A Swashbuckling Romance

A gentle breeze passed through the foliage on the little island. The turbulent storm that had caused so much chaos the night before had passed and there were only a few puffs of cloud left in the sky. The water was placid surrounding the island, and sounds from various creatures could be heard among the rustle of leaves.

The still form of a man lay facedown in the shallows and warm water lapped around him. His black hair was stringy and speckled with sand, his white shirt dirty and ragged, and his face, still wearing glasses, smushed into the ground. He was alive, for his back rose and fell as he breathed.

Harry groaned.

Stiffly, and with great effort, he rolled onto his back, his face now toward the blazing sun, and removed his crooked glasses. Opening his eyes took effort as well, for sand and salt had sealed them shut, and he was unprepared for the blinding light, such a contrast to the darkness that had him enveloped since the night before. He blinked a few times and sat up. After submerging his glasses in the water to clean them off, he returned them to the bridge of his nose, and surveyed his surroundings. A few large pieces of soaked wood and a crab was all that could be seen on the coast. Behind him was a ridge of thick foliage.

This must be the island, Harry thought. The very island we were fightin’ those blasted Serpent crew over. Just my luck… all the treasure a man could want and no mates to share it with or ‘elp lift it, and no boat to get it off the island. He reached a hand into his breeches pocket and pulled out a soppy piece of hide. He slowly unfolded it, and fortunately, the writing and map still shown clear on its lightly tanned side. No boat.. Oh God, my boat. My mates… Ron.

Harry gave an immense sigh and stared at the small, tumbling waves a short distance before him. He recounted the events of the previous night in his mind: the storm, the battle, Malfoy, then plummeting off the ship into the waves and losing consciousness as the Gryffin burned.

Harry stood up, stretched, and checked himself for damages. Nothing a day or two couldn’t heal. He breathed a sigh of relief after patting his pocket; his wand was still there. He walked forward through the shallow water into the waves and dived forward. The seawater was cool against his hot, sun-beaten skin, and it washed away the sand. Harry surfaced, his head tilted back, and took a deep breath. He shook his hair, returned to the shore, and sat down in the sand near the trees.

“Awgh, curses. Now I’m ‘ungry,” Harry said to himself as his stomach grumbled. He looked to the side, and as luck would have it, there was a coconut lying delicately in the sand. He picked it up and examined it closely. He’d never had one before. Bashing it against a tree trunk nearby had no results. He stood up, coconut in hand, and entered the forest searching for a rock. A few paces into the forest led him to a small boulder, and after knocking the coconut on it a few times, he managed to crack open the fruit’s hard outer shell. White liquid dribbled out of its cavity and Harry quickly lifted it up so as not to lose his meal. He lifted it to his lips and stuck his tongue out to test the taste. He liked it.

No way near sated, but too tired to break open another fruit, Harry decided to relax against a tree after drinking from his coconut. His thoughts continued to wonder on the events of that dreaded night, wondering if any of his crew survived. He closed his eyes tightly and allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

*****

“…Lustily, lustily, lustily let us sail forth,
The wind trim doth serve us, it blows from the north…”

Harry awoke to the faint sound of someone singing. He bolted to his feet and strained his ears.

“…All things we have ready, and nothing we want,
To furnish our ship that rideth hereby;
Victals and weapons they be nothing scant,
Like worthy mariners ourselves we will try…”

The voice sounded so familiar, yet….

“…Lustily, lustily, lustily let us sail forth,
The wind trim doth serve us, it blows from the north…”

No, it couldn’t be!

“…Her flags be new trimmed, set flaunting aloft,
Our ship for swift swimming, oh, she doeth excel;
We fear no enemies, we have escaped them ofte;
Of all ships that swimmeth she beareth the bell…”

Harry stifled a laugh, then frowned as the hilarity of the situation vanished. Of all the seadogs… Why the bloody ‘ell does it have to be Malfoy!

Malfoy’s singing drew near and Harry made his way through the vegetation as quietly as he could to the edge of the tree-line. He crouched onto his haunches, and peering out from behind a palm, watched the figure of Draco Malfoy approaching the spot where Harry had washed up on shore.

“…And here is a maister excelleth in skill,
And our maister’s mate he is not to seek…”

Harry returned to his feet and came out of the edge of the forest. “Ahoy!”

