Story Summary: For the last five years Draco had lived exclusively on the island, amongst the only people in the world who truly accepted him for who he was. He hadn't spared a single thought for the Wizarding World or those within it. Not until Harry bloody Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself, popped into existence on the beach. And with him? Only the potential to discover everything Draco had worked so long and hard to protect.

AN: Behold! A new drarry story that I've been brewing for some time now. I'm excited to finally share it with you all. Buckle in because I'm fairly certain it's going to be a long one. Or at least my longest yet.

With You My Tides will Ebb and Flow
Chapter 1: The Visitor

Full Moon in Gemini: December 5th, 1987

He could barely hear his parents' voices through the ornate wooden door that stood between the sick room and the foyer just outside. They spoke in hushed whispers, rather frantically, and Draco desperately wanted to open the door a crack to snoop. But it was locked. He'd already tried. He pressed his ear closer, wincing as the movement tore at his still healing wounds. He was incredibly sore, but grateful to be alive.

There were flashes of memories still lingering in his mind. He'd seen the terrifying…thing that had attacked him, if only for a moment. Before it was on him and tearing at his flesh. It had been a beast of a monster. With fangs and glowing eyes, a distorted body, and ragged patchy fur. Five times his size, at least. He remembered screaming. His father's panicked shouts. Remembered the feeling of its weight atop him as it bit into his shoulder and ripped the tendons apart. The searing pain. The crippling fear. He'd thought for certain it would devour him piece by piece.

He'd glimpsed pictures of creatures like that before, in the books in the manor library that he sometimes snuck away to read. He hadn't thought them real. But there was no doubt now. The evidence was hidden beneath the red stained bandages wrapped over his shoulder and back. This had been no dream.

He didn't remember much else. He'd woken once, in his father's arms, then again, later in bed, with his mother's tear-filled gaze upon him as she applied pressure to his wounds. They must have Floo called the family healer, because it was his timbre he recognized through the door first. Draco startled as the voices became louder, and willed his heartbeat to quieten. If he focused, he could just barely make out what they were saying.

"The wound is sealed. You were lucky the beast did not seek to kill. But of course, it is likely the curse will still take." Curse? What curse? Was there…something wrong with him now? Was he going to die even after the wound had closed up?

"Are you certain?" his father hissed. And Draco frowned at the angry tone. Surely his father wouldn't be quite so cross if he was about to die. Upset, certainly, but…

"It was a deep wound, and on a full moon. I have no doubt." There was silence for a moment after that, the drag of footsteps moving across stone as people walked about. The clang of metal tools, then shuffling parchment, suddenly so much easier to hear than just moments before. "You will have to register him with the Ministry, I can provide you with the appropriate forms."

There was nothing said after that for some time. No sound apart from the scratching of a quill and occasional dabbing of it in ink. Why weren't his parents speaking? Why weren't they moving?

"It is unfortunate. I'm sure this will complicate things for you," the healer mentioned. He sounded unconcerned. Like this was an everyday occurrence. No more than a chore to complete. It frustrated Draco to no end. To him, everything about this had been horrific. Even now, he couldn't forget his dread. How terrified he'd been when he was bleeding to death on the forest floor. "I would recommend you consider producing another heir, there is no guarantee he will be permitted to continue your line with such impurities of course."

Draco gasped inwards, his fingers tensing against the leafy gold design just beneath them.

"Obliviate!"

A spell! But which one? He couldn't remember. A fat lot of good all that studying of charms and jinxes had done him now. His father would have been so disappointed.

"You will tell no one of what you've seen here. As far as you recall, you spent your evening in bed sleeping, and received no Floo calls at all," his father sneered, and Draco's eyes widened in realization. They were altering the healer's memory. "Leave us."

Draco heard the man shuffle away towards the nearest fireplace, his muttered words of parting, followed by the flames bursting to life as he stepped into them. A few moments of absolute silence passed and then there was the crashing of shattered glass, loud, and as though it was right next to his ear. Draco flinched away from the door, and to his surprise, had no difficulty hearing everything, even as he took a tentative step back.

