I don't own any of this, make no profit and all rights to JK and co.

AN: SPOILERS! Seriously, skip ahead to the bold bit below if you don't want a film spoiler! So, who's seen DH Part Deux? Me, me! Well, there were these two annoying girls behind me when I saw it that wouldn't SHUT UP and kept explaining the film to one another – no you weren't actually being quiet you twats – so I'll have to see it again but that's beside the point. The point is that scene right before the final battle to end all battles. When all the students are lined up and Harry is 'dead' and Voldemort is all, hoohoohoo! Leave now and join me if you want to live! And whoever it is calls to Draco and he, oh, bless, he hesitates. That was such a beautiful moment for me and I wished so hard, in those brief seconds, that they'd rewrite that end and have him fight for the good side. I wished so hard! My wishing was for naught, of course, and it was a great scene nonetheless, but still…the look on his face and that precious hesitation…unf. I loved it so hard. I'm writing this story with that Draco, that look on his face, in mind. That painful choice he faced in both HBP and DH…I can't imagine a Draco who doesn't relive those moments every day of his life. Can you? I think his character must have gone on to live with regret for a very long time and Tom portrayed it all beautifully. Bravo, Tom!

So I know this is mostly more exposition, but things will pick up quickly in the next chapter. Bear with me and thanks for your patience. :) Also, wow on the reactions to Yaxley - you guys remembered more about him straight off than I did! I had to go to my handy-dandy HP wiki to make sure I was making the right choice of Death Eater, there. But based on reactions alone, I was spot on. Thanks for being so vocal about it, you guys! I love to hear your thoughts.

Two weeks.

Two whole weeks of knowing that Hermione Granger was alive – clearly injured, but alive – and in the grasp of Yaxley, Merlin help them all, and no one would believe him. In light of that, it was really no wonder that Draco started losing sleep, but of course he could hardly confess to his associates what was going on. If not even the hypersensitive wizarding world was willing to look into it, he doubted any Muggle officers of the law would be much use. But oh, he'd certainly considered it – thought of walking into the nearest station with a picture of Hermione and informing them she'd been missing. But then anything he told them would be lies from beginning to end because one, he'd be forced to pretend that he was close to her in some way and two, he'd also have to tell them she'd only been missing a few days…not to mention the question of her nationality, her name, identification…

No, it was too messy, going the Muggle route – which he was saving for a last ditch effort anyhow. No, no, he'd done the sensible thing two weeks before and contacted his wizarding liaison as soon as he'd gotten back to his hotel. Then he'd donned fresh clothes and made his way to the Australian Ministry despite it being afterhours, where he'd demanded to speak with the Aurors immediately. He'd launched into his story, starting at the beginning, with his first sighting, and told it all, unwavering…and then he'd repeated himself ten times…then twenty, then twenty-five. But although not one word of his story had changed, although he knew that he was not only a reliable witness, he was an influential one, the Aurors put in charge of his case slowly began to stop listening.

When he'd pointed out that this was Hermione-bloody-Granger he was talking about and Death Eaters, for Merlin's sake, he'd earned pointed looks from the wizards doodling notes rather than taking them. They'd proceeded to irritate him by finishing one another's sentences with an ease born of the tedium of repetition.

"Mister Malfoy, while we understand your vehemence…"

"And your concern…"

"The fact of the matter is we get over fifty sightings of the infamous Hermione Granger…"

"Coming in from all over the country…"

"Nearly every day."

"Surely you can understand our hesitation over the matter?"

"We're stretched short as it is, what with…"

"The Death Eaters who've decided to treat Australia…"

"The way the Nazis treated South America."

"But that's what I'm saying!" Draco had shouted. "I saw Yaxley, too! He had her. He has her! And you're not going to do anything about it?"

"Mister Malfoy, all we have is your written statement…"

"And without visual confirmation…"

"We just cannot take action at this point."

"You can have my memory!" he told them, standing, desperate to make them understand. "I've a good memory, you won't miss anything, it'll be clear as day –"

"I'm afraid we can't accept that…"

"As you know, no eyewitness is perfect."

The finishing one another's sentences thing was starting to grate on him, no doubt of it, but he managed not to punch them in their faces. After all, it told him they weren't lying and that dozens of reports on sightings really did cross their desks every day. But still, he had to keep trying…he made one last whining suggestion.

"So what if I come back here with visual proof? A picture, perhaps?" he asked, his voice wheedling, but hopeful.

The Aurors, clearly bored to tears by then, sighed and nodded and blessedly, just one answered him.

"That would be another story entirely, Mister Malfoy. Listen, we are sorry for these regulations, and we understand you are serious, but we simply can't take any chances. Our department is spread too thin as it is. Come back with proof, Mister Malfoy, and we'll talk."