“..And here is a boatswain - ” Malfoy abruptly stopped his song, gasped, and whipped around toward the direction of the voice. “Potter?!”

Harry grinned and leaned back against the palm, arms across his chest. “Captain Potter to ye,” he replied, emphasizing ‘captain.’

Malfoy hissed and narrowed his eye. “What are you doing here?” He looked Harry up and down, obviously still in shock at being caught acting so uncharacteristically.

Harry scoffed. “Why, I decided to take a leisure swim as me poor boat was burnin’ and ended up ‘ere. Might I ask ye the same thing?”

Regaining his composure, Malfoy sneered and stood up straighter. “Don’t get funny with me, Potter.”

“Funny? Ye see me laughin’?” Harry gave a small, boyish smile.

“Maybe if you saw the look on your dear Weasley’s face as he lay dying.” Malfoy lifted a delicate hand to his thin lips and gave a short, haughty laugh as Harry’s face darkened.

Anguish flickered in Harry’s green eyes; anguish and the beginning of an extraordinary rage. He took a firm step toward Malfoy.

“Oh! I’m sorry, have I said something wrong?”

Harry advanced till he was but fifteen paces away from his enemy. His eyes were clear and the only emotion in them now was determination. He was a mighty sight to see, the breeze had grown stronger and his thin white tunic was billowing in the wind. Light glimmered from the gold hoops in his ears. A hardened, tanned chest showed through the opening at the front of his shirt. He stood with his legs planted firmly apart and his hands fisted at his sides. Malfoy was a more beautiful sight. Though he had spent a rough night at sea, his expensive clothes were still fine and showed little wear. The sun glinted off his hair and the gold thread on his long jacket. A blush was still visible on his cheeks from his earlier embarrassment.

Harry brought his left hand to his pocket and slowly pulled out his wand. He gripped it tightly. “I should ‘ave done this last night,” he said quietly, yet resolutely.

“So it’s a duel now, is it? Very well, then.” Malfoy reached into the pocket of his blue jacket and pulled out his own wand, holding it out in front of him.

“No,” Harry said.

“What?” asked Malfoy, taken aback.

“No wands.” Harry suddenly unclasped his hand and his wand dropped into the sand next to him with a soft plop. “We’re going to do this the right way.” After rolling up his sleeves, he bent down, keeping his eyes on Malfoy, and tucked his hand into the side of his boot. He retracted his hand, a dirk held in his fingers, then clenched the hilt with his fist as he straightened.

Malfoy stared at Harry. “No wands?” he asked incredulously. “This is foolish. We are wizards, Potter.” He looked at Harry’s knife with distaste.

“Malfoy, ye forget what we are. We’re pirates. Now throw down yer wand.”

Malfoy hesitated, but dropped his wand beside him. Frowning, he quickly pulled off his jacket and threw it down. Underneath, he wore a golden waistcoat over a shirt much like Harry’s, but with quite a few more ruffles. At his waist an elaborate, gilded scabbard hung from his belt, and from this he pulled a sharpened dagger.

Both men sized the other up, each wondering who should make the first move. They began to circle around each other, their knives held tightly in their hands, preparing to strike or defend, whichever came first. Soon there were only five paces between them. Harry made a move. He took a quick step forward with his dirk raised before him, and slashed down. Malfoy jumped back and Harry missed. Malfoy spat at Harry’s feet and moved sideways, jabbing at his stomach. Harry stepped aside just in time and the blade passed through the air next to his side.

They backed away from each other and went into crouches, their blade arms held up. Harry was smiling. As he jumped forward and made another stab at Malfoy, he jeered, “Can’t use a knife anymore, can ye?”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Captain Potter,” replied Malfoy, as he dodged Harry’s attack again. He lunged forward, the dagger in his hand flashing in the sunlight, and managed to slit the skin on the front of Harry’s upper arm.

Harry glanced down briefly as a trickle of blood went down his arm from the three inch long wound Malfoy had given him. His lips tightened.

Malfoy had stepped back a few paces. “Appears to me that you’re the one who lost your skills. Spent too much time with Weasley practicing with the wrong dagger?”

