Archive of Our Own ^beta

Part 1.

Along the path, over the hill. Along the stream that led to the pond.

Past the frogs and round the—

“Do keep up, will you, Nettle?”

Draco marched onward without pause. Over the bridge, across the road. Through the trees, through the grass.

“Master has requested us to hurry,” Nettle urged her charge. “Nettle wishes Pepper would not stop to wee on quite so many bushes.”

Pepper the Crup thoughtfully ceased her weeing, proceeded to lick a long slobbery stripe over the house-elf’s cheek, and took off to catch up with Draco, tugging Nettle along on the other end of the lead.

Draco listened with satisfaction at the scamper of Crup paws and decidedly less coordinated flailing of house-elf feet as the two scrambled to keep up with him.

“Right, then. On we go,” he announced, leading the way with his long-legged stride.

Along the path and past the park. Over the earth that turned to stone. That turned to stones and then to sand. Along the way they took each day. Until they reached—

The sea.

Draco breathed deeply of the salty, fishy air and looked over the grey choppy waves. Pepper barked with glee and took off after a gull, dragging a squealing Nettle behind her.

Yes, the sea.

“Nettle, let go,” Draco advised and she released the lead gratefully. He magically retracted it so it would not trip Pepper, who soon gave up on the gull to chase Nettle instead.

Draco watched with a soft smile. House-elves weren’t the best dog walkers, but Draco wasn’t about to clean up Pepper’s messes. Nor did Nettle mind Pepper; her exasperation was always tinged with no small amount of fondness. So the three of them went together each morning to take Pepper on her daily excursion at precisely half past seven. Draco believed the brisk pace he set, a chance to stretch his legs and move his muscles, was good exercise, and he’d chosen their path carefully for its excellent views and remote destination. He needn’t worry about Muggles bumping into them along the way, and together the trio functioned unexpectedly well, with Draco at the helm, of course.

He slowed to a meander, keeping half an eye on Pepper and Nettle as they tore along the water’s edge. The sky was overcast and the air cool, but he’d let Pepper play and wear herself out for twenty minutes—no more, no less—then they’d trek back home, taking precisely the same route in reverse.

After some minutes, Nettle trudged back up through the sand to stand beside Draco. They watched silently as Pepper nosed through the seaweed.

To each one, his own, Draco thought, pushing his spectacles up his nose before calling, “Pepper, come!”

He Summoned a familiar stick from behind a rocky outcropping as Pepper approached. “Ready?”

Pepper yipped, her body practically vibrating, unable to stay still.

“Fetch!”

Draco threw the stick as far as he could using only a small amount magic to help carry it through the air. Pepper flew off in hot pursuit.

“Master is not meaning that Nettle should fetch.” The voice came from the direction of his knees.

Draco looked down. “Correct. The fetching is for Pepper in this context.”

Nettle smiled to herself and plonked down on the sand. Merlin knew that lesson had taken weeks to learn.

When Pepper returned, Draco tossed the stick out to sea again. The third time, as was his custom, he made certain the stick landed out of the water, so Pepper would begin the long process of drying after playing in the waves.

Pepper exchanged the stick for her lead after the third toss, the end of which Draco handed to Nettle as was proper. Draco safely stowed Pepper’s chosen stick amongst the rocks, and they set off once more. As usual, he’d pace them to ensure they’d arrive home in a timely fashion, ripe for a healthy, nutritious breakfast served by his other house-elf, Snippet.

As they left the beach, he brushed the sand from his hands, Vanished any traces of salt or water from his pants, and Scourgified his shoes and Pepper’s paws. They’d be back tomorrow; certainly they need not take the beach home with them as well.

Along the path, over the hill.

“Pepper. That’s not your lamppost; you needn’t mark it.”

Pepper barked and took off, running past Draco, pulling Nettle in her wake. The morning was cool, but the sun teased at the clouds. Perhaps by the time they reached the water, it would emerge in full.

Over the bridge, through the—

Nettle sighed and Draco glanced over to find them stopped once more.

“Nor that one, Pepper.” Draco smiled despite himself. “You ridiculous beast.”

Pepper ran between his legs to get ahead again, and Draco had to sidestep quickly as the taller Nettle followed closely behind, potentially endangering the integrity of his bits.

Over the earth that turned to stone. That turned to stones and then to sand. Along the way they took each day. Until they reached—

(“Fetch! No, not you, Nettle.” Draco sighed.)

—the sea.

Along the stream that led to the pond.

Across the road. Through the trees. Through the grass.

“Pepper. Best not to consume the Muggle landscaping, don’t you feel? Wise choice. Nor you, Nettle. Come along, both of you.”

Past the park. Across the earth, across the stones, towards the sand.

Along the way they took each day.

Until they reached the—

Draco came to an abrupt stop. “Well, that’s odd, isn’t it?”

Pepper and Nettle bumped into him from behind, and he nearly stumbled. No matter; no harm done. He looked up again.

Very odd. Very odd indeed.

Instead of reaching the same open seascape that they had found each day for the last year or so, Draco could see, off in the distance, on the horizon… what appeared very much to be… a small parcel of land. Island was the term, he reminded himself, though he could not blame his mind for being slow to arrive at the conclusion. Islands didn’t generally spring up overnight in places where they’d not been inclined to appear previously.

The sand beneath his feet was the same as ever, and Pepper’s favourite stick sat tucked amongst the rocks. They were most assuredly in the same precise location that they visited each and every morning.

But there, across the water, back against the horizon—

It must be his glasses, Draco decided. He removed his spectacles and cleaned them with a quick spell. When he put them back on, though, the same sight greeted his eyes.

Land of some sort, poking out from the sea.

It wasn’t a ship, though seeing a large merchant ship would have been odd, too, as he’d never before seen one passing through the area. But boats were reasonable. Boats were explicable. A boat on the water was where a boat was meant to be. Land—land didn’t just pass through. It couldn’t just pop up one morning… Except that it had.

Draco couldn’t begin to explain the sight, extremely odd as it was. Therefore, he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Nettle,” he said. “Do you see, right there—“

The house-elf blinked from where she perched on the sand. “Nettle sees that the water is especially grey today.”

Well, that was true, Draco supposed, but not quite what he had in mind. “How about past the water. Do you see—“

“Oh yes,” Nettle said happily. “That bird enjoying his fish for breakfast. Would Master also be wishing for fishes for breakfast?”

Draco groaned. “No. The land, out there. The island. Do you see the island out there?”

She turned to him, troubled. “Is Master wishing for apples for breakfast?”

“I… no. No. Stay with me here. You do see the island.”

“Oh yes, Master.”

“Hmm,” Draco said. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“The world is being a strange place,” Nettle said. “Who is Nettle to question where the tides drops the sands?”

He blinked and glanced down at his house-elf. Nettle was humming, nodding to herself, and counting her toes. Well. Even a Weasley finds a Knut once in a while.

When Pepper raced towards them and bowled over Nettle in a hearty combination of dogged enthusiasm and slobber, Draco chose to leave the chaos behind to walk down closer to the water. With each step, the island in the distance seemed to grow clearer, which was most disturbing. And completely impossible. He thought he saw trees and maybe some hills.

“Hmm,” Draco said again, his forehead drawn in such a way that might encourage the onset of wrinkles, but it was not to be helped. “Hmm.”

Draco was so out of sorts that he threw Pepper’s stick four times that morning, forgot to keep the last toss from going into the water, and then left the beach some twelve minutes behind schedule. Indeed, the island was still present at the time of their late departure, when Draco led them back over the sand that turned to stones and over the stones that turned to earth.

Until they reached home.

Skip the pond. Skip the frogs.

Quick on the bridge, quick past the trees.

The grass, the park, the—

“Hurry up, Nettle. Pepper, let’s go.”

—Dash ‘cross the stones, up on the sand.

Until they reached…

Bugger.

The island was still there.

He shouldn’t have been pleased, and, in truth, he wasn’t, not entirely. But something small fluttered in Draco’s chest. Mystery.

To the best of his ability, he’d boxed away the impractical and left it behind when he’d left Hogwarts. Was it his fault if the unknown found him? Now he simply had to find a way to sort it.

After breakfast—fruit, toast, and tea—Draco retired to his small study. He’d decided to seek answers in his books. Books were rational, and Draco loved them.

Unfortunately, he was unsure of the tome within which those answers might lie. He scanned the shelves. His book collection was impressive, but not all-encompassing. Many of his texts, particularly the obscure or valuable works, remained at the Manor library under Mother’s watch. The Manor was more spacious than the small Malfoy seaside estate that he’d adopted as his own, and the air back in Wiltshire wasn’t as thick with the salt that would damage old parchment and obscure pages.

As none of the books in his current possession stood out as being a legitimate possibility, he decided to Floo the Manor for others. Mother would be pleased to hear from him outside of their customary calling hours.

“Mother.”

“Draco, darling. You look well.”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all.”

“Good,” Draco said. “I am attempting to make sense of a… situation.”

“Oh?” Mother smoothed the sleeve of her blouse and adjusted the necklace around her neck. “Do you wish for my opinion?”

“Perhaps,” he replied. “And possibly some books.”

“Owl the list and I’ll have Beaker bring them over this afternoon. Has Pepper gotten into your potions again?”

“Mercifully not.” The last time that had happened, Pepper’s tails had turned purple and she’d barked bubbles for a week. “It’s simply that—do you remember the beach cove down from the little park by the stream? Past the frogs. Over the hill and beyond the rocks. The place I take the Crup each day?”

“I do,” Mother replied. “What a nice walk. Muggle-free.”

“Helpful in that regard, yes. The issue is. Well, you see, there’s an island. Off the coast. I could see it from the shore, but it definitely wasn’t there previously.” Draco felt a little silly discussing the island, but pressed on. “It was in the distance, but definitely there. I think I may have been able to see trees or hills. Nettle saw it too. It wasn’t a ship.” Draco tried not to sound defensive but suspected he may have failed.

“Curious.”

“I am of the same mind.”

“So you’ll need a book on illusions?”

“I… yes. I… I suppose I do.” Draco frowned. He supposed an illusion was a possibility but it didn’t feel quite right to him either. “I’m not sure, to be honest. It was perfectly clear. Sharply defined. I suppose it’s worth checking into. I’m not crazy.” He forced a bit of a chuckle.

