifted his shirt gingerly to show her the large cut in his side "—before dying of starvation or consumption."
The woman expelled a huff of air through her mouth, but the pinch of the dagger lessened somewhat. He noted that her eyes were brown and though they were still wide, they seemed slightly less crazy now.
"You're a Malfoy." A statement, not a question.
Draco blinked and fell backwards, laying flat in the sand again. "Yes," he answered before calculating the risk of divulging such information. It wasn't such a shock to be recognised on the sea, or even in London during what little time he spent in the city; his name commanded a certain level of respect, in some social circles at least. But to be shipwrecked on an unknown island and accosted by an unknown woman who knew his name… what were the odds?
"The hair gives you away." The woman nodded towards his head and Draco felt instantly on edge.
He grunted a response, disliking the way she sneered as she took in his appearance. "And who might you be?"
She studied him for a moment and then said, "None of your business."
Draco wanted to argue, but the woman got up and headed back towards the trees. "Wait!" he called. "Where are you going?"
"Don't worry," she said over her shoulder, "I'll be back."
Draco huffed. He wasn't going to stoop so low as to pout, but he couldn't deny the frustration of not having the upper hand, especially with a woman. He didn't concern himself with women, though he had warmed the bed of a handful during his travels. In his experience they were mostly vapid and stupid, either wanting money or marriage. This woman, however, had not even been able to approach him without brandishing a weapon. How odd.
She returned quickly, much to Draco's relief. Under her arm she carried several lengths of wood and a bundle of what looked like linen rags. As he watched her moving towards him, Draco realised that she was wearing trousers not unlike the ones he had seen some of his men wear, and a linen shirt remarkably similar to his own. He wondered if another ship had wrecked on this island and she had stumbled across pirate clothing.
She bent down beside him and let the bundle of items fall into the sand. "I don't have the proper equipment, I'm afraid," she said as she set about lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the wound.
"Hey!" Draco protested, trying to smooth the material back down. "What are you doing?"
The woman tutted. "Don't be such a baby! I'm trying to help you. This is a deep wound and you will indeed bleed to death eventually if I don't at least attempt to bandage it up."
Draco stopped fighting her but scowled up at the woman as she set about cleaning the wound. He bit down on his back teeth as the pain coursed through him. At one point he even stopped breathing so as to not flinch and give away just how much she was hurting him. She wasn't trying to, of course; in fact, her movements were gentle as she washed the sore with salt water and cleared it of sand before wrapping a thin length of linen around his middle, cinching it with an impressive knot.
"There," she said when she was finally done. "All finished." She nodded triumphantly, a small smile turning the corners of her lips upward.
"Thank you," Draco rasped. "Now what about my leg?"
"I'm getting to that," she snapped, all traces of a smile gone.
She shuffled towards his feet and leaned over his left leg. "I'm going to have to move you for this one," she said, her tone only slightly apologetic. "And it's going to hurt."
Standing in one swift movement, she slapped her hands on to the tops of her thighs and then marched back to his head again. "Sit up for me."
Draco disliked the fact that she expected him to do something which would cause him incredible pain, and he liked it less that she insinuated that it was for her, but he did as he was told. He shoved his hands into the wet sand and used his palms to support himself shakily, glaring sideways at the woman with all the disdain he could muster.
"That's it," she said, taking him under the arms. "Deep breath."
Before he could finish the inhale, the woman was dragging him backwards. The movement pulled on his newly-bandaged cut and he cried out in pain, a high-pitched sound that brought a burning sensation to his cheeks.
She chuckled as she deposited him on the dry sand, but said nothing about his wailing. Draco was thankful when she settled at his leg again and he was able to lay back, staring at the sky. It was a very pretty shade of blue now and there was nary a cloud about.
"This is probably going to hurt, too," she warned as she stood to collect the wood.
"I can take it," Draco assured her, though his tone suggested more bravado than he actually felt. He knew his cheeks were still tinged a not-so-subtle shade of pink and he wasn't about to give the woman even more satisfaction.
