Unofficial Portkey Archive

Skulls and Crossbones

By: Kneazle

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. Ideas are taken from Peter Pan, Peter Pan: Return to Neverland, Hook, The Adventures of Nate and Hayes, Disney's Shipwrecked, Captain Ron, Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, the Princess Bride, Disney's the Little Mermaid, Disney's Muppet Treasure Island, Cutthroat Island, The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers

~*~

Chapter Seven

Harry disconsolately plucked at his gaudy green waistcoat, pulling at the adorned gold tassels.

"Did I have to wear this?" he moaned quietly, not wanting to distract unwanted attention to him. Hermione had come up with the idea that he was a rich merchant coming from a recent excursion in the Caribbean with his wife. Hermione, Harry thought, looked particularly fetching in her scarlet red dress. He didn't know much of women's fashion, but he knew that Hermione looked good enough for their station, but below her own princess title.

"Yes, you did," she replied - it wasn't cold, but it wasn't friendly either. Harry decided that it was monotonous.

He sighed, turning his head away as he scanned the horizon, out of habit, for enemy vessels. He couldn't help but be protective of Hermione. Ever since they started on the Morningside merchant ship, Harry had a queasy feeling in his gut. He knew he loathed giving Hermione up, but it had been her choice, and he honored it.

Instead, he thought back nearly two weeks ago when he walked in on Ron, his best mate, (Harry snorted) and Hermione.

They had been standing very close together, their breathing labored and Hermione's corkscrew hair was messier than normal. Harry's heart beat painfully against his ribs.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

Hermione glanced to the floor, guilty of something, while Ron grinned and stepped towards his friend. "I'm just teaching Mione, here the basics."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he felt the first stirrings of anger deep in his heart. "Basics, Ron?"

Ron grinned roguishly and winked at Harry. "She catches on quite fast. Eager learner, she is."

Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Did she really hate him that much that she would go to Ron instead? Go to him that soon after their fight, and that soon after she professed her love to him?

"Oh?"

Ron smiled, pleased. He then patted something next to him, resting at his hip. "I never thought I'd see the day when a princess requests to learn to fight with a sword and dagger."

Harry was certain his heart stopped beating for a few precious seconds before he slid the stoic mask back in place. "Sword fighting?"

"Well, you never know when she'll be attacked now, will you?" accused Ron, twisting his lips into a frown. "Especially when she goes back to being a stuffy princess, Mione might want to know that she can defend herself if she has to."

"I asked him to teach me, Harry, be angry at me if you are," her calm, quiet voice shook Harry to the core as he drew in a ragged breath and nodded.

"Fine. You may continue if Ron decides. You are not, however, to be hurt. I will not risk it, not when you're so close to going home. I won't send you back with scars and battle wounds that are meaningless," he snapped. Then, he turned on his heels and strode out of the galley where they had been practicing, his heart weeping.

Back in the present, Harry found himself brooding, wishing the journey were already at an end so he didn't have to look at her and remember his heart breaking or realizing what he was going to inevitably lose.

"Oh, look," Hermione suddenly said breathlessly, her corkscrew hair flying all over the place in the Irish breeze. Harry followed her line of sight to see the green, rolling hills of Ireland to appear. They would dock and reload the merchant cargo in Belfast, and then continue on to a small port on another vessel near Ayr, where they would then take a stagecoach to Glasgow, where Laird Oliver Wood had a manor on its outskirts.

The whole journey would take another week, but for Harry, it was another, prolonged week of pleasure in Hermione's company, even if she didn't want him there with her.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, sighing softly and resting her elbows on the wooden railing. Harry, not looking at the scenery any more, nodded and murmured with appreciation, "Yes, beautiful."

Hermione's brown eyes slowly traveled from the rolling Irish hills to Harry's own emerald. How similar in colour they are, she mused distractedly, as her eyes softened.

"Don't play with me, Harry," murmured Hermione, glancing up at him under her lashes. "You know you want to be rid of me."

Harry felt the lump in his throat and cleared his throat, tugging on his cravat suddenly. He accidentally made it come undone, swearing under his breath as he tried to fix it.

"Oh, Harry," giggled Hermione, her warm fingers coming up to refasten his cravat around his neck, tugging and placing it expertly back where it was supposed to be. "Try not to fuss, now," she finished with a smile quirked in his direction. Harry marveled at the merchant wife she made.

You two could be like this always, a nasty voice whispered in the back of his mind, loving and carefree. She doesn't care of you past, or your misdeeds.

No, replied Harry inwardly, she doesn't, but I don't find myself worthy of her.

>><<

The Scotland highlands appeared soon days afterwards. Harry and Hermione were the only two passengers that got off at Ayr, and the only ones who were able to procure the nicest stagecoach to go to Glasgow in.

Inside the cozy stagecoach, it was quiet and tense. Harry silently sighed, settling down for a long and bumpy ride, while Hermione, next to him, sat upright and straight.

"You won't be comfortable sitting like that the whole journey," Harry remarked, glancing over at her, a slightly fuzzy figure from behind his glasses.

"Well, yes, thank you for that acute observation," replied Hermione, pouting. She slid down in her seat as the two fell silent. Finally, she asked in a small voice, "Do you care for me, at all, Harry?"

Harry tensed, his eyes wide with disbelief that she would actually ask him that. When he didn't answer right away, Hermione nodded, smoothing down the fabric of her dress.

"I see."

Harry sat upright. "No, no you don't, Hermione. I do care for you…" here he paused, swallowing, "But… not the way you believe me to care." The double meaning slipped by without her notice. Harry had said that he cared for her, but not the way she was thinking; and currently, she was thinking he didn't care for her at all. Feeling decidedly clever, Harry settled back with a smug smile, tipping his tricorn low over his eyes and nose to welcome sleep.

He didn't see Hermione's gapping mouth, or her narrowed eyes when she figured out what he meant, either.

Well, she thought, two can play that game, Mr. Potter!

In turn, Hermione also settled down for some sleep, as she hadn't received much on the ships. When it didn't come to her, she instead turned her head and watched the passing foliage and scenery, lost in her own thoughts.

