Chapter 2:

Grains of Sand

There was sand—strange white sand with purple specks—in every crevice of his body, Draco was quite sure of that. Who in their right mind made purple sand? But of course, Dumbledore was never in his right mind and he had made this wretched, hot, place.

"If this bloody island was made especially for you, why the bloody hell is it so bloody hot?" Draco asked.

"Do you ever bloody do anything but whine, Malfoy? You whine about your daddy being in jail. You whine that I get preferential treatment. You whine about it being too hot, and yes, I heard you whine about the sand being purple! Just stop it! Stop mumbling, stop whining, and shut-up!" Harry screamed, kicking up more sand than usual in his fit of pique.

"Jeez Potter, what kind of bug flew up your arse and made a home?" Draco smirked. "I bet it was a special creation of Dumbledore's eh? The 'Harry Potter ass-munching beetle,' yeah?" Draco laughed. "Is it purple?"

Harry sighed. Why did he have his portkey on him when Malfoy had attacked him? Why hadn't he absentmindedly left it lying on his bed, or on the robes that he'd worn the day before? And what were the fucking odds, that Malfoy would say that at the same time that he pressed (well, punched) the portkey? It was ridiculous, and so unlikely…yes; it was so unlikely that it must be fate. Though it was fate that hated him in an awful awful way.

Harry grinned, well, fate could hate him if it wanted, but he wasn't about to brood all day—not when there were plenty of Malfoy's around to torment. "Malfoy," he asked, "why did you call me Sugarplum?"

Draco laughed condescendingly. "I did not call you Sugarplum. Are you faffing insane? Or…is that one of your little fantasies—you and me all snuggly, I call you Sugarplum, you call me God?" he raised an eyebrow.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You activated my portkey. You had to have said Sugarplum, that was the activation word."

Draco was getting increasingly loud. "Well you must have said it then, ya nonce. There's no way that it was me. I was pummeling you for Christ's sake! I hate you!"

"And I hate you," Harry answered calmly, "but the fact remains that we are here, and so someone—you—must have said…"

"Oh shut the hell up, Potter!" Draco screamed, stomping down the beach ahead of Harry.

Harry snickered. Draco had kicked a lot of sand into his face on his way past him, but that scene had definitely been worth it. Of course, he knew Malfoy had said sugarplum, and he knew why, he just wanted him to admit why. Sniggering to himself he trudged through the hot sand in search of the boy, who had disappeared behind a copse of trees. Harry had to admit that Malfoy did have a point about one thing, it was too hot. He was sure that he and Dumbledore had set the temperature to no more than 80°, and it was at least 90° right now.

Harry was startled out of his reverie when he rounded the group of trees and came face to face with Malfoy, wand out, hatred glaring in his eyes.

"Malfoy, I already told you that magic doesn't work here, so unless you're planning to poke me with that—it's useless." Harry cursed himself for giving Malfoy ideas.

Draco's smile was cold, and cruel, as he pulled his other hand out from behind his back. In it, he held a coconut. Harry gasped.

"You also," Draco sneered, "said that your island doesn't have coconuts, and has a shack. Clearly," he giggled menacingly, "this island has coconuts, and no shack. So it stands to reason that, perhaps, magic works here as well."

Harry glanced back and forth from the coconut, to Malfoy's wand, to Malfoy's smirk, then back to the stupid, creepy, furry, coconut. He grimaced, and reached for his wand as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.

"Impedimentia!" Draco screamed the leg-locker curse.

Harry flailed, until he realized there was no need. No magic had come from Malfoy's wand. They were on his island, but…

Draco pouted. Damnit! Couldn't anything ever work out for him? Did he always have to make himself look like a complete berk? He stared at Harry and scowled. Stupid Potter, this had to be all his fault. Deliberately, he put his wand away. Then, he threw the coconut at Harry's head as hard as he could. It made a satisfying conk, and he smiled in pleasure. That is, until Harry leapt at him and tackled him into the sand.

"Geroff of me you stupid bastard, you stupid bloody bastard get your…"

"Rasafraking no good slimy Slytherin bastard throwing a coconut at a man when he tells you he hates them. You're just such a...Foook!" Harry screamed when Draco made contact with a more tender part of his anatomy than his head.

In retaliation, he slammed his elbow into Draco's corresponding bits and pieces. Both boys shed a few tears, and lay panting in the sand side by side. Harry had unfortunately landed face to face with the brown stringy coconut, and he sighed for the plight that was his life.

After ten minutes, Draco had grown tired of lying in the sand. He decided he had been wrong before about it being in every crevice, there was one that it had missed then, but it was there now. He could imagine his beautiful skin was probably marred by thousands of tiny purple specks that he would never be rid of. He was ruined for life. Sighing, he sat up and glared half-heartedly at Harry's back. The stupid git was lying face down in the sand; he was probably breathing purple into his nose.

"I thought your bloody island didn't have coconuts," he said bitterly.

"It doesn't," Harry sighed. "Apparently, these are coco-nots."

"What?"

Harry sat up and picked up the bane of his existence, the round horror of his day, and showed it to Malfoy.

"They're labeled?" Malfoy shrieked. "What kind of tree produces labeled fruit? This place is so stupid!"

"I've a feeling it's only going to get worse," Harry sighed.