Every minute since when he wasn't working had been devoted to combing the beaches, though he'd focused on the one where he'd seen them. The problem was that although he'd only seen them in one spot, he had no idea where they'd come from, or where they'd gone afterwards, or even if it was the only beach they frequented, since clearly he wasn't finding them…hence the additional beaches he'd lain upon, his new sunglasses spelled to magnify on command, a digital camera in his bag, waiting hopefully to be of use…waiting in vain.

With the close of the first week, however, his concern had grown past normal – whatever normal was in this situation. He'd even considered contacting the Ministry at home until, on his third visit to the Australian Aurors, they'd informed him that the British Ministry had passed even stricter regulations on sightings – in part due to the over-vigilance of Harry Potter himself. Not that the news made him feel any better. It just made him angrier, more frustrated as his visions of what was happening to her spiraled out of control. There was no telling where she was or what Yaxley was doing to her, not that the Death Eater hadn't given him a large hint the last time he'd seen them, but still. Draco suspected that sort of thing was far from the most devious torture the man could possibly dream up and it made him worry in earnest for her. Was she ok – as ok as one could be in those circumstances? Had his interference just made things worse? He knew that could happen in the most average of those situations, but this was Yaxley. Surely the man was capable of ten times worse than just run-of-the-mill domestic abuse. Not that any domestic abuse was run-of-the-mill…hell. Now he was thinking nonsense, thinking in circles. If only he knew when he'd see her next or had some clue as to how to find her. Instead all he had were three sightings spaced weeks apart…and then it struck him.

He was back in his room after another unsuccessful day of Hermione-spotting and even more unsuccessful inquiries at the Ministry and he stopped his pacing to rush over to his desk where he picked up his phone – the clever piece of Muggle technology he'd spelled to automatically record his day's activities…within reason, of course. He opened the calendar function and scrolled back through it, checking for his visits to the beach. Of course, he'd been so often now…but no, there were other benchmarks for those days, like the business lunch and then Astoria's last day. And the third sighting after that had been exactly two weeks after she'd left…two weeks. It all came down to that period of time. Every two weeks, like clockwork, Hermione was allowed to go to the beach with her captor.

Draco's face broke into a wild smile, hope rushing through him mercilessly. This meant that unless something terrible had happened he would see her in a week's time. It wasn't a guarantee, but it was something. And the minute he'd taken a few discreet photos and Owled them straight to the Ministry, Aurors would descend on the spot and that would be that. Not that dealing with Death Eaters was ever simple or easy, but he knew – he just knew – that things were going to be alright. She'd be saved and he…hmm. Well, he supposed he'd be able to stop worrying about her and get back to work.

The relief that had suddenly spread through him slowly began to dissipate and Draco decided he'd better try and get some sleep while his shoulders were still relaxed enough to allow him to lie down. He'd sleep better than he had for days, but an uncomfortable feeling – what was he really doing, involving himself in all this – persisted. He even wondered, briefly, before he fell asleep, if he thought he felt something for her aside from sympathy.

No. Absolutely not. He was getting Hermione Granger, injured war hero, confused with the lonely Muggle he'd thought she was initially. There was nothing more to his actions than doing the right thing…no matter how much he liked to feel her eyes on him. Remembering the way that rich mix of hazel drank him in so solemnly, he closed his eyes and dreamed.

That last week of waiting was torture. Well, comparatively. Draco sat through all his meetings, he led all his training sessions and appeared at all the appropriate events, but inside he was a wreck of nervous energy. He even took himself out for jogs in the early morning, just to try and drain off some of the stress of it all.

It didn't help much and he ended up with a pulled hamstring for his efforts. Draco decided to give up jogging and stick to Quidditch – if only he could play while he was in Australia. But no, he was on a business exchange as a manager and Muggle-Wizard liaison masquerading as a full blown Muggle and by golly, he was expected to play his part. Never mind that thinking of Quidditch was merely meant to distract him from thinking about Granger – which also didn't last long since clearly, that's what he was thinking about again.

I need a hobby, he thought morosely as he packed up his things and turned off the alerts on his phone, finally free from his obligations for the next thirty hours or so. He'd deliberately worked it out so that he could have off the day that Yaxley and his captive were due at the beach. An extra meeting over coffee here, an additional training session there and his schedule was free and clear. In just a few hours the sun would be coming up over the horizon and he'd be sprawled on the beach – despite the early signs of Fall in the air – ready to take photos and kick some arse. Or something like that…in fact, he hoped that was how things would go, but knowing his luck – he had stumbled onto the missing war hero in the first place after all and that was hardly what a former Death Eater would call lucky – he would bungle it without meaning to and things would go downhill from there. For all he knew, he could end up in Yaxley's grip as well and then where would Hermione be? Up a creek, was where.

Draco sighed and raked a hand through his hair as he got ready for bed. In the darkness, the light from his digital clock seemed too bright, but he didn't dare unplug it. He needed to be up and at the beach early the next day. He couldn't risk missing them, not when it took two weeks to get a look at them and his exchange was winding down. He was already a month and a half into it and that meant, if the Aurors weren't going to take action on their own, that Hermione Granger's chances – her time – were running out.