Before Hermione knew it, Harry was gently nudging her awake and out of an semi sleep, whispering, "We're here. Ready?"

Hermione rubbed at her eyes, murmuring lightly that she was. Harry's eyes roamed her face - from her tousled brown corkscrew curls that flew in every direction; to her heavy-lidded sparkling brown eyes, and red lips - Harry never thought she looked more enticing than she did at that moment.

He felt his heart lurch and tug painfully in his chest. So this is what love feels like, he mused, before running a finger gently down her cheek. Hermione briefly closed her eyes, enjoying his touch, before opening her eyes and giving Harry a small smile.

"Let's go, husband," she whispered.

Harry gave Hermione a tight, controlled smirk. "Allow me, wife."

The driver opened the carriage door and Harry stepped out, shielding his eyes from the bright sun, reflecting on his glasses. He turned, brushing the tails of his waistcoat away from his hips as he did so, extending his hand for Hermione to grasp.

Her dainty gloved hand fell onto his, tightening as she stepped out of the carriage and down onto the gravel that served as Wood's pathway to the house.

The man himself was standing alone on the veranda, holding what appeared to be a drink in his hand, and stood unmoving. He was too far away for Harry to get a good look, but he could tell that Wood was broad shouldered and would have been easily mistaken for a ruffian, had he been wearing rougher clothes or was on a pirate ship.

"Is that him?" Hermione asked, standing next to Harry as she raised a hand to shield her own eyes. Harry nodded.

"That's him all right." Harry paused. "Promise me you'll be careful, Hermione."

Hermione glanced up at the tall, rigid man standing beside her. "Harry?"

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and bowed his head before turning to look at Hermione. "I can't protect you once I leave this place. I just want to… to make sure that you'll be okay."

"I thought I was a thorn in your side, Mr. Potter," remarked Hermione, raising a single eyebrow. Harry felt the corner of his lips twitch.

"That you may have been, love," Harry growled, bending towards her slightly, "but I can't help but feel slightly…"

"Relieved? Excited?" Hermione prompted.

"…Fond, I was going to say," he grossed. "Whatever happens Hermione, this is it. You'll be back to being a princess, and I'll go back to sailing the seas."

"Is that what makes you happy, Harry?" Hermione frowned. She took in his gentlemanly appearance. "Is that what you want out of life?"

Harry turned away and slowly began to walk towards Wood. Hermione followed, skipping slightly to keep up with his strides.

"It's the only life I know, Hermione," came his terse reply. "I don't think I can have any other."

Only if you want it badly enough, you can, Harry, Hermione thought sadly, following her 'husband' silently.

>><<

Oliver Wood could be described as stocky - he looked like his Scottish ancestors, heavily built and broad shouldered, with dark brown eyes and light brown hair that gave the message he wasn't a full-blood Scot.

He wore a simple pair of black trousers and a pale green linen shirt with the cuffs open. In one hand was a brandy, and his other hand was in his pants pocket.

"Who're you?" he asked, when Harry and Hermione came close enough to hear his Scottish burr.

Harry stopped, entering a formal bow that only members of the ton did so perfectly, and said, "Viscount Harry Potter, my lord."

Oliver raised his eyebrows in response. "Potter! You know there is a bounty on your head. The Crown wants to talk to you about some nonsense kidnapping."

Standing again, Harry quirked a smile. "Allow me to introduce my companion, Wood." He turned and swept a hand toward Hermione. "Princess Hermione Granger of Richmondshire."

Hermione fell into a deep curtsey and smiled benignly at Oliver.

"Sweet Holy Mother," breathed Oliver, before dipping into a bow himself. "Christ, you two! What're you, daft? Standing out here in the open…" muttering to himself, Oliver ushered Harry and Hermione into the grand entry of his mansion, before leading them to his library.

There, he placed down his brandy and offered one to Harry. Declining, Harry found himself sitting on a comfy red couch, warily watching Hermione as she walked around the library, hesitantly touching the spines of novels she found enthralling.

"So what're you two doing here?" Oliver finally asked, settling across from Harry in an armchair.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he began to speak. "Oliver, I need the piece of the Marauder's Map that was given to you."

Oliver looked at Harry shrewdly. "And why should I give it to you?"

Harry sighed, running his hands through his black hair. "Because it's mine."

"Harry!" admonished Hermione from a corner where she leaned against a bookshelf, reading a book she had found. "Tell him the truth or he won't help. I think he'll be kind and give you it anyway, but still. Where are your manners?"

Harry grumbled, but complied. "I've been lead to believe that Tom Riddle wants the map for himself so he can rape, pillage and plunder the world without having to worry about being caught."

"After, of course, he gets his hands on your family treasure, which is hidden - and it's only location can be shown on the last map piece," finished Oliver, steeping his fingers together as he crossed his legs. "You realize my piece is the second last."

"Second!" Harry jumped out of his seat, astonished. "Then where is the last piece?"

Oliver shrugged. "No one knows. But, if you have the most of the map, then it's likely no one else will be able to find the Potter treasure."

"But that's not for certain!" Harry exclaimed, beginning to pace. Hermione watched worriedly, placing her book down.

"Harry…"

"Not now, Hermione!"

Oliver watched the exchange. Finally, he said quietly, "I know you're upset, Potter, but having the majority of the pieces is better than none, believe me."

Harry turned on his heel. "So you'll be giving me the piece then?"

Oliver looked bemused for a moment. "Um… no."

"Why ever not?"

Oliver grinned. "I've heard that you are an excellent swordsman, Potter - and here in the Scottish nobility realm, I find that my peers aren't exactly… shall we say… up to my skill level? I'd like to challenge you to a fight. You win; you get your map piece. I win, you still get the map piece but I get bragging rights I won the great Harry Potter."

Harry thought it over. "You're telling me that you can't find anyone to duel with - at all - in all of Scotland?"

Oliver paused. "Well, no - I can find people. It just so happens that I beat all those people, so I'm looking for a bit of a challenge. I don't know if you know, but my father happened to be quite the swordsman. He passed along his skills to me, and you can say that I'm just a little bit obsessed."

