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A Pirate's Tail	By : SamHill Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3181 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Not in any lifetime does Harry Potter (and his universe) belong to me. They are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, et al. I make no money and I mean not copyright infringement.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: See Chapter One for all disclaimers and warnings

Chapter Seven:

Ginny stood just beyond the horses, her flame-colored hair tucked up out of sight beneath a black wig. Her dress, done in burgundy and gold silk, complemented her slightly athletic build nicely and she kept her little parasol open and blocking the sun as she waited for Neville to finish. They were only about a two-day’s ride from the castle, but every minute they spent not travelling made her more and more nervous.

One of the horses’ ears twitched and she dropped a hand to the slit in her dress, disguised by the folds, where the revolver rested against her thigh. She cocked it and prayed it didn’t prematurely discharge. The sound of hoof-beats drew her attention away from her own horse and to the road behind them. Stepping close to Neville, she offered up her most dazzling smile as Walden McNair pulled up.

“Miss, we’re looking for travelers,” he stated flatly.

“Why, we’re travelers. Are you lookin’ for anyone in particular?”

“Yes, a lad of 25 and his companion, the kidnapped son of Lord Malfoy.”

“Oh!” She covered her mouth as she let out a small gasp. “Kidnappers!” she all but whisper-shrieked. “Darling, you said these roads were safe! Did you hear what that man just said? Some boy was kidnapped straight off his horse!”

“Actually, he was kidnapped off a ship he was sailing with his friend. The man responsible for his disappearance is the pirate Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter? Well, that’s not a very fearful name, now is it? No, he should have picked something more like... The Dread Pirate Roberts! Now that’s a name that would strike fear in the hearts of all those who heard it.”

Walden ground his teeth. “Yes, well, I’m less concerned with his name than I am with who he kidnapped. Have you seen them? The young Lord was last seen wearing a suit of silk in dark green.”

“What color are his eyes?”

“Eyes? Um, grey?”

“His hair?”

“Hair? Blond, I reckon. That’s what color his father’s is.”

“Well, I’ve seen no one by those standards but you really should draw up a picture to help folks when you stop them.”

“I’ll take that into consideration. Thank you, ma’am,” he ended, before turning his horse around and heading back down the road.

“Well played, Ginny.”

“Thank you. We’re lucky it was that idiot and not Bellatrix Lestrange. She wouldn’t have been so easy to fool.” They both shivered.

“Well, the horse is ready. Shall we go?”

“Yes, please.”

~ * ~

“George.”

“Fred.”

“You look awfully pretty like that.”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m not,” Fred asserted. “I’m only saying, if you were a girl, I’d allow you to be courted by one of my friends.”

“You’d allow me?” George’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Mayhap you’ll be wantin’ to rethink that statement.”

Fred sniffed. “No need to get your panties in a twist.”

“I am not wearing panties, you dolt.”

“Now look here, I was only paying you a compliment!”

“Yes, well, I’ll thank ye not to do so again,” George snapped. His horse did a little dance in the road, her bells jingling softly in the growing dark.

Fred sighed. “How do you think Ginny is faring?”

“A right bit better than me, I’ll say. Neville’s a good a lad, unlike some featherbrained coves I know.”

Fred would have retorted if not for the sound of an approaching horse. With an imperceptible nod to his twin, he slowed their horses to a slow trot. George made sure they were still out of eyesight, then opened his parasol and fluttered his eyes.

“Have you’re sword at the ready, brother,” George murmured, his lower-class accent neatly hidden away.

“Pistol?” Fred covered his laugh with a cough when he saw the tip of the gun peeking out from under George’s ruffled skirt.

Two men rode up on either side of them, average in height as far as Fred could tell and with more than a few extra pounds around the middle. The one with the flatter face waggled his eye brows at George and Fred silently congratulated him on not killing the man outright.

“’Ello sir, ma’am. Have ye seen two young coves passing by this way?”

“Young, you say?” Fred asked, pretending to contemplate the question. “There was a father and his son not far back.”

“We’re looking for two about yer age,” the flat-face man grunted as he sidled closer to George. His beefy hand made as though to pat George on the rump, eliciting an outraged cry from the young man.