Mother raised an eyebrow. “What else should it be but an illusion or mirage?”

“That is what I am attempting to determine.”

“Well.” Mother pursed her lips. “Send me the list of the books you’d like. I’ll gather those pertaining to the science of mirages in the meantime. I’ll also Owl over the contact information for your Eye Healer. I’m sure you could stop in when you’re out, but it’s always best to have an appointment. It would only take her a moment to verify your spectacles are still the correct prescrip—“

“I can see perfectly well, thank you.”

“Hmm,” she said.

Draco bit his tongue. Mothers.

“Anything else?” Narcissa stood back from the Floo and adjusted the lines of her skirt.

“No. I’ll Owl the list shortly.”

“And I’ll see you Sunday at dinner.”

“Yes,” Draco said and closed the Floo.

As agreed, he jotted down the names of a handful of books, which he sent off in short order via his owl.

“Snippet,” he called. Forgoing routine was not in his nature, but these were unnatural times, and begged an exception or two.

The elder house-elf arrived with an efficient pop. “Master Draco.”

“I would like to eat lunch early today. Noon, perhaps, instead of half past.”

“Has Snippet done something wrong, Master?”

“Nothing I’m aware of,” Draco replied. “I simply have an outing this afternoon, and I’d prefer to head out sooner rather than later.”

The house-elf bowed. “Noon it is.”

Feeling as though he’d begun to take a modicum of control of the situation, Draco next called for Pepper. She came racing towards him with a passion that threatened the honour of his trousers. He tried not to laugh as he pointed at the floor.

“Pepper-Up, down.” He tried to sound firm.

She listened, sort of. Her tails were too excited to wag with any coordination and he found himself chuckling again as her hindquarters threatened to lift from the floor. Little time passed before she whined and could restrain herself no longer, leaping up so her paws reached his thighs.

“Down, you recalcitrant Crup!” Once again, she lived up to her name, cheering him thoroughly. Nonetheless, they’d need to spend some time rehashing a few training basics, it seemed. He’d save that for tomorrow, though; they had a trip to take that afternoon.

“Pepper,” he said, “how would you like to go for another walk after lunch?”

“Twice in one day?” Nettle gulped audibly behind him. “Has Nettle displeased Master so much?”

Draco looked at her. “It’s not meant to be punishment.”

“Nettle sees,” she said faintly.

“Well I certainly can’t hold her lead as though I’m walking her. I’m a pureblood.”

She hesitated. “It’s only that Nettle’s legs are shorter than Master’s, and Nettle has only half as many as Pepper to keep up.”

Draco thought for a moment. “I have an idea.”

They set out after lunch with a few minor alterations. Draco carried his customary post-meal apple with him, instead of eating it in his study. Pepper, having already spent her morning walk weeing on the lampposts and fences, instead sniffed unknowable scents from the grass. And Nettle rode Draco’s somewhat rusty, abandoned green childhood tricycle—Disillusioned, of course—that squeaked when she peddled. Draco revived its built-in anti-tipping charm so when Pepper yanked at the lead fastened to the handlebars, Nettle remained upright. He’d even charmed the tricycle to have streamers and a little bell.

And so they went. Along the path. Over the hill. Along the stream. It began to drizzle, but charms handled that.

Draco found he tended to quicken his stride, but did his best to rein himself in. There was no need to behave illogically, after all. They embarked daily on the same journey.

Along the path and past the park. Over the earth that turned to stone. That turned to stones and then to sand.

Until they saw—

“Hmm.” Still there.

And it wasn’t an illusion. Draco retrieved his apple from his pocket and took a bite of the crisp flesh.

He just knew.

Draco held the savoury broth in his mouth. Snippet was a fine cook but the soup course wasn’t his forte. Beaker, on the other hand…

“Have you finally given up on your island?” Mother asked in between spoons of chestnut soup.

Draco reversed the path of his spoon, which had been halfway to his mouth. Placing the spoon back in his bowl, he smoothed the napkin on his lap and gazed back at her.

“I have not.”

“I only ask because I am concerned for your well-being. You’ve ghastly circles below your eyes, and you were late in arriving for dinner.”

“By four minutes.” He chose to ignore her comment about his eyes, just as he ignored their state in the mirror that morning and again later that afternoon when he’d studied them at length in his bedroom.

He attempted another spoonful of soup.

“It’s not like you,” Mother said when Draco’s spoon had progressed two-thirds of the way to his lips. He made a small sound of frustration as he lowered it once more.

“I merely find the situation interesting.”

“It’s upsetting you,” she pressed.

“And if it is? It’s not right. An island doesn’t sprout from the water in a day. Why am I the only one bothered by this?”

“Hmm.” Mother said, sipping again at her soup.

Rolling his eyes, Draco lifted his own spoon to his lips.

“You’re imagining it,” Mother said abruptly.

Draco dropped his spoon back to his bowl with a clatter that sent broth flying. Broth that he couldn’t seem to manage to actually get into his mouth.

“You are,” she insisted. “Do see reason, Draco. There are only a few options. You’re imagining it or you never noticed it before. Don’t look at me like that; you can be very unobservant at times. Remember the Snitch incident with Potter?”

“Which one?” Draco ground out.

“I’m only saying, darling, that perhaps the land was always there, and you didn’t notice. The coast is often hazy or foggy. The only other option is a mirage, and you frown whenever I mention that particular possibility.”

“It’s not a mirage. I am not seeing things.”

“It could be a Fata Morgana.”

“Mother.”

“They can be particularly convincing. More than one sailor has met his end trying to reach nonexistent lands.”

“Mother.”

“I took the liberty of speaking to Phineas Nigellus Black’s portrait regarding his journeys at sea; you would do well to speak to him of his journey to Crocker Land under Admiral Peary.”

“Mother!”

“There’s a reason they’re named for the sorceress. They’re not ordinary mirages, Draco, but do not be led astray by that magic; they are, in the end, merely interactions of light and temperature and not solid ground. You must give up this nonsense.”

Draco slid back his chair with a noisy scrape and set his napkin on the table. “Merlin and Morgana, both,” he shot back. “I would have noticed it if it had been there all along. I’m not unobservant. My spectacles are fine. And it isn’t a mirage. How could it be, appearing day after day? If you’ll excuse me, I’m no longer feeling very hungry,” he lied, thinking longingly of the bowl of warm soup he was abandoning.

With a wave of her wand, Mother brought his chair forward once more until the pressure at the back of his knees had him sitting down again.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, do sit down, Draco, and eat your soup,” she demanded in the way of mothers everywhere. “We’ll speak of something else.”

He gave a half-hearted glare as he placed the napkin on his lap and retrieved his cutlery.

“Now, tell me: which morning is best for you this coming week? Will Tuesday be all right? Half ten? I’ll make your Eye Healer appointment so you need only show up. If those circles below your eyes get much worse, you’ll look like Auntie Walburga. Shall I accompany you? Oh dear. Beaker, bring Draco another soup spoon. He seems to have bent his completely in half. Accidental magic, Draco? It’s been years.”

“Yes.” He gritted his teeth and accepted another spoon from Beaker. “Accidental.”

Draco’s broom was in a very sad state when he retrieved it from storage. Stasis charms were only so effective, and he hadn’t touched his broom or renewed the spells on it in years. An entire afternoon was spent repairing the bristles, reinforcing the wood, and updating the magic that would make it flight-worthy once more.

He tested his work with a short flight around the estate, Pepper chasing him as he flew, and Nettle chasing the pup in turn. When Draco landed, satisfied his broom was sound, he scratched Pepper on the rump and accepted a congratulatory slurp before herding everyone back inside again as the sun fell low in the sky. That evening, he dug his wind-proof flying clothes from the back of his wardrobe and was pleased to discover they required very few alterations from Nettle despite the passage of time.

All in all, he was as prepared as he could be the following afternoon, when, after lunch, he tucked an apple in his pocket and his broom under his arm so as to make his way (as expeditiously as possible) over the hill and past the park, over the bridge and earth and stones—back to the sea.

Draco looked out across the grey waves that separated him from his island. The air was damp and the skies low, but the rain held off, for which he was grateful. The island didn’t seem to be very far away, but he found it difficult to trust his judgement when it came to an island that he didn’t entirely believe could be there in the first place. He was fit, though, and had always been a good flyer, so he wasn’t worried if the land was farther away than it appeared.

The time was right to go for a ride.

He kicked a leg over his broom, reinforced the spell holding his spectacles to his nose, secured his scarf, and took a deep breath.

“Nettle, if I’m not back in an hour, return home with Pepper and ensure she gets her usual dinner.”

Pepper continued running in messy circles across the sand, barking occasionally at the choppy green sea, for once unconcerned about the prospect of her dinner.

“Right,” Draco said then. “I’m off.” He pushed up from the sand and took to the air, aiming both his sights and broom on the mysterious parcel of land teasing at the horizon.

He sped up as he grew more comfortable on his broom and reached a good altitude. He’d forgotten the feel of the wind in his face, and adrenalin spread through his veins. Flying was good fun; he’d forgotten that too. Most of his physical excursions were earthbound because of Pepper, but he’d have to pull out his broom on occasion, too. He was a wizard, and he was meant to fly. Continuing on, he swerved and swooped—only a little, not too far off course—and a sound of delight left his lips before he’d recognized it even forming.

As much as he was enjoying himself, the delight eventually began to fade as confusion settled in his stomach. Soon he could deny one fact no longer: he was getting no closer to the island, regardless of how long or far or fast he flew.

He continued on, flying dead straight now and pushing his speed, but eventually he became aware of his weariness—potentially a problem considering how far out to sea he was. The island remained far off on the horizon, and might not be a potential resting point after all.

Draco knew he had to turn back, though he was stubborn enough that doing so was as painful as a spectacularly stubbed toe. Nonetheless, he conceded temporary defeat and turned his broom back to shore. He headed back over the sea, back over the waves, back to the sand.

Back past the stones.

Back past the park.

Over the bridge, along the pond.

To where, over the hill and around the bend, lay his orderly house, logical books, and unruly Crup.