Harry raised a single eyebrow. "A little bit obsessed?"

Oliver blushed slightly. "That's an understatement, all right? I live, eat, breathe and sleep the art of swords play and I would be honored if you would duel against me."

Harry grinned." When you put it that way, we have an accord - only if you promise, no matter what - to help get Hermione back to Richmondshire. We split ways here."

Oliver looked surprised, glancing between Harry and Hermione. Finally, his eyes narrowed and he nodded. "I accept."

Harry and Oliver shook hands, smiling knowingly at each other before dropping the joined hands and stepping away.

"Would you like some time to freshen up and change into some fight clothes, perhaps?" Oliver asked, taking a sip of his previously discarded drink.

Harry nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you, my lord."

"Ah, no," Oliver grinned, "thank you, Viscount."

>><<

"You're bloody insane, that's what you are!" shouted Hermione, stomping around the room that Harry was given. He stood behind a dressing screen, tossing his trousers, shirt, waistcoat and breeches over the rail.

"You've been around my crew too long, princesses don't talk like that!" he called out in a teasing voice. "Now, hand me those trousers Oliver sent up."

"I can't believe you scared that poor maid away - and the groom too! All they wanted to do was help you," Hermione continued mumbling. "My God, Harry! A swordfight! I can't believe it!"

"Well, you ought to!" he retorted, "Because you're going to be there, watching. It's not to the death anyway, Mione, it's just who can knock the other's rapier out of his hand first. Sure, I'll be cut up a little, but nothing more than a scratch."

With an unearthly shriek, Hermione flung all of Harry's new cloths over the rail, making them land on his head.

"Hey! Hermione!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, Harry Potter!" shouted Hermione, stomping around the screen to wag and point her finger at Harry. He gawked, before hastily buttoning up his trousers. Oblivious to his semi naked state, Hermione continued to rant and rave.

"All you're going to do is get into a big, bloody mess and who'll be there to watch and only moan and shout out to watch yourself? Me, that's who! You don't even take care of yourself properly, thinking you're this big, mean pirate that doesn't need to be cared for - well, listen to me now, Harry - you do need to be cared for!"

Harry was amused but now exasperated by Hermione's speech. He sighed and moved towards the young woman.

"And furthermore - Harry! What are you doing?" she stopped suddenly, watching him advance towards her. "Harry?"

He wrapped his arms around Hermione's figure, pulling her toward him. "Did anyone tell you that you worry too much?" he asked.

"No," grumbled Hermione, "Because I never had anyone to ever worry about before. Until, of course, you came along one day."

Harry chuckled, the action felt by Hermione through the layers of clothing she wore. She felt her cheeks flush and her body temperature rise.

"I like feeling worried over," Harry confided in Hermione, "but not if it's all you think about."

"You're such a rake!" Hermione shouted, swatting him as she caught his meaning.

Laughing, Harry released Hermione, tweaking her nose. "Let me dress, then lecture me, all right, Princess?"

Hermione crossed her arms and went to sit on his bed, pouting. Minutes later he emerged, silent, and sat next to her. His weight cause the bed to dip and she tilted towards him slightly.

"You never got that walloping I promised you," Hermione said suddenly.

Frowning, Harry remembered Tortuga. "That's right. You promised to wallop me, and I said…"

"'My dear Princess, the day you wallop and trounce me is the day I agree to be your husband,'" both Harry and Hermione finished, grinning at each other.

"Well, you're my husband now," teased Hermione, "so does that mean I can wallop and trounce you?"

Harry laughed, slinging his arm over her shoulders. "Does it mean that much to you, seeing as this is our last day together?"

Hermione fell silent.

"Hermione?"

She turned to look at him. "Yes, Harry, it means that much to me."

He smiled at her, smoothing down her hair. "Then go right ahead."

Hermione smiled back, before wrapping her arms around his middle and tackling him. He laughed as they fell into the bed's pillows.

Hermione then rubbed Harry's head, making his hair messier than usual, and proceeded to tickle him.

"Hey!" he exploded between gasps, "I thought I was to be walloped!"

"This is the closest I can get to walloping someone, Harry," Hermione revealed, "Because I'm a lady."

"Like hell you are," he growled softly, before pulling her down beside him on the bed. He traced the line of her jaw, his eyes following the movement. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. He propped his body slightly over hers, using his elbow to keep his weight off her body.

Hermione blushed, a pretty pink staining her cheeks. "Thank you."

"I bet you hear that all the time at court," he continued.

"No. I don't," she replied.

"You should. You should be told that you're beautiful every day. When you wake up in the morning, and before you fall asleep," he whispered feverishly, cupping one cheek.

"Are you going to kiss me one last time, Harry?" Hermione wondered, aloud.

"I am," he replied, before dipping his head and brushing his lips across hers - then back again. He smiled gently, brushing some hair away from her eyes, and then pressing his lips against her soft ones tenderly.

The kiss wasn't fast or hurried, or even really romantic; rather, it was a soft, lingering kiss that left you feeling like you just had the most wondrous day of your life. It spoke of promises, love, and want, but also of respect and admiration.

The kiss itself was a goodbye.

A knock on Harry's door made both of them swivel their heads to the noise.

"Mr. Potter, sir? Master Wood says I'm to take you to the dueling room. Are you ready, sir?" the servant asked through the door.

Harry kissed Hermione once more, this time on the forehead. "Go to your room, love. Don't watch us. Do this for me."

"For you," Hermione replied. "And only this once, Potter."

She rose, following Harry to the door. He opened it, revealing a young Scottish boy, who glanced at Hermione.

"Miss."

Harry turned back to Hermione.

"What are you waiting for? Go."

Hermione nodded, turning her head slightly, and walked down the hall. Harry waited until she closed and locked her bedroom door behind her. He then turned back to the boy and nodded.

Taking a deep breath, forcing his mind away from the captivating princess, Harry breathed out, "I'm ready."

