Black Jack

Chapter II

A Dangerous Business

Gravedigger

When you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that I can feel the rain?

"Gravedigger" by Dave Matthews

Pirates, a Brief History

For nearly as long as there have been ships, there have been pirates.

However, the most prolific era of piracy was during The Golden Age, which occurred roughly between the years 1680-1730. Although it is a bit before Jack Sparrow's time, it is important to note, because that era helped shape the culture in which Sparrow thrived.

Although the 1730's marked the relative end of The Golden Age of Piracy, it did not mark the end of piracy in that century. As the Caribbean became more tightly governed (and commerce became more regulated) pirates were pushed further and further out of the area due to legal oppression, despite the fact that many were hired by the government as privateers to help colonization. By the 1770's Jack Sparrow and the crew of The Black Pearl were among the last remaining pirates in the area.

By Captain Jack Sparrow's time, piracy had become a dangerous business.

But for him, there was no other life.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Few Weeks' Prior

Isla de Muerta, Caribbean circa 18^th Century

When Sirius Black first became aware of his surroundings, it was impossible to tell whether or not his eyes were open or closed.

The second thing he was aware of was the putrid odor of blood mixed with the unmistakable stench of fungus. When he felt something warm running into his eyes, he blinked and tried to wipe his face with his robes. It was then that he realized that it made no difference whether or not his eyes were open or closed--he was equally surrounded by darkness either way.

Sirius had spent quite a bit of time in many cold and dark places since he was convicted of the murders of James and Lily Potter and thirteen others. Something about this cold and dark place, though, shook him to the core.

It was as if Eternity had kicked him in the soul.

"If I had my wand, that would be something," he mumbled to himself as he fumbled around in his robes. When he didn't find it, he fumbled around on the floor, and was successful.

At least he hoped he was successful.

It was hard to tell the difference between an ordinary stick and a wand in the complete darkness. "Only one way to find out," he said to himself as he picked it up. Judging from the way his own voice echoed, he knew that he was in a cave of some sort.

"Lumos," he commanded. Had he felt at all up to doing a little jig, he would have. Just then, however, he would have to settle for staying conscious.

It could have been minutes or hours since Sirius first regained his senses. He neither knew nor cared. He couldn't think about how much his head hurt, or how much he wanted to stop, or how good a drink of fresh water would taste on his lips. He willed himself to trudge forward through the bowels of the cave. All he cared about was the singular thought that motivated him to escape Azkaban three years ago: Get Wormtail. Get to Harry.

It wasn't long before he heard voices.

"Yo ho, ho, a pirate's life for me!" a man was singing very off key.

Whoever he is, he sounds drunk, Sirius decided. I wonder if he'll share.

"I thought we weren't going to re-open the box," another man argued. "I don't think I need to remind you that a curse is a curse, and magic is a dangerous business."

"So's being a pirate, Gibbs," slurred the first man.

I know that voice, Sirius realized with delight. Finally, something was going right. Come to think of it, I know the other voice, too. But who are they, and how do I know them? That's the million galleon question.

Whoever the voice belonged to, Sirius thought it best to transform into Padfoot for the time being.

As Padfoot, Sirius made his way to the direction of the voices.

"I just think you ought to give this some thought," the second man was saying. "You saw what Cortez's Gold did to Barbossa's crew. You would've shared their fate if you hadn't been...well...you."

Barbossa...Sirius wondered. Why do I remember that name?

"A grave is not my fate, either, Gibbs," slurred the first voice.

"A grave is everybody's fate," Gibbs answered grimly.

"I'm not everybody," the first voice slurred back.

"So it would seem," said the other man in a defeated tone of voice.

The voices were getting closer. Not much further now. Padfoot guessed.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Padfoot found them.

He couldn't see their faces still, and the one who sounded drunk was indeed holding a bottle.

"No going back, Jack," said the other man.

Jack...Jack Sparrow? No...it couldn't be him. It sounds like him, though, Padfoot thought.

"I'm not shetting pfffoot innat 'ell again," Jack slurred. He sounded as if he were drunk, and trying to argue that the sky was orange.

Their footsteps came closer.

"That's not what I meant," Gibbs answered.

Sirius crept closer to see if he could get a better view without being noticed in the shadows. He heard a splash, and felt something wet at his foot. Please don't let them have heard that, he begged silently.

"Who's there?" Gibbs hissed.

"To The Black Pearl!" Jack commanded.