She pursed her lips as she knelt in the sand beside him and began measuring the stick lengths against his leg. Finding two which suited her needs, she discarded the rest before placing one on the outer side of his thigh, and the alongside the inner part of his leg. Draco was about to protest at the feeling of the wood sticking into a most inappropriate part of his anatomy, but then he realised he daren't say such a thing in front of a lady, even if she was the least ladylike creature he had ever laid eyes upon.
He swallowed thickly as she picked up the pile of linen—which Draco had worked out were torn lengths of shirts like the one she was wearing right now—and gingerly lifted his thigh, wrapping one length of rag around it. He hissed through his teeth as a burning sensation shot up and down his leg. His fists clenched into the sand and he longed for something to bite down onto. His arms began to shake as she tied another, and then another length of linen around his leg. Sure he was about to pass out, Draco almost begged her to stop, but just as he felt the familiar sensation of the world tipping on its axis, she tied the last knot at his ankle and sat back on her haunches.
"There," she said, brushing sand from her hands. "Do you think you'll be able to stand?"
She placed a hand over her brow to block out the sun, regarding him through squinted eyes. He shook his head. "No," he choked out. "I'm feeling a bit… dizzy." He swallowed thickly, willing the wooziness away. He loathed feeling weak in any sort of context, but least of all in front of a woman. Draco knew he would fall if he tried to get up, though; a show of false bravado would only cost him in this moment.
She said nothing further but nodded, turning her attention back to his leg as if looking over her handiwork. He had to admit that she had done a fine job with such limited supplies. As they sat in silence, Draco admitted—if only to himself—that he was very lucky the woman had found him and was able to patch him up. If he'd been alone on this island, or found by the natives… he shuddered, adamant he would focus only on the present.
After a while, the strength returned to his limbs. "I think I can stand now," he said, pushing himself into an sitting position. His vision blurred but then quickly righted itself.
"Right, hold there." The woman got to her feet and then walked behind him so that she could place one of her arms across his back, lifting his arm across her shoulders. "On three," she said. "One, two, three!" With a grunt, she heaved him to his feet.
Draco was surprised at her strength, but he didn't have long to marvel at it as he was now standing on his own two feet. Granted, his left leg was basically useless. He could hardly bear weight on it and pain shot up from his ankle to his hip any time he had to swing it forward; the splint, however, at least allowed him to leave the beach.
"Thank you." He panted as the woman deposited him on a rock deep within the palm forest.
He glanced around, noticing that they were sitting in a clearing. It was almost a circular shape, the dirt floor covered with glossy green leaves; he wondered if that was a natural occurrence or whether she had designed it that way. To his right was a crude-looking shelter made out of leaves, branches, and linen cloth. His heart sank as he realised it was only large enough for one person.
He cleared his throat and she turned back to look at him, settling on the other side of a small fire pit. "How did you get the roof up?" He pointed towards the shelter, eyeing the blanket of linen and leaves which stretched between two palms.
She blinked a few times as if confused before answering. "I tied it."
"Tied it?"
"Yes," she said slowly. "You know, with rope and knots? Like what I did with your leg?"
"I know what tied means," Draco spat. "I just wondered how you managed to get it to stay; that storm would have hit here as well…" he trailed off, hoping she would pick up on his thread.
She frowned and moved forward so that she could tend to the fire; this was something Draco could understand. In London his family owned an estate, including a rather grand manor. They had several servants and he used to take great pleasure in watching the maids light the fires in the morning; it was the only time he saw them on the upper levels, a fact which alone was fascinating to a young Draco.
"It did," she answered once small orange flames were licking the remaining sticks of wood at the bottom of the pit. "And it put out my fire, so if you'll excuse me…"
She did not finish the sentence but stood swiftly and disappeared down a dark, narrow path into the forest.
"Hey!" Draco called after her. "Where are you going?"