Harry bared his teeth as anger flashed across his face. There was no more banter. The two men set upon each other into a vicious battle, slashing and growling, all quick movements and calculated attacks. Soon warm blood was flowing on both bodies and the tide was washing over their feet. Suddenly, Harry bent down, and with his free hand, grabbed a hand-full of drippy sand. He flung it into Malfoy face, who yelped. While Malfoy clawed at the sand in his good eye with his own free hand, Harry thrust his knife forward and his blade sunk into his rival’s forearm, the one holding the knife. Malfoy cussed and immediately dropped his knife. Harry retreated.

Malfoy had managed to get his eye mostly clear, and shot Harry a bloodshot glare as he held his bleeding arm. Without warning, and giving an outraged shout, he charged at Harry, slamming into him, and Harry fell backwards into the low waves with a grunt, a clawing Malfoy on top of him. Malfoy got a grip on Harry’s weapon arm and held it away. They struggled in the water, both growling, and the sand beneath them spread throughout the murky shallows with their blood.

Harry, as enraged as Malfoy, looked up at his opponent who was still grappling with his weapon arm. “Did ye kill him?” he shouted, pain in his voice.

“Why, are you going to miss fucking him?” Malfoy shouted back.

Harry roared and flipped Malfoy onto his back. He punched his jaw with his free hand, as Malfoy still had a firm grip on the other. He then put his hand over Malfoy’s mouth and pushed him back into the sand. Malfoy shifted his head and bit down hard on the soft spot between Harry’s thumb and index finger. Harry growled and quickly retracted his hand. Malfoy gave Harry a mighty push sideways into a wave. He lunged after him and smacked into Harry who had quickly recovered from the push and had thrown himself back at Malfoy. They toppled back into the shallows and continued to roll around wrestling with each other.

Harry’s dirk arm was now free, and having the upper hand because he weighed more, was back on top of Malfoy’s wiggling form and straddling his chest. His knees were holding Malfoy’s arms down and his hand was soon at his throat. Warm salt water repeatedly gushed over Malfoy’s face, and he sputtered as Harry pressed down on his neck harder.

Harry brought the tip of his dirk to touch lightly against the skin below Malfoy’s chin and brought his face very close to the other man’s. “Answer me! Did ye kill him?” he snarled.

Malfoy replied with a gurgle.

Harry loosened his hold on Malfoy’s neck so the other man could speak. “Did ye?” he asked again, pressing the dirk harder against his skin.

“Of course I didn’t kill Ron!” Malfoy gasped. “It was the fire!”

They stared at each other. Harry slowly let go of his grip on Malfoy’s neck and sat back on his haunches. He looked exhausted.

Malfoy squirmed out from underneath Harry, and leaned on his elbows, breathing hard. “I was just taunting you, Potter. Just taunting.” He coughed. Blood trickled over his bottom lip and down his chin.

They continued to stare, both bleeding and completely spent; one hell of a rough night and one hell of a duel and both utterly alone.

“They’re all gone. All our mates,” Harry stated sadly. His urge to hurt Malfoy had suddenly vanished. He felt defeated.

The other man remained silent.

“How can we take all the treasure fer ourselves, when it cost us so much?”

Malfoy blinked. “We?”

“We?” Harry repeated. He watched a droplet of blood as it trembled and fell from Malfoy’s chin. “Malfoy… Why don’t we find this treasure together? We’re both alone. We ‘ave nothin’ else. Why all this pointless bickerin’?”

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably, confusion on his face, his breathing still ragged “But…” In his wearied state, he couldn’t bring himself to argue.

“Come on,” Harry urged. “We can split. We can get more fer ourselves together than if we ‘ad our entire crews with us to ‘elp share it.” He pulled out the wet, leather hide map from his pocket and opened it to examine.

The map was similar to Malfoy’s own copy, and he watched as Harry whispered to himself the words on the hide. He still didn’t like the sound of this ‘we.’ His eye wandered down to Harry’s hands holding the map. They were tanned and weathered. Pirate’s hands. Working hands. The whispering stopped. Harry was watching him. He looked away toward the waves.

“Well?” Harry said quietly.

Malfoy looked back at Harry. “Okay,” he said, surprising himself.

Harry smiled sadly. He stood up, and extended a hand toward his new partner. Malfoy declined it and got to his feet with some effort.

“Alright,” spoke Harry, softly. “Together.”