Sirius followed them, making sure that he wasn't seen.

"Where are we docking?"

"Not Port Royale. Norrington wants my head on a platter for a birthday pressie."

Dock... Sirius thought wildly. The Black Pearl is a ship! He really did feel like doing a little jig then. A way out of the island was all he'd been searching for since he found himself in that godforsaken cave. It didn't matter what sort of people his company was. The boat might not be freedom, but at least it was a way out.

Between staying in the cave and chancing it on The Black Pearl, he'd rather take his chances.

"Do you think this could be a sign?" Gibbs said, looking warily towards the cave. "I mean, it's probably not a very good idea."

"Of course it's not a good idea," Jack declared, making his way onto the raft. "Why else would it be worth trying?"

Merlin! Sirius realized with a start. He certainly looks like Jack Sparrow and sounds like him. At the very least he has to be an ancestor with an extremely uncanny resemblance.

"That dog has been following us since we left the cave," Gibbs said. "Want me to shoot it?"

"Fancy a bit of dog for supper?" Jack asked. "They taste like chicken."

"But you've got the gold. You can't eat anyway."

"I'm not dead yet, savvy? For the curse to take effect, you have to have died. Remember, the old crew got burnt to a crisp. So, how 'bout it? Fancy some dog?"

"At least it wouldn't be seafood," Gibbs said, aiming his gun.

So much for a way out, Sirius thought dismally.

*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*

12 Grimmauld Place

London, England

July 15, 1996

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lupin spent the next several hours looking for any evidence of Sparrow's tale.

He did find a reference to the Gold of Cortez in one of the Black Family books. Cortez's greed consumed him, and the gold was cursed, according to the tale. It would render all those who were cursed without feeling, without life, and without peace.

He found a reference to the hanging of one Jack Sparrow, and an arrest in the archives on one separate occasion, but nothing beyond that. He'd lived hundreds of years ago. The piece of Cortez's gold is the only way he could've remained alive all that time. Whatever happened, Voldemort couldn't discover this. And if Harry knew there was a slight possibility that Sirius could return...well...no sense in giving him false hope.

Whatever Lupin's next course of action was, he knew he had to act fast.

It was entirely plausible that Lovegood, Fletcher, and himself were not the only ones privy to the information he had.

The only thing left to do now was Owl Tonks, Moody, and Fletcher.

I really shouldn't be doing this. Lupin thought as he Owled Snape. But Snape had the largest personal library. If he was willing, he could prove very useful.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Five Minutes Later

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cassandra Channing was the last of fifteen candidates.

It had been an exhausting afternoon of question-and-answer sessions. The decision for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had to be made that day. Between the fourteen candidates previously interviewed, it was as good as decided that Fleur Delacour would be the next person to fill the position. But the fifteenth candidate was waiting outside the office.

Normally, McGonagall was not privy to the now-annual interview for Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but if McGonagall was going to allow another disaster like Delores Umbridge to enter Hogwart's doors, then she might as well resign from her position then and there.

"Ms. Channing?" McGonagall said, addressing the young woman waiting outside the Headmaster's office. She was extraordinary only in her ordinariness. Her robes were plain and she wore no jewelry except for a silver chain around her neck with a silver oblong pendant with a circle in the middle of it. Her frizzy, honey colored hair offset a pale complexion and brown eyes that gave one the disconcerting impression that she could see straight through you.

"The Headmaster is ready for you," she said, turning her back towards her as quickly as possible. She was glad to be free of the woman's gaze.

Cassandra only nodded and rose, following McGonagall up the large staircase to Dumbledore's office.

"Ms. Channing, I presume?" Dumbledore said. Channing did not sit down.

"Please," McGonagall said, making a grand gesture towards the big armchair across from the desk. "Take a seat."

"That is not my custom," she said.

"Ah yes," Dumbledore said, apparently not at all flustered by Cassandra's actions. "I must confess that I'm rather surprised that you're willing to join society. I understand that your Sect does not tolerate the rest of us."

"Indeed, I was reluctant," she answered. "However, Voldemort does not give us a choice in that matter. We have to do something."

"You're not afraid to say his name?" Dumbledore asked, apparently surprised.

"It is only a word. How can I fear a word? There are much truer fears than that in the world."

"Tell me, how did you come to join the Sect of Erimentha? And why are you no longer a part of it?"

"I was born into it. I am a part of it still. After the Death Eaters attacked the cloister, however, we were forced to disperse," she answered, not keeping eye contact with either of them.