The only response was the faint swish, swish of palm leaves being disturbed as she moved along, but even that faded to nothing quite quickly. Draco huffed in indignation; who was this woman? She knew his name and apparently had a rather strong opinion on it, she possessed basic survival skills… well, perhaps basic was a tad unfair, given her work on his leg and the shelter she had built. Where had she learned such skills, though?
He was still pondering when she returned with her arms full of more wood. Without a word, she placed it next to the pit in a neat pile before taking a few logs and placing them on the fire. She stoked it with a thin stick, humming under her breath as she did so.
"Hungry?" she asked suddenly, her gaze rising to meet his.
He nodded, noting her eyes were the colour of melted chocolate. "Famished," he said, having only just realised he was starving.
"I'm afraid there's not a lot of edible animals on the island," she said, "but there are some nice berries." She shuffled towards the shelter and then returned, her palms cupped together. She thrust her hands under Draco's nose and he leaned back slightly so he could observe the contents. "Here."
He screwed his nose up at the colourful balls. "What are they?"
She shrugged. "I'm not sure what they're called exactly. But I do know that they're not poisonous." She gingerly transferred the pile to one hand and then used her thumb and forefinger of the other to bring one of the berries to her lips. She bit down on it and began to chew. "See?" she said, swallowing. "Not poisonous."
She thrust her hand towards him again and Draco reluctantly accepted the food; it was food, to be fair, and it wasn't as if he had any other way of finding sustenance. "Thank you," he said, popping a berry into his mouth. The sweet juice exploded on his tongue and set his saliva production into overdrive.
"Easy," she said, a wry smile twisting her lips as she moved back to the fire. "I'd slow down, lest you want to be sick."
Draco rolled his eyes at her tone, but heeded her warning. His stomach growled as the first berry hit it and he knew that she was right. It had been too long since his last meal and that paired with the fact that the berries were a foreign food could spell disaster for his gut.
Later that evening, Draco sat on his rock and ate a small piece of fish off of a palm leaf. While it wasn't the tastiest of meals, he had to hand it to this woman—had he been alone, he surely would have starved.
"You're adamant you won't tell me your name?" he said, finishing his last mouthful of dinner.
She glanced up from her own meal and shook her head slowly. "There's no need for you to know." She sniffed and Draco felt the urge to scoff.
"But you know mine."
"I know your last name," she corrected primly.
"My first name is Draco."
She snorted. "Lucius' son, I presume?"
"You presume correctly," Draco answered with surprise. "How do you know my father?"
"I know of him," she corrected. "Everyone does." Her tone was dark and her expression thunderous, and Draco felt a little bit nervous asking the next question.
"Everyone?"
"You know—" she shrugged "—everyone."
He frowned. "No, I don't. You're going to have to be more specific about everyone."
"Everyone in our line of work." She arched an eyebrow at him pointedly and Draco almost slid off the rock in shock.
Was she a—?
"Are you saying that you're a—" he gulped "—a pirate?"
There was a moment's pause in which the woman blinked her eyes and took in his words, and then she threw her head back and laughed. The sound echoed in the small clearing and Draco winced as it shot through his head.
"What did you think I was, a vagabond? A strumpet?"
"I thought you might have been a native…" Draco coughed and ducked his head to hide his shock and embarrassment.
She laughed again. "Well that is less insulting, at least. But no, I'm a pirate… or rather, I was a pirate."
Draco was silent as he pondered this information. He had never known a female pirate before, though he had heard tales of women impersonating men in order to gain access to the ocean. He would have died had he found out a woman was aboard his ship, for sure and certain. The whole idea was simply preposterous; what purpose could any woman have for being on board a pirate ship?
"You look contemplative." Her tone was wary as it dragged it from his thoughts.
He shook his head. "I'm just surprised," he said slowly.
"That there are female pirates?" she asked, a condescending smirk forming on her face. "You'd be surprised how many of us there are—good ones, too."
"It's unheard of."
"Because men are ignorant; you only see what you want to see." Her smirk was gone and her tone was laced with warning.
