Title: Island

Rating: M

Summary: Harry is on his way to an Order safehouse, accompanied by Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy when their plane crashes into the ocean. Stranded on a deserted island with no food, no shelter, and no hope to return home, the three will have to find some way to survive. Will be Snarry slash. 6th year.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other character used in this story. I am only writing this for my own amusement.

Additional Warning, Important!: I have finally begun to rewrite this story, and have started reposting it now that I am finally satisfied. If you do not care to read the new improved version, that is fine. If you do, please be patient! There are going to be some minor differences than any chapters you may have previously read, so I encourage you to just start over. Also, I have taken a very blatent and severe liberty with the ending of book 5, but its my fanfiction so I am allowed to do that. Don't hate me! Cheers!

Chapter One

The armrest of seat 17-B was made of cheap plastic and painted a sickly bluish-grey hue. There was a rough chip on one edge, no doubt the result of some previous occupant's frustration, and a sticker on the underside that proclaimed 'Stanley Rocks' in thick red and yellow lettering. Who Stanley was, and why he should 'rock' was a mystery that had occupied Harry Potter's thoughts for the last half hour. He fancied at first that Stanley was some sort of musician and the sticker an advertisement for a rock band, but decided after some contemplation the colors were a bit drab for that. Perhaps Stanley was instead a boy like himself, stuck on a long transatlantic flight with nothing to do except ignore the passengers on either side of him as much as possible. For Stanley's sake, Harry hoped the mystery-boy had a better job at it than he had.

"How Muggles can travel like this is beyond me. It's barbaric," the boy in 17-A hissed across to the man in 17-C. "When the Headmaster informed us we'd be flying in a coach I certainly had nothing like this in mind.. I can't even stretch my legs properly."

"We're not flying in a coach, Malfoy. This," Harry interrupted, indicating the surrounding cabin with a half-hearted wave of his arm, "is coach. It's what they call the cheap seats. Haven't you ever seen an airplane before?"

Harry hadn't actually seen an airplane up close before that evening when he'd arrived at Heathrow Airport in London, but he wasn't going to admit that now.

Draco Malfoy, who looked no less the pampered wizard-prince in his 'Muggle' attire than he did normally, purpled in indignation. The man next to the window snapped shut the book he'd been reading and pinched the bridge of his nose with an audible sigh.

"Cheap seats? Do you mean to tell me I've been placed in steerage?" the blonde curled his nose in disgust as he glanced around the cabin.

The Muggle in the seat across the aisle was a rather unpleasant looking woman with splotched skin and a long dark whisker growing out of her chin. In her sleep her head had lolled off to the side so that it hung out into the aisle, her jaw drooped open and a wet trail of drool had made dark stain on her wrinkled blue blouse. As Draco glared at her, she shifted and snorted, smacking her jaw together with a wet 'thwack'.

"Ugh, that is completely revolting. I think I'm going to be sick," Draco grimaced. "Professor, you must speak to the captain of this... this thing. These accommodations aren't suitable for livestock, though I don't suppose Muggles rate much higher. We must be moved at once."

Harry rolled his eyes. When they had first found their seats and fumbled to get buckled in before the airplane alit the sky, he'd responded to Malfoy's sneering objections and insults with a hearty defense of Muggles and Muggleborns and their technology. Of course, the wealthy young wizard had only sneered and uttered something suitably scathing in response, which had only served to rile Harry further, and so on and so forth.

Now an hour and a half into the uncomfortable trip, Harry was getting just a bit tired of being squashed in between two decidedly unpleasant companions and privately thought he wouldn't mind some roomier accommodations himself. Not that he thought there was any chance of that happening.

"Lower your voice, Mr. Malfoy," Severus Snape drawled. "Need I remind you of the consequences should you two decide to resume your petty squabbling?"

Despite the mildness of the professor's voice, Harry wasn't fooled. He'd been the man's student long enough to recognize that the calm, even tone meant danger, and he surreptitiously scooted a bit farther over in his seat. Malfoy was apparently also cognizant of the deep waters he was about to wade into, and his next protest died on his lips. It didn't stop him from jerking sulkily in his seat and glaring at Harry as if the whole thing was somehow his fault.