"Lucius-,"

"Hush."

"What are we-,"

"I said hush."

One of them was pacing, tracing and retracing steps across the floor.

"You know I cannot bear another child," his mother blurted. "What are we to do?"

His father let out a low growl then spat, "No one can know. We must be rid of it."

His mother's panicked voice followed just seconds later, "You aren't considering-,"

"Of course not!" His father cried. Draco clutched at his sleep clothes anxiously as he stared at the door in surprise. He'd never heard his parents argue like this before. He'd never heard them sound so…so terrified. And it was all because of him. The healer had called him impure. And his parents were acting like he was no longer their son. "I will find a solution. A cure. Something that stops this curse from taking hold."

Hurried steps followed, approaching swiftly, and Draco scampered back towards the bed, his eyes burning from unshed tears. The door opened just as he settled atop the mattress, and his parents stood there, staring at him in silence. They looked afraid, and Draco shrunk away, his fingers tightening in the bedding at his sides.

His mother composed herself first. "Draco, you're awake," she uttered hesitantly. Her expression was strained. "We thought you'd still be resting."

He looked between them, taking note of the slight sheen in his mother's eyes, the tight muscle in his father's jaw. Neither of them seemed keen on getting closer. He felt his lip tremble, and the first tears passed over his lower eyelids and dripped down his cheeks in heavy streams.

"I'm sorry," he choked, and his chest rose and fell quickly as he struggled to catch his breath.

The words pulled his mother from her frozen state at the door, and she practically ran to his side. "Oh darling," she whispered, reaching out to hold him in her arms. Draco collapsed forward, gasping his sobs into her chest as she rubbed at his back soothingly.

"D-do you s-still love me?" he stuttered.

His mother's arms stilled, and then tightened about his form not a moment later. "Of course we still love you darling, of course."

He hiccupped and caught sight of his father over her shoulder where he still stood stiff as a board, not yet quite inside the room. Draco's fingers dug into his mother's robes, and she pulled away, looking at his expression intently. She followed his gaze, turning to look over her shoulder. "Lucius," she hissed, and his father blanched and shifted his petrified gaze towards her. "Embrace your son."

He jolted out of whatever stupor he'd been in and approached to bend low to hug Draco from the side, though his arms were limp and lacked the sureness they usually held. He pulled away quickly, stood and looked at Draco, gaze filled with great unease. He didn't speak, and in his silence were a thousand unsaid words. None of them made Draco feel loved.

First Quarter Moon in Leo: May 16th, 2005

It was a First Quarter moon in Leo the day he arrived, and Draco should have bloody well known what was coming. It was meant to be a time to confidently step forward, to grasp at the things one truly desired. To let go of all of the doubts holding one back from greatness. A time to explore, to learn, to take action. A time to take risks. But for all of Conri's teachings about the moon and its phases, Draco hadn't given it a second thought. It was a First Quarter moon in Leo and Draco was spending it hoisting fish out of the villager's boats just like any other day on the island.

They had managed to snag a good haul. Would be able to feed the entire village for several days, easily, and still set some aside in the holding house for future feasts. He was glad. It had been a difficult few weeks.

It was just a fortnight ago now, when one of their trade boats had disappeared, and with it an entire month's worth of resources gone without anything in return, and several townsfolk missing along with it. The ship had left for the nearest trading post as usual and simply never returned. No one had seen a glimpse of it ashore, and now all they could do was wonder.

Draco was no stranger to loss. He'd lost friends in the war and in the wake of it, to wayward spells and purposeful ones. He'd practically looked right in Vincent's eyes as the Fiendfyre flames wrapped around his body and took him to an agonizing death. It had hurt, certainly. Had left him with nightmares and an assortment of conflicting emotions that still occasionally crept up on him when he least expected. But mourning the missing was a different kind of grief altogether. It offered no closure. No sense of understanding. There had been no burning at the pyres, no proper burial, no returning to the earth. Just a lingering sadness and an overwhelming sense of disquiet.

