Author's Note: Catherine's grandfather was of Cajun origin (French, Native American, and African, populous in New Orleans at the time.) Her name is pronounced Cat-reen, accent on the 'reen' as in KatRINa Van Tassel. As it was shameful to be French in an English world at the time, Anne's father anglo-sized their names, but, as he didn't want to shove the French heritage entirely down the drain, he pronounced his daughter's name the French way. This is a re-write, cause I watched the movie again and realized that I screwed up on some points. Anyhoo, on to the stupid disclaimer thingie.

Disclaimer: I don't own Potc. I own Anne, and any other characters that you are unfamiliar with cuz I made 'em up. You can't sue, sorry, I know you wanted to so much. Onward!

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Prologue: The Dirty Boy

Catherine Anne Chausseur walked into J. Brown's smithy on a slightly chilly Tuesday morning---chilly for the Caribbean, that is. She went there on business matters, though she was only nine years old. She ran an errand for her father, who currently dealt with customers in his little shop of mercantile goods and oddities. Catherine went to J. Brown's smithy to pay for the services he'd given five days ago repairing the shop door's hinges. She'd put the money in her under drawers, figuring no thief would want to look there.

When Catherine entered the dark room, Mr. Brown sat in a chair, snoring. His hands rested over his drunkard's belly, clasping a bottle of rum. Catherine was not disheartened, however, she was rather pleased at the opportunity to remove the money from her underwear without Mr. Brown taking any lewd peeks. She sat down on the steps and began to lift her plain brown skirt to her knees.

"No, Miss, please stop!" came a young voice from the shadows.

Catherine flung her skirt back to her ankles and sat up straight, sharply alert.

"Who's there?!" she implored, but a heavy breath was her only answer. "Who's there?" she repeated. "Tell me or --- or --- or I'll get Mr. Brown on you!"

"No, please don't do that! Alright, I'll come out."

A young boy emerged from his hiding place. Beneath his black eye and split lip, he looked to be about twelve years old and he looked like he hadn't bathed in months. He slumped over in shame, dwarfing his remarkably tall height.

"Oh!" gasped Catherine, "What happened to your face?"

The boy winced at the comment, but he answered nonetheless, "I ruined something of Mr. Brown's so he struck me, and gave me a right terrible licking, too."

"Oh," Catherine remarked solemnly. "But how do you know Mr. Brown?" she asked.

At this he stood up straight and tall and, grabbing his vest, said, "I'm his new apprentice," quite proudly. Then he lost his balance.

Catherine hopped down from her perch and grabbed his hand to steady him. The boy yelped, and that was when Catherine noticed a fluid of some sort on his palm. She looked at the coin-sized boil and the bloodied gash that marked it. The wound was a burn.

"Did he do this to you too?" she asked.

"Nah. I'm just a bit clumsy is all."

"But still, it needs to be bandaged… hmm. Wait a moment."

Catherine gingerly let go of his hand and hurried over to the snoozing Mr. Brown.

"'Ey, Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown, wake up." She tapped him on the shoulder, then poked, hard. Brown snorted and squinted his eyes at the girl with the long and freckled face.

"Mr. Brown, I'm takin' you apprentice with me. I accidentally put a hurt on 'im, and now I need to clean it up a bit. And I have your money for you." She stooped down and, risking a peek from Mr. Brown, quickly took the money from her underwear. He reached for it, but accidentally grabbed her wrist in his drunken daze.

"Uuh, I'll just set it over here with a note. And I'm taking your apprentice with me to clean 'im up, alright?"

"Unh, yeah, yeah …" said Mr. Brown before falling back to sleep.

Catherine set the two shillings on the table and quickly scribbled a note, then led the boy out of the smithy. They walked in silence for nearly half of the walk, but the boy interrupted the quietness.

"You know, you never did ask my name," he said.

Catherine waited, expecting to hear it immediately afterward.

"Well, what is it?" she asked after a bit.

"Will Turner," the boy replied.

"Catherine Anne Chaucer," she told him, using the English pronunciation of her name, as she did with all people in Port Royale. She reached to give his good hand a firm shake, but he had stopped dead in his tracks.

"You're French?" he asked. Catherine scowled.