Which is was, actually. Sort of. Returning to the Dursley house after the fiasco at the Ministry that spring had seemed... well it made Harry feel like one of the ostriches he'd seen at the zoo before he'd been banished from that activity as a result of that minor incident in the snake house. He'd thought they were the oddest creatures he'd ever seen, with their huge feathery bodies standing motionless as they buried their heads in the sand. He'd wondered then what they were hiding from. He chuckled to himself as the memory brightened in his mind. Looking back now, his memory self seemed so much younger then, impossibly young, though it had only been five years. At ten years old, the evilest thing he could probably have imagined was his cousin Dudley and his horrendous gang of friends, or even possibly Aunt Marge. If he'd known then, if somehow he were able to go back in time and warn his younger self about the things that were awaiting him, truly evil things like killing curses and scars that weren't just scars; about phantoms that fed on pain and suffering and gave soul stealing kisses; about murder, betrayal and above all about Voldemort, he wouldn't have blamed himself if the ten year old Harry Potter had vanished instead the glass to the ostrich exhibit and crawled right into the sand with them.

It was much too late for that now. He'd looked into the eyes of the foulest being alive on earth, and it had stared back with hateful, blood-red intensity. There could be no more forgetting, no more pretending the darkness wasn't waiting around the corner to devour them all. The time for that was long past.

And yet, after he and his friends had been safely escorted back to Hogwarts and fussed over by Madame Pomfrey, they'd all been shipped off to their homes for the summer as if nothing had changed.

Harry sighed. Maybe nothing had changed for Dumbledore or the rest of the Order, but for Harry, everything was different now. He'd felt that twisted presence in his mind a thousand times more powerful than the diluted taint of infiltrated dreams and he knew with startling clarity that something had to be done to drive it from his world, and that it had to be done now. Now, before the darkness grew too black and too deep for him to find his way home the next time he found himself thick in the middle of it.

He'd protested of course. The night before the Leaving Feast found Harry ensconced in the Headmaster's office ranting and raving until his throat was raw. It hadn't made any difference. The next morning he was on the train speeding steadily along back to the house on Privet Drive. He'd hoped, at least, that he'd be allowed to stay with Sirius, but apparently his godfather would be gone most of the summer doing work for the Order.

'I'm sorry Harry,' Sirius had said quietly, squeezing Harry's shoulder to emphasize his words. 'The last thing I want to do is leave you again, especially after Voldemort tried to use me to hurt you."

'Then don't,' Harry had replied. It hadn't been fair of him, he knew. The worry and sorrow in his godfather's eyes had been proof enough that the man truly meant his words, but Harry hadn't wanted to believe them at the time. He'd been so angry, with everyone.

The Dursley's had not been pleased to see him either, of course, but by some unspoken agreement they managed to stay out of each other's way. Harry spent the days moping about in his room and the warm summer nights sitting out by the back door. He wasn't allowed to actually leave the yard-a promise the Headmaster had extracted from him that he knew, despite his rebellious attitude during their brief conversation before he stepped onto the train, it would be exceedingly foolish to break.

The beginning of the summer had been relatively quiet. Harry hadn't known quite what to expect-he'd been entertaining the idea that Death Eaters might show up at his door; certainly Voldemort had to be angry about the events at the Ministry and hungering for revenge. He couldn't imagine the evil wizard content to sit around and wait for Harry to waltz on out to meet him again.

It seemed at first though, that this was exactly what Voldemort was going to do, but then on the first day of the last week of June, it wasn't. Sinister looking men started appearing, stalking up and down the street at all hours of the day. While Harry had been assured they could by no means break through the blood-wards surrounding the property, it didn't stop them from standing about watching, and waiting.

The Dursleys had taken one look at the freaks surrounding the area and locked the doors and windows up tight. After the fourth day of cowering deep within the bowels of the house, Uncle Vernon reached his limit.

'Out!' he'd exploded when he caught Harry peeking out one of the front windows one evening. 'This is all your fault, boy! Do you see what you've brought upon us this time! Can't even leave the house can we, and I know just who to blame! You get out of this house and you take those, those freaks out there with you!'

Uncle Vernon had been all for kicking him out the door that instant, but in a rare moment of pity or concern or something remotely human, Aunt Petunia had insisted he stay until someone could come fetch him. Dumbledore had come personally, and though he'd tried to change their minds, he had no luck.

Harry had been overjoyed at first. He thought he'd be going back to Hogwarts, or at least to the Burrow, for the rest of the summer. The headmaster had other plans.

'Once he finds out you've been removed from your Aunt and Uncle's house, Voldemort will be expecting you at the school and with so many of the staff absent for the remainder of the summer, it is just not safe enough Harry. He knows, too, how close you are to young Ronald, and I'm sure you don't want to put the Weasleys at risk.'

Harry hadn't, of course. So now, instead of spending his lazy afternoons playing Quidditch with Ron, he was on a plane with the two people he least wanted to be with, and he had no idea where he was going.