>><<

"So, you finally showed up," Oliver grinned from where he stood in the white marble room. He wore black trousers and a white shirt, like Harry, but wore black leather cuffs to keep his shirt cuffs from getting in the way. His boots were polished and shined in the fading afternoon light.

They both picked brother rapiers, twins in size and blade width, before saluting each other gamely.

Harry ran his blade against Oliver's, going into a proper fencing stance. Oliver copied Harry, and soon lunged at him, swishing his blade.

Harry waltzed away, feeling the air moved as the blade narrowly missed him, and the whizzing sound that accompanied it.

The two skilled fighters danced around each other, lashing out and dodging, parrying and thrusting, both of an equal match.

"Getting tired yet?" a sweaty and slightly fatigued Oliver panted.

"Not nearly," replied Harry in the same tone. He thrust one last time, catching Oliver's right wrist and knocking the rapier to the ground with a clang.

Oliver took a step back, his eyes showing that he was pleasantly surprised. "Well, Potter - it seems to me you earned the map piece."

He bowed, ending his part of the game, and Harry did the same, handing Oliver back his sword. "It was an excellent work out, sir," Harry replied.

Oliver grinned and motioned for Harry to follow him into the study, a room filled with two couches and an armchair, and a desk and cabinet for Oliver's drinks.

Harry sat on the armchair, rolling his shoulders to work out some kinks he received. Oliver went to a cabinet and unlocked it, then went to a small cabinet inside of that one, unlocked that one, and reached inside.

He retrieved a part of the map and locked the two cabinets before walking over to Harry and handing it to him.

"Is this what you're looking for?" he asked, settling on the couch.

"Yes," Harry replied, smoothing it out as he looked over Mediterranean. "Just the Atlantic now, and the location of the treasure."

"Out of curiosity," began Oliver, "how would you find the treasure?"

"There are hints or coordinates written on the back of each map piece," Harry said, flipping the new pieces over to show a scribble of numbers.

"When put all together, you'll find the treasure. Technically, I can do a part of it now, as the Atlantic piece has the last hint as to where the treasure is located, but the islands' location is plainly seen by the remaining pieces."

Oliver looked impressed. "Intelligent idea."

"I thought so too," Harry replied. They sat silently, their bodies cooling, before getting into the serious matters.

Finally, after putting it off for a while, Harry sighed. "So. How do I get back to the Marauder?"

Oliver frowned and began to think. "Same way you came, I should think, but in a new disguise. Where is your vessel going to make buff?"

"Ayr, where we were dropped off."

"Excellent. No unwanted questions. The English still avoid Scotland," Oliver grinned suddenly. "I'm afraid we're not always the welcoming hosts, either."

Harry chuckled.

"I'm very well aware of the battles between the English and Scots, Oliver," he said, "My mother herself was Irish, and my father English… imagine the societal gossip for that courtship!"

Oliver nodded. "Very well, then. Stay here tonight and be gone tomorrow morning."

Harry shook his head. "Oliver… it would be best if I leave now."

"Why?"

Harry shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable.

"Don't tell me it's because of Hermione! She's harmless. She won't chase after you, she knows her duty," Oliver answered. Then, a thought came to him. "Och, no… wait, don't tell me you're afraid of a wee thing like her!" Oliver chortled cheerfully, before giving Harry a benign look. "Unless you've fallen in love with her?"

Harry bristled. "I have not fallen in love with her!"

Oliver burst out into laughter. "You have, so! Well, well. The great Harry Potter is human after all. Excellent, excellent."

"Do you always say words in pairs?" Harry asked glumly.

"Don't be so down, lad! Love is a wonderful feeling," Oliver smiled. "But, if you want to leave tonight, I can't stop you."

They both rose.

"How is Hermione going to…" Harry trailed off. He didn't want to think about her as a princess. To him, she'd always be that defiant little chit that had stolen away on his brig, stating quite clearly she wanted an adventure.

"Return home?" Oliver finished. "I'll travel with her to the boarder of Richmondshire. She'll be safe the minute she steps back into her country."

"Thank you," Harry said, shaking Oliver's hand.

Oliver smirked. "You're welcome, Viscount."

Harry then turned, opened the door to the study and left the room, heading straight for the front entrance doors.

"You were going to leave without a goodbye?" a voice floated down from the second story overhang.

Harry paused, glancing back up to see Hermione wearing a white nightgown, a saddened expression on her face.

Harry bit back a rude retort he was going to make. Now wasn't the time for a mask - it was time for the truth.

"Yes," he answered plainly, knowing it was breaking both their hearts to hear it.

Hermione lowered her head slightly. "I see." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I - thank you, Harry. When we met I asked for an adventure and you gave me one. I experienced things I would never have had a chance to if it wasn't for you."

"You're welcome, Princess," Harry replied, his voice soft.

"Are we back to formalities, Harry?" asked Hermione forlornly. She rested her elbows on the banister and leaned forward.

"Captain Potter, please," Harry choked out. "And, yes, we are. It's… safer this way."

"For who? You?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Why, Harry thought bitterly. It's always why, and never a chance to say goodbye easily. "I can't answer that, Princess. Go back to bed. It's late."

Hermione nodded, although Harry had turned his back on her, his shoulders stiff.

"All right then," she said. "Harry. Goodnight."

"No, princess," Harry replied in a surprisingly strong voice. "Not goodnight. Goodbye." Then he walked briskly forward, opened the front doors, and stepped into the night, disappearing from Hermione's life. Her heart became as empty as the great hall, and the door that Harry had closed had closed for her heart as well.

>><<

A shadowy figure, hidden behind a large bush on Oliver's grounds, sighed in relief. "Finally, that Potter's left the building. We can move in now."

Blaise had been sitting in the same spot with the Lestranges for nearly six hours, waiting for Potter to leave so that they could go in, and kidnap Hermione.

Now dark, Blaise was appreciating his dark Italian looks that would become an asset to his latest task.

"Are you two ready?" he asked, turning to glance at the couple over his shoulder. Panic began to grip at his heart and throat when Blaise saw that there was no one behind him. The Lestranges went rogue.