Draco knew that he was pushing his luck, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "They obviously found you out," he observed.
"I was outed by another woman," she snapped in response. "Not that it's any of your business."
Well, she had him there. Draco sniffed, adjusting his chin so that it was angled upwards. "Well, probably a good thing. It's not proper for a lady to be a pirate."
Her jaw dropped open at his words but Draco didn't feel like he should take them back. He was right, afterall; women were mothers, maids, nurturers, and sometimes teachers… not pirates. He screwed up his face at the very idea, his head smarting as he tried to assimilate the image of the young woman in front of him and the experiences one had aboard a pirate ship. It just didn't make sense.
"I see," she said stiffly. "You know, if I wasn't a pirate you'd probably be dead by now. She pointed at his leg and then gestured towards the fire and shelter. "Or at least very cold, hungry, injured, with no one to even hear your last words."
Draco winced. That was harsh, but probably true. He had no response to that and it irked him. Never had a woman managed to burrow so deeply beneath his skin; he wasn't fond of the sensation at all.
"Were… were you tossed overboard?" he finally asked after a few long moments of silence.
She observed him with pursed lips. Her hair was a cloud of brown curls which melded with his view of the fire so that it seemed as though she was a creature born from the flames. "I've had enough of talking," she answered. "I think I'll go to bed. Goodnight."
Her tone suggested that by goodnight she meant go bugger yourself, but Draco repeated the sentiment beneath his breath. As she crawled into the darkness of the shelter, he realised that he hadn't asked her to help him to the ground so that he may also lay down and hopefully get some sleep. He would need as much rest as possible if he was to eventually regain use of his broken leg.
Groaning, he attempted to bear weight on his left leg, but he was unable to do so without fear of falling and snapping the injured bone even further. Gritting his teeth, he called for her into the darkness. "Hello? Um… Can you hear me?"
Well this is awkward, he thought to himself. How does one call a person if one does not know that person's name?
While he was sure she could hear him given how close they still were, there came no response from his right. Instead, he wiggled his backside forward until his weight hung precariously over the edge of the rock on which he was perched. He winced as he fell, taking care to lean to the right so as not to knock his broken leg. He met the ground with a grunt and he bit down on his tongue so he wouldn't call out at the pain shooting up his spine.
He huffed as the pain subsided and then he fell to his side, attempting to get comfortable on the slightly damp ground.
It could be worse, he thought. It could definitely be worse…
He closed his eyes and tried to fight the images of the storm as they began to dance across the back of his eyelids, begging for sleep—or death—to take him peacefully.
The next morning Draco was woken by the crunching of leaves on the ground beside his head.
"I wondered if you'd find your way to the floor." She was standing over him, her hands on her hips.
Today her hair was tied back with a scrap of cloth and she was wearing a faded maroon-and-gold bandana around her head. Draco wondered how she had managed to hide that bush of hair while parading as a man aboard some poor sod's ship, but before he could formulate the question, she had walked off.
"Where are you going?" he asked, feeling a bit like a broken record. Would she ever treat him like a human being instead of a slightly-amusing animal she'd found half-dead in the shallows?
"To get breakfast," she answered without turning around or slowing.
Draco watched her retreating form from his place on the ground and when he was sure she was gone, he hauled himself into a sitting position. It was not a very graceful movement and it required much grunting and huffing to force his body to cooperate. Finally, he was sitting up on the carpet of palm leaves with his back against the grey rock.
For countless days and nights, Draco did not move much from the shelter. As he regained strength, the woman helped him walk on his splinted leg for short distances. She said it was so that when the bone fused he would be able to walk on it. More than once she had made a joke about him being a real pirate with an injured leg substituted somewhat by a wooden alternative. He had reminded her in no uncertain terms that if anyone wasn't already a real pirate it was her, as she was a woman and had no business upon the seas.
That had shut her up, but it had also made her cold and Draco found that the quality of the fish and berries he had become accustomed to dropped significantly. He was still waiting for his turn to sleep in the shelter but she never offered, and he considered himself too much of a gentleman to ask.
