"How did we get into this mess?" Potter asked from somewhere to the right of Draco.

"Entirely your fault. I told you they were going to eat us. But did you listen? Of course not," Draco snapped back, squirming slightly. His chin itched and he couldn't scratch it. His arms were tied behind his back and around a pole. He was also blindfolded, which didn't help. "A stupefying spell would've helped, you know."

"I already told you a thousand times, I cast at least ten spells and they all bounced off them like they were made of rubber or mirrors or something," Potter responded in a snippy tone. Clearly getting captured didn't bring out the best in the great Boy Who Lived. It didn't bring out the best in Draco either, as he tried to untie himself to no avail. "What happened to you, anyway?"

"I was fighting, thank you very much."

"I meant what happened to your wand? You broke that perfectly conjured crutch over that guy's head."

"Knocked him out, didn't it? Better than your stupid spells did."

"Yeah, but you just pissed them off even more."

"Are your feet wet?" Draco suddenly noticed that his feet had become startlingly cold and sloshy. He fidgeted and moved around the pole. His shoes squished. "Is this what they meant by water? They're going to drown us, aren't they? This is entirely your fault. First you take in that stupid mutt, and then you drag us down here. I was perfectly fine with staying by that stream, figuring out how to get out of our situation that way. Then I get strangled by Devil's Snare, kidnapped by scary natives, and now I'm going to be drowned and eaten!"

"Would you stop whining and let me think?"

"No, no I will not, because there is no way we're getting out of this. These are wizard scout knots and unless by some miracle someone comes along and –"

"Are you two alright down zere?" came a heavily accented French voice.

"The French! The French are coming! I've never been so happy to hear the French!"

"For the love of God, Malfoy, shut up."

The water that had seeped into Draco's shoes was now slowly but surely creeping up his legs. By this point it had reached just below his knees. There was a splash and droplets of water hit him before the water moved around his legs and he realized that someone was splashing towards them. The blindfold was soon being pulled off him and Draco found himself gaping into the face of a beautiful young woman. A small piece of reality and familiarity hit him and Draco might have burst into a happy jig had he not been tied to a pole, which may or may not have been a good thing.

"Merlin's beard! Fleur Delacour?" he said incredulously as the blonde woman slipped behind him and untied the ropes that bound him to the pole. Draco now saw that they were in a very deep pit into which a steady stream of water was being poured, no doubt redirected from some stream in a very primitive fashion. Couldn't they have just dunked their heads into a horse trough or something or was that not torturous enough?

"You found us! How did you find us?" Potter said as he was being freed from his bonds. Draco rubbed his raw wrists.

"A simple location spell using something of yours. Unfortunately I can't take you back with me – this is only an astral projection. We can't apparate to this island, we were just sent to see if you were all right."

"We are now, thank you," Potter said. Draco quickly left them behind after hearing that, scaling the wall down the rope that Fleur had come down on. He found himself looking at a very red-faced, red-haired man. A Weasley. Draco carefully avoided him and instead looked around to see where those blasted natives were. It seemed they'd dragged them far out from civilization – if you could call it that. Probably so they didn't hear them screaming. Demented cannibals.

"Are you sure you'll be all right with Malfoy?" came Fleur's voice as she climbed up the rope behind Potter. "He won't hurt you, will he?"

"Honestly, I think he's as harmless as a fly. Annoying as one, too," Potter said, and Draco ground his teeth. Oh, he'd show that stupid sod who was harmless. And annoying? Him? He inwardly guffawed. Please, he wasn't the one insisting they drag around stolen half-breeds. He folded his arms over his chest and looked very sour.

"We better leave soon. The war and all," the Weasley said, taking hold of Fleur's hand.

"Are Ron and Ginny okay? I mean, when we were transported here, they didn't –"

"They're fine. The Death Eaters were too surprised to do anything at first, so Ginny and Ron hopped on their brooms as fast they could and got out of there," the Weasley said, and Draco found himself caring less and less about what they were talking about. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve where he'd hidden it and cast a drying charm on his very wet pants. He grumbled. He simply couldn't wait until they got back to England and he could change his sodding clothes.

"You should probably get out of here. Whoever tied you up will probably be back to make sure you're as good as dead –"

"And then eat us," Draco grumbled, and the Weasley gave him a funny look, to which he blatantly ignored.

"We'll figure out a way to bring you home, even if it means renting a row boat," the Weasley said to Potter, and they shook hands.

"Be careful, Harry," Fleur said, and smiled at Draco before she closed her eyes and was simply gone, as though she'd never been there in the first place. And soon enough so was the Weasley, and Draco was privately glad. A mountain range lay a few kilometers east, from what Draco could tell. The village was still in view in the distance, and Draco couldn't help but want to get away from that as fast as humanly possible.

"Shall we go then?" Draco said grumpily. The only way to go, it seemed, was through the mountains. He did not look forward to hiking through those. Potter was looking forlornly towards the village and Draco couldn't understand what the matter was with him. "What's your problem?" he asked in a snippy tone. He certainly didn't want to waste time standing around and talking about what Potter's problem was.

"Nothing, never mind," Potter said quickly and Draco folded his arms over his chest lightly. "Let's go."

"Finally, something I want to do," Draco began to walk towards the mountain range. He spotted a large stick and picked it up to use as a walking stick. He didn't need a crutch any longer. The pain was still there, but he was getting used to it. Potter followed quietly behind him and when he glanced back once after they'd been walking for a few minutes, he saw a rather depressed look on Potter's face. He rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the other boy, but it was very difficult when every so often, Potter would sigh. He wanted to take his walking stick and break it over the stupid Gryffindor's head, but he knew that wouldn't do. Potter was probably his only chance off this stupid island.

When they were a safe distance away from the pit they had been left in, Draco stopped abruptly and turned around to face Potter.

"Seriously, Potter, what is your problem?" he asked in slight annoyance. They'd just been rescued from drowning, found out that someone was looking for them and perhaps they wouldn't have to figure a way out of this by themselves, and they were a fair distance away from the village of cannibals. This was no time to be depressed about who knew what. "I swear, you've sighed at least fifteen times since we started walking and you've got this look on your face like your dog just died." Then it dawned on him. "Oh! Oh. Oh, you can't be depressed about that."

"It's just that, he must have run away for some reason. They were cannibals, you said so yourself – what if they're mean to him?" Potter simpered, and Draco put his hand against his forehead.

"He's half dragon, Potter, I think he'll live. Probably longer than us, in any case," Draco said before sitting down on a rock. It was getting dark, whether because they had moved so far into the mountains that the trees and mountains were blocking the sun from view, or the sun had actually gone down. Draco couldn't tell, though his body was telling him it was the latter. His legs were tired and he was quite intent on sleeping, since he hadn't done so since they'd gotten to the island. He hadn't eaten, either, and since the villagers had confiscated their bag of dried meat (Draco really wasn't keen on eating it, but anything sounded good right about then), they had nothing to eat.

Suddenly Draco was missing the stupid half-breed, too. At least it could catch food in this otherwise seemingly lifeless island. Potter sighed again.

"Let's just set up camp," he said, in that stupid forlorn voice that made Draco want to throw rocks at him.

"Fine, but I swear, you sigh one more time and I'm going to curse you all the way back to that sodding village," Draco said, before working as best as he could to help conjure the cots and tent. This was probably the most work he'd done in his life that actually involved physical labor – which was saying something, because they were conjuring a tent, something that didn't exactly require physical labor.

Once everything was said and done, Draco laid down on his respective cot and passed out almost as soon as his head hit his fake pillow.