There was hope, for a time, that perhaps they'd just lost course. Though when a few stray pieces of the boat washed up on shore to the north it had been clear that wasn't the case. And they'd always wonder. How? Why? At this point, it felt like their questions would forever go unanswered.

Draco loaded up the full barrels of fish onto a cart, strapping them in before grunting and pushing his way towards the next boat along the docks. It was physical work. And he would have baulked at the idea of it once upon a time. But now he took joy in it. Pride in it even. It was the least he could do, to make a place for himself among these people. They'd been kind to him in a time when he needed kindness most and didn't deserve it in the least. And now he was capable of returning that kindness in full.

It was tough, but fulfilling work, and honestly, his body was more than equipped for it after several years of doing so. If only his father could see him now.

Who was he kidding? His father would have hated the mere thought of such work and belittled him for ever doing it.

Well he could go fuck himself for all Draco cared.

As he bent low to lift another net a tall slender man leaned back heftily against the barrel next to him. Draco reached out to stop the barrel from toppling and glared up at his friend before returning his attention to the fish.

"New guy strolled into town today. Not long ago now. Seems like he's one of yours," Aster intoned, pushing his long dark braided plait back over a shoulder. He looked down at Draco pointedly and Draco paused and offered him a raised eyebrow in return.

"One of mine?"

"You know what I mean," Aster said, and then he waved his hand in a delicate movement in a poor imitation of spell casting. Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head. He stood and nudged him aside before dropping a load of fish into the barrel. They flopped around a bit before settling into the space more comfortably.

"You act like you've never seen a wand before," Draco muttered.

Aster groaned and leaned in close to whisper, "No, I mean…he's one of yours." Draco frowned, turning slightly towards him as Aster added, "British, posh accent and all that," and Draco froze. It was like a bucket of ice had been poured over his head. Had they come for him? After all this time? Had his father said something? His mother? No. Surely not.

He jolted slightly when Aster snapped his fingers a few times as he feigned ignorance and asked, "What is it you call yourselves again?"

"Wizards," Draco drawled loftily. He knew damn well Aster already knew.

"Yeah that. Maybe you know him."

Draco stood and stared out over the water. There was no sight of land on the horizon, nor a hint of life apart from that already on the island. They were too isolated for such a thing. Too protected by the magic of the land. Visitors weren't unheard of, but rare enough that he immediately felt suspicious of their intent. And if they were from back there...

He looked down at his exposed arm and narrowed his eyes at the dark distorted markings visible upon his skin before yanking down his sleeve in a hurry. It would be immediately obvious to anyone who knew. He couldn't take the risk. Though, it was likely his hair would give him away regardless. "I certainly hope not," Draco muttered.

Aster crossed one leg in front of the other and shifted his weight closer so he could speak in a lower tone. "He doesn't look like…one of them. But do you think we need to be concerned?"

He knew what Aster meant.

He wasn't talking about Death Eaters. Or Aurors. Or anything from Draco's world for that matter. He was talking about Hunters. They were perhaps the island's greatest known threat. And yet a lesser one as far as Draco was concerned. Any Death Eater would want him dead, especially after the abundance of information he'd provided at his trial. As for the Aurors…well they would more than likely want him dead too. And if the Ministry tracked him here, it could destroy everything. It was absolutely imperative this community remained a secret. For the sake of everyone within it.

Draco ran unsteady fingers through his blond hair, dragging the loose wavy strands away from his face for a moment before they settled back against his cheeks. "Possibly, but not for the reasons you're thinking."

"Hmm…I know your folk have your own kind of trouble."

It was a gross understatement. Off the tail end of a bloodbath of a war Draco could admit it was a lot more than just trouble. There were still hundreds of Death Eater sympathizers on the loose, and power hungry Aurors waiting to enact revenge in the form of the killing curse on the nearest easy target in the name of self defense. Two sides of the same coin. He huffed and spat, "Putting it mildly."

Aster shifted as Draco sealed a lid over the barrel of fish, before leaning on top of it with his palm propped under his chin. "I didn't sense any ill will. In fact…," he trailed off, and Draco peered into his amber eyes.