The only thing Dumbledore had told him about their destination was that the Order had a safe house set up overseas, and that he would be safest there in the company of Professor Snape. He'd saved the unwelcome tidbit that Draco Malfoy would also be accompanying them until Harry was already out the door and stomping his way sullenly down the spiral staircase

Snape had been of little help. When Harry had reported, albeit reluctantly, to the front entrance of Hogwarts the next day at the appointed time, the man hadn't looked any happier about the situation than he was. He'd refused to speak a word about their destination, and after a brusque 'Lets go, Potter," they'd been hurtling away through the sickening in-between of Apparition.

"Really Professor, now even Potter's beginning to look sickly. I'm certain the Headmaster would be most displeased if his Golden Boy perished because proper consideration was not given to the most basic of our needs."

Malfoy's saccharine voice startled Harry out of his dark thoughts, and he turned to glare at the boy next to him. "The only thing making me sick, Malfoy," he shot, "is your non-stop whinging."

Draco glowered and opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again as a young woman pushing a beverage trolley stopped in the aisle beside them.

"Would any of you gentleman like a glass of pop?" the stewardess asked pleasantly, holding out a glass of dark, fizzing liquid Harry assumed was some sort of Cola. He'd never tried the stuff before, not being allowed the treat whilst stuck with the Dursleys.

Draco was eyeing both the woman and the drink with a fixed look of disdain. No doubt he'd never tasted it either, let alone even heard of its existence. The wizarding world hadn't branched out much from pumpkin juice and butterbeer from what Harry could tell.

"I'll have some please," Harry replied, seeing as how neither of his companions seemed on the verge of offering any sort of response. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but he didn't want to be rude.

"Excuse me… madam," Draco cut in, finally, his tone clipped and falsely polite, as if the very act of speaking to a Muggle was causing him a great deal of stress. "Might I inquire how much longer the flight will last?"

"About six more hours, dearie," the woman replied cheerfully. "The pilot will be turning out most of the lights soon, so you can sleep for a bit if you like. It'll be early morning again when we land, so you'll want to get your rest now."

With a wink, she patted Draco's arm and shuffled off down the aisle, pushing her cart before her.

Harry took a sip of his drink, cautiously. The fizz felt like mini crackers exploding in his mouth, but not in an altogether unpleasant way. He decided he quite liked it.

"I can't believe your going to drink that abomination, Potter," Draco exclaimed scornfully, apparently recovered from his encounter with the Muggle.

"What the bloody hell do you care what I drink, Malfoy?"

"Language, Potter," Snape warned from his other side, not taking his eyes away from his book. "Some of us are already nauseated at the very idea of this particular… excursion, without having to listen to your foul mouth along the way."

Draco smirked victoriously, glaring at Harry and the glass haughtily.

In defiance, Harry took a large gulp and swallowed noisily. "Delicious. Are you sure you don't want any?"

The blonde grimaced and pointedly looked away. "Just hurry up and finish the sludge if you're going to, but keep it away from me."

Harry did, but only because he didn't think he could get away with dumping the content's in Malfoy's lap with Snape close enough to strangle him without leaving the comfort of his seat.

Eventually, whether he was tired of bickering or had just run out of quippy insults to throw Harry's way, Draco settled into his seat and took to staring at the other passengers with his lips curled in disgust, and Harry happily left him to it.

The lights began to dim, as promised, and Harry turned his head toward the window and watched the clouds roll by. The sky grew dark, and at first he thought it was just night creeping steadily on, but the blackness came too quickly, and it was much too early in the day. Uneasiness slunk malevolently into a pit in his chest and despite the nonchalance with which the plane continued stealthily through the dark sky, it would not go away.

Abruptly, the plane rumbled. A small vibration, barely noticeable, but it was enough for Draco to start in the seat beside him, and for Snape to look up finally from his book, and glance about the plane.

"Good afternoon folks, this be your pilot speaking," a friendly, vibrant voice crackled over the intercom. "We've spotted a wee bit of turbulence up ahead, so we'd ask that everyone return to their seats and buckle up for safety. No need to worry, these things happen all the time, and we'll have us out of this spot in a jiffy."

Despite his friendly assurances, the plane rumbled again, this time hard enough to shake Harry forcibly in his seat. He stared anxiously out the window, but now he could see nothing: not the clouds or the sky nor even the outline of the wing that he knew should be visible there somewhere. There was only thick, impenetrable black.

"Turbulence?" Draco hissed, as he fumbled nervously with the clasp of his seatbelt. "Professor, what the bloody hell is turbulence? Is the plane supposed to shake like this?"