He wondered, not for the first time, what would happen if he just Owled Potter directly. Would the man believe him? Would he drop everything to follow a lead given him by a Malfoy? They certainly didn't hate one another with the vigor they once had…if they even hated one another at all. And Granger…her case had been Potter's whole life for a long time, there. Draco could remember well all the headlines, all the inquiries – even he and his family had been brought in for questioning. Finding her parents, their highly publicized funeral, paid for by Weasley…it was all so present, so easy to still picture. Things had died down somewhat in the last two years, of course. People had gotten tired of talking about, of thinking about such a tragedy and Draco knew that most had begun to think as Astoria did. Hermione Granger was assumed dead, no matter how often Potter insisted he saw her. It was all rather pathetic…or Draco had thought so until he'd seen her, himself. And just like that she'd become his whole world, too.

Draco empathized with Potter for possibly the first time in his life, but it didn't change the fact that in all likelihood, Potter would have him brought up on charges of aggravation if Draco went to him claiming to have seen Hermione. No, the man would never believe him, not without visual proof – same as the Australians. So Draco was back to square one, lying in bed, wide awake, waiting for the sun to rise on his appointment with what would most likely be the biggest mistake of his life if it didn't end well. As he'd expected, sleep never came.

An entire day at the beach…it was the most dreadful experience and Draco thought he understood why the parents he saw dragging their children away were so grouchy. Nothing but shouting and avoiding sand that was kicked everywhere and reapplying sunblock every hour. It was excruciating. He'd had a nice time before, when he'd spared an hour here and there, but after an entire two weeks on pins and needles and extended searching hours he was sick of the place.

And then she was there again and a fleeting thought crossed his mind as he slowly sat up from his chair, watching her as she stood at the edge of the water, the waves lapping at her feet and ankles. He thought, if I could see her smile again, like she did when she helped that child build his sandcastle, or when she first held up that shell, then I'd gladly come to the beach every day for the rest of my life. It was a foolish thought, but it was real and his mouth went dry at the force of its feeling. Yes, he empathized with Potter – but only because she was so pathetic. He only felt sorry for, he was only doing what was right – he was doing it for himself, really. Not for her. She wasn't the driving force behind his actions those last two weeks.

She wasn't.

He continued to stare at her from yards away behind the protection of his sunglasses, underneath his umbrella and she continued to stand there, looking out over the vast ocean as if she was searching the horizon for something. What was it that held her attention, he wondered. Was she looking for help? Or for answers, perhaps? He caught his breath as she turned her head slightly to look at her captor, but Draco couldn't tear his eyes from her. He knew Yaxley was there as he must always be, but he didn't care in that moment. What he cared about was the lost look on her face, the bitterness that swept over it as she observed her companion…and the wistfulness as she looked out over the water again. She knows she's waiting for someone, Draco thought. She just doesn't know who, or what.

Something inside him clenched painfully. He knew that feeling. Who hadn't, after the war had ended? Everyone was searching for something, waiting for life to return, hoping for what had once been normal. Draco shook himself and realized he had yet to take any photos. Hell, he'd let himself be distracted. He reached into his bag quickly for his camera and drew it out to begin snapping photos quickly. It wasn't a wizarding camera, but it would have to do. After he'd taken about ten shots, Draco lowered the camera in order to go through the pictures and make sure they were adequate.

He nearly dropped the device.

Hermione wasn't in any of the pictures and yet he knew she'd been in the frame when he'd taken them. He heard his blood rush in his ears and tried to calm himself. It was possible it was just a mistake, after all – Muggle technology wasn't perfect. Looking back up he saw she hadn't moved and he took several more pictures before reevaluating them. Same result. Damn. Bloody hell. Yaxley had some sort of spell on her, something that would keep her from being photographed or filmed, more than likely – a charm, perhaps. Draco swore aloud and then dropped the now useless camera back into his bag. Well. That sent his plans all to hell.

Time to make another decision, Draco, he told himself. Right or wrong? Black or white? He dug his fingers into his hair and gave a frustrated growl before looking back up. Hermione had moved down the beach a little ways and he could see Yaxley following her at a far more leisurely pace, the look on his face smug, confident. He had her completely in his grasp and he was certain no one would ever take her away, except in a body bag. It was a familiar look, one that caused Draco to ball his hands into fists and he knew in an instant his choice had already been made. He was going to do his damnedest to save her and to hell with the price, because Yaxley was never going to control someone's life that way again, not if he could help it.

With one more glance at Hermione's retreating figure, Draco stood up. Then he drew off his shades, tossed them onto his chair, and headed down the beach towards the water, as if he was going for a swim...except instead of the surf, he walked right into Yaxley's path.