I realized I had posted this on AO3, but not here and since I was planning on updating within the next week or so, I thought that was an oversight I should correct.
A much belated gift for my tomarrytine, asexualsiriusblack on tumblr, who has been so patient and understand about my circumstances. She asked for a pirate AU, and I did my best to oblige, though it has quickly spun out of control. Still, I hope this first chapter and all the rest to come hit the spot.
I know nothing about the age of sail save what I read in the three days I spent writing this chapter, but I hope you can all suspend your disbelief long enough to enjoy the story. Unbeta'd, so please forgive any errors.
Second Lieutenant Harry Potter stood on the rigging on the the foremast of the HMS Griffin, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of sails. Harry often served lookout duty, something he thoroughly enjoyed, unlike his crewmates. At the top of the mast, even the smallest motion of the boat below was amplified. Harry had seen even the most experienced of sailors become violently seasick after serving a watch as lookout.
Not Harry. He loved the feeling of the wind in his hair, the boat rocking beneath him, the smell of salt in the air, the horizon stretched out before him. Harry loved sailing. He had been born to it.
"You'll be the finest sailor the seven seas have ever seen," his mother had told him when he was young, a smile full of pride on her face. "It's in your blood."
Harry had taken those words to heart. He did everything he could to ensure that his parents would be proud of him. They were with him always, but they weighed heavily on his mind today. Five years ago today, he had lost them both.
Today, the wound felt fresh, as if he was losing them all over again.
Harry had been serving as Master's Mate on the HMS Griffin,the ship commanded by Admiral Dumbledore, a close friend of the family who had taken Harry on at his father's request at eleven, when he had finally convinced his parents to let him go to sea after years of begging. Six years later, the Phoenix had become just as much home as his family's large, well appointed house on the island of Godric ever had been. Harry had been working with the Ship's Mate, the stern Mathias McGonagall, to plot their course once they left port.
Their complex calculations were interrupted by a knock on the door, and McGonagall had shouted a rough "Come!"
The cabin boy, Colin Creevey, entered, but before he had the chance to speak, McGonagall ordered him to stand there and be quiet. Only when he and Harry had finished the computation did the man put down his compass and straighten.
"What did you want, Creevey?"
"It's the Admiral, sir," Creevey said. "He wants to see Potter."
"Off you go Potter," McGonagall said. "The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back."
"Yes sir," Harry had said before making his way out of the room, Creevey hot on his heels.
"Do you know what this is about?" Harry asked Creevey.
"Not a clue," Creevey said. "I was hoping you would tell me."
Harry reached out and ruffled Colin's hair.
"Go practice your maths if you have nothing better to do. I'll be checking it tonight."
As the Mater's Mate with the most seniority, Harry was the head of the midshipmen's berth. As such, he was responsible for their instruction in mathematics, navigation, and the lore of the sea. It was a responsibility Harry took seriously, and one he had discovered he was skilled at. While not yet old enough to be a midshipman, Harry had opted to include Colin. Might as well give the boy something to do other than fetch and carry all day.
Creevey winced hard enough that Harry knew he hadn't so much as glanced at the assignment Harry had given him several days before. The boy skittered off in the direction of the midshipmen's berth when they were below, and Harry shook his head, smiling in amusement. Harry stopped before the Admiral's cabin, taking a moment to straighten his uniform and doing his best to tame his hair, for all he knew it was a useless effort. When he thought he was more or less presentable, Harry knocked on the Admiral's door.
"Come in," the Admiral called.
Harry opened the door and stepped into the cabin. The admiral sat behind his desk, his expression serious behind his neatly trimmed white beard, no sign of the usual twinkle in his blue eyes. Harry found himself straightening, making sure his posture was perfect and he cast about for anything he might have done to cause the expression on the usually jovial Admiral's face.
"Midshipman Potter reporting as ordered, sir," Harry said.
"Sit down my boy," the Admiral said, gesturing to the desk across from him.
Harry did as ordered, his sense of apprehension only growing. Not a reprimand, then. The expression on the Admiral's face had him truly concerned. As Harry situated himself, the Admiral pulled a bottle out from the depths of his drawer, pouring two generous glasses.
"Harry," the man said, and Harry felt ice flow through his veins. While it was true the Admiral was not much for propriety in his own cabin, he never addressed Harry by his first name unless they were meeting socially at the home of Harry's parents. For him to be addressing him so familiarly now could mean nothing good. "The post boat moored half an hour ago."
His parents. It could be about nothing else.
Commodore Potter was stationed in the Caribbean, ranking officer of the Isle of Godric. His father knew the waters better than any man in the Royal Navy. His mother, who knew the waters better than any person alive, had always joined his father aboard his ships, giving any man who objected a warm smile before verbally tearing them to shreds. After the first few rounds, none dared comment on her presence aboard, superstitions be damned.