Harry was further alarmed when he noticed the man had pulled his wand out of his sleeve and was clutching it tightly in the ready position. He was sure the only reason the professor would brandish his wand in clear view of several dozen muggles was if he suspected some serious trouble.

Harry's heart was racing. His first thought was of Voldemort. Had he found them, despite all their secrecy and precaution? Did the dark wizard have enough strength and power to besiege an entire airplane?

"Professor, do you think Volde-" he began, his voice shaking with each vicious jar and jerk of the plane.

"Quiet!" Snape hissed, cutting him off. His dark eyes swept back and forth as he too stared out the window, but Harry didn't know what he could possibly be looking for. There was nothing to see there.

The plane lurched suddenly, and several people about the cabin screamed. The lights, which had come on again with the 'Fasten Seatbelt' sign, flickered ominously.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. Undo your restraints and take hold of your things, quickly," Snape whispered suddenly. Even amidst the chaotic plane and its terrified passengers, his voice betrayed not a hint of weakness.

"Are you insane?" Draco shouted incredulously, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly it was enough to turn his knuckles white. The entire left side of the plane dipped suddenly, sending him crashing into Harry. "You want us to waltz about the plane while it's doing this?"

"You will do as I say, unless you want to die on this plane when it crashes into the ocean!" the man hissed back furiously, his dark eyes blazing. He had already undone his own seatbelt and was perched precariously on the edge of his seat, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

"Crash?" Harry asked weakly. "What do you mean we're going to crash? The pilot said everything was going to be fine!"

Snape glared at him. "Does this look fine to you, Potter? Do you really think the pilot would announce our impending mortality to a cabin full of already panicking muggles?"

Harry didn't think being muggle had much to do with it, since he was certainly feeling a bit panicked himself, and Malfoy looked to be already over the edge into full blown hysteria.

"We have to get out of here now and I cannot do that unless you two imbeciles stand up and give me some room!" the professor continued urgently.

Harry took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. The plane was shaking so violently now that he could hear his teeth knocking together inside his head. There was nothing else for it. Either he trusted Snape to get him out of there, or he took his chances with a muggle pilot he had never seen, never met, and who had, by the looks of things, already lied to him.

Exhaling quickly, he grabbed for the release on his belt, but it wasn't easy to get the latch undone with his hands shaking so fiercely.

Next to him Draco had muttered a half-silent prayer to Merlin and started fumbling around with his own clasp. Harry didn't know what the other boy believed about their current situation, but he was sure he didn't want to be left behind with a plane full of hysterical muggles.

Finally the release clicked and Harry threw off the tight strap.

"Good, now stand up and move into the aisle. I'll need room if I'm to Apparate us away from here," Snape coached, his voice low and urgent. "Make sure you have your wands. We are not returning for them if you lose them."

Harry grabbed his backpack in one hand, curling his fingers tightly around the strap and his wand at the same time. With his free arm he tried to steady himself on the seat in front of him as he inched closer to Draco.

The lights flickered again, and someone in the seat behind them started to wail loudly. Then again, they blinked quickly from and back to existence. A third time and cabin was plunged into complete darkness. They did not come back on.

Harry ignored the resurgence of crying and startled exclamations of surprise of all the people he could no longer see. He felt cautiously ahead of him for Draco and felt his heart leap in relief when he felt the smooth silk that could only be the shirt of a Malfoy. It occurred to him, at that rather inopportune time, that this was the only moment in five years that he was actually relieved to have his Slytherin nemesis so close by.

"Watch your hands, Potter!" Draco voice hissed through the blackness, but the dark form Harry had latched onto made no attempt to move away.

He felt the heat of another body close behind him and heard Snape's voice low in his ear.

"Whatever you do, do not let go of me, and do not lose your wands."

Harry tightened his grip on his bag and let go of Draco to hold onto Snape instead, wrapping his fingers so tightly around the man's arm he was sure it would leave marks. Snape said nothing of it, only,

"Ready, and… now."

It seemed only half a heartbeat that the man had paused, but in that briefest of moments, Harry was sure that he had died. He felt his feet lift off the floor and felt himself crashing forward into the seat in front of him, his stomach racing into his throat. His hand slipped as the plane gave one last violent shudder and plunged suddenly downward, nose straight down towards the ocean somewhere below them.

Even as his head cracked against something in the dark, he felt someone grab a hold of him and jerk him backwards. Then his mind succumbed to the dizzying darkness and he hardly noticed anything at all.

Weakly, he thought to himself that dying was rather unpleasant. He thought there might have been a bright flash of light, but his eyes refused to open so he couldn't be sure. Then, everything was dark again, and cold, and very, very, wet.