"What?"

"He's rather…pure hearted. From what I can tell. It's strange. His aura is like that of a child. Tainted in some ways, but not evil. He's powerful, that's for sure, but a gentle soul. Not at all what I pictured based on the things you've told me."

Draco narrowed his eyes. That didn't sound like anyone from his circles. That was good. But it could also be very bad. He let out a long sigh and stretched out his back. "Well I won't know anything until I see him for myself," he said, and then gestured towards the cart. "Help me with this would you?"

Aster and he hoisted the final barrel onto the cart, and then the two of them pushed it along the pathway leading into town. With both of them, it went much quicker than it otherwise would have. They paused at the base of a rather steep hill, closing their eyes as they asked the wind to guide them. Draco could feel it swirling around their forms, tickling at his shoulders as it was swayed to their side. Moments later a gust of it blew in their favour, and the two of them laughed as they fell back when the cart began inching up the hill seemingly on its own.

"Have you told Conri yet?" Draco asked after sliding back into place, Aster pushing along with him.

"Yes. He was surprised, but intrigued. It's been some time since we've had a visitor in these parts. And of course Cal and Mavis know as well. Which means the entire village will have caught wind of it by nightfall."

That was the thing about small towns. Word travelled fast. But it was for the best in a place like this. Especially when precautions needed to be taken.

"Conri's in no hurry to be rid of him then?" Draco asked.

"Doesn't seem to be. It's a bit odd though. No sign of a boat. Not quite sure how he managed to get here. Elder Uisce confirmed the usual protections are still well in place and the island appears to be holding strong like always. It's like he just…appeared."

"That is odd."

Aster nudged Draco with his elbow then, grinning at him mischievously. "Could be entertaining," he jeered, and Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What? I've been getting bored. I already know everyone here like the back of my hand. We're talking about fresh blood. A new puzzle. I can't wait." There was a rather wolfish glint in his eyes, and it might have frightened Draco had he not known better. Aster was a bit of a gremlin when he wanted to be, but not malicious.

"You know most our visitors leave after a day or two right?"

At that Aster's grin softened, and he looked off towards the approaching cobblestone town centre with somewhat clouded eyes. "I dunno. I've got a good feeling about this one. Think he might stay a while. Maybe we'll even see a new house pop up on the hill by the end of the summer."

Draco eyed him carefully. A house appearing was no small matter. He should know, the last one to do so had been his very own, more than ten years prior. Aster clearly knew something. But that came as no surprise. His gift was that of sight. He had a deeper connection to the magic coursing all around them. He could understand the way it moved, the shapes it wished to form. Though unlike the seers of Wizardkind, his visions were based only in possibility, never prophecy. He saw thousands of potential futures. Many that would never come to pass. All of it depended on infinitesimal decisions that he was unable to control. And should he try, the results could be disastrous.

Still, Draco couldn't help but wonder what exactly Aster had seen.

"Don't meddle," he hissed instead.

"You like when I meddle."

Draco did like it. He wouldn't deny it was entertaining. At least when he wasn't on the receiving end. And visitors did typically make for a fun couple of days.

The island was difficult to find, but not impossible, if one knew the direction in which to sail. And if they had magic flowing through their veins the island might even beckon them closer or accept them for an extended stay. Though typically their visitors felt the urge to move on after a few nights' rest. Curiosity sated, memory rather unclear. They wouldn't speak of it, or be able to point another in its direction, and in time they would forget the island existed altogether or that they'd ever set foot on its sacred ground. It took someone very special to last any longer than that.

The cart jiggled slightly as they rolled it down the street, and anxiety began creeping up on Draco the closer they got. His thoughts returned to Aster's description of the visitor and he frowned. It was rather perplexing. There wasn't anyone from his old life he would liken to it. None of his fellow Slytherins were so…innocent in nature. And most everyone else was so tainted by the war that they could hardly be referred to in such a way either. Perhaps Aster was wrong. Perhaps he'd misheard and this bloke wasn't British at all.