"Ms. Channing," McGonagall said, "I'm afraid I'm not terribly knowledgeable of your branch of magic. I'm aware that it involves Mind Magic, but that is all."

She smiled condescendingly. "Of course you're not. We have kept it a secret for centuries," she said in the same tone one would use in answering a very stupid question from a very small child.

"Dumbledore is one of the very few outsiders who knows of our existence. It worked perfectly until one of our own members betrayed us. You are correct, Professor McGonagall. Cerebromancy does focus on Mind Magic."

"More specifically, what does it include?" McGonagall said through pursed lips.

" It is an umbrella term encompassing a wide range of abilities. Particularly, I'm able to access and manipulate private thoughts. I'm able to use what I see in someone's mind to profile their personalities and predict their motives and plans of action. After the cloister was forced to disperse, I trained myself in Occlumency. The witch who took me under her wing had a Pensieve and taught me how to use it."

"I must ask," Dumbledore demanded, peering skeptically over his glasses, "why do you want this job?"

"We've kept ourselves hidden for all these years because...well...you can imagine what kind of disaster would occur if power like ours was placed in the wrong hands. You know the expression mind over matter?"

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Channing," McGonagall countered, "but other people in the wizarding world have the ability to read minds. Your sect is not the only one with the gift."

"No, indeed, Professor McGonagall, but we keep ourselves protected because we did not wish to be hindered by society. We wished to concentrate our entire existence on honing in on that kind of magic. So you see," she repeated sternly through pursed lips, "someone with that kind of ability is not something you want in the wrong hands."

McGonagall nodded tersely. Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something.

"That's all Cerebromancy is at its core," Cassandra continued. "It will doubtless prove to be a valuable asset in the fight against Voldemort. It is not my choice to be a part of your world. But if I must, I want to be useful. I want to know that I am heading the enemy off at the pass by training future generations with what I know."

"Are you an innie or an outtie?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I beg your pardon?" Cassandra asked, slightly taken aback.

"Your naval. Are you an innie or an outtie?"

"I'm not sure I..." Cassandra stammered.

"You can tell quite a bit about someone's personality from the naval alone. I've found it a most useful gauge of character in my experience."

"Isn't that a tad personal?" Cassandra accused.

"Tell me more about the attack on the cloister," Dumbledore enquired next. "What happened to your parents? I don't mean to pry, but it could prove very valuable information."

"I don't know that I..." Cassandra stammered.

Suddenly, as though someone had tapped her on her shoulder by surprise, her eyes flew open. She concentrated on a candle on the wall. It exploded--almost as though too much heat were applied to it. Wax went flying in all directions. When papers ignited Dumbledore's desk, the people in the paintings screamed frantically. Phineas Nigellus disappeared from the Headmaster frame quicker than he ever had.

"Ms. Channing?" McGonagall stammered in disbelief, picking wax out of her hair.

"Quite a draft in here, wouldn't you say, Minerva?" Dumbledore said, eyeing her warily, fanning out the fire.

"I...don't know...I thought I had it under control..." Cassandra stammered. "I'm terribly sorry."

"No harm done, Ms. Channing," Dumbledore said, picking wax out of his beard..

"What do you mean no harm done!" ranted one of the subjects in the paintings. "We're oil! We almost got scorched!"

"I'll be on my way, then," Cassandra said, cursing herself under her breath.

"We haven't finished the interview yet," Dumbledore said.

"But you have made up your mind--you were going to hire Fleur Delacour already."

"How did you..." McGonagall stammered.

"Legilimency has its advantages," Cassandra said with a shy smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm wasting my time and yours. Good day."

"I believe you are quite mistaken, Cassandra," Dumbledore said. "You see, you read my colleague's mind. Not mine."

"I couldn't read yours," Cassandra said in an almost-whisper.

"I wouldn't let you. It would have proven disastrous if the wrong information got into the wrong head."

"I can certainly appreciate that," she said, hardly believing her luck. "When do I start?"

"The term begins the first of September, and faculty members are required to arrive on Hogwarts grounds at eight a.m., two weeks' prior."

"Why did you hire her?" McGonagall demanded minutes later when Cassandra had left. "Do you really think it's wise to hire someone so...volatile?"

"Everyone deserves a chance to prove what they are capable of, Minerva."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you have to hire everyone who comes through our doors! I mean, really, Albus!" she clucked, "she turned a candle into ash! What that was a student's head when Neville Longbottom makes a mistake?"

