A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!

Song rec for this chapter: You Me at Six - When I was Younger.

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Dark Water And Dying Eyebrights

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Chapter 2: The Appearances

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Just as he had yesterday (and the countless days before), Draco roused shortly after morning had ended, in the early hours of the afternoon. The sun was powerful again today and it sliced through a gap in his curtains, the light shooting him right between the eyes. With the same lacklustre movements as yesterday (and countless days before), he left his bed with the expectation that today would be like every other.

It wasn't until Draco had sent away his check-in card to the Ministry and brewed his first cup of tea that he realised he had left his wallet in the supermarket. His sigh of frustration disturbed the tea's rising steam and echoed around the emptiness of his home.

He really didn't know if he could take another interaction with Mrs Fletcher; the very thought of it made his jaw clench. He was tempted to leave it and just mention it when Mr Fletcher delivered his shopping later, but Mrs Fletcher was one of the most air-headed people he had ever met, and his wallet was probably already lost down some drain. Less than a year ago she had misplaced his keys within one hour when he asked her to keep them with his shopping while he'd visited another shop in town.

It was times like this he considered buying a muggle telephone; with one call he could let the Fletchers know about his misplaced wallet. But he didn't have a telephone and would probably never get one. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that it was a muggle device, he just didn't like the idea of people being able to contact him as they pleased.

After a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to think of an alternative, Draco realised he would have to venture into town again, and another sigh pushed past his lips.

Tossing the remainder of his still-warm tea in the sink, he rushed upstairs to change his clothes. Grabbing his wand, he Apparated to the same spot as yesterday and made his way through the park towards Hugh Town.

The park was again littered with unwanted idiots; all the couples and tourists had apparently not moved since yesterday. The sun felt heavier on his pale skin today and he muttered a quick spell to shield himself from its glare.

As he walked along the path paying little attention to his surroundings, a flash of brown hair streaked across his peripheral vision, and he halted his tracks as a bizarre sense of recognition hit him. His eyes shot over, barely catching the side of a girl's face and her brown curls before she disappeared behind a cluster of trees. He stood completely still, watching as her red skirt followed her out of sight, and he couldn't breathe for a moment because the disbelief was overpowering.

No, it couldn't possibly be.

And it really couldn't. He had already been through all this last night.

No, it definitely hadn't been her. He was just spooked and it was all Mrs Fletcher's fault. Had that bloody woman not insisted on making conversation with him yesterday, he would not be acting so ridiculously. That stupid cow had him jumping around like a jittery deer during a simple walk in the park for crying out loud.

Realistically, how many girls had long, brown, curly hair? Looking around the park, lots of them. And he hadn't even seen the girl's face properly. Evidently this was just proof that he needed to sort out his sleeping schedule, get out of the house more often, and, most importantly, stop paying attention to anything Mrs Fletcher said.

He waited for a moment to see if the girl would emerge from the trees, but there was no sign of the brown hair or red skirt. Shaking his head, he carried on walking, trying to shrug away the shock and assure himself that the possibility of her being here was next to none. Still, he felt edgy as he made his way out of the park, like eyes were on his back where the sun had once been. Quickening his steps, he practically jogged out of the park, keeping his eyes low to avoid anymore unnecessary frights.

He practically hurled himself into the supermarket and that pesky bell above the door was ringing in his ears again.

"Oh! Hello, Draco. Are you alright over there?"

It wasn't Mrs Fletcher's voice this time. Draco cleared his throat and approached Mr Fletcher, relieved that it was him and not his wife. Not that Mr Fletcher wasn't annoying, he was just slightly more tolerable than his wife. He was the kind of man who was ideal for dressing up as Santa Claus at Christmas time; he had a plump belly, kind eyes, and a rambunctious laugh that caused his entire body to shake.

"Mr Fletcher-"

"Draco," he interrupted, grinning. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me David?"

Draco scowled. "You don't have to tell me, you just do."