And then he saw him. Wobbling back and forth on his heels. Black wavy hair curling over his ears, unruly as always. Those same idiotic round frames on his face. And his unmistakable brilliant green eyes.

It was like the wind was knocked out of him. He could hardly breathe, and he dropped his side of the cart, barely cognizant of Aster's indignant shriek as he was yanked downwards by its weight as a result. Several fish toppled out of the barrels, but Draco hardly noticed.

"Fuck me," he blurted. His companion jolted and stood up beside him, looking between Draco and the person in question with searching eyes.

"Shit, you do know him don't you?"

Draco grimaced, fingers tightening into fists at his sides.

"Yeah. I do," he sneered. He could already feel Aster's perceptive stare boring into him but he couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from Harry Potter's fidgety form. He looked…different than Draco remembered. After all, Harry had always been larger than life in school, despite his rather short stature, and clearly underfed form. Now though…now he looked almost lost. He stared up at the sign hanging down over the tavern with clouded eyes, his hands clenched tightly on the straps of the bag slung over his shoulders to rest on his back. He bit down on his lower lip, glancing down at the door and tilting to the side just slightly to peer in one of the windows. He hesitated, and then seemed to come to a decision, letting out a hefty sigh before pushing open the door and walking inside.

Draco relaxed enough to unclench his fingers and hastily gathered up the scattered fish, keeping his gaze glued to the door of the tavern all the while. "You need to get your ears checked," he drawled. "Potter's accent isn't posh."

Harry woke that morning to shattered windows and the glassware in his cabinets flung across the entirety of Grimmauld Place like a tornado had flown right through the building. He'd had another nightmare, that much was clear, but he didn't remember the apparent aftermath of it at all. He sat up gingerly and scrambled for his glasses on the bedside table, grateful that they, at least, had survived whatever demolition his magic had inflicted on the rest of the room.

He couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't keep waking in this place like this, waiting for whenever someone decided enough was enough. It was only a matter of time.

And he was so tired. Of everything.

Tired of the Wizarding World. Tired of the Ministry. Of the expectations everyone seemed to have of him. He wasn't doing enough. He was doing too much. He should get married, settle down and start a 'proper' family with this person or that. He should be working longer hours, catching more dark wizards. He should be donating more money, speaking at more events. He should be nicer, he should dress better. He should cut his hair. He didn't eat enough. He ate too much. He didn't sleep enough. He slept too much. And on and on and on.

Harry pressed his fingers into the sides of his head and breathed in and out until his heart rate slowed enough for him to stand on unsteady legs. He reached a shaky hand beneath his pillow and yanked out his wand, casting the odd reparo here and there as he turned. Glass crunched beneath his feet as he moved around his bedroom, and he winced and teetered on the outer edges of his feet as it occasionally poked up into his socks and against the skin of his toes.

He was on leave at the moment. For the indefinite future. To get further rest, they said, in the wake of the Ministry's…'sincere mistake'. And if Harry was honest, he had no plans of ever going back.

Being an auror just didn't have the charm he'd hoped it might.

He knew the DMLE was starting a case on him, despite Robards' assurances otherwise. They thought him a potential threat. They thought him unstable, due to excessive and erratic magical power. And they were scared. He knew they were one step away from locking him away for good. Except now he also knew exactly what that meant. And it wasn't in Azkaban. It wasn't even in St. Mungo's. It was in the basement of the Department of Mysteries, where they could hide him away from prying eyes and study him to their hearts' content. There was only so much Ron and Hermione could do to keep him hidden away from their grasp. He wouldn't be safe here forever. He didn't even feel safe now.

He had to leave.

After eating a hurried breakfast, nothing more than jam on toast, Harry pulled a weatherworn bag out of his closet and started filling it with whatever necessities he could think of. There wasn't much. A few photographs he held dear, his favourite shirts and trousers. Some snacks and his toiletries. His invisibility cloak and the odd knick knack he wasn't ready to part with. That was all he'd need. He could probably buy anything else that went forgotten.