"Blast it!" Blaise swore, standing and beginning to look around the grounds for them. He moved cautiously across the grass, keeping to the shadows and listening for non-animal sounds. A snap of a twig made him whirl, only to have something hard connect with his skull, rendering him unconscious.

Bellatrix Lestrange stepped out of the shadows, her face graced with a small smile as she stared down at Blaise Zabini's crumpled form.

"I hope you didn't kill him," came a deep male voice from her right. The man who stepped out of the shadows there was tall and skinny with a black moustache and beard, and cold blue eyes.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "You know I didn't kill him. Wish I could though."

Together, the couple tied Blaise up and left him under the bush where he was previously sitting. They stripped him of his pistol and sword, and checked his pockets for any other news or items he had been keeping from them.

Then, they headed towards the house.

>><<

The inside of Wood's mansion was dark, with only a few candles lighting the hallways. Shadows danced and flickered as the two figures moved stealthily through the wood-encased hallway.

"Which room is she in?" Rodolphus asked quietly. Bellatrix shrugged.

"We'll know. He'd most likely put her in the guest room," she said. There was no fear of being overheard by servants - they were all taken care of. Most wouldn't be waking until later that morning, near noontime, thanks to those nasty bumps they mysteriously received during the night.

"So the opposite wing?" Rodolphus stated, moving up the stairs before turning left. Bellatrix followed quietly, her hand resting on the handle of her pistol while her husband's rested on the hilt of his engraved sword.

Bellatrix felt her lips twist into what one would believe to be a smile, but to her it was feral. Her hand was milky white in the moonlight that filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side of the hallway, overlooking the Wood family land.

Bellatrix gripped a glass doorknob, glancing over her shoulder at her husband, her straight black hair falling over one shoulder. "Ready?" she mouthed.

He nodded, pulling his sword out of its sheath. Bellatrix smirked, opening the door quietly and slipping inside the room.

The princess lay in the middle of the bed on her stomach, sprawled out with the bed sheets tangled around her legs. She wore what appeared to be a man's shirt instead of a nightgown, and there were a pair of trousers and boots left by a chair near a changing screen.

Bellatrix raised one eyebrow when she saw them, knowing they were of a masculine origin - what woman wears men's wear for fun? Especially a royal? - And that they were left for her purposely. Her nightgown that a maid must have left out was still folded neatly on a hope chest placed at the end of the bed.

"Is that her?" asked Rodolphus in a hushed whisper. Bellatrix nodded.

With a practiced ease, Bellatrix moved to the edge of the bed and leaned over the sleeping young woman, pulling her pistol out at the same time.

"She will be so frightened to see the pistol she'll faint dead away," she whispered to her husband. Rodolphus nodded but didn't lower his sword.

With her back to her husband, Bellatrix unlocked the pistol and pointed it at Hermione. Then, she used her free left hand to reach and shake her shoulder.

Hermione eyes popped open in surprise, and she immediately twisted on the bed, swinging her left arm out in an arc to knocked Bellatrix's pistol away from her face. On reflex, Bellatrix fired. A puff of blue smoke hung in the air, and in the dead quiet of the room, the bang from the pistol echoed.

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" asked Hermione, her eyes narrowed and clearly brushing her sleep off as she stared at Bellatrix with fury. Her eyes were rimmed red and they were puffy, but she was quickly growing conscious of the presences in her room.

She then shoved the woman away, jumping out of the bed and reaching for a discarded sword Harry had left for her - a parting gift he couldn't - or wouldn't - give in person.

The blunt edge of a sword tapped on Hermione's hand, enough to sting, when she reached for it. Rodolphus's grinning pointy face appeared in the darkness, coming close to Hermione as she backed away.

"Tsk, tsk, Princess," he began in an oily voice that reminded Hermione of her dear tutor, Severus Snape, "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" His smirk told her that he enjoyed mocking her and throwing her words back in her face.

Hermione inaudibly gulped, stepping back again, but the sharp jab of Bellatrix's pistol in the small of her back made her stop.

The older woman's silky voice whispered, "Now that we've proven we're in control and you aren't… why don't we take a walk?"

Bellatrix twisted around Hermione forcefully until she was facing the other woman. The pants that Hermione wore while working on the Marauder were thrown in her face.

"Put them on," snapped Bellatrix. "We've got a ways to go tonight and I won't be hindered by a pampered princess."

Hermione frowned but did as she was told, tying the drawstrings and reaching for the boots, tugging them on as well. When she stood, she glared at Bellatrix, mustering as much hate as she could for the woman to see in her eyes.

"You're despicable. I don't even know who you are," the princess all but snarled.

Bellatrix mock-curtseyed. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Your Highness. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Bellatrix Lestrange, second in command of the Dark Mark, avid follower of Tom Riddle."

Hermione's eyes widened, her mouth opening wide to let out a blood-curling scream.

Bellatrix took a step forward, so she and Hermione were millimeters apart. Hermione's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Her full lips twisted into a smile, and her icy blue eyes widened a small amount.

"Tom wants to meet with you."

"Me?" Hermione asked, scoffing. "What interest would he have in a princess from a small country that ran away from her own kingdom?"

Bellatrix's smile grew in size. "Why, the Marauder's Map, Princess. And that piece you have."

>><<

Blaise knew he was still alive because of the pounding in the front of his head. It was a quick staccato that was in tune with his heartbeat, and he was seriously hoping that he would get some lithium to dull the pain.

"You all right there? You have a nasty bump on your head," a Scottish voice said near his ear, making Blaise's eyes pop open. The Lestranges - the Princess - Scotland. Everything came back to Blaise and he shot up off the couch he was resting on.

Oliver Wood watched him warily from the armchair he was sitting on. When Blaise swayed dangerously, Oliver gently pushed him back onto the couch.

"Want to tell me what you know?" Oliver's voice was smooth and friendly, but the icy coolness of his brown eyes made Blaise rethink any lies he was about to make. Wood was not someone he would want to cross.

"The Lestranges - Drake's father wanted them onboard and they must have… must have…"

"Mutinied."

