DAY ONE
It was a blinding light through his eyelids that brought Draco Malfoy back to consciousness. It burned against his skin; the pain seeping into him as the seconds passed.
His eyes fluttered open. White hot light blinded his entire field of vision. Just as quickly as he opened them, he closed them back. He twitched his hand to feel for the ground beneath him. Each inch of his body could feel the lumps and crevices of the ground as he laid still. It was a grainy texture between his fingers. He filled his fist full of it, squeezing it with enough might that he hoped the pain radiating through his body would channel itself through and out to this.
A swelling headache bred itself behind his eyes. He was sure it was soon to grow further down his spine.
Draco had arrived at the Ministry at 8 am. He was exactly on time; a trait he hadn't had the privilege to use in years. He wasn't even supposed to be there. He could've avoided this entirely. The sound, crowd, smell, it was all overwhelming. He reminded himself to keep it together, stand straight. Today was not a day to be lacking. The voices that would bounce off the tiled walls stalled out to silence. When the atrium lulled to this silence, his interest piqued. The faintest rumbling under his feet made him stop. In the next moment, it sent him flying back as his body smashed into the cold dark tiles, sliding backwards by a few meters into a pile of other wizards and witches. He didn't give himself more than a second to recover. The ringing in his ears blared.
Soft wind breezed past him, bringing with it a waft of a rather briny smell. Something was not right. This much he could tell.
He tried once more to open his eyes. As they adjusted to the sudden brightness above him, Draco saw the source was coming from the incandescent sun high in the sky. He tried blocking the assault with his hand so his mind could begin processing what had transpired just seconds prior.
His legs trembled as he stood up. His hands stayed outstretched beside him in a way to help keep balance, as if he was expecting the ground to shake beneath him out of nowhere. He rotated his wand in his right hand, giving him a second of relief that it hadn't got lost in the blast. Within a blink of an eye, before he could process the scene in front of him, a second figure ran in front of him. They gave him a hard shove on the right shoulder that made him hiss loudly from the pain. He followed behind them, only just noticing the brown hair out of the corner of his eye, before they both dived forward as a second blast exploded behind them. His scream echoed through the atrium as his body pulsed with pain.
His ears rung. He forced himself up to survey his surroundings. The grainy texture was a pale sandy beach, and he was in the middle of it. Not a pebble in sight. Nothing like home. He racked his brain, desperate to remind himself why this is where he chose to Apparate.
He rolled to his side, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. As he pushed off, a similar sensation of being hit with a jelly leg hex spread through his arms. He tried shaking the feeling off. It persisted. With how precarious his body seemed, it must've been a jarring Apparition to be feeling like he once did from his first lesson of it.
Draco steadied himself on his feet. Rustling from behind forced his body to turn around at far too fast of a rate. It sent him tumbling onto his knees just steps away.
Behind the beach followed a dense jungle packed with trees and thick brush. He followed branch to branch of every tree. He scouted for the sound. His vision became distorted with every vine he pursued. He could only see the beginnings of the chaotic cluster of a jungle, then the darkness took over. The rustling slowed, slithering through the tree line before withdrawing.
He inched backwards. The contrast of the brightness of the beach and the dark abyss of the jungle unnerved him.
Subconsciously, his hands felt their way around his suit pockets for his hawthorn wand, but found the silky pocket linings empty besides a stray piece of lint.
His head snapped back to the indent on the coast where he laid seconds ago. There was nothing. He crawled over, digging through the sand frantically to locate it. He scanned the brush that surrounded him, but there was nothing to hint where it might have got thrown from his body. It has to be here.
He just needed to keep searching. As he spread his search further down the shore, a glint of something caught his eye. He craned his neck all the way to the left, and that's when he saw her.
Hermione Granger face down in the sand, barely twenty meters south. He was unsure if this discovery made him a dizzy, queasy mess, or if it was from his body still reeling because of the aftermath of whatever the hell Draco just went through. The lump in his throat was building. He tried swallowing it. His hands were trembling at his side.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache behind his eyes pounded against his skull hard enough to fracture it. He fought hard, trying to bring back the last seconds of his memories. Draco didn't recall seeing her there. Is this really happening?
He looked for any apparent injuries; only a bum shoulder and a scorching pain coming from his upper back. A burn, probably. He was awake, and she was not. The obvious answer was Granger's dead. The feeling creeped up on him, solidifying its spot in his mind. First, he needed to see what Granger had brought with her. It had better be a wand.
Determined to stand again, he planted his feet firm as he rose from the ground. He wobbled to the side slightly as one shoe sunk in. Stay steady, he told himself. It was only a few steps into his jog to her body before his own forced him to stop.