Mr Fletcher's laugh boomed around the shop like a siren. "You are a funny man, Draco! You do make me chuckle!"

"Believe me, it's not intentional," he grumbled. "Look, I left my wallet here yesterday-"

"You certainly did, young man! Florence did think about dropping it off at your house last night, but we know how much you like your privacy."

"So where is my wallet?"

"It's with Florence in the gift shop," said David, oblivious to Draco's rolling eyes. "After that whole kerfuffle with your keys, and you know how awful she felt about that, she decided she would make sure your wallet didn't leave her sight."

"Brilliant," huffed Draco.

"Honestly, she's been so nervous about losing your wallet, I practically had to talk her out of super-gluing it to her hand!" chuckled David.

"Right, I guess I'll have to go to the gift shop. Because we all know I enjoy spending as much time in town as possible."

"Hey, it's a beautiful day! You should go for a walk along the beach."

"I'd rather walk on a path of broken glass," he muttered, turning to leave.

"I'll deliver your shopping this evening around seven o'clock, Draco."

"Fine."


The walk to the Fletchers' gift shop was barely five minutes away, but it felt like five miles of hell as Draco was forced to deal with the public. He marched past the Kavorna Cafe, the Atlantic Hotel, the Bishop and Wolf pub, and all the other establishments that he rarely set foot in. Bumping shoulders with at least seven people, his already foul mood was getting worse with every second, and it was about to get so much worse.

"Hey, Draco!"

Draco growled and hissed shit under his breath.

Timothy Miller was jogging towards him with the usual welcoming smile, his wet flip-flops smacking against his bare feet and making one of the most irritating sounds Draco had ever heard. Miller (or as he insisted he be called, Tim) was one of about twenty people on the island of a similar age to Draco, which according to Miller automatically made them friends.

Not bloody likely.

He worked for the lifeboat station on the island and also as a beach lifeguard. Born and raised on St Mary's, he was popular with the locals and tourists, particularly the hen parties. Draco suspected it was because he was usually shirtless. The shiny teeth, floppy hair, and constantly exposed abs were practically a magnet for the female tourists, and it didn't help that Miller was one of those eager-to-please types with too much time on his hands and not enough weight in his head.

To put it bluntly, Draco thought Miller was a bit of a prat. And he was a prat that seemed to think it was appropriate to initiate conversations with Draco whenever they crossed paths.

"Miller," greeted Draco reluctantly. "What do you want? I have things to do."

"Hello to you, too," said Tim, smiling like a fool. "I wanted to ask you something."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"I know the answer's going to be no."

"Come on, mate," reasoned Tim. "Just hear me out for a minute."

That was another thing that irritated Draco; Miller was one of those tossers who thought it was fine to call everyone 'mate' even if they absolutely were not your mate.

"Hurry up, Miller. I'm busy."

"Well, I know you like to keep yourself healthy and you like running-"

"Miller, you're turning creepy. Get on with it."

Tim laughed and brushed his floppy hair out of his eyes. "Draco, you are funny, mate!"

If one more person told him he was funny today, he was going to punch them. "Come on, Miller, I have things to do."

"Sorry," grinned Tim. "Look, we're trying to set up a sponsored run for charity and I was wondering-"

"No, not interested."

"Really? Oh, come on, Draco, it will be fun!"

"No, it won't," he replied. "I'm really busy."

"Okay," frowned Tim, though he somehow managed to still look friendly. "Well, I understand that, but perhaps if you-"

"I really am very busy right now, Miller."

With that, Draco turned and walked away, ignoring Miller's cheerful "Okay, Draco, see you soon!"

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The Fletchers' gift shop, which was innovatively called 'Fletchers' Gifts,' also had one of those infuriating bells that announced every customer's arrival with a shrill, punctuating ding. It was that high-pitched ring that firmly fixed a pounding headache at the back of Draco's eyes.