The entire flight home, the island tugged at his back.

Part 2.

Over the sea, over the waves. Past the clouds, through the air. Under the sun, and into the wind, stinging his cheeks and stealing his breath.

Twice more Draco tried.

But the island would not be reached—a fact that made Draco Malfoy no less determined to do so. His broom had proved insufficient, and there was no known point to which he might plot a Portkey. Nor did he care so little for his life that he’d attempt some mad form of Apparation. Still, he refused to give up.

Wizards travelled by many means. He simply needed to find the right one.

After some research, he wrote to several British game-keepers in the hopes that he might find one willing to loan him a Thestral for the journey. As he anticipated, most ignored his request completely or turned him down outright, though one offered him a Hippogriff instead—as though Draco would ever willingly step within wand’s length of one of those again. In truth, only a single response surprised him, and that was because of the name scratched at the bottom.

Harry Potter.

What preceded the name was far more predictable. “What do you want, Malfoy?” the slip of parchment demanded, as though Draco hadn’t been perfectly clear in his initial request. He wanted a Thestral for a few hours, and what was so difficult to understand about that? It wasn’t as though Thestrals were in high demand. Since when had Potter become a game-keeper anyway?

Nevertheless, he had to respond if he wanted a Thestral. Requiring Potter’s assistance stung despite the passage of time. Worse, Draco doubted much could be accomplished if they continued to correspond via Owl, given Potter’s struggles with reading comprehension, so he’d probably have to go to the magical creature reserve himself. If Hippogriffs were roaming about freely, though, he was leaving. Immediately. He’d bring along Pepper for protection, too, just in case.

Pepper wagged her tails and licked his trousers, ever the ferocious guard dog.

“We’re going to a magical place,” Draco explained to her. “A place where you may—no, a place where you should, in fact—piss on everything and everyone possible. Particularly green-eyed gits with horrid spectacles and shabby robes. Though not until after he agrees to help, if possible. Let me change my shoes and we’ll be off. Nettle, get ready. We’re going on a trip. No—you needn’t bring your tricycle this time. Merlin.”

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Draco had no place for a mysterious island in his life, which is why he was determined to unlock its secrets. Then it would be a regular old island, and regular old islands were fine. Similarly, Draco had no way of dealing with the Harry Potter who now approached him. Draco had a place for the old Potter, boorish, tattered, and scrawny as he was. But Potter had changed. He had muscles and proper clothing, and though Muggle and utilitarian, they fit him well. His shoulders appeared… notable. Potter had notable shoulders. Was there nothing reasonable left in the world?

Draco arranged his face to be firm but polite, which was difficult considering an untethered Hippogriff stared at him from twenty yards away. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’ve come to rent a Thestral. As documented in my initial letter, I need to travel, but Apparation isn’t possible and a broom is insufficient for the journey. I will only need the creature for a day and will return it in perfect condition. I suppose I could feed it as well, if that’s required. I would need details as to the frequency and meal preferences.”

Potter regarded him without speaking before turning and holding out his hand for Pepper to sniff.

“That’s Pepper,” Draco said stiffly as the crup bypassed Potter’s hand and tried to sniff his crotch instead. “Pepper, no. Down. Nettle, take her over to look at the Niffler pen, but don’t get too close. Remember what I said about the Hipp—the you-know-whats.”

“Wait,” Potter said, holding out his hand to Nettle. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Nettle gave a delighted giggle, the likes of which Draco had never before heard, and shook Potter’s hand before heading off with Pepper. Draco worked hard not to scowl. Potter’d become a baritone, too, for no other reason than that the universe delighted in causing Draco misery.

Potter turned to him. “We don’t loan animals.”

“You do now,” Draco said firmly, his hand as sure as a Malfoy's ought to be when negotiations were in play. “I shall pay you twenty-five Galleons and put down a deposit so as to ensure the beast’s return after the allotted time.”

“We especially do not rent unsupervised animals to customers without training or experience. Thestrals can be dangerous, though the herd we manage for Hogwarts is trained, but they’re still wild creatures. Breeding them outside of reserves is forbidden, as are using them for dozens of other reasons.”

“Is flying one banned?”

“Not as stated, but—“

“I shall pay you thirty-five Galleons and provide you with additional documentation as to my plans, which do not include anything close to breeding in any way, shape, or transfiguration.”

“Doesn’t matter if you planned to use one to rescue Muggles from burning buildings. I can’t loan out a Thestral.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, forty Galleons, but not a Knut more, and I’ll sign a waiver.”

“What about this is difficult for you to understand?”

“Why’d you write back if this was to be your response?” he asked pointedly.

Potter blinked.

“I’ll tell you why. Because you’re curious, because your little reserve could doubtless use the funding, and because you’ve ridden Thestrals yourself, probably when you weren’t supposed to, and these creatures aren’t supposed to be kept on the ground anyway. I simply need to get to an island off the coast, but it’s further away than I like to travel by broom, particularly over open water. If your Thestrals can’t handle that, then you’re not caring for them very well.”

Potter’s mouth hung open. “Now, you listen to me, Malfoy.”

“No, you listen, Potter. I’ll donate one hundred Galleons towards the additional land you need for your unicorns—yes, I read the Prophet—and provide you with the documentation you need for whomever needs to sign off on it.”

“I am the boss, thank you very much. Charlie Weasley is my business partner, but he trains the animals mostly.”

“All right. So agree then.”

“I can’t,” Potter said.

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Potter cut him off.

“I can’t,” Potter said again. “Not without coming with you. Oh, and make it a hundred and fifty Galleons. You can afford it. I, too, read the Prophet.”

Draco regarded him. In addition to growing notable shoulders, Potter had seemingly also developed some impressive balls.

“Deal,” Draco agreed at last. “But Weasley is spending an afternoon training Pepper at no additional cost.” Pepper was dragging Nettle behind her through the shrubbery as she chased after a young gnome.

“Fine.” Harry waved his hand dismissively. “Now tell me where exactly it is that we’re going and why you’re so desperate to get there.”

Potter held his gaze, and Draco wondered at the gleam in his eye.

Along the path, over the hill. Over the bridge, across the road.

Across the stones. Up on the sand. Until they reached…

“Potter.”

Potter led two Thestrals towards him along the beach. “Is your house-elf riding a tricycle?” Potter asked.

Bring! Bring-bring! Nettle gleefully sounded the bell on her handlebars as Pepper came to a stop before Potter. Potter scratched Pepper’s rump, a move that generally endeared her for life. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

Draco shot him a look. “No, it’s a magic carpet. Of course it’s a tricycle. And before you ask, I’d be happy for her to wear a helmet, but for one, they don’t make them in house-elf sizes, and two, I wouldn’t insult her by giving her something that could be misconstrued as clothing.”

Potter raised his eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. Now show me this island of yours.”

Draco gestured out at the water. “See? There. In the distance.”

Puffs of clouds piled atop each other along the horizon, the air still, and the sun bright. Draco was warm in his layers of clothing. He’d need them, though, once they got up in the air.

“That little thing? Are you sure that’s even an island?” Potter looked completely unimpressed.

“I am not paying you to question my judgement. I highly recommend using the time to clean the smudges from your spectacles instead. It really does help you, you know, see things. Like islands, for instance. In any case, the clouds aren’t helping, but sometimes it’s clear enough to see what appear to be hills. More importantly, it wasn’t there at all three weeks ago.”

One of the Thestrals leaned down to sniff at Pepper, and Draco narrowed his eyes. “They’ve been adequately fed, haven’t they?”

Potter snorted. “They’ve no interest in eating your Crup.”

“Why’d you bring two? I’m not particularly heavy.” Draco crossed his arms.

“They can travel further with a single rider, though it doesn’t look that far to be honest.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Draco said, appearances being deceiving and all.

Harry sighed.

“Right. I’ve put you out, taking you away from important matters like shovelling Erumpent dung or some such. Let’s get a move on, shall we?” Draco turned to Nettle. “You know the routine. Keep an eye on Pepper, don’t stray far, and after an hour has passed, return home, both of you. Snippet will have dinner prepared.”

“An hour?” Potter sounded amused. “We’ll be back in twenty; Thestrals are fast, and that spot of land is only two or three miles away.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Draco murmured.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Draco ignored him and headed towards one of the Thestrals, choosing the slightly smaller of the two since Potter weighed more what with his gigantic head. Potter relinquished the lead, and Draco hefted himself onto the animal’s back with no assistance.

Swinging up onto his own Thestral, Potter explained the basics of flying on one. “Hold on tight,” he said, as though Draco couldn’t have figured that much out on his own. “And wear these or you’ll go temporarily deaf from the wind.”

Accepting the ear plugs, Draco put them in as his Thestral surveyed their surroundings. The ear plugs were magical, of course, and dampened the sounds around him. In the background he could hear Potter instructing the creatures as to their destination, but only barely.

Draco hesitantly patted his Thestral on the head. He cringed as he felt what seemed to be cartilage beneath his hand, but the Thestral seemed to appreciate the gesture. He was pulling his wand from his pocket to cast sticking charms to his spectacles and Potter’s, too, in a peace gesture, when he felt Potter’s magic on his own nose. The spell was the same as the one he’d intended, and Potter’s version felt as secure as his own, damn him. At least Potter’s spectacles weren’t quite as horrid as the one’s he’d had in school. If they had been, Draco might have suggested intentionally dropping them straight into the sea, never to be seen again. Merlin but they’d been bloody awful.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

He leaned forward and his Thestral’s wings spread wide as they lifted from the ground. Draco couldn’t help but marvel at the power of the animal beneath him. Nettle waved goodbye as they took to the air, but they moved so quickly that Draco pinched his eyes shut so as not to get dizzy. Some minutes passed until Draco grew entirely comfortable with the rocking sway of winged flight and the speed with which they raced through the air.

Ahead of him, to the left, was Potter, but it wasn’t a race, for once. At least not yet. Draco smirked.

“Hey, Potty! Wanna race?”

Potter’s scowl transformed into a grin as he looked back to read Draco’s lips and processed the suggestion. “You’re on, ferret!”

Draco hooted and urged his Thestral forward. “Win this for me, and there’s several half-bleeding steaks in your future,” he told it and braced himself as the rhythm of its wings changed, propelling them through the air.