It took him far longer to figure out what to say to Ron and Hermione. He looked down at the hastily written note with a grimace. It was just a few words scrawled over torn parchment that explained he had left of his own free will and would do his best to keep in touch. They'd understand, surely. He could only hope they wouldn't go searching. That was the last thing he needed right now. To upset his friends' lives any more than he already had when they'd been nothing but supportive of him since the end of the war.

He strapped his wand harness around his right arm, and after one last look around he closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He wanted to go…somewhere safe. Somewhere he could be free, without the judgement of all those around him. Somewhere…somewhere beautiful, and calm. Somewhere he could just be. His magic gathered around him quickly, more erratic than it used to be but rather more focused than of late with a clear purpose in mind. He apparated with a loud crack just seconds later.

Harry nearly stumbled as he landed in the middle of, well, seemingly nowhere. There was magic buzzing at his fingertips, remnants from the pure amount of power he'd put into this jump. It left him feeling rather unsteady, and he shook his head a bit before turning to take in his surroundings. Water was crashing on the nearby shore in gentle waves, and beneath him, there was sand, pebbled with the occasional rock, but soft and sparkling in the sun. He looked to his left and spotted nothing but trees and the endless expanse of water along the coast. Then to his right…and in the distance there was what looked like docks, and people going about their work along the boardwalk. There was nothing to indicate where he was other than that. He'd have to investigate.

Harry took off his shoes, clutching them in his left hand as he walked down the beach towards the hamlet. He encountered a few people on his way, fishermen mostly, and the odd person walking along the coast. They nodded to him in greeting and smiled, but never engaged him very far in conversation beyond hellos and comments about the weather, despite the curious stares he could feel on his back as he continued on.

He was very clearly not in England anymore. Or Britain for that matter if the unusual lilting tones and accents were anything to go by. He couldn't place it. A mix perhaps, of many different places. A dialect unique to these very specific parts.

Harry wandered the boardwalk a bit, taking some time to simply look out at the water, and then he made his way into the centre of the small town not far from the coast. He could see a few storefronts lining the cobblestone streets, and small, colourful homes winding up the hills just beyond. There was an interesting cliffside off in one direction, atop which Harry could just make out some rock formations and stone archways. Thick forests surrounded everything to the sides, and a few paths appeared to lead out of the village and directly into the tall trees, onwards to a place Harry couldn't see.

A few children skittered past him, whispering hurriedly amongst themselves while scrutinizing him heavily, but Harry merely offered them each a pleasant grin before continuing down the cheery road. He passed by what looked like it might be an inn, smaller than one would expect in a tourist stop. But he figured it'd be enough for him when he settled in later that night. His gaze shifted to the hanging sign just out front and he strolled up beneath it. The Blue Moon was engraved deeply into the wood, surrounded by decorative filigree, and then Tavern & Inn in elegant script just beneath it. The sign swayed slightly in the light coastal breeze, and Harry blinked at it and tightened his grasp around the straps of his bag. He hobbled back and forth on his feet, looking at the door tentatively, before peering back up at the swinging sign. A bit of refreshment might be nice after his little trek along the beach. He nodded once as if to reaffirm his decision and then stepped forward and pushed the heavy wooden door inwards.

The lighting inside was dim and Harry blinked several times as he grew accustomed to it before taking a curious look around the tavern's interior. It was almost like The Hog's Head and Three Broomsticks had combined into one space, with hidden corners suitable for secret meetings, and a wide open area surrounded by larger tables that must have been used for gatherings. There were wooden carvings against some of the walls, a painting here and there, warm and welcoming intricate décor that matched the sign outside, and even a small stage perhaps meant for performers. It was mostly empty, though a few people sat in various corners eating by themselves or with a companion. There was no one at the bar, just a rather tall and imposing woman moving about behind it, clearly drying empty glassware. Harry supposed he shouldn't have expected much more than that so early in the day. He'd woken from his nightmare near noon, but he got the impression it was still mid-morning here, wherever here was.