He'd only been in the gift shop once before; it was a small, quaint establishment with the usual key rings, coasters, and other crappy souvenirs that tourists bought for their poor relatives. The till was right at the back, and there he could see Mrs Fletcher chatting merrily away with Tess Hobson, the owner of the Kavorna Cafe. The women paused their discussion as he made his way towards them, and he braced himself for the usual questions and chaos.

"Mr Malfoy!" exclaimed Mrs Fletcher. "Did my David send you here for your wallet?"

"He did," said Draco. "Where is it?"

"You know, I was so scared of losing it after I lost your keys! I haven't let it out of my sight! I was just telling Tess about it now, wasn't I, Tess?"

Tess nodded her head eagerly. "Oh yes. You know, Draco, she hasn't let it out of her sight."

Draco glared at the two women impatiently. Tess was the same age as Mrs Fletcher and the pair frequently met together to witter about anything and everything. It was commonplace for Draco to visit the supermarket for his shopping and be ambushed by the two old, overly inquisitive women.

"By the way, her name is Jean!" said Mrs Fletcher.

Draco's brow furrowed. "Who the hell is Jean?"

"Jean Granger! Our new neighbour! Remember? I told you yesterday. You asked me if her name was...oh, it began with an H...anyway, her name is Jean! I met her this morning. Oh, she's absolutely darling, Draco."

"She really is," Tess pitched in. "Completely adorable. She was in my cafe when I left. She's probably still there now."

"Fascinating," drawled Draco. "Can I have my wallet now?"

"Oh, yes!" said Mrs Fletcher, removing it from a drawer. "There you go!"

He practically snatched it out of her hand. "Right. Goodbye, ladies. You may continue solving all the world's issues with your natter."

"Draco, you really should stop by the cafe and meet Jean," said Tess.

"You really should," agreed Mrs Fletcher. "Even you would probably like her!"

"Highly unlikely," Draco replied over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

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Relieved that he had accomplished his task and that his wallet was safely back in his pocket, Draco wasted no time in heading home. There weren't enough quiet spots around to safely Apparate, so he headed back the way he had come, intending to use the same alley he had yesterday.

Seagulls squawked overhead and the sounds of laughter drifted up from the beach as the sun continued to bear down on him like torture. He kept his eyes peeled for any other potential nuisances, especially Tim Miller who would likely attempt another round of dull discussion if he had the opportunity.

His earlier spook in the park was long forgotten as he walked by the familiar shops and services for the second time today. As the Kavorna Cafe came into sight, he watched a sunburnt middle-aged couple go inside. As he walked by, he peered through the cafe's large bow windows, and it was then he stopped walking.

There, as plain as day, was a face he had not seen for years.

And yet her name had been mentioned at least twice since yesterday. He had mentioned it himself. The very thought of her had plagued him on no less than two occasions in the past twenty-four hours.

But he had done such a good job of convincing himself that he would never see her on his island that even now, staring at her with wide eyes, he didn't believe it was her.

Because it couldn't be her. But it was.

It definitely was.

It was Hermione Granger.

She was right there, perched on a high stool and leaning her elbow against the table as she smiled wistfully down at her copy of The Scarlet Letter, her forefinger absently tracing the rim of her half-empty glass. Clad in a simple white blouse and a red skirt, and with her long brown curls falling over one shoulder, she looked so...normal. So normal that it made her appearance all the more bizarre to Draco.

She turned the page of her book and that movement jarred Draco back into the moment.

His awe and shock was quickly replaced with white-hot anger that prickled across his skin, burning more harshly than the sun. With an intensity and swiftness that can only really be achieved by rage, he stormed inside the cafe, almost knocking over the sunburnt couple as they tried to leave. His vision tunnelled, focusing on her and her alone. Charging towards her, he slammed down his hand on her table, causing her to jump and almost drop her book.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Two big brown eyes darted to him and they were round and scared, like a cornered deer. Warily, she closed her book and sat up straight, never once averting her startled gaze from his face.