They flew for miles and miles at that pace, neck and neck as they’d often done, until Potter began to slow intentionally. He gestured to get Draco’s attention.

“The island is barely getting any closer,” Potter called through the air. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Hence the Thestrals to cover the distance,” Draco tried to explain through the deafening wind. They’d easily travelled farther than Draco had gone previously, though he couldn’t tell how much farther because no markers existed out over the water.

“Are we getting any closer at all?”

“Maybe? A little, I think.”

“This is really strange.”

“Yes,” Draco yelled back. “Quite.”

“Will we ever reach it?”

“How should I know? But I had to try.”

Potter nodded and looked determined. “We still have several hours of daylight. Keep going?”

Draco nodded, and they pushed forward once more. They flew for another hour, and, though the island did seem a little closer, Draco was starting to lose hope.

Suddenly, Potter cried out, and moments later Draco understood why. His Thestral unexpectedly ceased all forward momentum and did so in such an abrupt manner that he was nearly flung right off.

“All right?” Potter called as Draco clung to the beast’s neck and adjusted to vertical swooping. His stomach turned over as a result of the change.

“Yes. Why’d they stop?”

“Dunno,” Potter said. “Something’s not right.”

Draco urged his Thestral forwards again, but it wouldn’t obey. Or rather, it appeared as though it wanted to, but couldn’t quite manage it. Only when he watched Potter’s Thestral did he see what was happening: the Thestral was unable to progress past a certain point, and was dipping up and down, trying to break through at various altitudes.

He met Potter’s eyes, and saw the realization dawning there as well. “It can’t go any further,” he called. “Something is blocking us.”

Potter grimaced. “I think we have to go back for now.”

Draco looked ahead at the island but could see no indications they would reach it soon, even if they were able to keep moving. He was beginning to feel as though he was losing his mind. The island couldn’t be real, except a mirage wouldn’t form each and every day for weeks over the same part of the water. Well, if his grip on reality was slipping, at least he was taking down Potter with him—a small consolation.

“Yes,” Draco said. “I think we’ll have to.”

Potter instructed the Thestrals to head back, and moments later they’d all turned around and were heading home once more.

The island had eluded him yet again.

Draco was exhausted when he arrived back at his estate, and every muscle in his body ached as though viciously hexed. Potter had continued straight back to the reserve with the Thestrals, wanting to get them back before dark, so Draco had immediately collapsed in his sitting room with tea from Snippet. Pepper leapt onto his lap, though a lap dog she was not.

He felt too tired to do much thinking, and, after eating a little dinner and begging off a planned Floo call with Mother, he retired to his bedroom, stripped off his clothing, removed his spectacles, and slid into bed, a full hour before his usual bedtime. Despite daily admonishments for being on the furniture, Pepper followed him, curling up to warm herself via his back. Draco was so tired that he let her, and never even noticed when Snippet slipped in to retrieve his salty, sea-stiffened clothing for washing.

The morning dawned as usual, but only barely. The sky was dark, and when Draco woke, rain poured down outside his windows. Only in the very worst weather did Draco forgo his walk with Pepper and Nettle, but considering the way the wind blew the cold rain horizontally and the way his body felt after his ride the previous day, they would not be going out if Draco could help it. Instead, he layered thick spells over Nettle and Pepper and sent them out to run laps around the gardens to release some of the Crup’s boundless energy.

As Draco consumed his fruit, tea, and toast, for the first time he truly considered giving up. Some fights were worth fighting, such as his right to continue to be a Malfoy after the war had ended. That had required a good deal of effort. Even his right to acquire a pureblood pup had been a struggle when mutts had become all the rage, but Pepper-Up was worth it and so was the point he knew he needed to make. But an inexplicable island that did not want to be reached? He wasn’t sure that qualified. Perhaps leaving well enough alone was best.

At least he could inform Mother that he wasn’t imagining the entire situation, since Potter had seen the island, too, and experienced its peculiarities.

The seeming presence of an invisible barrier in the air bothered him, of course. Not that such magic was beyond a wizard’s ability, but one strong enough to withstand multiple determined Thestrals would have required significant magic, and its seemingly random placement out at sea was unsettling. Draco’s gut told him the barrier was tied to the island, even though the island was still very far off in the distance when they’d been stopped in mid-air. If someone or something on the island was casting the spell, the strength of the magic needed to create a blockade that far away would have been incredible.

It was all very strange, and he liked it no more now than when he started.

Though they hadn’t spoken of it in advance, Draco half-expected the owl from Harry that pecked at his windowpane later that morning. The message was simple: “I’ll be by in an hour unless I hear back from you.”

After thinking for a moment, Draco wrote back, but only to inform Harry that he could use Draco’s Floo so as not to get caught in the rain. Feeling incredibly mature about his generous response, Draco went to work altering his Floo permissions to allow Potter’s entrance. He also alerted Snippet that they’d require tea and surveyed his home for unexpected messes.

The Floo flared to life when Draco was casting potent drying charms on both Pepper and Nettle as they came in out of the rain.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“Come in.”

“Thanks.” Potter looked around, evidently curious about Draco’s home.

Draco let him look for a moment before politely offering tea, trusting the custom to assist them through the awkwardness.

“Er. Yes, thanks. Tea.” Potter laughed uneasily, and reached down to pat Pepper in greeting. Nettle waved shyly. Merlin. It wasn’t as though Potter was charming. “Sorry. This is… strange. You know? After everything.”

Draco paused. He did know. Of course he did. But neither was it in his upbringing to speak outright of such matters. “Yes, well. Try not to hex me in my own home, and I suspect we’ll each survive to see the morrow. Follow me please, unless you’d like to continue to scrutinize the treasures on my mantle.”

Potter and Pepper followed, and Draco served tea to the former, and then they looked at each other across their teacups. Draco didn’t know what to say. Sometimes Draco struggled to remember that Potter was the same boy who’d tormented him through their adolescence. The physical resemblance was there, but for the most part, Harry Potter seemed to have grown into a tolerable man. That he was now attractive—Merlin, but he was—didn’t hurt.

Presenting Potter with her hindquarters, Pepper looked back at him with pleading eyes. Potter scratched obligingly until Draco called her over and she sat at their feet to listen.

“You’re probably wondering why I came by.”

“I am,” Draco agreed.

“First, I wanted to return half of your Galleons. I feel bad keeping all of it given what happened.”

Detesting Harry Potter had been simpler than the begrudging respect Draco now felt. He watched as Potter sipped at his tea.

“I knew making it all the way to the island was not a certainty.” He thought for a moment. “The Galleons were a donation. Keep them. Buy your unicorns some fresh grass. In fact, if you place a small placard somewhere along the fencing indicating a Malfoy donation was involved, I’ll double the amount.” A proper Malfoy knew how to grow funds, but also the necessity of charitable donations.

Potter’s eyes crinkled and something warm washed over Draco. “That’s good of you, Malfoy.”

“Mmm,” Draco said and sipped his tea.

The look on Potter’s face changed then, took on a renewed intensity, and he leaned forward towards Draco. “Here’s the thing. I have an idea. For how to get to the island.”

Breathing out a long, slow breath, Draco sat back in his chair. “You want to try again?”

“I think we can do it.” And just like that, they’d become we.

“How? That was a difficult ride, even on the Thestrals, and we have no idea how to get through the barrier or whatever that was, or how much further it would be beyond that point to actually get there.”

“We’d need to get the barrier faster, and we’d need something strong enough to break through. Then we’d need to reliably be able to keep flying beyond that point for an undetermined length of time. I know just the way.”

Draco studied Potter. There was an energy to him that was appealing, and Draco found he had renewed interest in the project. “All right. I’ll bite,” Draco said. “What’s your idea?”

“Dragon.”

Draco tried not to choke. “You want to fly on a dragon?”

“Sure.” Potter shrugged. “Why not?”

“Why not? Are you mad?”

“Completely,” Potter said. “But it would totally work. We should do it.”

“I can’t fly a dragon! Oh, bloody hell. You've flown a dragon, haven’t you? You can fly dragons.”

“Learned from Charlie. Suppose I rode one or two before that, though.” Harry looked thoughtful.

A dragon! Draco set down his teacup, and Pepper looked back and forth between them. “This is insane. You’re insane. We can’t ride a dragon.” And there was that we again.

Harry smiled, and Draco had to look away so as to think clearly.

“And how much exactly is this going to set me back?” Draco narrowed his eyes. “Am I paying for a new Manticore habitat or…?”

“No. It’s not… Nothing. I wouldn’t charge you. I want to go. It doesn’t make sense, the island. I want to figure out what’s going on.”

“You could go without me. We’re not friends.”

“Aren’t we?” Potter asked, surprising Draco. “I mean, we’re maybe not quite yet, but here’s the thing: back in first year, Ron and Hermione and I took out a troll together, and just like that, after we became best friends.”

“Is that so. I never noticed.”

“Shove off. I mean, maybe after riding Thestrals together for seven hours straight, we can’t help but be friends either.”

“Mmm,” Draco said, then, “What sort of dragon?” His voice was close to steady.

“Have a particular favourite?” Potter smirked.

“I… a Ridgeback would be fine,” Draco said faintly.

“Perfect. We have a relatively calm one at the reserve that Charlie has spent a lot of time with. I mean, she’s still young and definitely still a dragon, but she almost always obeys.”

Almost always. Brilliant.

Merlin’s pants. A bloody dragon. Even considering it was completely mad. They would probably die.

Draco pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “This is completely mad. We’re going to die.”

“So you’re on board then?”

“Fuck, yes.” The words fell from Draco’s lips before he could stop them.

Harry Potter grinned openly at him, his eyes shining, and Draco wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

“When do we leave?”

When Beaker Disapparated, Mother set her water glass down and studied him. “Are you certain you’re well? You’ve not but touched your tartlet. Is your island bothering you again? Draco, you really must stop chasing rainbows; the ends simply cannot be reached.”

“I’m fine,” Draco said, his nerves making it difficult to eat, but mothers were rarely worth worrying, and he refused to elaborate. “Only a small headache.”

“Indeed. I hope the Potter boy hasn’t entirely put you off your dinner.”

