This is a dark fic. It gets its M rating for human trafficking, slavery, graphic violence, language, sexual themes, themes of non-consensual sex, torture.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its characters, it all belongs to J.K Rowling.

Prologue

The island ran like clockwork.

The sun emerged, spreading dawn over orange skies that would set the fields of tall grass on the horizon ablaze. They would wake up to the acrid remnants of whomever was burned last night. But there was no time to dwell on that — they would have to drop their eyes lest they look funny at the wrong person. If they were lucky, they'd get a decent slice of bread and passably clean water shoved through the gaps between the iron bars of their cage. If they did end up looking at someone funny, then the only thing they'd be getting was a beating. The Muggle way.

Then, they'd sit quietly as mutts sniffed the perimeter of the campsite and Blast-Ended Skrewts scuttled around their cages. It was impossible to grow used to the sudden explosions of the shelled creatures. Muscled warlocks were constantly shouting, swerving into and out of the campsite. Sometimes they would come in with thestrals pulling carriages on what they called 'roads'. Other times, they would bring these strangely shaped, large carriages that were always humming louder than the explosions of the skrewts. They would only bring those ones to take away some of the caged people.

As the day progressed, the air got stickier. It was so thick it was almost like gasping for air in water. Most of the caged were half-naked by mid-day. The cages didn't have shelters above them — under the sun's unforgiving glare, it was easy to get burned. The modicum of relief that was provided without a shirt made another uncomfortable night with flaking skin worth it.

They didn't get lunch. The warlocks took pleasure in setting up a fire in the middle of the camp, sizzling meat or fish above it. They jeered at the hungry eyes that watched them eat.

The rest of the day continued the same way it started. Some warlocks switched what appeared to be shifts, but they were still all shouting, traveling, taking. They hauled in prisoners and burned the ones they deemed useless alive. It became easy to forget hunger by the end of the day.

Finally, the sun sunk. The evening was cooler, much cooler. Sweat grew cold on skin. The warlocks gave them another slice of bread and another glass of murky water, which most of them wouldn't touch. The warlocks departed with the mutts. The Blast-Ended Skrewts stayed, but they slept during the night, so they didn't explode. The day would repeat tomorrow, but for now, there was peace.

The island sang a lonely tune of crickets and phoenixes cawing in the distance. More often than not, there were stars splashed across the indigo sky.

"Look, Draco!" his mother whispered in his mind, awakening a memory of her finger tracing a set of stars in a shape that reminded him vaguely of a dragon. "That's you."

He ripped his gaze from the sky. His eyes landed on the campfire at the center of the site, which was still smoking. He thought about the screaming man that was burned there maybe one hour ago. They were jeering about the fact that he was a Squib, that they didn't need to magically restrain him to sort him out.

His eyes dropped to his untouched bread. It was laying there by his discarded black dress shirt and blazer. Even when his stomach made an unearthly growl, Draco turned his back on it.

The other side of the cage was the opposite border of the campsite, edged with the trees of a dark and dense jungle. A wolf howled quite close to the perimeter of the camp, and if he hadn't seen the half-mooned sky, he would've believed it was a werewolf. He wondered if it could be any worse in the jungle than it was here.

"Malfoy." Draco jolted so hard that he banged his knee against a bar of his cage. His hands flew to clutch his aching joint.

Gritting his teeth, he hissed, "What?"

"We need to get out of here," she stated, and Draco rolled his eyes. Removing his hands from his knee, Draco supported himself against the gritty ground beneath him as he heaved himself up. He had to look at Granger good and proper to beat some sense into that Gryffindor head of hers.

"Do indulge me," he drawled, his eyes boring into her firewhiskey ones, "why telling me this on a regular basis will change anything."

Granger gave him an insolent smirk that boiled his pure blood. "Maybe you'll do more than just mope around."

"Do more?" Draco shuffled forward and leaned against the bars that were closest to her cage. His hands gripped them so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Do more? What more is there to do? These things—" he rattled the bars "—don't let us do any magic!" He laughed rather hysterically, breathing, "I'll tell you what we can do, Granger, we can accept that we're completely fucked. That's all we can do." He slumped away from the bars, raising his knees to rest his chin on and circling his arms around his legs. His head was deliberately turned away from her, but he could still see her in his peripheral vision.

She watched him for seventeen seconds. He counted. Then her face turned away from his direction. A phoenix cried in the distance.

"You're wrong," she declared, but since she — like every one of her hot-headed friends — never had proof to back up her proclamation, she went silent. Eventually, her breathing would grow rhythmic, and Draco would wonder how she could sleep so peacefully while he dreaded the next morning's routine.