I don't own it, don't make money off it and all rights to JK and co.

AN: See my disclaimer at the bottom after you finish reading this chapter. Hope you enjoy it! Poor Draco, and his inner turmoil. :D


Another two weeks passed and Draco was left alone in Australia, already a month into his stay. Astoria had taken him at his word and caught the first Portkey home and he hadn't had a single bit of trouble with his business associates since. The merger was moving along swimmingly and Draco managed to find an easy rhythm in his time there – Muggle by day, wizard by night. That sort of thing. His associates had even fallen into an easy rapport with him, going so far as to tease him over the way he carved a little bit of beach time into every single day. He accepted the teasing good-naturedly and ignored the women who stared at him a bit more with each passing day. Apparently enough time in the sun could manage to bleach even Malfoy hair and that in combination with his tan brought many admiring looks.

Unfortunately, none of those looks came from the direction in which he was currently interested: a pair of sad eyes, warning him to stay away. He hadn't seen her since, despite all that time at the beach and he'd begun to think he'd been hallucinating the entire time. Maybe Astoria had slipped him something. Maybe he'd been in the sun too long. Maybe he was working too hard. Either way, it seemed far off and impossible now, that he'd seen a woman who looked just like Hermione Granger. And yet, for all his convincing himself he'd just had a temporary lapse in sanity, he hoped he'd see her again.

Of course, he'd no idea that his wish would be granted, but sure enough, as he walked out of the surf one day wiping his face and smoothing his hair back to a beachfront of admiring eyes, there she was. She didn't see him and he forced himself to keep moving up the beach, back to the chair he'd been occupying every day for the two weeks. He picked up his towel and started drying off, vigorously rubbing at his hair, his eyes flicking up every few seconds to where she was walking slowly along the line of the water.

His movements slowed as he watched her and he finally lowered the towel altogether. She looks worse, he thought. Why doesn't anyone else notice what is going on? Why are they blind to how thin she is, how defeated? He shook his head suddenly. No, he told himself. Maybe there's nothing wrong with her. Maybe you're comparing her to the witch you knew and that's why she looks smaller, haunted…confidence destroyed. Stay out of it, Draco, he told himself. She doesn't want your help anyway and besides, even if there were something the matter, what could you do?

Still, his eyes followed her and he felt the same indecision that had plagued him those last two years of the war. Should he, or shouldn't he. Will he, or won't he. Does he have the courage. Can he stand up for anything other than his own selfish needs…the list went on and on and Draco hated himself suddenly. Regardless of what anyone else on the beach saw, he knew there was something wrong. He could feel it and it was in danger of haunting him the same way everything else had if he didn't just bloody do something about it. And yet…would he be at all interested if she didn't have the face of a dead girl? Would he have the same urge to act if it were just an average Muggle standing there, looking forlorn and lost?

No, Draco, he told himself again. Start thinking that way and you'll go crazy. Don't overanalyze this. Just act now and think it out later because if you wait too long, it might be too late for that poor woman.

"Right then," he muttered to himself and, quickly slipping his sunglasses on, walked back down towards the water. He'd slung his towel over his shoulders and made a show of continuing to rub at his hair with it, as though he were merely taking a walk while drying himself off. He casually followed her footsteps and when his chance came, he took it. She'd just crouched down and was looking at something in the smooth, damp sand, gently brushing the sand away with one finger to pry it up. Draco saw what it was immediately: a shell. He watched her whole face change as she held it up, looking at its crenellations, admiring its sheen…and then her eyes widened and she dropped it suddenly with a small shriek. He took the opportunity to kneel beside her and scoop the tiny, disgruntled crab back out of the water where it was rolling this way and that, trying to find its footing.

"Careful, it's just a little guy," he informed her and then set the crab down on the sand where they both watched it gather itself and then scuttle away. Draco glanced back up at her to find her watching him instead of the crab and he grinned at her, hoping to put her at ease. "Trying to start a shell collection?" he asked her and she nearly responded, but stopped herself in time. He decided that would never do and immediately glanced down at the water, his eyes picking out a half shell. Plucking it from the sand, he brushed it off some and handed it to her. "There. Not as pretty as the last, but mercifully crab-free."