Harry made his way towards the bar, sliding onto one of the wooden stools as he slipped his bag off his shoulders and stuck it between his legs. A moment later a simple paper menu slid in front of him with a list of the few items available to order. "Let me know what you'd like when you're ready, stranger," the barkeep uttered lowly, and Harry looked up at her and swallowed nervously. Her tight dark curls were pulled up in heavy intricate plaits with little trinkets woven in between the strands. She smiled just slightly, in a way that Harry honestly found a bit scary, and he raised his lips jerkily in response and hoped he looked amiable enough.

"Just a strawberry rhubarb juice please," Harry requested after a quick glance over the menu. The barkeep's eyes caught the light for a moment, flashing almost gold in the firelight of the tavern, and Harry looked away under the intensity of her stare. She was friendly enough despite it, if a tad indifferent, and engaged him in quiet conversation that required little effort on his part. There was no prying, no recognition of his scar, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he realized these people had no idea who he was. Still, his fingers shook as the glass settled between them. He took a small sip. Then another. It tasted fresh, and surprisingly lovely, and the sweetness was enough to settle his nerves for a moment.

He was just about to ask if the fruits were grown locally when someone sidled up and leant over the bar right next to him.

"A frostwyrm please, thanks Zel."

Harry froze. He'd know that drawl anywhere. But there was absolutely no way the person it belonged to was here of all places. He turned slowly, and a chill ran down his spine as his gaze connected with steely grey. Fuck. What the actual fuck.

"What are you doing here?" Harry spat out before he could help himself. Already his magic was crackling, itching to be let loose, and he posed his wrist just so, ready to launch his wand into it at a moment's notice. The only thing stopping him was the sheer number of strangers around him. Muggles, no doubt. As far as he could figure anyway. He couldn't risk setting off Ministry alarms or creating a scene when he was supposed to be on house arrest.

Draco's face scrunched weirdly, and he turned towards him, propping his elbow up on the bar. "I live here, Potter," he snapped. Draco looked down at him imperiously and Harry was surprised by just how small he felt on the other end of his judgemental stare. "A better question might be what are you doing here? So very far away from home."

Harry cringed slightly. Home. Hardly. He didn't even know what home felt like. Hogwarts was the closest thing he'd ever had to it. And now that was gone from his life. He couldn't exactly tell Draco Malfoy of all people the truth. That nowhere felt right. That he was falling apart at the edges and running away from his problems. That the Ministry of Magic was practically knocking at his door and salivating at the idea of imprisoning him for life.

Then he was struck by a terrifying thought. Did Malfoy know? Was he working for…them? It was possible though, wasn't it? It could be an attempt to get back in their good books. To earn some sway within the Ministry. Spy on their little puppet for them and report back when things went awry. Harry felt anxiety setting in and a tingling stirring beneath his fingertips. The glasses lined up behind the bar began to shake, the one between his fingertips practically vibrating as the liquid sloshed from side to side. Draco's gaze slid towards it and narrowed.

He couldn't fall apart. Even if that were the case, exploding now was the worst possible option. Harry let go of the glass between his hands and pinched his thigh, willing himself to refocus.

"Just…I'm just travelling," he blurted. It sounded ridiculous the moment he said it.

"Travelling."

A drink slid across the bar into Draco's waiting palm. It was smoking, and ice blue in colour, and Harry was almost certain he wouldn't try it if dared. It looked like poison. Contrary to his misgivings, Draco nodded at the barkeep Zel, and took an immediate swig. Harry watched him curiously, studying the many changes in Draco's demeanour. When was the last time he saw him? At the trials? He'd all but disappeared off the face of the earth after graduating from school. His mother was a recluse, his father in Azkaban. There was little mention of the Malfoy name at all in the press.

He couldn't possibly be spying. If he was, Harry surely would have noticed by now. He wasn't that unobservant. He never would have survived this long if he was.

Draco took another swig and this time Harry followed the movement of his throat. He looked…rather well. His hair was untamed but just as pale and silky as it always had been. He had a healthy glow about him that was very much in contention with Harry's previous memory of him. He'd seemingly grown, both in height, and surprisingly strength, if the indication of his musculature beneath his lightweight shirt was anything to go by. There was no sign of sleepless nights or stress lines on his face. The only thing at all that made sense was the familiar twist of his lips into an uncomfortable sneer, and his distinctly pointed chin. Harry couldn't help but feel a brief flicker of jealousy.