"Excuse me?" she asked carefully.

"I said, what the hell are you doing here?" he repeated slower but more severely.

"Um...I'm just having a drink and reading..."

"Stop dicking around with me, Granger."

Her eyes widened. "You...you know my name?"

Her response staggered Draco for a moment. He stared more closely at her eyes, still finding fear and caution, but at the core of her gaze was blind confusion. There was no recognition there. Not even a little bit.

He took a step back. "Granger, what the fuck is going on?"

"Oh my God, you know me," she muttered to herself. "I'm sorry, I...I had a..." She hesitated and looked over his shoulder. "Harry will help explain."

"Oh bollocks," scoffed Draco. "Of course sodding Potter is here as well."

"You...you know Harry, too?" she asked, still looking past him. "Harry! Harry, can you come here please? Harry!"

Turning around to see where Granger was looking, Draco's attention was drawn to the cafe's counter. Even after seven years, he recognised the back of Potter's head immediately; he had spent so much time back in Hogwarts glaring at it. With tense shoulders and an expression that could silence thunder, Draco waited as Potter slowly turned around with two plates of scones in his hands. The look that instantly took over Potter's face was a combination of alarm and disbelief.

The scones and plates fell to the floor.

The smash drew the attention of all the customers in the cafe, but neither Harry nor Draco appeared to notice the twenty pairs of eye now focusing on them. There was a tight moment of nothing, and then it all kicked off.

With his broken scones disregarded, Harry approached Draco with purposeful, heavy strides. Without a word, he reached for Draco's arm, desperately trying to grab it. Standing his ground, Draco shook him off. The crowd in the cafe was now completely silent as the two men clumsily grappled with each other.

"Don't bloody touch me, Potter!"

"Shut up, Malfoy! Outside!"

"Harry, what on Earth are you doing?" asked Granger, jumping up out of her seat. "And how does he know us?"

"Sit back down, Jean," said Harry.

The fact that Potter had called her 'Jean' stunned Draco motionless for a second, and that mistake allowed Potter to get a decent grip on his arm. He tried to wriggle himself free, but Potter had latched onto him like a leech.

"Why the hell did you-"

"Jean, stay in here!" Harry interrupted, slowly dragging Draco out of the cafe. "You stay in here and I will be right back!"

Granger released an exasperated sigh. "Harry, what the hell is going on?"

"Just trust me! I will be right back."

Wrestling the entire time and ignoring the shocked gasps of the other customers, the two staggered out of the cafe into the street in a jumble of limbs and profanities. Even when they were outside, Potter continued to yank Draco's arm and through the window Draco could see Granger watching them, wringing her hands nervously. She disappeared as Potter pulled him out of sight down a small side street beside the Kavorna. They collided with a few bins and Potter stumbled, allowing Draco to tear himself free.

"You'd better have a good fucking reason for laying your hands on me like that, Potter! Because I swear-"

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" demanded Potter. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell am I doing here?" repeated Draco, seething. "I live here, you stupid prick! What the fuck are you and bloody Granger doing here?"

Harry took a deep, long breath. "You can't live here. I checked the records!"

"I've lived here for six years, Potter! Ask the bloody owner of the cafe. Now, back to my question; what the hell are you and Granger doing-"

"Did you call her Hermione?"

Draco faltered. "What?"

"Did you call Hermione by her first name?"

"When have I ever called Granger by her first name?"

Harry fidgeted anxiously, unable to stay still for more than a second. "You're certain? You're certain you didn't call her-"

"I'm bloody positive, I called her Granger," said Draco, studying the other man curiously. "Potter, what are you-"

"I checked to make sure no magical folk lived here!" he blurted. "I checked and it said no wizards or witches had lived here for years!"

"Yeah, well I've paid a lot of money to ensure that people don't know where I am, so how the hell did you and Granger find me? Did the Ministry tell you to come watch me?"

Harry's brow creased with confusion. "You think we're here to see you?"