She didn't look at him, just caught the shell in her cupped hands as he dropped it and then sat there on her heels, staring at it. After a long moment in which he busied himself looking for more shells, she finally spoke.

"Don't," she said. He looked up at her curiously.

"No? Don't like that one? Let me find another…"

"Don't," she repeated and he looked at her again to find she was watching him now, that same warning in her eyes. "Don't do this," she went on and he narrowed his eyes, slowly lifting his shades to get a clearer look at her. He propped them in his hair.

"Do what?" he asked, challenging her, but she didn't look away, though her eyes widened some as if she were surprised at her own boldness.

"Don't be kind to me," she explained, her voice soft. She looked down then, back at the shell in her hands and her fingers curled over it possessively for a brief moment before she opened them again and quite deliberately dropped it back into the water. Then she stood up, as if to walk away.

Draco stood as well and stepped in front of her. She tensed and stared up at him again. He liked her eyes on him, he realized, and swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth. He made a decision – he couldn't let her walk away, not like this, not upset and thinking all the wrong things. Not lonely. He didn't want her to feel lonely any longer. He wanted to be her friend, even if he was the only one in the world who saw her.

"I'm…Daniel," he said quietly. "Please, tell me your name."

Her brows drew together suddenly and her mouth puckered up, as if he'd said exactly the wrong thing, but he could see her emotional reaction wasn't brought on by his so-called kindness to her. It was something more, something disturbing and he had a flash of insight just before she looked away, uncertainty and confusion and terror spilling across her face.

"I can't," she breathed and just like that, the moment was over and she had a hold on her emotions once more. She looked to him and all he saw then was anger. "Get out of my way," she said and when he didn't move her voice rose nearly an octave and the tension in her shoulders broke, causing her to tremble. "Get out of my way!" she exclaimed, her hands lifting to push against him though she could have just as easily walked around him. "Please," she begged. "Please don't. Just…"

Her inability to just pick up and walk around him told him all he needed to know. She wanted help. She needed help. She just was terrified of the consequences. Or at least, he thought that was what it meant. He was about to put his hands on her shoulders, to tell her it was alright, when she tensed up again and her eyes went wide. Then she did push her way around him, though he could still see her shoulders trembling. He almost stopped her, except he felt the creeping sensation along the back of his neck that always signified he was being watched and he knew without a doubt that the man was somewhere behind him, watching their interplay.

Draco mustered up all the courage he had – he'd faced werewolves and madmen and murderous snakes. Surely he shouldn't be afraid of a simple bully, not when he was the one with a wand and a past deadlier than any Muggle could possibly imagine. It had taken years of living in shades of grey to make him realize that sometimes there was simply a right and a wrong and he felt it to his bones that this – whatever this was – was wrong. He'd regret it to the day he died if he didn't stick his nose in where the woman clearly thought it didn't belong.

He swiftly reached a hand back just as she passed him and caught her wrist – the same wrist he'd seen the man catch hold of so viciously weeks ago. He kept his hold on her firm, but gentle and used his voice to persuade her as she skidded to a halt just beside him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her, turning his head some, watching her with his peripheral vision. "Please, just tell me your name."

"Let go," she responded. He gave his head a small shake.

"Tell me."

She was still staring straight ahead, afraid to take her eyes off her companion, wherever he was, afraid that if she did there was no telling what might happen in those precious, lost seconds. Draco leaned towards her ever so slightly and slid his hold from her wrist down to her hand, where he slipped his fingers around hers and gave them a light squeeze.

"It's alright, I promise. Just exchanging names…like friends."

She didn't remove her hand from his, but she didn't look at him yet, either. Just a quiver in her voice told him he was winning her over.

"I can't," she repeated and he held her hand tighter. She let him, but it was a bittersweet victory.

"Why not?" he finally asked.

A second ticked by, then another, and another. The water crept up about their feet and swept away again. Then he felt it. Just a small squeeze back, but it was her and she'd responded to him. He started to turn, to look down at her, a smile on his face, when her words stopped him short.

"Because I don't know what it is," she whispered fiercely.

She'd looked straight on, unblinking, unflinching, the only sign of acknowledgment of his presence that gentle squeeze to his hand. Otherwise she might've been talking to herself, or thin air – which was rather what Draco felt like as he heard her confession. Then, as he tried to process what she'd said, she slipped her hand from his and walked away.