"The Sect of Erimentha could prove to be an important ally in the war. I can't dismiss that. Nor can I dismiss the fact that Miss Delacour already has employment, and none of the other candidates quite needed the job like Ms. Channing seemed to. Besides, you heard her as well as I did. She knows Occlumency. And I don't believe Harry finished his training last year."

"But do you really think someone like her who isn't quite..." McGonagall fought for the right word, "adjusted to society is ready for such a challenge as a teaching position?"

"What safer place for her to be adjusted than Hogwarts! I shall keep a watchful eye on her as often as I can. I don't believe that Sybil is...adjusted, as you say, to society either, but she still does her job. And well, I might add."

"Sybil is hardly a stellar example of an effective professor."

"Ah," Dumbledore countered, "but she is a professor."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Meanwhile...

Number 12 Grimmauld Place

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It wasn't long before Snape, Tonks, Fletcher, and Moody were all sitting in the dining room.

"I can't stay long," Tonks announced. "I left my post, and I am still on watch. Arabella put Snowy on top of things, but still," she said frowning, "I don't like the thought of leaving Harry alone with those awful people."

"He's a very capable lad," Moody said. "He can take care of him himself for a few minutes."

"This had better be good," Snape grumbled.

"What's your hurry to get back? Did you leave an Engorgement potion boiling on the burner?" Tonks murmured under her breath. "They have Muggle pills for that sort of thing, you know."

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Lupin began, ignoring the bickering. "Something's...come up."

"This is 'bout Sparrow, ain't it?" Fletcher gloated. Lupin nodded.

"I investigated a matter that 'Dung here brought to my attention, and I think it merits our involvement. There's a prisoner in the downtown London Metropolitan Jail at the moment," Lupin explained, "who was arrested for association with Sirius."

"Our Sirius?" Tonks blurted out at once.

"How this concerns me is escaping my attention at the moment," Snape said, standing to leave, "now if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do."

"It concerns you because regardless of his apparent connection," Lupin fumed, "the prisoner has access to magic that Voldemort should never be aware exists. He's lived for two hundred years. As long as he has access to this magic, he could continue interminably."

"What are you saying, Remus?" Tonks asked, eyeing him skeptically.

"Fletcher brought a prisoner to my attention who was apparently arrested for being cahoots with Sirius. Whether he is telling the truth is irrelevant. He has access to an enchanted piece of gold that extends life for as long as the possessor holds it."

"Do you have any research to corroborate his story?" Snape asked.

"From what I've been able to research," Remus said, nodding, "I've found a legend of a chest of gold left by Cortez in the Caribbean during the fifteenth century. It's cursed, turning the possessor into a Walking Dead. According to this prisoner, he's lived two hundred years."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Fletcher demanded.

"Sirius was apparently on the crew of the Black Pearl," Remus said quietly, obviously gauging everyone's reactions.

"How is that possible?" Moody asked.

"As far as I can tell, the veil is somehow connected to Isla de Muerta. The veil is a portal through time. This is all inconsequential when compared to the implications of the kind of magic Jack Sparrow has access to. We need to make sure that Voldemort is not aware that magic like Cortez's gold does not exist, and that's why I called this meeting."

"So what do we do about it?" Moody asked.

"We spring Jack Sparrow from jail, is what we do about it," Fletcher answered.

"This is the most absurd thing I've ever heard," Snape said. "I can't believe I was called away from an extremely delicate potion for a fairytale."

"So it was an Engorgement potion," Tonks snickered.

"It's not a fairytale, Severus," Lupin insisted. "Like I said, whether or not Sirius returns is irrelevant here. Voldemort should not have access to magic that allows one to live interminably. The point is protecting someone whose only crime is by association."

"All the same," Snape sneered, "I don't think I need to remind you the consequences if this Sparrow fellow is just manipulating you for his own benefit. You're proposing a breach security by bringing an outsider to headquarters."

"All the same," Lupin fired back, "the risk of ignoring this is far too great. If we got wind of this information, it would stand to reason that Voldemort is just as aware of the existence of the magic as we are. I will not stand by and let that kind of power fall into the wrong hands."

"You always did prefer vermin for company," Snape sneered.

"Have you spoken to Dumbledore about this?" Tonks asked, ignoring him.