He lost count of the days somewhere after forty. He had taken to carving a tally into a tree trunk which grew within arm's reach of his rock but soon gave up on the basis of futility; what was the point of keeping track when it was looking more and more likely that he would live out the remainder of his life on this small island with only an irritable brunette for company?
By the time his leg had healed enough for him to be able to walk on unsupported, Draco was more than ready to prove that he, too, was capable of ensuring their survival. For his entire time on the island he had been reliant on the mystery woman—who still wouldn't tell him her name—for everything.
"Right then," he said one morning, hobbling over to where she was experimenting with roasting berries in the embers of the firepit, "I think I'll go and catch us some dinner."
She looked up from where she was stirring the berries with a stick. Squinting against the sun, she appraised him for a second before nodding once. "Fine," she said, returning to the pot. "I usually fish at the inlet through there." She pointed at the dark pathway he had watched her disappear down day after day. "My spear is next to my bed."
He wondered why she felt it necessary to sleep with a weapon in such close proximity as he moved towards her shelter. She had told him that the island was deserted and not that large, so he couldn't imagine what sort of threats she was perceiving.
He found the spear easily and then used it to move the palm fronds out of his way before stepping onto the path. It was lined with densely packed trees and thin beams of light peppered the trail, allowing him to see several feet in front of him. A smile spread across his features as he hoisted the spear onto his shoulder and continued following the well-worn path; it felt good to finally be able to explore on his own.
He reached the inlet soon after setting out on his journey and he was pleased to note that the tide was changing, pushing out towards the horizon; fish would definitely be on the move.
Draco had watched many a man fish when he and his crew had docked at different locations. The fishermen would roll up their trousers and shuck their boots before taking to the waves, standing knee-deep in the waves with their spears pointed above the swirling water. The level of concentration was to be commended, but Draco was sure he could match it easily. When something swam past, the fishermen would slice through the foam with their spear, emerging with a still-flailing creature attached to the end.
"How hard can it be?" Draco muttered to himself as he set the spear carefully in the sand and began to roll up his trousers. It was difficult, rolling up the trousers on his left leg. He no longer needed the splint, but he was still shaky as the bone had healed at an odd, stiff angle. He managed, however, but he winced the way the material dug into the tops of his thighs; he now understood why many of his crew had opted for baggy linen pants rather than the tight trousers donned by Captains and First Mates.
Making his way to the water's edge, Draco squinted and used his free hand to shield his eyes as the sun appeared fully over the horizon, bright flares of light bouncing across the turquoise ripples. He shuffled forwards, dipping his toes in first to get an indication of temperature—it was quite balmy, he noted. He moved further in until his knee caps were under water.
Then he waited. He assumed it wouldn't be long before a school of fish would swim past and he would be able to spear a few for dinner. That'll show her, he thought.
For what felt like hours, he watched the water and daydreamed of returning to the clearing with several fat fish on his spear; perhaps then she would finally tell him her name, once he had proven himself to be so useful.
By the time the sun was beginning to fall from the sky, Draco was feeling desperate. He whispered beneath his breath, praying to any and all deities that he would soon see a stupid fish, or perhaps another edible sea creature. His daydreams had turned into panicked, broken visions of returning with nothing but the spear and a sense of failure. Draco Malfoy didn't fail. It wasn't a concept he was used to and it certainly wasn't one he was going to become accustomed to.
"Come on, fish," he murmured, scanning beyond his little circle of proximity. The water was clear enough to see to the bottom even several metres in front of him. Not so much as a sceric of seaweed made an appearance as the sun continued its descent.
"You're moving too much," a condescending voice sounded from behind him and Draco almost toppled over into the water as he turned around.
The woman was standing with her toes in the ocean, her pants rolled to mid-calf. Her arms were folded across her chest and her weight was resting on her right leg, he hip jutting out as she smirked at him. Draco bristled; of course she had come to watch.