Draco sighed. “You know I met Potter? Of course you know I met Potter.”

“Security precautions on the various Malfoy properties. You adjusted the Floo to allow him entry, which was automatically documented in the Floo logs. Tweaky saw the entry while dusting. The specifics are no matter when a mother’s love is involved.”

Draco gave her a long look as Beaker appeared and began to clear their plates for the next course. “Yes, Mother, I saw Potter for a business exchange; I donated to his little unicorn project and ensured the Malfoy name was associated with goodness and purity of the soul in the process.”

“Well done, darling. I must admit that I am surprised you brought Potter into the privacy of your own home as opposed to conducting business publicly at his place of work.”

“I feel certain you already know that I met Potter at his silly animal reserve the day before concluding business at the estate. The second meeting was held on our estate as a courtesy due to the dreadful weather earlier this week.”

“Mmm,” Mother said. “How gracious of you,” she added, seemingly not noticing Beaker as he set a tenderloin medallion and risotto before her.

Draco didn’t respond as Beaker next placed his meal on the table. Instead, he took his knife to the beef, and found it bright pink inside, though the outside was nicely charred—like Draco might well be after spending the next day with Potter aboard a dragon. He opted for a bite of the risotto instead.

“What are your plans for tomorrow, Draco?” Mother asked pointedly as she speared a broccoli floret. "Surely your business with Potter is concluded?"

Why must meals have so many bloody courses? At this rate, Mother’d have every secret out of him before they even got to the pudding. He reached for his water. After taking a long drink, Draco finally answered, “Nothing much. Just a little fly.”

“You’ll need a better broom if you want to keep up with the Potter boy. Oh dear. Beaker, bring Draco a fresh water and an extra napkin—he’s dropped his glass. Draco, I’m scheduling you an appointment; you simply must see a Healer about your nerves. Now, Draco, don’t make that face. Heavens! Beaker, better bring Draco another fork as well. It’s going to take some magic to pry this one out without damaging the table…”

Over the hill, along the pond, off to his certain, gruesome death…

The dawn was clear and the sky blue when Draco met Potter early the next morning, Pepper and Nettle beside him. Of course, Potter had a 35-foot long dragon at his side, so Draco figured they were evenly matched in terms of their seconds.

“No, Pepper, not on the—Oh never mind.” Pepper continued weeing happily, seemingly unbothered by the giant dark-scaled Ridgeback puffing clouds of acrid smoke in their direction. Nettle appeared jittery, but she was often nervous around Potter, so Draco couldn’t definitively blame the dragon. Draco didn’t think that she was batting her eyes at the dragon either, but again, one couldn’t be sure with house-elves.

“This is our ride,” Potter said needlessly, walking towards him through the sand. The ocean waves rolled in against the shore, but Draco hardly noticed. “The standard magical adaptations are in place for dragon riding, but I’ve made a few others, as well, given the nature of our journey.”

The way Potter looked, completely comfortable leading around that massive, dangerous beast—Merlin, it nearly stole his breath away.

“All right,” Draco said, his throat dry. He wasn’t scared, but that dragon was huge. And now the dragon was opening its mouth as though to… okay, it was only yawning. Yawning was fine—oh, hell no. Salazar save them all—those teeth were longer than he was. Okay. Okay. Right, then.

Draco was bloody terrified.

“I promise, she’s not as bad as she seems.” Harry walked over to Pepper to greet her. “Once we’re in the air, you’ll see. She’s so large that she won’t even notice us, really, and she’s not hungry at all. I mean, don’t make her mad; but otherwise, we’ll be fine.” Potter gathered Pepper up in his arms. Her paws stuck out in all different directions, but she did her best to slurp at his face “Watch. I’ll show you.”

Harry approached the dragon with Pepper. The dragon appeared to be dozing.

“Potter, what are you doing? Harry Potter, you put down my dog. Potter. Potter!”

Instead, Potter lifted the Crup onto the dragon’s back. The dragon didn’t even look at them.

“Potter, I am going to kill you,” Draco hissed. “Pepper-Up, down. Right now.”

“She can’t,” Potter said. “Though she doesn’t look as though she’s having a bad time up there.”

Paws splayed in the air, Pepper was squirming to scratch her back on the dragon’s scales.

Nettle approached. “Can Nettle try, Mr Harry Potter, sir?”

“Certainly. Up you go.” Potter lifted Nettle up by the waist and placed her atop the dragon. The house-elf giggled as she padded along the dragon’s back, which rose and fell slowly as it breathed.

“Well, that’s bloody fantastic,” Draco hissed. “Everyone get down, right now. Before that thing wakes up from Potter’s screams as I hex him limb from limb.”

“Nope. Your turn.” Potter said, approaching him. “Look; on her back is a space about six feet by twelve that’s protected for us to ride.” Potter cast a spell that illuminated a clear, bubble-like dome over its back. “We’ll be sheltered from the elements and can’t fall off once we’re inside it.”

Draco had to admit this calmed him slightly, but only slightly. “And this will protect her from eating us how?”

“She really has no interest. She was injured as a baby and we raised her on a certain diet—one that didn’t include Crups or house-elves. Or people,” he added, seeing Draco’s face. “She’s unusual in this regard—I wouldn’t attempt this trip with a dragon we hadn’t spent extensive time with. She can’t even go back to the wild at this point; she wouldn’t survive. That said, she is still a dragon, and she was injured by poachers and panics if cornered. I also wouldn’t cover yourself in elk musk and get anywhere near her.”

“There go my plans for after.” The joke was lame, but at least Draco’s heart rate was slowing.

Potter smiled.

His heart rate picked right back up. Fuck everything. He’d always had a weakness for beautiful things.

“As you can see, I’ve got supplies up there on her back since I don’t know how long this trip will take.”

“Suppose you can add these.” Draco felt a little silly as he handed over the two apples he’d brought when Potter’s preparations had been much more thorough.

“Fantastic. Ready to climb on?” Potter pocketed the fruit.

“You promise she won’t eat us, we won’t fall off, and you know how to… drive this thing?”

“I do.”

Draco met his gaze, silently warning Potter that if Draco perished, Snippet had strict instructions to avenge his death. Potter smiled calmly back at him.

“So this is how it ends,” Draco sighed, and walked slowly towards the dragon.

When he was a body length away, the Ridgeback opened a lazy yellow eye and looked at him, Draco froze and nearly wet his pants. A moment passed as they took each other in, but soon enough she closed her eyes again and turned away.

“Ah, good. You’ve made a friend. She must not know you’re actually an arsehole. Now, get over here and I’ll give you a boost up.” Potter was all energy and bright green eyes, evidently not nervous of the dragon at all.

“Perhaps she likes my name,” Draco muttered. He allowed Potter to assist, though, and sure enough, he was soon kneeling—willingly—on the back of a giant dragon. How this had become his life, he had no idea. Switching from a Cox to a Granny Smith after lunch was usually enough variety for him. This was mad.

Then Potter was climbing on too.

“Wait,” Draco said. “You have to help Pepper and Nettle down.”

“Nah. They’ll come with us. Would you like that Nettle?”

Nettle’s eyes grew even larger than normal. “What Master Draco wants is what Nettle likes to do.” She looked at Draco. “If Master wants Nettle to return home to help with the endless sweeping and straightening and polishing of the things that are already swept, straight, and shining, then Nettle will most want to do that. But if Master Draco needs Nettle’s help here, with Pepper, on this exciting adventure into the sky, then Nettle will love to help in this way and have thrilling stories to tell her children after.”

Her voice was so high-pitched by the end, Draco thought to cover his ears. “You have children? Wait. No. Doesn’t matter. Neither of you are going. I’m not going to risk your lives.”

“Draco, do you really think I’d put my own life in danger?” Potter asked, grabbing Draco’s arm and using it to pull himself up onto the dragon.

“You certainly have a death-wish if you attempt to call me Draco again.”

Pepper came over and nuzzled his hand. “I can’t believe I’m going to say yes,” Draco groaned.

“That’s good enough for me. Everybody sit down and brace yourselves during take-off. We’ve got an island to find.”

Potter made his way down to the Ridgeback’s neck, speaking softly to her. She raised her head and peered back at him, a long trail of smoke exiting her nostrils as she seemed to sigh; apparently her preference would have been an extended nap. Then, and Merlin, he couldn’t believe it, she seemed to nod at Potter in assent after receiving his instructions.

They were jostled as she got to her feet and stretched, finding her balance. Draco wrapped Pepper tightly in his arms, and Nettle clung to his shoulder as Harry returned most of the way back to them. He watched the dragon spread her wings wide.

“Ready?”

Swallowing, Draco nodded, his heart in his throat.

“Then here we go!” Potter crouched down, whistled sharply three times…

The tremendous wings flapped, and below them the ground receded as the great beast pushed off the land and into the sky.

They were airborne.

Part 3.

Through the skies, through the clouds.

Over the grey and endless waves.

They flew on and on, on the back of their dragon, towards their island, far out to sea.

Hours and hours they soared through the air, past the place where they’d reached before.

“Either the barrier is gone or the dragon flew right thought it,” Draco mused. He was standing close to the dragon’s neck, peering over its shoulder.

“I think so, too,” Potter said beside him. “We had to have passed that spot ages ago.”

“Curious,” Draco said, looking over at Harry and seeing him nod in agreement.

Potter had been right that the ride hadn’t been as terrifying as he expected once they were in flight. The space on the dragon’s back was more than enough, and the body remained steadier than the Thestral’s had as it soared, wings spread wide. Without the fear of falling off, thanks to Potter’s spells, the ride wasn’t that terrible at all. Behind him, Pepper chased Nettle around in circles.

“How far can Ridgebacks fly?” Draco asked.

“Several days. A week or more, maybe, though they would sleep constantly if they never got hungry.”

Draco considered this as he studied the island off in the distance, only a tad larger than it had been before. They might need that much time.

“We’ll get there,” Potter said softly.

“Mmm.” Casting a cushioning charm, Draco settled in, his eye on the line of the horizon.

“We need to turn back if we want to be home before dark.”

“Do you need to?” Potter asked from right behind him. “Be home by dark?”

“Not technically.”

“Good. Let’s keep going,” Harry said.