He lurched over, palms pressed to his knees, as he tried to purge the contents of his empty stomach out. He struggled to spit the remaining vile taste from his mouth with a grimace, but it wouldn't work. The taste remained. The sweat of his palms slowly seeped through his trousers onto his skin, reminding him what he was doing. He could worry about this all later.
It wasn't very far, but the distance between them seemed to grow like knotweed. Every step, twenty more seemed to get added, though his mind couldn't decide what was genuinely happening.
He leaned over her body, staring for a second. She hadn't moved this entire time, still sprawled out with her face pressed against the earth. One hand clenched, stretched out in front of her as if she had been trying to grasp something, the other hidden beneath her body.
He speculated briefly if she was conscious and if her hair was covering this fact. He took a deep breath before he jabbed his foot against her side. He shoved hard enough to flip her onto her back. If she was awake, it was a strong enough kick to incite a furious response. But she was unconscious, dead maybe, as she flopped over with an awkward thud. Beneath her had been an active, growing pool of blood. It had stained the entire front of her blouse a deep red and gave off the putrid stench of metallics.
"Fuck." He heaved. What the fuck happened? What did I do? No, no, no… He tried concentrating again on the task at hand. He squinted at the puddle. No sign of her wand, just congealing blood. He leaned a little more forward, thinking he might've missed something. The smell grew heavier, a rancid mix of blood, smoke, and sweat. He stepped away, heading for the ocean to vomit again from the sudden onset of nausea. He needed that wand.
"Oh, gods," He said.
He took a few gasps in as he calmed down. The slight breeze and smell of a salty sea was very much welcomed until it brought back the stench. He reached down to wet his hands in the water before rubbing them roughly across his face. He shook himself off and tried to figure something out. Something to make sense was what he needed.
He went back.
He stood over her, trying to assess a million things at once about this entire situation. If she was still alive, she wouldn't be for long by the looks of the blood loss. What use was she to him in this condition? Is she even worth the trouble? Unlikely. He could turn back now, pretend he didn't stumble upon her. None of this would be his problem.
His mind flashed to the what-ifs. He's back home, she's not, would the world move on? Would he be wrecking his second, third chance? The implications of Granger dying and his survival would be far too severe to come back from.
He drew in a weak breath, letting it out gently as he stared down at her. He stretched out his fingers to ease the shakes before thrusting them into his pockets. The overwhelming feeling came back. So many decisions and options. He hadn't had choices to make in a long time. He needed to just choose one and stick with it.
"You can do this."
Sweat was accumulating on his forehead and started rolling down his face and neck. It was nothing but water behind them. Black cliffs to the right that cut off the rest of the beach and to the left, an endless sprawl of sand and trees. He looked back at the jungle in front of him. A small shaded spot was just open enough to fit two and keep them near enough the water, but concealed from the sun without going into isolation.
It wasn't an ideal position, but it was better than his other options. It was enough.
"Shit," he grunted out as he gripped the shoulders of Granger and lugged her back. It took everything in him to drag her across the shore so he could not-so-graciously dump her upper body right back on the ground.
He crouched beside her, too curious to not look at the wound. He picked her once cream blouse up by the tiniest amount of fabric to examine the size of it; a long gash with the tip starting at the top of the ribs, running against the right side before it passed over her hip and retreated into the waistband of her trousers.
At a first glimpse, it seemed to be almost superficial towards the ends.
Fate. Wizards tended to believe in it. He never had. There was always a logical justification for everything and logic made every decision, events did not happen by fate. His family did not end up in their predicaments by fate. They made those choices. But this is one of the few times his belief faltered.
No amount of scheming, praying, or knowledge could guide him out of this place. Whatever this place was. If he were to make it back to home, it would be by the grace of fate.
Naturally, it only seemed fair to leave their survival up to it. Granger's bleeding by now showed to be clotting and slowed to a stop. He escaped the explosion mostly unscathed. If fate felt it was in the cards for Granger to live, she would live. He would have nothing to do with it. The wet blouse let out a smack when he released it.
He stalked off back to shore, sinking unceremoniously onto the ground, and released a sigh. "This fucking sucks."
DAY TWO
His stomach let out a low growl. Draco laid face up on the bank with closed eyes. With his suit jacket balled up and placed like a pillow, he tried to ignore the increasing pain in his stomach, but he could feel it twisting itself as it forged on to new depths.
He spent the whole previous night huddled under the stars, watching in the vague direction of where Granger laid. In the far distance, he could hear the rustling of something walking its territory. It let him know Draco wasn't alone. He couldn't have slept if he wanted to, too afraid he'd miss something that could free him. Or kill him.