"I am not," he retorted. "You've made me move now, with your shouting."
She shrugged. "Just trying to help."
"Then go and do something useful." Draco huffed, turning back to the empty ocean.
She tutted loudly and Draco imagined her rolling her eyes in an exaggerated, dramatic fashion. "If you need me to do it, just ask."
Draco ignored her and after half a minute he heard her footsteps crunching across the sand. His shoulders sagged in a contradictory mixture of relief and disappointment. He was just beginning to think about giving up when a silver creature darted between his legs, and then another, and another!
Draco daren't move. He imagined his legs were like the strong wooden masts on his ship, grounding them into the sand, not an easy feat given that his left leg protested at having supported his weight for so long already. He raised the spear up slightly and then brought it down, piercing the water with nary a splash, aiming for the school of fish now swarming around in front of him.
They darted in all directions at the disturbance of the pointed tip now swaying amongst them before Draco pulled it from the water.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed as he noted that the spear was as bare as when he had first struck. He fought the urge to stab the spear repeatedly into the ocean, blindly wielding the weapon until he reached exhaustion. Instead, he positioned himself again and kept an eye on one particular fat-looking fish which seemed slower than some of the others.
Over and over again he repositioned, waited, struck, each time coming up empty. The sun was now dipping beneath the ocean, a thin orange strip of light remaining above the deep blue blanket of ocean. Draco was sweating, his linen shirt clinging to him as he desperately begged whatever deity might be listening to please, please let him catch a fish—just one.
Dusk was upon him when finally his spear struck true. The fat fish he had kept his eye on from the beginning was now laying across his spear, though it didn't appear as large as it had in the water. Brushing it off as a trick of the refractive light, Draco stumbled his way back to shore. Now that night was here, the tide had come in and it took significantly longer to reach dry land than usual.
When Draco arrived back at the clearing, the woman was tending to the fire, a blackened pot whistling atop the flames.
"I was about to send a search party," she greeted him without turning around.
The triumphant smile slipped momentarily from his face. How she knew he was behind her was lost on Draco, and he was annoyed that she had ruined his grand entrance. Placing the spear in the sand beside him, however, Draco's confidence returned. "I brought dinner," he said cockily, turning one side of his lips up in a condescending smirk.
The woman turned, her eyebrows arched in obvious surprise. "Really?" she said. "Amazing. I would have put money on us starving tonight."
She stood in one fluid movement and made her way towards him. Squinting, she reached for the spear which Draco allowed her to take from him. He moved towards the fire, keen to dry off his legs before the chill of the night really set in.
A long, frustrated groan had him whipping back to look at the woman. Her expression was a mixture of mirth and frustration; Draco's blood ran cold. "What?" he asked.
"You fool!" She hissed, screwing her face up in disgust. "You've caught a puffer fish!"
Draco blinked at her. It was still a fish, wasn't it?
"They're poisonous—inedible! Unless you want to die, of course."
Draco's ego deflated in the same way the fish had on the end of his spear. "Oh," he said.
The woman tutted, shaking the spear until the fish fell off of it before burying it in the sand. She didn't say anything else as she stomped away to her sleeping quarters, but she might as well have shouted at him.
What a mess he had made of things. He was simultaneously annoyed and embarrassed. Part of him wanted to go after her and shout that he had at least tried, and even though the fish wasn't going to provide them with sustenance, he at least had managed to catch the damn thing. He knew that was petty, though, so he snapped his mouth shut and sighed, hoping that there were some berries leftover from that morning.
Moving to the fire, he rotated slowly on the spot, allowing the heat to dry out the bottom half of his legs. The pot the woman had been stirring the berries in earlier was still sitting on the edge of the pit, but it was regrettably empty. His stomach growled in protest and a fresh wave of frustration flowed up his chest.
By the time the woman returned Draco's mood had deteriorated considerably and he was prepared to give her a mouthful should she make any more snide remarks about his fishing prowess—or lack thereof.
"Here," she said, thrusting a crude sort of mug into his hands. It was empty.