"Yes. I need to warn Draco - and -"

"You need to warn Harry as well, Mr. Zabini. He loves her," Oliver's cool admissions of Harry's feelings were like icy water being poured on Blaise. He shivered.

"And the Lestranges' have her. Oh, shit," he moaned, resting his head on a pillow. "I'm in no way able to move and head back to Tortuga to tell Draco the problems here." He started mumbling to himself, staring hard at the polished wood floor. "The Captain's going to kill me - he'll feed me to the crows', oh bullocks… I'm a pirate, how could I let this happen?"

"You're right, you're not going to be able to go to Draco and tell him what's happened, but you're sure as hell not going to be bird food." Oliver replied, standing, and shoving his pants in his pockets. His broad shoulders blocked out the bright afternoon sun as he moved toward a window. His body silhouetted the room, making Blaise squint, as there was suddenly darkness. "But I can."

"But - he won't trust you!" Blaise protested weakly, wanting to stay awake.

Oliver turned. Blaise couldn't see his face, but he could imagine the visage. Not many people survive an angry Scotsman attack, Blaise knew.

"He won't trust me, that's right. But a letter would take too long. We need someone to get the letter immediately to Potter and Malfoy."

"And the Royal Family."

"Which one?" Oliver's question made Blaise pause. Blaise knew that the British Royal Family had a warrant for Harry Potter's capture out. His privateering license had been revoked, and there was now a price on his head. He himself had written the missive to the Hanover family about Potter on Draco's behalf.

However, he didn't know anything about the Granger royal family and whether or not they had their fleet out searching for Potter as well, since the Granger and Hanover family were friends.

"I…" Blaise trailed off. "I don't know."

"Exactly," snapped Oliver uncommonly. "We don't know who to trust, but if what you say is true, then it isn't just Hermione or Harry in danger - it's your Captain as well."

Blaise paled. "I hadn't thought of it like that," he said weakly, before licking his dry lips. "All right." He nodded firmly. "What do you need me to do?"

Oliver began pacing. "Get your fastest ship and sail to Draco and tell him what happened. Find Potter - he'll know what to do."

"And then?"

Oliver's eyes flashed as he turned to Blaise. "And then we wait and see."

>><<

Draco had been peacefully lying on a hammock in the crew's area of the Dark Mark, daydreaming about kicking Potter's sorry arse when he noticed the cheer that rose from the crew above him. He didn't particularly like his father's friends, or his father at times, but he did adore his mother. She was currently in their French ancestral home, chateau foi malade, literally "the house of bad faith." And of course, she was enjoying the winery and wonderful weather while he, Draco, was stuck onboard a ship filled with cutthroats and thieves.

Not like he wasn't one himself, it was just that he didn't take as much pleasure in killing, raping and plundering as these men - and one lady - did.

And of course, there was the fact that most had seasickness. That just grossed him out.

So, with his daydream now interrupted, Draco rose and stretched, making his way up the rickety stairs, lifted the hatch and vaulted himself up onto the main deck. As he stood, he caught a glance of his father's triumphant face and Riddle's gleaming eyes, making him shiver.

And then he saw her: Granger, Potter's love.

Draco's jaw dropped and he wanted to rub at his eyes, wondering if salt water had entered them and made his vision all bit funny, but no - Princess Hermione Granger was onboard the Dark Mark, tousled up with a red mark faintly seen on her cheek and the men's shirt she wore ripped at the sleeves. Her hands were bound by rope in front of her, but she stood tall and straight, her unmanageable hair swaying in the breeze.

Oh shit, Draco thought. This bungles things up a bit.

Above that, Riddle was preaching to his crew about having the final piece of the Marauder's Map.

"Gentlemen!" Riddle was shouting, "We have it. After searching for all these years since that guttersnipe James Potter rose up and formed his own crew, and plundered and got all the gold that was rightfully mine, we finally have it. The final piece of the Marauder's Map - the piece that James' dear son Harry needs."

A deadly hush fell over the crew. Draco was in horror as he realized what Riddle was talking about.

Riddle continued on. "I took that Potter in, gentlemen. Did you know that? His father was Lord Potter - a notorious drunk and womanizer who happened upon a pretty serving maid in the Potter mansion. And what did he do? Why, he had an illegitimate son. Who was that boy?"

"James Potter!" the crew shouted in unison, as if they had been practicing and had heard the story hundreds of times over.

Hermione looked shocked; her face was pale and she was visibly trembling from where Draco stood. He wanted to get close, wanted to make sure she was okay, but he knew he couldn't because it would have given too much away. Instead, he turned his attention to Riddle who looked smug and gleeful and superior.

"But James' dear ol' daddy wouldn't take him in or take care of the young boy. Young James was cast out into the streets of London, where he picked pockets and stole for the living - until he tried to steal from the wrong person," Riddle's pale faced practically glowed in the moonlight. "And who was that wrong person?"

"You!" the crew shouted.

Draco felt the bile rising into his throat.

Riddle smiled, casually resting his hand on the hilt of his bloodstained sword. "Like I said, I took in James Potter. Taught him the art of piracy; he had a natural talent for it. Why, many of you were around the same age as he was, and you all knew him! Some of you were even his," Riddle sneered, "friends. But then, while in London, he met that common girl, Lily Evans. And we all know what happened next, don't we?"

"Yes, we do!"

Riddle began pacing the deck. "James betrayed us! He sold us out to work for King George! He grew tired of our plundering and our 'ruthless' ways of pirating. He didn't like it. Said that Lily thought it was horrible. So he turned his back on us! Gave our names to the King, made us hide and wait while the Crown searched us out."

Hermione struggled against her bonds, only to be held back by Avery and Dolohov. "You liar! James Potter was an honest man! A good pirate! He never worked for you!"

Riddle turned to her, a smirk on his thin lips. "Oh, really, Princess?"

He stalked to her, his unnatural red eyes locked on her brown ones. Leaning close, he whispered, "Then how did I know where the Potters were that fateful day? How did I know James' every move and weakness?"