He warily drank the sea water, only gagging a few times from the taste before he gave up. The few times he had the energy to stand and pace the beach, he looked at the vegetation around them. Nothing stuck out as an obvious, safe choice. Draco briefly contemplated chewing on a leaf for food, but when it came to it, he hadn't got that desperate yet.
He sat where the sand met the green and stared out at the sea. His eyes got tired from the waves crashing onto the shore. The tide was low now.
"Are they even looking?" He asked. A voice in the back of his mind doubted this severely. He tried quieting it. It would only get louder.
He played the same fate game for himself. If it was in fate's hands for this to end differently, something would happen. Something had to happen. It couldn't end this way.
DAY THREE
"Fuck this," he said. The first words to tumble out of his mouth. His throat had an itch in the back, giving a gravel sound to his voice.
He got up, determined to find his wand. Draco tore around the beach. No signs of either wand. He shuffled his feet against the sand and once every few steps, he would kick the sand off his shoe, hoping to find his wand buried. His agitation grew with every passing step as he paced back and forth on the sand.
How did he end up stranded on a beach with a comatose Granger and no sign of their wands? He still didn't understand how they both ended up here.
He turned back around. He didn't want to get too far from where they landed. With his current luck, he'd be the one to get even further lost on this pathetic beach. He took a deep breath in as he glanced towards the black cliffs and at the distance he covered. A peek over his shoulder showed still how much further he had to go.
The sense of impending doom was not helping him to think clearly.
He flashed through the rest of the stages of grief, trying to force himself to move and continue on. True anger could come later. He needed to focus. His feet stayed frozen in place, he just couldn't. He cracked his mouth, darting his tongue out to moisten his lips, but it wouldn't help, he already had cottonmouth.
The rise in his chest quickened. His mind couldn't keep up with it. He tried bending over to get more air, but found it only increased his heart rate. The trees and ocean surrounding him started fusing together in his peripherals. Draco gripped his hair, yanking on it to gain control of the dizzying effect. He peered back up only to find he hadn't been spinning like he thought. He settled on sitting down and putting his head between his knees. Taking exaggerated breaths in and out, he felt himself calming back down to an almost normal.
"I can't do this alone." He whispered to the silence.
Hours passed and all he could do was sit there. He considered a million more options of what his next move would be.
He refused to let his mind put the words together. Draco would not say it.
She was still laying there by the time he stumbled his way back. He would keep his distance at first, but eventually forced himself to check if she was still alive.
Her skin had become more pale with a slight clammy look of it. The back of his hand skimmed her forehead before drawing it back as if someone would catch him. He couldn't be sure of a fever, but he could confirm the clamminess as he wiped her sweat off on the back of his trousers.
He grabbed a fallen stick, using it to push up her blouse. He tried to keep himself from gagging. It was no longer bleeding. The blood dried down to a much darker colour, but the redness of the skin had spread. As far as he could tell, it looked as fine as it could be, but the risk of infection must be great out here. It wasn't a very wide wound, and he was no Healer, but it would be a miracle if it closed okay.
Sometimes, he would glance over at the still unconscious Granger and question if she'd ever wake. He just knew her brains would be the one to come up with some brilliant, stupid idea of how to get them out of here. But alas, the silence left him to wallow in his thoughts and misery alone. Periodically, he considered washing the wound, but felt it overstepped a boundary. He only monitored it for any festering, though deep down he knew he wouldn't do anything if it started.
DAY FOUR
The sun had set hours ago. Draco marked the day off with a small rock by rubbing it harshly against the log he slept near. To be fair, he hadn't truly been sleeping, but sitting up with his eyes closed in the dark. He focused on the noises of the jungle. He could tell the difference between swishing of the leaves and the rustling of something moving them. The last three nights the notes of something stalking them kept him up. It never made a move past stalking, but Draco could feel it coming. It was waiting for a chance.
It was only in the daylight when he allowed himself a small amount of grace to sleep, though never for as long as he needed. Or wanted.
His spine began the familiar ache after leaning against the wood. He tried rolling the ache out before sliding down and laying against the ground. His jacket made for a shit pillow, but it was better than nothing.
The small amount of light left faded into darkness, taking away his safety. His eyelids flickered close only to get forced back open as his mind caught up. Falling asleep on shift would be life or death. This was its chance.
A low groan sounding like a metal cage rattling jolted Draco back to reality. He searched for the perimeter, looking for the source. It was the movement coming from the outline of Granger's body across from him that caught his eye.
He watched a little longer, waiting for his vision to adjust. The rattling started again, and he could just make out the shake of her shoulders.
She was awake.