"What am I meant to do with this?" He sneered, tipping the mug this way and that.
She rolled her eyes, waving a jug with a thick cork stopper in front of her. Without speaking, she thrust the jug into his hands and indicated that he should open it.
It took longer than Draco would have liked for him to work the cork free, but when it opened with a satisfying pop! he couldn't help but grin. He poured the mug to the brim.
"Cheers," she said, reaching for the mug and taking a sip before handing it back to him.
"Cheers," he echoed before drinking deeply. He sighed as the liquid burned its way down his throat, eating away at some of the chagrin at having brought an inedible fish back for dinner.
He had not tasted rum in a long time, having mostly refrained from drinking alcohol as Captain of his ship. Smacking his lips together, he took a seat on the ground beside the fire, crossing his feet at the ankles and warming them in front of the flames.
"So," the woman said, settling across from him,"you said you're Lucius Malfoy's son. Your ship would be The Dragon's Wing, then?"
Draco took a swig of rum to hide his initial shock. How this woman knew so much about piracy and survival was strange enough for him, but that she should know about him specifically was simply flooring. "Yes," he answered finally. "Well, it was."
There was a pause, and then: "What happened?"
Draco sighed and took another swig of rum. He had done a good job so far of blocking out the memories of his shipwreck, during the day at least. The nightmares still haunted him, and he feared they would do so until the end of time. For a moment he considered whether or not he wanted to share the story, but as the rum settled in his otherwise-empty stomach, he figured there wasn't anything to lose.
"The storm hit and we were ill-prepared as we hadn't expected it to be so ferocious. The wind was the problem… before we knew what was going on, the ship was on its side and despite my crew's best efforts, we went over. I managed to grab onto a piece of wood and tread water for a while. It was pitch black and I couldn't hear anything over the roar of the waves." Draco shuddered at the memory and paused here to take several mouthfuls of rum. "At some point I must have passed out, and the next thing I knew I was on the beach here."
The woman was silent for a long while and Draco didn't feel like filling the space with more words. He was lost in the terrifying memory, his gut clenching with the guilt of not knowing what had happened to his crew. He hoped that they were okay, but in his heart he knew it was highly unlikely that they had survived—he was still unsure of how he had made it.
"Your father..." The woman cleared her throat and gestured for him to pass her the rum. He did so, watching as she squeezed the mug between both of her hands. "He works for Tom Riddle, doesn't he?"
Draco's eyes snapped up to meet hers. Deep brown orbs reflected the firelight and he swallowed thickly; he had to admire her confidence. "Yes," he answered slowly. "Last I heard he was aboard Riddle's ship; The Mors Comedenti." The name felt like acid on his tongue.
"Have you ever worked for him?" She lifted the mug to her lips and drank deeply before handing it back to him.
Draco's throat constricted but he forced the remaining rum down it before answering. "Once," he admitted. "I was sixteen and it was my first time on the ocean."
"Sixteen?" The woman's voice was hard and Draco winced; he knew where she was taking this. "You oppose women as pirates but have no issue with minors aboard a pirate ship?"
"Actually, I oppose both." Draco leaned forward and gripped the bottle of rum, bringing it to the mug and pouring another large helping. "It wasn't what I wanted; my mother tried to stop it but she had no power over Father." He shook his head and then gulped the burning liquid gratefully. His head was beginning to feel slightly fuzzy around the edges and he was glad for the numbing quality of alcohol. He wasn't sure he would be able to have this conversation while sober. "Women and children have no business on the sea. I stand by that."
The woman snorted, a most unladylike sound. Draco failed to hide his shock, but this only seemed to spur the woman on; she really was unlike any other female he had ever met. "This from a man who still sleeps on the ground beside a rock with no shelter." She raised her eyebrows as she took the mug from his hands again.
"I've been injured!" Draco glowered, his hands balling into fists..
