Black Jack

Captain Jack Sparrow might as well have been on Mars.

The London streets were bustling with midday traffic. The toxic fumes that filled his nostrils made him wish he were sitting down, and the noise barely afforded him the opportunity to hear himself think.

How Sirius Black lived in that, Jack never knew. He immediately pardoned Black for his misgivings. Jack supposed that he, too, would have been a great ponce had he been forced to live in a place such as that.

But this was for a very good friend. One who'd saved his life on more than one occasion, and Jack had something to do.

Jack had been sitting at this particular crosswalk for hours trying to decide how he was supposed to find this place. Twelve Grimmauld Place was not listed in the directory. Apparently, it didn't exist. Nor did something called Hogwarts. Apparently nothing he had set out to find was anywhere to be found.

Finally, someone in uniform approached him. "Sir, are you lost?"

"You could say that," Jack mumbled.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"You could say that," Jack said warily.

"Bloody tourist," the copper mumbled. "Where are you going? Jack was still dressed in the clothes he had when he lost The Black Pearl. With his hat and boots and odd dress, he certainly stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb with the rest of Londoners in three-piece suits. "A bit early for Halloween, eh?"

"I'm headin' to Twelve Grimmauld Place," Jack slurred.

"Number twelve disappeared about fifteen years ago," the copper said, trying to get closer to smell his breath. I don't think it exists anymore. But Grimmauld Place ain't no place for a party. Dodgy neighborhood, that is."

"I'm doing a favor for a friend," Jack answered. "It's his house."

"Who's your friend?"

"Sirius Black."

"As in THE Sirius Black?"

"I only know one Sirius Black, sir."

"What's your name, sir?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether or not you're going to arrest me when I give it."

"I can tell you now that it's no good for you either way. You're better off complying."

"I'm not from around here. How 'bout twenty shillings and we'll both go on about our business."

"That's a warning. Bribes like that get you a one-way ticket to the clink. I might let you get off if you would be willing to tell me where he is." The copper said, blocking his path. "He's a very--er--popular bloke, you know. Quite a few people would be very interested in knowing his whereabouts."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I think my colleagues would like to try your tale on for size. We've been looking for your friend for three years now. You're helping a known criminal, sir."

"Had I known he was a criminal when I helped him," Jack answered, "then I wouldn't have helped him."

On foot, Jack sprinted down London streets, he heard something loud screaming and blue lights flashing.

Within minutes, he was surrounded, with police cars blocking all exits and guns pointed at him in all directions.

"I didn't actually bribe him," Jack prompted. "I only made an offer."

Without a word, the copper shoved Jack against the side of the cold machine.

"You're under arrest. You are being charged with bribing an officer, and aiding and abetting a known criminal. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention now something you later rely on in court; anything you do or say may be given in evidence."

"I WAS SUPPOSED TO DELIVER A MESSAGE! I CAN'T GO! I HAVE A JOB!"

"Don't worry mate," the officer smirked as he shoved him into the patrol car, "you'll get a phone call if you behave yourself. You can deliver the message then. But you might want to save that call for a very good barrister, eh? My mates and I would be none to happy to get the message to Mr. Black. We've got a message for him, too."

As the car sped away down the busy London streets, Jack realized that the fact that Twelve Grimmauld Place was nowhere to be found was the least of his troubles.