“Now see here!” he accused in a high voice.

“Unhand my sister!” Fred demanded, drawing his sword. “I’ll not have her molested by the likes of you, you daring bastard.”

“Goyle, quit it.” The darker haired man glared at his companion before making his apologies. “This son and father, how old would say they were?”

“The son was no more than ten at the most. Now if you don’t mind, I must get my sister back home before nightfall.”

“Good day then,” the men replied and they turned their horses back.

“That was close,” George said some time later.

“Too close. I thought for sure they’d see right through us.”

“See right- He was groping me! He nearly had his hand on my bollocks!”

Fred looked at him, aghast. “I’ll kill the bastard,” he declared, turning his horse around. “If he thinks he can just go around touching my sis- OI!” Grabbing his head with both hands, he glared at his twin. “What the bloody hell did you do that for?”

“I’m not some helpless mot, no matter what ye might think with me in this get up. Don’t go talking like I am!” George raised his riding crop again, but Fred was already out of reach.

“Come on, we’re falling behind,” he muttered, and they picked up their pace.

~ * ~

Hermione tugged at the scarf covering most of her hair futilely. The little bells and pieces of flattened silver that decorated her wrists, ankles and costume jangled musically as she moved and she fought a grimace. The clothing had come from Luna, who had decided to leave a day after them. Beside her, Ron walked their only horse, his own brightly colored outfit standing out on the dusty road.

“I feel ridiculous.” Her hands fluttered as she spoke, always remaining in character.

“You look amazing,” Ron replied. “The fairest gypsy queen I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed and tossed her hair back. “You’re a flirt, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and I love you for it.” She made to say more, but stopped when they came upon a trio of men sitting by the road.

She recognized them immediately from the sketches Harry had of all the Prince Regent’s agents. Augustus Rookwood and Rabastan Lestrange weren’t quite the stupidest of the lot – that was openly reserved for Crabbe and Goyle Senior – but they were easily swayed by a pretty face. Antonin Dolohov was another matter altogether, though, and Hermione sent up a quick prayer that she and Ron would survive their run-in with the man.

“Ah, gentlemen,” Hermione sang, thanking every god in existence for giving her a passable voice. “Perhaps you would like to have your fortune told?” She slipped her hand into the satchel at her waist and withdrew a small crystal ball.

“We’ll have none of your devil’s play, witch,” Antonin snarled as he smacked the orb from her hand. It hit the dirt with a thud and rolled across the road but miraculously did not break.

“Please, leave the teller alone. She’ll not harm ye.” Ron moved to her side protectively, drawing a small ornamental dagger as he spoke.

“We’re after two young men; a pirate and the young Lord Draco Malfoy, son of the Lord Lucius Malfoy, Duke of Kent.”

Hermione shot him a dazzling smile. “There was a young man back at the inn we passed a day ago.” She let her eyes take on a faraway look. “His future was shrouded in a fog I could not see beyond and I feared for him.” She shook her head and looked at the men, boldly meeting Dolohov’s eyes. “The man with him, the pirate, his future blazed brightly in my mind’s eye. He will do great things.”

Dolohov took the bait and reached to grab her arm. Ron was faster, snatching Hermione back out of harm’s way as he dropped the reins of his horse. He thanked his stars that they had run into Charlie two days prior while travelling. The battle stallion he had chosen for them fit the gypsy look well and hadn’t been the least perturbed with the bells decorating his bridle. But in the moment Dolohov moved towards them, hand on sword hilt, the stallion went from dancing gypsy horse to battle mode.

Rearing, he lashed out with his front hooves, driving the three men back. Rabastan dodged a lethal-looking hoof just in time and scrambled back out of the way. Augustus spat in the dirt and backed up, dagger in hand. Only Dolohov seemed uninterested in the beast.

“Lestrange! Rookwood! It’s naught but a show horse. Get yer bloody arses back here!” he yelled as he withdrew his sword. He moved quickly despite his size, and the blade touched skin as Ron threw himself between it and its intended target.