"I… I don't know."

Riddle leaned closer, almost resting his cheek against Hermione's. He breathed into her ear, "Because I was the one who taught them to him," before stepping back. He then said to Dolohov and Avery, "Lock her below. Tonight, we celebrate and tomorrow we hunt."

With a dismissed hand wave, Avery and Dolohov picked Hermione up.

"No!" she screamed, twisting and kicking her legs out. "No! Stop it! Let go of me!"

The crew laughed as they watched the princess be taken below and ultimately locked into the brig's prison cells. Draco stood off to one side, wondering if he could free her or find that missing piece.

"Surprising, wasn't it?" a voice asked.

Draco jumped, surprised, and saw his father standing a few feet away. In the background, the crew was cheering, drinking; singing and laughing, and someone had brought out a lute to play on.

"What was?" Draco drawled, leaning casually against the railing.

Lucius raised a blond eyebrow. "The Captain's story. I don't believe you knew about James Potter's illustrious past. I'm quite sure that the son doesn't know either. You could lord it over him when you see him."

"I won't be seeing him, though," Draco automatically replied.

Lucius gave him a Mona Lisa smile. "Don't be too sure. In fact, Captain Riddle has a mission personally for you. Come."

Draco followed his father to Riddle's personal cabin. The hallway leading in to the Captain's quarters was dark, with only a single chandelier swaying above them to the ocean's waves.

Lucius knocked once on the door marked Captain. A sharp voice answered, "Enter, Lucius."

Lucius opened the door and fluidly stepped in, while Draco followed at what he hoped was a leisurely pace. He prayed that the men couldn't hear his heartbeat.

"Ah, young Malfoy," the serpentine man smirked, standing slowly from behind his mahogany desk. "Please, have a seat."

Draco sat in a vacant chair while his father stood slightly behind him. Draco's eyes returned to Riddle, who was now sitting back in his chair. Riddle had his fingers steeped, and was watching Draco carefully.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Draco asked, trying not to fidget and to not stare at Riddle too long.

Riddle lowered his hands. "Little Dragon, I believe your father calls you at times."

"Yes," Draco wondered where this conversation was going. He let his ice coloured eyes wander the room with interest, noting the excessive amount of torture devices.

"I have a job for you."

Draco's eyes whipped back to look at the Captain. Riddle continued on, enjoying his shocked expression.

"Oh, don't be so surprised. I know you have failed to bring the Potter boy down in the past, but I believe that giving you another chance is only fair. Mind you, it is your last chance, Draco. After this, why," here Riddle gave a little sigh, "your punishment for failure is to be decided by your father and approved by me.

"Enough said. Allow me to tell you of my little trap. A trap that will have Potter fall right into my very hands…"

>><<

Draco was pacing, his hands tightly clenched behind his back, his head bowed. Over and over he heard the plan that he was to help spring on Harry Potter, his nemesis. And to spring the trap, he would have to go onboard the Marauder and convince Potter that he turned against his father and was essentially 'good.'

But he wasn't. Draco wasn't a good person, and he hadn't turned against his father, not really.

He didn't like the bugger that much, but he also didn't like Potter, which made things a bit more complicated.

"Would you stop that? You're giving me a headache."

Oh, and then there was the other, annoying part of the trap. To tell Potter that his lovely princess had been captured and was to be executed the following week unless he gave himself and the Marauder's Map up.

Draco glanced over at the young woman who sat with her legs crossed on the floor of the dirty cell. Princess Hermione Granger wasn't anything what Draco expected. When he had come down into the cells, he thought he would find a hysterical, crying, screaming princess demanding to be let out.

Instead, Hermione Granger was sitting on the floor, carefully studying her surroundings and the lock. She hadn't yelled or fainted when he walked in, and she hadn't tried to pick the lock either. She was calm.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Draco muttered sarcastically. "I didn't mean to give you a headache."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look, it's obvious that you're thinking about something important. Something you don't really want to do. But do you think you can do it without the pacing?"

Draco sneered. "You're the prisoner. You shouldn't be making demands."

"Please?" she replied in a sickeningly sweet voice, batting her eyelashes.

Draco choked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stretched her legs out in front of her. Draco eyed her clothes with distaste.

"Who ever heard of a woman - a princess - wearing men's clothing?" he drawled, hoping to hit some sort of sore spot with her.

Hermione shrugged. "They're comfortable. You wear them, too. And it's not like I'm back at the Palace anyway."

Draco fell unceremoniously to the floor in front of Hermione on the other side of the cell. "Whose are they?"

"Harry's pants and top. I tried to wear Ginny and Luna's clothes, which worked at first, but then they got really dirty from all the work I did onboard the Marauder, so Harry lent me some of his," Hermione replied casually, as if she was talking to him at a masque and not in a prison cell.

The two fell silent. Then, Hermione spoke again, but this time her voice was serious and quiet. "You have to go to Harry, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," answered Draco.

"You have to trap him?"

"Yes."

Hermione paused. "Can… can I write to him, please?"

Draco looked up from his boots to the young woman in front of him. She didn't look so strong now, Draco thought. Biting his lower lip, he wondered what harm would come to anyone if she wrote to Potter.

"Only if I can oversee what you're writing," he finally decided. "That way, nothing incriminating gets let out."

Hermione laughed, agreeing. Draco went off to find some parchment and a quill, while Hermione contemplated what she was going to write. Soon, Draco returned.

He handed her the items through the bars, and watched as she dipped the nib in the ink and then positioned it over the paper.

Out loud, she read to him what she was writing. "Dear Harry," she began, "Currently I am a prisoner of Tom Riddle. He plans on using me as bait - he wants the map and believes that it is rightly his… that is a long story in itself. Please don't come after me. I would rather die than have you be killed on my account. Find the treasure and take it. I only wish to tell you again that I love you, and that I want you to be careful."

Here, Hermione looked at Draco. He caught her staring at him and asked, "what?" rudely. When she didn't say anything, but continued staring, Draco raised an eyebrow and stared right back.