Draco let her go. He didn't know what else to do, not when faced with information like that. Of course, she might have been having him on in an attempt to get him to leave her alone, but…it didn't feel that way. No, she was serious when she said it and he believed her. More convinced than ever that he needed to help her, he came to himself and turned in time to see her walking up to the man.

He'd been right, the man was standing just yards away further up the beach, somewhat hidden by an umbrella. All Draco could see at first as the woman looked up at him was the man's body and he easily recognized its condition, the man's height. The man responded to something the woman said and all the tension returned to the woman's shoulders, but she didn't cry and the man didn't raise a hand to her. Draco let out the breath he'd been holding and continued to watch, hoping for a clear view of the man. He wondered idly how the man had seen them if his own view was blocked and then he realized what he was seeing. The man had stepped aside to take care of something – to gather up some bags or belongings. Any second now he would move back into view…and he did, and Draco felt all the blood drain from his face.

His lips moved without sound, forming the words, forming the name. Yaxley, he thought. Yaxley.

His heart felt like it might burst from his chest with its suddenly rapid, nervous beating.

The woman – no, not the woman any longer, Hermione Granger – spoke to the man again and Yaxley lifted his head to look down the beach at him again. Draco's instincts kicked in just in time and he realized that Yaxley could only have seen his back. Before the man's eyes could find him, he quickly returned his sunglasses to his nose. He knew that with his tan and day old scruff he wouldn't be as recognizable, not to mention the glamour charm he used to hide his Mark. Still, the creeping feeling that prickled his skin as Yaxley's gaze found him and looked him over was, to say the least, unpleasant. He remembered the man. He was vile, disgusting, cruel…well, that described half the Death Eaters, actually. Well…more than half.

Yaxley hadn't mellowed with age, Draco discovered in the next second as the older man put on a bit of a show for what he clearly thought was just a foolish young man trying to rescue a damsel in distress.

The Death Eater brought one hand up under the woman's chin and then slowly lowered his lips to her face, kissing her cheek. When he drew back, he let his fingertips wander over her lips before he let her go and then, once he had their belongings in hand, slung an arm around her hunched shoulders and walked her away.

Draco watched them for as long as he could, disappearing down the crowded line of sand and surf, and then he turned and ran. He shed his towel and sunglasses behind him and he ran until he wasn't sure how far he'd come, until he could no longer recognize the front of buildings and boardwalks lining the dunes; and then, when he was quite sure he was alone, he staggered into the water, hunched over his knees, and was sick to his stomach.

He'd just discovered the mystery of Hermione Granger's disappearance, of her life so tragically cut short and all he could do when confronted with it was run away and retch.

Keep it together, Draco, he told himself. Where was his courage from minutes before, when he'd decided that some things were black and white, when he'd realized that the woman truly needed his help? The tide swirled about his legs and a sudden wave was enough to topple him backwards into the water. He came up sputtering and then gave a weak, angry cry and beat the water with his fists. It was Hermione, it had been Hermione the entire time. He'd been right and he'd ignored his instincts, had listened to Astoria, had convinced himself it wasn't true because he'd been afraid the entire time – afraid of the truth. Afraid to get involved if it had anything at all to do with his reality. When it had been a poor Muggle, it had been easier to deal with, but now…he beat the water again and gave another hoarse cry that turned into a sob.

How am I supposed to help her now, he thought. How am I supposed to even begin to help her?

But even as he questioned himself and cursed the situation, he knew in his heart that it didn't matter. Personal inconvenience aside, Hermione Granger didn't deserve whatever shell of a life Yaxley had her living and Draco knew he would find a way to help her…even if it meant living in those shades of grey again. Another sob choked its way up his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut against the urge to cry like a little boy. Crying wouldn't do Hermione any good…or the woman she'd become, for that matter. His decision reached, he wiped his frustrated tears away with damp hands and brushed his hair from his face, sitting quietly in the water as the tide rose about him, buoying him back up the shore.


AN: Before you start asking why doesn't he just go tell someone and get extra help from the Aurors or something, please be patient and wait for the next installment. Draco is not an idiot. I will address some of these issues. Other issues...will not be addressed because I need some kind of plot device in place to get these two together, don't I? ;)