"To here? The middle of nowhere, on a random island off the coast of Canada? This place is unplottable, Potter. How did you get here?" Draco pried.

"I apparated."

"You apparated," he repeated, enunciating every syllable slowly as if testing Harry's understanding of the word.

Harry bristled and snapped, "That's what I said."

"Across the ocean?!"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't actually known that. He had guessed, but the confirmation was startling all the same. "I just, let it take me wherever. And it took me here," he muttered.

Draco put his drink down on the bar and stared at him for a long while. Harry returned his hands to his glass and wrapped his fingers around it, twirling it slightly in a circle between them. He side eyed Draco, caught the way his expression slowly morphed into something incredulous, until he could no longer hold it in and croaked, "Are you right fucked in the head?" Harry just awkwardly tilted his head and shrugged in response. "Merlin's fucking beard. You are insane."

"Where exactly…is here?" Harry asked.

"You really don't know?" Draco wondered aloud, though he seemed more perplexed than anything else. He took another sip of his drink before swirling it around rhythmically. "Welcome to The Isle of Origins. Home to the world's most unassuming ocean view lodgings. We have endless forests stretching near coast to coast, little to no tourism, every non gourmet dish you can imagine, the sweet sweet scent of fish on the air, and I simply cannot fathom how on earth you managed to land yourself here. Of all places." Draco turned towards him then, eyeing him in suspicion. He huffed a moment later and downed the rest of his drink in one shot. "Hope your stay is as short as you are," he said scathingly and pushed away from the bar.

"Hey!"

Harry spun on his stool, watching as Draco exited the tavern with an exaggerated salute in his direction. He was so out of sorts he didn't even notice that his magic had settled around him like a comforting embrace, calm and relaxed for the first time in ages. He could feel the angry flush in his cheeks, and slumped back against the bar with a frustrated sigh. What a bizarre interaction. What were the odds? Harry apparated halfway around the world and still managed to land himself in the same place as his old school rival. Never mind that, what on earth was Draco Malfoy even doing here? In a place like this?

The rest of Harry's afternoon was spent in and around the tavern wallowing in his unsettled thoughts. He hadn't seen Draco again, despite his frequent glances out the windows at any hint of blond hair. Eventually he could come up with no more excuses to order food, and when he pulled out his wallet to pay for his meals and drinks Zel waved him off and said there was no charge for any of it. Harry objected with little to no response before insisting on helping clean up for the evening.

He was well and truly exhausted by the time Zel ushered him upstairs and towards a room. In truth, he'd definitely overdone it. The apparition had taken a lot out of him. He'd used up energy he hadn't noticed was absent until he nearly fell asleep over one of the tables he was cleaning. Harry slid off his shoes and socks and changed into a fresh shirt before sitting in the wooden chair next to the window. He leaned out over the frame and watched the activity in the streets below. The townsfolk were strangely awake and active even so late at night, laughter echoing from up on the hill. He could hear the sound of singing off in the distance, a distant howl, and the faint crashing of waves into the shore down on the pier. Harry breathed in the fresh air. It tasted like a mix of saltwater and pine upon his tongue. The moon was halfway to full, and he watched it disappear and reappear from behind the clouds for quite some time.

Despite Draco's rather disparaging comments, and despite Draco himself, he decided he rather liked it here already. It certainly beat the pants off of the constraining atmosphere of the DMLE, or the doom and gloom of Grimmauld Place. He figured, as long as Draco stayed out of his way, it would make for a nice getaway. If he was lucky, no one important would even notice he was gone.

His eyes began to droop as a strange feeling encompassed him. He could feel sleep beckoning to him. Calling out to him like an old friend. Harry closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, falling asleep over the windowsill with his head tucked into his elbow. It had been a very long time since it came so easy.

AN: Thank you so much for reading this first chapter! The second is already complete so I should have it up next week.
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