She shrugged one shoulder in a nonchalant sort of fashion and Draco bristled at the smirk beginning to form on her lips. With that she stood and threw the mug on the ground beside him before stalking away, one of her hands running through her crazy curls. Draco watched her go, unsure of whether he wanted to follow her. On the one hand, she was probably the most fascinating creature he had ever met, but on the other she was also the most infuriating. He was torn between wanting to know everything about her and wanting to desert her, even if it meant certain death at the hands of the unruly ocean.
He spent a long time by himself, sitting in front of the fire and drinking rum. By the time the woman appeared again, the flames had died to embers (despite Draco's attempts at stoking it; perhaps he really was as useless as she thought?) and he was incredibly drunk.
"Well, well, well," he slurred. "If 't isn't Miss Know-It-All herself!"
She frowned as she came into view, her expression only just readable in the moonlight. "Are you… drunk?"
"What's it to ya?"
"For fuck's sake," she grumbled.
"Oh, ho, ho!" Draco crowed, getting to his feet awkwardly and swaying on the spot. "Such a lady! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" He pointed an accusing finger at her, using the hand which was still holding his rum.
"You need water," she said through clenched teeth.
"Ha! There's two of you! Hello, Miss Know-It-All's twin sister. I'm Maco Dralfoy… I mean…" Draco shook his head and the world spun. He landed on his arse in the sand and he grinned as the woman placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Oops."
"Just wait here, I'll get you some water."
Draco sat back, the mug slipping from his grip and falling over in the sand. Rum ran across his fingers as he pressed his weight into his palms and held himself there, watching the woman leave. "Hey!" he called. "If I squint like this—" he narrowed his eyes to slits "—there's only one of you again!"
Moments later the woman returned but Draco was no longer feeling the happy side effects of the alcohol. Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he whimpered as the familiar bushy brown head swam into his line of vision, albeit slightly blurred. He saw that she was carrying a large bucket and he forced himself to sit, balancing awkwardly in a sort of half-squat, half-kneel over the empty bottle of rum.
"What are you doing?" she asked as she came to a stop beside him.
"It's gone," he whispered, cradling the empty bottle in cupped hands. He glanced up at her, noting that she once again had two heads. "Why is the rum gone?"
"You drank it, you absolute buffoon." She sighed. "Honestly…"
With that, Draco attempted to stand but found that he no longer had control of any of his muscles. He let out a low whine and flopped back on to the sand, one arm flung across his eyes. "Why is the rum gone?" he tried again, yelling it this time. His voice cut through the night air like a spear through a damn puffer fish, bursting the guts of anything remotely worth having survived a shipwreck for.
She did not reply and Draco removed his arm to inquire again, but before he could open his mouth, there was a satisfied grunt and then icy cold sea water was splashing over his head, shoulders, and chest.
Draco swore colourfully without an iota of shame having uttered such crass language in front of a woman. He sat up, spluttering as the salt stung his eyes and laced his tongue with a briney aftertaste. "What was that for?" He wheezed, wiping his eyes gingerly to avoid getting sand in them.
"I told you I was getting water." She shrugged.
"I thought you meant to drink!"
She smirked and Draco kicked out his right leg. His shin connected with the backs of her legs with such force it sent her falling to the ground beside him. At the sound of her landing Draco began to laugh, a deep belly laugh which made his sides ache.
"That was not funny!" she screeched.
"It was a little bit funny," he said, grinning over at her as she scrambled to her feet.
She ignored him, stomping off towards their shelter.
"Hey!" he called. "I'm all wet thanks to you, I need a fire to dry off!"
She snorted. "Then light one," she said primly.
"I can't." Draco pouted, an expression he would definitely be ashamed of at a more sober hour in the morning.
"Then freeze." She shot him a cruel grin and then disappeared.
"Women." Draco shook his head and curled up into a ball as close to the still-warm coals of the fire as possible, willing himself to dry off quickly.
The wind picked up and chilled him to the bone. For the remainder of the night he lay awake, freezing and cursing the nameless woman who slept soundly but a few yards away from him.