“All right,” said Draco. “Hand me an apple?”

“I can do better.” Potter rummaged through the supplies he’d tethered to the back of the dragon, eventually producing cheese and crackers, along with Draco’s apples. Draco drew out his wand to slice the fruit, handing pieces to Pepper and Nettle as well.

“You planned this,” Draco stared at Potter.

“No, but I prepared for it, in case. Be right back.”

Harry returned with a soft blanket, which he draped over Draco’s shoulders. “You’ll want it when the sun goes down.” He handed another to Nettle who practically cooed, and carried one for himself as well. “There’s an extra for Pepper, but I’m not sure she’s settled enough to appreciate it.”

Pepper woofed and thumped her tails in unison.

Under the stars, through the magical night.

The moon in their sights as they coursed through the dark.

Draco lay on his back, looking up at the twinkling stars. Pepper was curled up at his side, her head resting on his thigh. Potter lay to his right, and Nettle sang to herself back by the dragon’s tail, watching what they passed disappear behind them.

“How far will we go?” Draco asked, his voice soft.

“As long as it takes,” Harry replied. “Unless you want to turn back.”

“No.” Draco took comfort in the familiar constellations he’d known since he was a child. “Potter? How’d you end up managing an animal reserve?”

“Charlie needed help starting a place that would be safe for magical beasts when he came back to England, and I agreed. I wasn’t a good fit for the Aurors. Working at the reserve is good, though, most days.”

“The other days?” Draco asked, curious. The dragon rumbled a little as it breathed beneath them.

Harry exhaled. “It’s always busy, but it’s not always particularly exciting. Sometimes it is,” he added quickly. “When we get a new animal, or make progress with a troubled one, or when there’s a birth or injury to heal, but other days it’s a lot of maintenance and feeding and, Godric, sometimes I think if I have to repair one more magical fence…” Harry breathed out. “And it can be lonely. Charlie’s the only other person who works there and he disappears for days on end with the dragons, and friends don’t always have time to visit the reserve these days. Jobs. Babies. You know.” Harry huffed. “Well, if we weren’t friends before, we are now. Listen to me going on.”

“You crave adventure.” Draco looked at him.

“Sure,” Harry agreed. “And decent company.”

“No wonder you were eager to give it another go. Conversation with Nettle is scintillating, I agree,” Draco said, his mouth quirked.

Potter smiled. “I was speaking of Pepper.”

Draco smiled to himself. “Of course.”

“What about you?”

Draco was uncertain as to what he should to share with Harry and aware that his tongue was loose in the dreamlike atmosphere. He tried to keep it simple and honest, but not personal. “I manage the Malfoy holdings. Try to keep things in order. Pepper and I walk to the beach every day, which is why we noticed the island appear one morning out of nowhere.”

“You also after a bit of adventure?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly. I simply want to get to the bottom of this. Also, Mother insists it’s a mirage and thinks I’m losing my mind. I’d rather enjoy proving her wrong.”

“The island bothers you.”

“Yes. Things should make sense. This makes none whatsoever.”

They lapsed into silence.

“Not everything makes sense on parchment,” Potter said.

“It should,” Draco insisted. “I’ll figure this out too. Eventually.”

“We will,” Harry said.

“I should thank you. For the… ride.” Draco paused to gather himself. “And for the company.” He let out a deep breath. “Merlin, I never ever expected to say that to you.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth turned up. “Funny how life works.”

Nettle wandered back over to them and handed them a portion of chocolate from Harry’s stock. Potter broke it into pieces and divided it between them. Nettle looked at him adoringly from where she perched with her knees below her chin. He smiled at her and turned back to Draco.

“S’good,” Harry said, taking a bite.

“Yes.” It was. Sweet and comforting.

Long minutes passed until Potter met his eyes in the enchanted moonlight. “How far can we go, Draco?”

Taking a deep breath, Draco asked, “Do you want to turn back?”

“No.” Potter cleared his throat. “No, I’m all in. I want to see where this adventure takes us.”

Draco felt himself shiver.

“Oi,” Harry yelled into the darkness. “Can we get some heat back here?”

The dragon’s back tilted as she shifted in the air, turning her head back towards them. She blew hot air over her shoulder in their direction, and the pleasant warmth settled over them. Pepper gave a contented snuffle as she slept.

Draco drifted and soon after, closed his eyes as well.

They flew on.

As the next day dawned, they shared bread and apples and cautious smiles.

When the sun rose high, Nettle served lunch, and Draco inhaled two thick sandwiches and Potter’s teasing to go with them.

The afternoon wore on, and Potter shared stories with their tea. Draco watched Harry commanding their dragon, appreciating the palpable authority and power. His throat tightened when Potter laughed with him with those green eyes crinkled so appealingly.

And as dusk coloured the sky a dozen bright hues, they sat closer than before, filling their bellies with dinners and dreams.

Another cool night fell, and they slept back to back.

Over the sea, under the moon, to the unknown on the back of a dragon.

When dawn came again at last and the sun rose out of the sea, they could finally see the progress they’d made in the dark.

“Look.” A thrill ran through Draco, and he looked at Harry. They were close. Maybe another hour or two and they’d land on the mysterious shores. He could make out sand, with thick full trees behind.

“Godric, it’ll be good to get back on solid land,” Potter said, and Draco agreed. Pepper needed to run, and Nettle was driving him mad with her incessant humming (and really, how many times must an elf count her toes?). Looking at Potter from the corner of his eye, though, he had to admit the ride hadn’t been all bad.

With renewed energy, Draco scanned the horizon as they drew nearer, looking to pick out additional clues as to what they would find when they landed.

Draco slid down off the Ridgeback and onto the packed sand. His feet were unsteady and he felt as though he was swaying just to remain upright. When he felt grounded enough and gave the okay, Potter handed down Nettle and Pepper, before reaching for Draco to make his way down himself.

The sand glistened as though dusted with diamonds and the air smelled clear, carrying the pleasantly fragrant of blossoms instead of the fishy scent Draco normally associated with the ocean. Everything seemed coloured a little too brightly and felt warmer than it probably should have, given they’d flown due east and not south at all. Something wasn’t quite right about the place, but it felt too pleasant to be malicious.

“Uh, she won’t fly away on us, will she?” Draco asked, gesturing towards their ride home.

“The first command a dragon learns is stay. It’s pretty important one to master. Besides, my guess is she’ll go straight to…”

The dragon snored loudly from where it had immediately sprawled out on the sand, absorbing the plentiful warmth from the sun. Small puffs of smoke rose from her nose when she exhaled.

Pepper darted over and licked the dragon’s kneecap before dashing off to wee in the underbrush and sniff at rocks and whatever else caught her interest. Draco made sure her lead was properly fastened and safe in Nettle’s hands. Until they knew what was on this island or how big it was, it wouldn’t do to let her run free.

“Shall we explore?” Potter asked, looking around as he wandered up the beach and towards the trees. “Whoa! Draco, look at this! They’re all apple trees! Look at them all! Full of fruit. Nothing but apples!”

“What?” Draco hurried after him. “What are you talking about? Nothing but—Merlin! Will you look at that.”

Apples. Apples everywhere. Red, golden, green, and pink. All around them, nothing but apple trees.

“Oh, I’ve seen them already, to be sure.”

Draco froze at the unexpected voice, moving only enough to look at Harry, who met his gaze with widened eyes.

Draco reached into his pocket for his wand.

“You won’t need a wand here.” The voice came from behind him.

Draco exhaled and slowly turned.

A man stood there, unassuming, slightly hunched and in ragged brown robes. His face was haggard and his beard was long, as long as Dumbledore’s had been. Strong magic surrounded him, a vibrant, pulsing energy.

“Welcome to the Island of Apples. I planted them, you know. Some are quite old now,” the man said, his voice heavy with emotion before it brightened again. “You’re not the first Slytherin to love apples.”

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

“And here I thought you knew. Never mind, follow me.” The man turned and began marching back through the thick trees and muttering about the Hogwarts curriculum. “The Crup’s fine to wander; the island’s only as big as I need it to be and the only predator is the one you’ve brought with you. Luckily, Aridel enjoys apples and fish. That’s a house-elf, is it? Haven’t seen a house-elf in a thousand years,” the wizard said conversationally as the trees parted their branches to let them pass through. “I remember them being smaller.”

“Aridel? A thousand years?” Draco mouthed to Harry as they followed. Potter shrugged in response. “Nettle, my elf, is the correct height. I simply ask that she stand tall as a Malfoy ought.” Draco said loudly enough for the wizard to hear.

The old wizard gave no response, but moved with surprising agility over the thick roots and brush, as though his bones were no older than Draco’s. They came to a clearing where the wizard stopped.

“You may rest here.” He gestured towards a small hut set back into the trees. “I know that your journey was long, but I can’t let just anyone come calling. Tell your elf that she will find what she needs in the shelter to the west. I’ll explain more when we dine at sundown. I trust the apples will sustain you until then.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Sundown?

“Aridel is tired; you would do well to let her rest a night before attempting your return home. She is still young.”

“The dragon,” Harry said. “Her name is Aridel.”

“Has she told you something different?” the wizard said.

“Er, no.”

“Young wizards, go now, and rest. I shall come to you at sunset.”

A path clear of roots and branches formed in front of their eyes, leading to the entrance of the hut. They stared.

“All right,” Draco said, but the old wizard was gone.

The hut was primitive, but more than sufficient for an afternoon of resting. A single area comprised the space made of woven branches and long grasses, and though the walls weren’t solid, the thick full branches offered complete privacy. A woven hammock hung from between two trees, which served as the main supports, and a soft mattress with pillows and thick blankets was welcome and inviting after two nights of little but cushioning charms. A nap sounded heavenly. It would have even felt romantic had Draco not become acutely aware of his need to bathe.

He realized, then, that no bathroom existed. Frowning, he decided he’d have to make due with a few scouring spells when Potter called to him from behind the hut. When Draco popped his head out, Harry gestured to a deep stream. “Freshwater,” he said. “And it’s not too cold.”

That would do, Draco decided, and strode farther upstream.

A waterfall.