"Stuff it , you! I ain't French! Just 'cause I pronounce my name French doesn't mean I am one!" said Catherine defensively, crossing her arms over her ribcage. She was actually part Cajun, but the boy did not need to know that.

"Sorry, I --- Sorry. I meant nothing by it."

"Well, good. And anyhow its from a few begettins' back and it's just stuck real bad."

"Oh."

The two walked for a few more moments without speaking.

"So, is Will your Pa's name too?"

"Yeah, but he's gone. I don't know where on earth he is," Will told her, his voice riddled with solemnity.

"My Ma's gone too. Oh, there's my place," Catherine said, taking Will's good hand and leading him up to the door. "Pa!" she called. "This is my new friend, Will Turner. He's got a few hurts on 'im that need some looking at."

Charles Chaussuer took a look at his face, widened his eyes, then disappeared through a doorway behind him. Pa emerged with a few rags, and two bottles, on containing rum and the other witch hazel. He directed Will to a small table and soon joined him. Pa uncorked the rum and wet a rag with it, which he then dotted on Will's cut lip. The witch hazel came next.

"Now, hold that there over your eye," Pa said, giving him a rag that smelt of witch hazel. When Will raised his right hand to do so, his burn wound shown clear.

"Oh! Your hand is hurt as well," said Pa, "but give me your hand and I'll bandage that too."

Will lifted his left hand to hold the witch-hazeled rag, and set his right on the table, palm facing up.

"Alright, Will," Pa began, picking the bottle of rum up, "this is goin' to sting right bad, but it'll keep any festerins' away." Will nodded and clamped his teeth closed in preparation for it. Pa let a few drops fall onto Will's hand before pouring a whole slew of it on. Will hissed in pain as the rum bubbled on his hand. Pa left it there for about a minute, then wiped it clean, saying, "There, there, son."

Will looked up, startled. Catherine's heart pounded, fearing what the practically orphaned boy's response would be.

"You called me son," said Will.

"Aye," replied Pa, "'cause every friend of my child is also my child."

A small smile spread across the boy's face. "Thank you," he said.

Such things are the beginnings of friendship.

As Will and Alexandra returned to Brown's smithy, conversation flared.

"Thanks for helping me out, and for being my friend, Miss." Will said.

"Miss? Well, then, the pleasure is all mine, uum, Mister. But you needn't call me Miss or anything. Just call me Catherine or Anne or anything' you like, and I'll call you Will; we're friends, and the titles are silly, anyhow," Catherine answered, bringing a bit of hesitation to Will's mind.

"Uuh, well, alright. We are friends, after all, Cat --- Catha --- Anne."

"That's right," said Anne. "Do you have many friends?"

"Well, you and, I think, Elizabeth Swann. I met her on the boat from England I haven't seen her for a while though …"

"Hmm. Elizabeth Swann; that sounds real familiar …"

"Well, she's Governor Swann's daughter," Will volunteered.

Catherine looked up at him, her eyes wide and round.

"'Ow! The governor's daughter? How'd you meet her?"

"Ah … like I said, we were on the ship together."

Anne could tell he was beating about the bush a little, but she, wisely so, decided not to inquire any farther.

"I've never had any friends, just Pa," she told him instead.

"I never knew my Father. My Mother told me he was a merchant sailor. I came out here to look for him; I haven't found him yet."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm on my own in a way."

"But where's your Ma? Doesn't she take care of you?"

"No. She's dead too," Will said, his eyes melded with the ground.

"I'm sorry, how terrible for you. I don't know how ---"

"Enough already! She's dead and my Father's probably dead, and there's nothing' to be done about it, so why talk about it?!" shouted Will, startling Anne --- She had no idea that she was being insensitive.

"Sorry, Will," she said, her eyes now cast to the ground.

He said nothing, but took Anne's little hand in his bandaged one. Though no words were spoken, Anne knew that Will had forgiven her insensitivity. Anne looked up and smiled to him.

Will smiled back.

From that day on, Will and Anne were brother and sister.

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Author's Note: I hope you like it. Do read on, Chapter 3 will be up soon, hopefully. My parents are being butts about fanfic, they say it's a waste of time, so it might be a while. I hope not though.