"Aren't you?"

"No, of course not! Why would I be so shocked to see you if I knew you'd be here?"

Draco considered his reasoning. "Well, I'll ask again: What the hell are you doing here, Potter? Why were you calling Granger 'Jean'? And why the hell doesn't she know who I am?"

Harry dropped his head in his hands. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh God, this changes things. If I'd known, I wouldn't have...I can't take her somewhere else now...I can't..."

"Potter, what are you rambling about?"

"Look, Malfoy, you don't understand. Hermione's not...It's a very long story."

"Well, you're going to make some time to tell me that story because I want to know what the pair of you are doing here."

"You are in no position to tell me what to do, Malfoy."

"Oh really?" challenged Draco, pivoting on his heel. "Well I'll just stroll back inside and ask Hermione what is going on instead-"

"No, stop!" yelled Harry, shoving Draco backwards. "You can't do that to her, she's been through enough already and I will not let you ruin this! We've worked too hard!"

"Potter, if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, I swear I will march back in there and start a shit storm! This is your last chance!"

Panting slightly and clearly exasperated, Harry bowed his head in defeat. "Alright fine, Malfoy. Fine. I'll explain what's going on."

"Good."

"But I can't do it here and now. I just can't. It'll take too long and Jean...I mean, Hermione is sitting in there right now terrified because of you."

"You said you would tell me-"

"And I will," assured Harry. "Look, where are you living? I'll visit this evening and explain everything."

Draco scoffed coldly. "You think I'd let you in my house?"

"Oh come on, Malfoy, don't be so bloody childish."

"Well, what guarantee do I have that you're not just going to call up the Aurors and have me shipped off to the new prison up in the Shetlands?"

Harry looked to the ground. "The Aurors can't know I'm here."

Draco arched an eyebrow with interest. "Well, well, Potter. This is all very controversial, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. So if you want me to tell you what's going on, that's how it's going to have to be. It's not something I can tell you in public and I don't have the time to tell you now. It's that, or nothing, Malfoy."

Clenching his jaw, Draco rolled his eyes and spat out, "Just past Watermill Cove; the sign looks like it says the Lost Cottage, but it's actually called the Last Cottage."

"The Last Cottage," Harry echoed. "Okay. I will come by this evening."

"Make sure you do. And I want to know everything, Potter."

"You will."

Without a parting word, Draco turned his back on Harry and stalked out of the side alley, his head shambolic with confusion. Back on the main street, the world seemed louder and more intrusive now, like everyone was talking about whatever it was he didn't know. They eyes of the passers-by seemed to linger on him for a moment longer than necessary, and their mouths were curved in knowing, mocking smiles.

He didn't have a choice but to walk past the large window of the Kavorna cafe, the window that had caused all this hassle to begin with. Had he been focussed, he might have crossed the street, but she would have probably seen him anyway. She had, after all, been staring out of the window for the past fifteen minutes, nervously drumming her nails on the table and waiting.

Draco tried so hard to resist lifting his eyes, but it was a futile.

Gone was all the fear and apprehension from a few moments ago; now her eyes were practically sparkling with uninhibited intrigue. Her stare was unblinking and firm, fixed on him like a hunter's eye, and he couldn't turn away either. There was a softness in her expression, though; that innocent and somewhat childlike inquisitiveness that he remembered from Hogwarts.

He was almost beyond the stretch of the window and out of her sight when she slowly lifted her hand, curling her fingers in a delicate, uncertain wave. He didn't hear it, but he saw her mouth the word "Bye," her breath staining the glass with a subtle mist.

And then she was gone.

The window was replaced by a wall, and she was replaced by nothing.

He ran the rest of the way home, not trusting himself to Apparate.

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A/N: Sorry this took so long! I am an actual functioning teacher and my weekend are taken up with soooooo much marking. I'm sorry, but this one's going to take me a while to update but I am working on it! Let me know what you think please!

Thanks

Bex