“A water—“ he yelled back to Harry, but Harry had come up behind him when Draco hadn’t been paying attention. “If only I had some soap,” Draco said more quietly, surveying the scene. “I could really use—” It was then that he noticed Soapwart growing beside the stream, the leaves of which would do nicely with a magical enhancement. “Of course.” Draco shook his head. He wasn’t sure if the Soapwart had been there all along or appeared right then.

He turned to Harry. “What is this place?”

“I’m not completely sure,” Harry admitted. “I have a thought, but it’s mad. Let’s wait to find out more at dinner.”

“All right,” Draco agreed. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a wash.”

“I should too. I’ll come back when you’re finished.”

“Mmm,” Draco said, averting his eyes and making his way down to the bank to shed his clothes. He wouldn’t have objected to seeing Potter’s bathe, but, at the same time, he appreciated the chance to wash in private.

As he ran the soap leaves over his skin and rinsed clean his hair, he thought of Potter. Then he tried not to think of Potter, and ended up thinking of Potter even more. The git had always gotten under his skin. This time, Potter had worked his way into Draco’s chest and had gotten hold of his oesophagus, and had managed it in such short time as to be embarrassing. Salazar help him.

In the distance he could hear Pepper barking happily and a periodic squeal from Nettle in response.

He found Potter dozing in the hammock upon his return to the hut.

He’d cast a shaving charm after bathing and felt much better all around, and Nettle had washed his clothes downstream while he’d swam. He thought she seemed pleased to be relieved of Pepper-related duties for a time. Pepper had joined him in the water, splashing about and chasing branches that he threw for her. (“Fetch! No—I meant—Next one is for Pepper, all right, Nettle?”)

Regardless, when they trooped back together, Potter relinquished the hammock in favour of his own bath. Without pause, Pepper gave an audible snuffle and lay down on the bed to sleep. Nettle curled up in a lumpy elf-shaped ball in the hammock, and Draco slipped his shoes off and collapsed on the bed beside the Crup. Pepper’s tails thumped against his calf, but Draco found that he couldn’t keep his eyes open once his head rested against a smooth pillow.

He woke briefly to find Potter deep in sleep beside him, his hair still damp, and his spectacles folded and resting beside Draco’s. With a contented sigh, he rolled over and closed his eyes once more.

Pepper woke them eventually, and Draco discovered Nettle outside of their hut assisting with dinner preparations. The clearing had been transformed from a simple open space to a place for eating and gathering around a welcoming fire. He could smell fish roasting, and he spotted some sort of root vegetables. Apples were also present, of course, and several rough mugs sat on a flat rock.

He snagged a green and red mottled apple from a tree and wandered over. Potter followed, looking pensive.

“Where are we?” Harry asked without preamble.

The wizard looked up from the fire. “The Island of Apples.”

“Is it only because he—“ Harry gestured at Draco. “—loves apples that it’s the Island of Apples?”

The old man looked baffled. “Certainly not. I live here, and have done for more than a thousand years. I planted these trees. Seemed apt. Here, look at this one.” He waved his hand and the tree became transparent halfway up. “It’s one of the oldest. Planted it the year I arrived. Count the rings.” The tree righted itself with another touch of the old man’s magic. Nettle looked sad because she hadn’t finished counting, but she needed her toes to get to ten, so Draco wasn’t sure she’d ever manage a thousand.

“It’s not possible to be that old,” Harry said.

“It is. I was one of Hogwarts’s first students, though I was already far into adulthood at the time. Was a Slytherin, of course. Serpents and apples are associated for a reason. You’re a Slytherin.” He looked at Draco.

Draco confirmed it.

“And you?” The wizard went back to stoking the fire. Pepper looked longingly at the long stick.

“Gryffindor.”

“A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Most unusual. Unless allegiances have changed.”

Draco snorted. “Thankfully, not much.”

“The dragon says that you’re famous, Harry Potter,” the man said.

“So you talk to dragons, then?”

“It would be a poor Dragonlord that couldn’t. But you talk to snakes; you shouldn’t find this difficult to believe.”

“You let us through the barrier,” Draco said. “You told the dragon how to get around it.”

“Yes,” the man admitted. “I let your dragon through. I had to make you fly that far, though, because I didn’t know how serious you were about arriving.”

Draco studied the man. “Who are you?”

The wizard shot him a look. “You already know.”

Was it true? There was only one wizard who it could possibly be, only one capable of this sort of magic, a Slytherin he’d heard tales of since his infancy. “Merlin,” Draco breathed. “I can’t believe it.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, alarmed. The edge in his voice made Pepper look up, too.

“No, Harry. That’s not—This is Merlin.”

Unimpressed, Pepper went back the hole she’d started digging, but Potter gaped at him. “But. Merlin died. A thousand years ago.”

“And you died as well, if I’m not mistaken, and yet, here we are,” Merlin said.

Draco looked wildly at Harry for confirmation, but Harry shook him off. “Later.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry demanded, not looking like he quite believed what he was hearing, though Draco felt the truth of it in his gut. “Why are you hiding on this crazy magical island?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m waiting, of course. As for why I’m waiting here, that would be the final curse of Fata Morgana, I’m afraid.”

“Morgana, Queen of Avalon,” Harry said. “Morgan le Fey. From the Chocolate Frog Card.”

“The enchantress and half-sister of King Arthur, the one for whom I wait. But what is this Frog Card you speak of?”

“Er, the frogs are sweet treats. Each has a card with it, with a famous witch or wizard on it. They’re for children mostly, though I had one last week. Got Alberic,” Potter added, looking to Draco for approval.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations?”

Merlin looked horrified. “Morgana decorates a children’s treat?”

“You have one too!” Potter said. “Yours are loads more valuable.”

“I should hope so,” Merlin said, though he still looked decidedly put out.

“That’s probably how many children learn of you for the first time,” Potter said, continuing to be unhelpful. “Well, maybe not, actually. I bet it’s when their parents accidentally step on toys in the dark.”

“Excuse me?” Merlin asked.

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco said.

“See, like that!” Harry exclaimed.

“Bloody hell.”

“We use that one, too,” Harry clarified.

Draco decided to change the subject before the conversation further devolved. “What was Morgana’s curse? That you must wait?”

“Is that noted on my Frog Card?” Merlin harrumphed. “No. I wait because I must, for the Once and Future King. Morgana’s curse has merely bound me to the island and made it so almost no one can find me.” Merlin breathed out slowly. “It is my destiny to wait for one who may never know that I am even here.”

“Well, that certainly does have the potential to be tragic,” Draco said.

“Ever so slightly, yes.”

“But I saw you,” Draco said.

“And did no one suggest you saw a mirage?”

“The term was bandied about, yes.” Draco said dryly.

“Even my magic isn’t strong enough to fight off the curse for very long, but once every decade or so, I am able to make the island visible, in case my Arthur is looking. Morgana meant for Ynys Afallon to always remain hidden.”

“Afallon,” Draco echoed, recognition running through him at the Welsh term for apple. “Avalon.” Sitting down on a thick tree stump, he murmured, “And Fata Morgana. Mother was correct. I can’t believe it. I’m going to pay for that for years.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t tell. No one can know but Arthur. Only you were so insistent, and it has been several hundred years since I’ve had a visitor, so I let you through.” Merlin’s face grew drawn. “I must ask. I have not missed a Prince Arthur of Wales, have I?”

Draco had no idea whatsoever about non-Wizarding families, royal or otherwise, but Harry responded after some thought. “I don’t think so, not recently.”

“Excellent. Soon, then.” Merlin looked relieved. At their faces, he added, “It’s all relative. Well,” he said, changing the subject, “the fish is ready. I believe it is customary for the house-elf to serve.”

“Nettle loves to serve, and such an assembly is this!” She scuttled about, distributing simple earthen dishes and spoons, as Draco realized he’d be eating off his lap.

“But first.” Merlin waved gestured at the mugs and they distributed and filled themselves. “To magic.”

Draco drank deeply of the spicy cider as Harry sputtered, “You can’t do that! You can’t Transfigure food!”

Merlin chuckled. “Exception to Gamp’s law, right? I was grandfathered in. On the Fortunate Isle, anything is possible.”

“Sleep well. I trust the hut will be sufficient?” Merlin asked as they wrapped up their dinner long hours of conversation later. Draco looked towards the hut and saw that Merlin had cast a soft Lumos spell so it glowed from its place set back amongst the trees.

The evening smelled of apple blossoms, and Draco was pleasantly full. “Yes. Where do you sleep?” he asked, curious.

“Wherever my feet are when the day is best done. Tonight I’ll likely conjure a place a little ways down the island. Your dragon will be fully rested by morning, so you may leave whenever you see fit, though do not rush on my account. Do you mind if I keep Nettle a little while longer this evening? I would like her to show me a few of the more modern cooking techniques.”

At Nettle’s hopeful look, Draco agreed as he stood and stretched. Snippet was the cook in his household for a reason, but if Nettle wanted to help Merlin, Draco wouldn’t object. “Come, Pepper,” he instructed as he began to head back to their hut.

“One more thing,” Merlin said, his voice commanding enough that Draco and Harry both turned back to listen. “I understand why you came to find me, but remember this.” He looked from Potter to Draco and back. “Do not spend so much time chasing the unknown that you ignore what is immediately before you.”

“Makes sense.” Harry ducked his head.

“I speak from experience,” Merlin added, deep sorrow colouring his voice. “Trust love, before your chance has passed.”

Merlin Disapparated before they could speak, and Nettle followed seconds later.

Harry and Draco looked at each other.

“I think I’ll go for a walk,” Draco said when they got back to the hut, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. The light was warm and soft and the lone bed was so very present. He was having feelings about Harry Potter that he’d never meant to feel.

Harry was looking at him with those green eyes…

This island was dangerous.

“I could come with you,” Harry offered, and Draco gave him an assessing glance.

“Yes. All right.”

They stepped outside and made their way past the trees and down along the stream where the path was smoother and no foliage blocked the soft moonlight.

“It doesn’t seem real,” Draco admitted.

“I’m not sure it is real,” Harry said. “Not in that way. Not really,” he added, somewhat ineloquently. “But it feels like anything could happen here. Anything you wanted.”

Draco glanced at Harry and found him looking back. “Right.”