Finally, she sighed, and dipped the nib back into the inkwell. "Please," she wrote, "listen to Draco Malfoy, for both our sakes. Hermione."

"Why would you write something like that?" Draco asked, gathering the supplies and her letter. He tucked the letter into his pocket and placed the supplies in the bag he had brought down.

"Because," Hermione said in a small voice, "I think there's more to you than what you let on. And because I think I can trust you. Can I?"

Draco let her words sink into his brain, wrapping themselves around him. Finally, he answered, "I don't know."

"You will deliver the letter, won't you?" Hermione asked, playing with the end of the beige shirt.

Draco nodded. "I'll give it personally to Harry. I promise." At her look, he continued, "A Malfoy never breaks his promises."

Hermione nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Draco."

Surprised, Draco could only nod, before scrambling out of the brig's holding cells as fast as he could.

He was on the Dragon in record time, issuing orders and commanding his crew to his will. He didn't even know where to start looking for Potter, but he figured he'd be around Tortuga as well. He wouldn't have gotten too far.

>><<

Harry was moping. He was depressed and sad and he missed Hermione like hell. He shouldn't have left her in Oliver's care back in Scotland, but he knew he had no other choice. It just wasn't safe for her to be with him - what would her parents say? Think? Her people? They would attack her like rabid dogs and he couldn't let that happen.

"You've got it bad," commented Ron, grinning gleefully on Harry's couch in his captain's quarters. "C'mon, say it. You're in loooove."

"I am not," Harry replied childishly. He pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, sticking his feet on top of his desk. He assumed a masculine pose. "I just… miss her. That's all. It'll be quiet around here now."

A cry of alarm sounded, and gunfire erupted. Ron glanced at Harry, a twinkle in his eyes as he did so.

"You were saying?" laughed Ron, as the two jumped up and made their way on to the deck, their swords drawn and pistols cocked and ready.

The two burst out onto the deck, their pistols aimed at the young man with pale blond hair. He had his hands in the air and was glaring at Harry's crew maliciously.

"Potter!" Draco shouted, "Call off your bloody guards. One of those numerous Weasley's took my sword and pistol, which I want back undamaged, by the way."

Harry frowned, pocketing his pistol and lowering his sword. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco took a single step forward, only to have Ron's sword point prick his neck. "Oy, Potter. Give me a break here."

Harry nodded. "Lower your weapons, gentlemen."

"And ladies!" Ginny piped up somewhere in the back of the crowd surrounding Malfoy. The crew chuckled, but other than that, their wary eyes were trained on the blond.

Draco managed to get close enough to Harry to reach into his shirt. Ron tensed again and placed his sword against Draco's neck, but Draco shot Ron a look and removed a letter instead of a weapon. Ron's sword dropped and Draco growled.

"If there is any blood on me, Weasel, I swear to all that is Holy you will be needing a peg leg and eye patch when I'm done with you!"

Harry's mouth twitched in amusement but he covered it quickly with a cough. "What's this, Malfoy? A letter giving me my privateering rights back? How kind of you to deliver it in person when you were the one to out me."

Draco sneered. "Think again, Potter. It's a love letter from your dearest Hermione."

Harry paled, his sword falling from his lifeless fingers as he grabbed the parchment and broke the seal. His eyes darted back and forth as he read it, his knuckles turning white as he did so, and a muscle began ticking under his left eye.

When he was done, he folded the letter back up and swore softly, pushing his glasses further up his nose with his index finger.

"Is it really from her?" asked Colin fearfully.

Harry nodded, turning to look at Draco. "How'd you get this?"

"She gave it to me. She really is Riddle's prisoner, and yes, they're going to use her as bait. I am to tell you that I've gone all 'good' and I want to help you, which means help you find the treasure as well," Draco explained, crossing his arms.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, frowning. His emerald eyes flashed with annoyance as he snapped, "If this is only for the treasure…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter. Yes, of course it's about the treasure, but it's more than that. You're got something I'll never have - someone to love. And you know what? She really loves you. She loves you enough to tell you not to come, because she'd rather die. Don't shoot the messenger."

Harry swallowed. "Why are you betraying your father and Riddle?"

Draco snorted. "Riddle's daft. He's bloody mad. All he wants is to ruin the Potter name and get the treasure. As your princess says, it's a nice, long story that you can discuss with Riddle when you fight him later. As for my father…" Draco trailed off and shrugged. He glanced away. "We don't always see eye-to-eye."

Harry nodded. Thinking carefully, he tucked Hermione's letter into his waistband, and took a deep breath. He stared at Draco much like Hermione had done earlier that morning, reading him.

Finally, he asked, "Do you know what they're planning?"

"Yes," he replied, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Does that mean you trust me?"

Harry nodded, despite Ron's "Harry, no!"

"Hermione says to trust you, and I will," he answered, turning his back and motioning him to join him in the captain's quarters. "But mark my words, Malfoy - if you try anything idiotic, I will have your guts for garters."

Draco nodded. Harry continued, "You'll help find my treasure, Malfoy, and we'll go along with this crazy charade that Riddle planned. Do we have an accord?"

Draco frowned. "I require sixty percent of the treasure for my assistance."

Harry rolled his eyes. "And you'll only get twenty."

"Done!"

The two faced each other and shook hands. Then, Draco grinned. "Let the games begin."

>>*<<

AN: Whew! All right… so I wasn't sure when I'd get the real chapter 7 out, but here it is! Thanks to lovely Katie for her wonderful beta'ing. And of course, for the guidance at my school for giving me a spare, which means I come home every day at 12:30 now! Whoopee! I thought that I'd be doing a lot of work, but it appears that I needn't just worry… the next couple of weeks will be a doozie.

So. Seventeen pages of pirate goodness! Wow. Thanks to everyone who is wishing me luck to get into the University of Toronto - I'll let you guys know (if you care) by late March-April, when a next chapter will be out. Also, if you're looking for news or updates on this story, or any other you found you liked, check out my fanfiction and real LiveJournal found on my bio page. Smooches. Read, review and enjoy, Kneazle [Feb.11.04]