“Get back, love!” he shouted over the outraged scream of the horse. He dove to the ground, taking Hermione with him. He wrapped his body around hers, sheltering her from the fall, and rolled them out of harm’s way before leaping back to his feet. The sword he had hidden in a baggy pant leg came flying out into his hand as though called by magic and his face set in a fierce scowl as he faced off against Augustus.

“A pretty wench you have there, traveler. I’ll be sure to enjoy her thoroughly once I’m through with you.” He grinned widely, exposing several gold teeth amidst all the rotting ones.

“I don’t need a teller to know your life is close to its end,” Ron smirked in a rare show of confidence.

They fought in a flurry of movements that brought a sick feeling to Hermione. She watched blades flash, eyes trying desperately to track which belonged to her husband. The stallion was still holding Dolohov at bay, amazingly enough, but Rabastan had found the courage to sneak up on Ron. Without a moment’s hesitation, Hermione pulled out the pistol Harry had given her, aimed and fired. The discharge sent her flying back onto her butt, but the shot had flown true. Rabastan lay on the ground, his shirt a ragged mess where the bullet had passed through to pierce his heart.

The sound startled the duelers and gave Dolohov the chance to duck past the horse. In only six short steps he managed to grab hold of a fistful of Hermione’s hair, dragging her to her feet and flush up against his chest. “Ye think ye can fool me, wench? I know ye to be the pirate’s friend.” He pressed his sword to her throat hard enough to draw blood. “On yer feet boy.”

What happened next was impossible to tell. There was a flurry of movement in which Hermione yanked herself free, uncaring of the wound her actions earned her. A sickeningly wet crunching sound filled the air and the costumed rebels turned to see the stallion dashing in Dolohov’s head. The dirt road turned to reddened mud and Hermione lost what little food she had eaten. Ron held her close, sword never wavering as he called the horse to them in Hungarian.

The Prince Regent’s remaining man wasted no time fleeing down the road, his comrades’ bodies lying broken and forgotten in the dirt. Ron’s freckles stood out starkly against his pale skin as he sheathed his weapon and led his young wife past the remains of their enemies. “We’re only a day’s hard ride from the castle. Mount up and well go,” he whispered encouragingly. They headed out, leaving behind the evidence of their fight. As they headed towards Hogwarts Castle, their minds wandered towards the battles to come.

~ * ~

“Dean, mate, does this dress make me butt look too big?” Calloused hands pressed at the lacy ruffles that seemed to make up a majority of the delicate silk garment.

The ex-slave rolled his eyes skyward before leaning across his horse to jerk at the bow on the back of said dress. “Aye, and a rotten gixie you make in it!”

Seamus whipped around to glare at him. “I’ll gixie ye, ya thickheaded-” He bit his tongue at the sight of a dark horse bearing down on them. The man bent low over the beast’s neck didn’t seem to notice the rebels, but Seamus knew him on sight.

“That be Augustus Rookwood, lowly worm and ugliest cur ye’ll be likely to see around these parts. He killed me best mate’s cousin, a lad named Creevey. Colin, I believe. It would be a pleasure to return the favor.”

As the horse drew near, Dean fell back, taking the rear of their two-person caravan lest Seamus miss his mark. His face split in a feral grin as Seamus let out a whooping battle cry, sword held high. Before Augustus had time to respond, the blade came down in a sharp arch, slicing neatly through his neck and sending his head rolling down the hill.

Dean retrieved it and found a broken bit of wood. Whittling it down to two points, he drove one into the roadside before thrusting the head onto the other. “Let that warn any others who travel this road. The Prince Regent’s men have no friends this side of the border,” he spat before rejoining Seamus.

After a moment, Dean cast a sideways glance at the young Irishman. “I never knew the Irish to have such a war cry,” he commented.

“Eh, when ye spen’ yer days in the company of the ol’ Cap’n Black, ye pick up a few things,” he replied, his Irish brogue just a bit thicker than normal. They rode on towards Hogwarts Castle, picking up with their banter as though they had never stopped to begin with. The only sign of their encounter with the lone Rookwood was the slash of red splattered across the front of Seamus’ cream and pale blue dress.

~ * ~

tbc
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A Pirate's Tail