“Like if I wanted a giant sarnie with—”

Sighing, Draco shook his head.

Potter winked and tugged on his elbow.

“This way.”

The longer they walked, the more Draco realized that furtive looks were difficult to keep unnoticed when your companion was attempting the same. Secret smiles, even more so. It helped when Potter wasn’t talking about sandwiches.

An electricity tingled between them, and Draco felt aware of every movement of Harry’s. He wondered what on earth he was doing, and why it was Potter who’d taken over his thoughts. Why it was Potter who’d come to matter—again.

Maybe the why’s of it didn’t much matter, in the end. Maybe Potter was simply another inexplicable adventure.

The stream had broadened and deepened as they’d walked.

Draco looked up at the moon, weighed his options, risks, and possible outcomes. He decided to be brave.

He took Harry’s hand. It fit well in his own, and Potter didn’t pull away.

They crossed a little wooden bridge and continued on.

Along the stream, under the moon.

Through the—

“Draco.”

Draco closed his eyes. “Harry.”

Past the—

Draco didn’t have the words for once, and Potter rarely did, so he brought them to a stop and pulled Harry close. He didn’t know how to explain why everything was different now, and instead of hating Potter, he wanted to taste Harry’s lips and run his fingers down Harry’s chest. Nor did he know how to interpret the look in Potter’s eyes.

He also didn’t know whether the moonlight or the island itself was to blame, but Harry stepped in even closer and captured Draco's other wrist with his hand. Draco’s questions melted away.

Without a word, Harry dropped their clasped hands to brush the pad of his thumb along Draco’s jaw.

Draco kissed him.

They kissed again; Harry’s hands grasped at Draco, one at his neck, the other, his back. They kissed again and again and again. Draco discovered that Harry’s shoulders felt solid and warm and strong under his hands.

A soft sound came from Harry’s throat.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Draco said. “Nothing makes sense.”

“This might make sense,” Harry said.

“This makes the least sense of all,” Draco said, and pressed his lips back against Harry’s. They kissed softly, then deeply in the heady night air.

When they parted, Draco turned to approach the water, Harry trailing behind him. “I can smell the cooking fire on my skin,” Draco said, wandering closer to the river. He ducked down and scooped up water to splash on his face.

“It’s in my clothing, too.” Harry removed his shirt, and Draco gazed unabashed at the appealing angles of Harry’s body.

Harry came to him, and Draco ran his hand over Harry’s heated chest. Harry took Draco’s lower lip between his own as Draco’s hands explored the lines of Harry’s torso.

“We both smell of smoke,” Draco said.

“I have an idea.”

“I’m certain you do.”

With a sly smile, Harry unfastened his trousers and dropped them to the ground. Shameless, he stepped out of both those and his pants in another fluid movement, and set his spectacles on top. Before Draco knew it, Harry had ducked through the bushes and was standing in the waist-deep water.

“Coming?” Harry asked, before ducking his head below the surface and emerging again, rivulets running over his body. The water glistened in the moonlight and he might have been the most beautiful thing Draco had ever seen.

What choice had Draco but to join him? The night was warm, but Draco’s skin prickled when he pulled his shirt off and set it aside, probably because Potter was watching him. He moved quickly after that, and entered the water—warmer now, the island adjusting to their needs—to make his way to Harry.

“I’d like to kiss you again,” Harry said.

“Mmm,” Draco agreed, as their mouths met.

After some time, Draco pulled away. “Wait,” he said, dropping his own head underwater.

“Mermaid,” Harry teased, when he rose again.

“Arsehole,” Draco shot back, and Harry laughed.

Draco had never snogged in a river before—not like this. He hadn’t expected it to be so overwhelming, as though Harry, himself, was a current running through him. He felt like he might be swept away.

Feeling vulnerable, Draco turned away and took a moment under the pretence of washing. Harry slipped into the space behind him, and wrapped his arms around Draco from behind.

“Don’t think,” Harry said. “You don’t need to think here. It’s made entirely of magic.” Potter tasted his ear. “Soak it in,” he whispered. “We’re in Avalon.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Draco said. “Incredible.”

Harry licked the water from below Draco’s ear before he ran his mouth down Draco’s neck to his shoulder, lapping at the droplets he met along the way.

“Merlin,” Draco groaned.

“Don’t say that,” Harry said into Draco’s shoulder. “He’d probably show up.”

Spinning around, Draco shut him up with a kiss, to silence the stupid jokes as much as because Harry’s mouth was addicting. Nor could he keep his hands off Harry; he found himself clinging to him as they stood together in the water, trying not to drown completely. Harry was so… solid.

Harry ran his palms over Draco’s skin, and his body responded to Harry’s touch, especially when Harry’s hands dropped lower to his hips.

“You’re gorgeous,” Potter said, and Draco tried not to think about how he wasn’t exactly, because Potter thought he was, and that was nice to know, even if Harry was blind without his spectacles.

“I don’t hate you anymore,” Draco said.

“I noticed.”

“I don’t know how that changed so quickly.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Now I just want to touch you,” Draco said, drunk on the heavy scent of apple blossoms. “You’re so warm. And real.”

“Are you cold?” Harry asked, wrapping his arms around Draco, and surrounding him with his body heat.

“No…” said Draco. “All right. Yes,” he admitted. “A little. I may need to get out of the water.”

Harry helped him up the riverbank, and they left their clothes behind, knowing Nettle might enjoy the easy task of washing and folding after potential culinary disaster with Merlin.

When they got back to the hut, the light was low, and they sank down together, and even Draco had no trouble staying warm. He kissed Harry everywhere, and Harry kissed him back. With soft parted lips, with hungry mouths. Trembling touches over sinew and bones.

Past the doubts and round the fears. Over sweat-slicked skin, through heat and want.

Past old scars, over flesh flushed rose. Onward without pause.

Under the moon, and on through the night. On and on through their need. Until they reached—

“Harry,” Draco gasped.

The morning was not shy in its arrival, and neither would Draco blush when Harry took his hand to walk down to the beach in the early light.

All right, perhaps Draco did blush a little, but his fair complexion allowed him no secrets.

He dropped Harry’s hand in shock when they reached the spot where they’d first landed the day before. “Of all that we’ve experienced since we got to this ridiculous island, this is, wands down, the most absurd.”

“You might be right,” Harry agreed, taking in the pile of their sleeping companions.

Aridel snored loudly, wisps of smoke rising from her snout. Pepper slept curled up, tucked into a furry ball against the dragon’s side. Nettle made soft sniffling sounds where she was passed out, face first, on the Aridel’s back, which rose and fell with every breath.

“Do we wake them?” Draco asked.

“I think we’re going to have to,” Harry said. “Unless you never want to leave.”

Draco smiled to himself. They both knew their departure from this place of rich, ancient magic was imminent, but he knew they’d also take something from Avalon with them.

He knew exactly how to wake everyone for their return trip. Draco located a piece of driftwood that had washed up nearby. “Hey!” he yelled as loudly as he could. “Fetch!”

In retrospect, startling a sleeping dragon may not have been the best idea, but no one was trampled and the mad scramble that ensued would remain inscribed in Draco memory for a millennia.

Soon after, as Nettle took Pepper to wee a final time in Avalon, Merlin appeared from amid the copse of crooked apple trees, his long beard prominently singed. Draco narrowed his eyes at Nettle, who smiled nervously.

Draco sighed. Cooking had gone well, then.

“It is no matter, young wizard,” Merlin assured him. “It will grow back; I’m not short on time.”

Emotion caught Draco off-guard, but he swallowed hard and nodded.

“Goodbye, Merlin,” Harry said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for your hospitality. And good luck. We’ll help you watch for your Arthur. And I know someone who loves research. Maybe she can help you break Morgana’s spell. I know you’ve seen many ages pass, but she’s the brightest witch in ours.”

Draco let the Granger worship slide. “You know how to reach me,” Draco told Merlin. “If I see your island again, I’ll know.”

“Thank you, but do not worry; I’ve enough magic and love to sustain me for another thousand years or more,” Merlin said as they boarded their dragon. “And apples. I’ve plenty of those, too. One for the flight, for your trip over the sea?”

Draco accepted the offering, a bright Slytherin-green apple, as Nettle waved goodbye, and before they knew it, their dragon lifted off from the sand and into the sun.

Once more they flew, back over the waves, over the wind and under the clouds, across the salty—

They were home in less than two hours.

“Good evening, Draco, Beaker will be serving your favourite tonight. We’re having—Merlin! What happened to your face?” Mother gasped dramatically when she looked at him. “I’ll have one of the elves find a lotion for you. Is it terribly painful?”

“I suspect I shall live,” Draco said. “It’s merely a sunburn.”

“A sunburn?” Mother was horrified. “We have spells for this sort of thing, Draco!”

“I forgot. I was out… flying. Forgot to reapply; that’s all.”

“How dreadful.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Come with me. I have a lovely potion that will help. You’ll like it; it smells like apples. It’s called Avalon, you know, from the…”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I know.”

“It’s lovely, and it will ease the burn. We’ll put that on in the interim and then go call my Healer for an immediate appointment. They may be able to fit you in this evening if we hurry—“

“I have a better idea,” Draco said. “Let’s have dinner, and I’ll tell you that Potter visited again.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.” Mother sniffed as she retrieved the lotion and opened the jar for Draco.

“Of course not,” Draco said. “You’ll have to be polite, though.”

“Mind your manners. I’m always polite.”

“Good,” Draco said. “Because Potter’s coming through the Floo in about three minutes to join us. I’ve already informed Beaker to set another place at dinner. Oh dear. You look surprised. I assumed you’d have seen the log when I gave him permission to access your Floo—oh! Merlin. Accidental magic, Mother? You may need to see a Healer; you could have gotten hurt when the lotion exploded like that. Here’s a towel. Let me find Tweaky to help with the clean-up before Potter arrives… aaaaaand there goes Auntie Walburga’s vase. Smashed into smithereens, will you look at that. Actually, that’s not tragic; the piece was fit for a troll.”

Draco paused to scoop up a dollop of the spilled potion and rubbed it on his nose. The ointment was quite nice, actually, and it did smell of apples. He smiled to himself, pecked Mother on the cheek, and went off to greet Potter.