"I contacted him first," Lupin answered. "He's tending to the matter as soon as he can. I think Dumbledore wants to meet Sparrow before he makes any kind of judgment."

"Then Dumbledore meets Sparrow," Moody said. "And we go from there. I'll air out the Invisibility Cloak. A Disillusionment Charm or two, and it should be a snap."

"One more thing," Lupin added. "Harry doesn't hear a word of this. If Harry finds out, Voldemort finds out. And I don't need to remind you what kind of a disaster that would bring."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Somewhere in the Caribbean Sea

c. Eighteenth Century

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~

The last time we saw Sirius...

"That dog has been following us since we left the cave," Gibbs said. "Want me to shoot it?"

"Fancy a bit of dog for supper?" Jack asked. "They taste like chicken."

"But you've got the gold, Jack. You can't eat anyway."

"I'm not dead yet. For the curse to take effect, you have to have died. Remember, the old crew got burnt to a crisp. So, how 'bout it? Fancy some dog?"

"At least it wouldn't be seafood," Gibbs said, aiming his gun.

So much for a way out, Sirius thought dismally.

With a yelp, Sirius ducked his head underwater.

So that was Jack, Sirius thought wildly as he frantically ducked his head underwater to escape the range of the gun. But how...

Before he knew what had happened, he felt a searing pain shoot through his shoulder and the water around him was quickly turning crimson. Having no alternative, he managed grab hold of a floating piece of driftwood with his good arm and return to his human form.

From the boat, Sirius could barely make out Jack taking several large gulps of something in the bottle.

"Where'd he go?!" Gibbs demanded, firing a few random shots into the water for good measure.

"Ahoy!" Jack called out.

"Where'd he come from?" Gibbs asked.

"Don't just stand there!" Jack barked. "Get the rope!"

"But what if he's the enemy?" Gibbs demanded.

"If he's a pirate, they made him walk the plank," Jack answered lazily. "If he was competition, then maybe he'd fancy joining our crew, eh and giving us a bit of secrets, eh? If he was government, I don't think he'd know how to swim so well."

Grateful for the help, Sirius was wondering if chancing his luck with people who had just shot him was a good idea, but he didn't have much of a choice. He grabbed the rope, and let Jack and the other man called Gibbs pull him ashore.

Finally, drenched and exhausted, Sirius climbed aboard the dingy.

"Jack?" Sirius said in an almost-whisper.

"Captain Jack Fucking Sparrow, if you please," Jack corrected. "I know I'm famous, but I've never seen you in these waters before. How did you know who I was?

"We've met," Sirius said rasped, clinging to his injured arm. "Two years ago. You were marooned on an island. I was trying to hide from the long arm of the law..."

"I want whatever you're drinkin'. Where do ye hail from?" Jack asked.

"London."

"State your business," Gibbs demanded.

"Am I the captain, or aren't I?" said Jack. Then, turning to Sirius, said: "I ask the questions! State your business!"

"I...sort of...landed here," Sirius answered weakly.

"How do you sort of land in the middle of the Caribbean Sea?" Jack exploded.

"I was on the island you just left," he replied, figuring he was trapped as he was.

"Good Lord!" Gibbs butted in, "Isla de Muerta?!

"You weren't plundering me booty, were ye?" Jack demanded.

"Booty? I don't...think...no....wait...a second...the Caribbean Sea?! How did I get here?"

"Most people get to this place by boat," Jack answered, eyeing him quizzically.

"No...I...you don't understand..." Sirius stammered, forehead wrinkling in thought, "the last thing I remember, I was in London dueling with someone who was trying to kill my godson."

"I think you've been in the sun too long, mate," Jack quipped.

"Look," Sirius said, desperately now. "I was convicted for a crime I didn't commit."

"Then we have something in common!" Jack declared. "Except I committed mine."

"I don't belong here," Sirius insisted.

"Nobody belongs in hell," Jack mumbled.

"No..." Sirius hesitated, fighting for the best way to describe how it happened. He wasn't really sure himself. "I mean, I don't know how I got here. I'm supposed to be in London right now looking after my godson. I was convicted for killing his parents, and the last thing I remember, I was dueling with one of my godson's enemies."

"I sympathize with your situation. Really, I do. But you've got yourself into this mess, now you're going to have to get yourself out of it, savvy?"

"I. Have. To. Get. Back." Sirius answered.

"Let me get this straight," Jack slurred. "You're facing the gallows and you want to go back? Sounds to me like you're better off being a pirate."