She'd stayed home with Harry until he was young enough to go to sea himself. As soon as Harry was safely aboard the Phoenix she had rejoined his father aboard his ship once again.
The HMS Valiantwas stationed in the Caribbean last he had heard. Dealing with the pirate problem.
"The HMS Valiant left port in pursuit of the pirate ship Voldemortjust over a month ago. They were expected to dock three weeks ago."
Harry's hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.
"Weather could have drive them off course," Harry said. "Ships never keep schedule. The sea is too unpredictable for that."
"Harry," Admiral Dumbledore said gently, "My boy...they found the wreckage."
Harry stared straight at the Admiral, unable to process his words.
"There is no question as to which ship it was," the Admiral said gently, "Many of the debris were from the cargo, stamped with the Valiant's name."
Harry wordlessly reached forward and took the glass from off the desk, draining it in one swallow, relishing the feeling of it burning down his throat. It distracted from the burning of his eyes.
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"The Voldemort," the Admiral answered, his expression somber. "There was no weather in the area, and there was nothing they could have run aground on. It wasn't the first time she's attacked a ship of the Royal Navy."
"Sloops," Harry answered, fists clenched. "Frigates. Not ships of the line. Thirty guns, not seventy."
The Admiral poured him another drink, but Harry ignored it, trembling with rage.
"Pirates don't fight, not if they can help it. They intimidate and use threat of violence to board without struggle. Get in, get the loot, get out. Burn what they can't take. Run, not fight. That's how they operate."
"The majority of them, yes," the Admiral said, his clam tone only serving to make Harry more angry. "TheVoldemortis manned by a crew who seems to take particular delight in engaging with Royal Navy ships. This is the first man of the line she's sunk, it's true. But it is by no means the first navy ship she has destroyed."
Things had devolved from there, Harry wrecking the Admiral's office in anger as the man had watched on impassively. He had even gone so far as to scream at his commanding officer when the man had tried to offer him what felt like empty platitudes.
Harry had been lucky the Admiral hadn't had him up on charges for his behavior that day. Instead, Admiral Dumbledore had waved off Harry's apologies, telling him to think no further on the matter, and arranged for transport back to land so Harry could arrange for a ceremony and get his parent's affairs in order.
Captain Wood was an admirable man who Harry respected, but at heart, he was the Admiral's man.
Harry's rumination was interrupted by the sight of sails on the horizon.
"Ship ho!" Harry shouted, using years at sea to ensure his voice carried down to the deck. Harry kept his eyes peeled, taking in details as the ship came closer and closer.
Three masts. A merchant ship, if Harry had to guess. As they closed, he recognized it as a Fluyt. What caught his attention was the flag. It was difficult to make out more than the color at this distance, but what wasn't difficult to make out was the knot tied into it.
Harry clambered down from his perch in the tops, dropping down onto the deck with ease. The captain was shouting orders, and Harry watched the crew scurrying across the deck as he made his way to where the captain stood.
"Well, Mr. Potter?" Captain Wood asked. "What are we dealing with?"
"A Fluyt sir. One flying a wheft," Harry replied. "There have been reports of pirates in the area, and there's no way she's armed for conflict."
"Minimal crew, maximal cargo," the Captain said, shaking his head. "A perfect target for pirates."
"What colors was the ship flying?" the Captain asked.
"I couldn't tell at this distance, sir."
The man's brow furrowed, staring out over the sea. At last, he turned and faced his crew once again.
"Mr. Potter, you will lead a boarding party over to the ship. If she's one of ours, see what has transpired and what aid we may be able to offer them. If she isn't, well," the Captain smiled. "It seems we'll be taking a prize to port."
"Aye aye, sir," Harry responded, adrenaline coursing through him.
It was normally the First Lieutenant who lead all boarding parties. While it was true that there was very little risk in this case, the fact that the Captain had decided to entrust Harry with the responsibility spoke to the Captain's confidence in him.
Harry had his boarding party organized by the time they drew abreast of the merchant ship. The wheft was indeed the British flag, which was apparent now that they were closer. It also explained why they'd used the wheft in the first place - it was nearly impossible to tell when the Union Jack was inverted.
There was a small group of sailors waiting on the other ship, only six men or so, and Harry found himself frowning. Even for a ship as small as this, it was too small a crew. Whatever it was that had robbed them of so many of their crew might certainly explain why they were in need of assistance now.
What that tragedy might have been was a separate issue entirely. There was a large outcropping of rock on the horizon, but the only damage Harry could see along the side of the ship was clearly caused by cannon fire.
Pirates. Pirates had damaged her, boarded her, and apparently killed most of her crew. That was the only explanation.
For all that is was perfectly reasonable, Harry still found himself uneasy. He checked his pistol once more and made certain his sword was at his hip. A quick glance at the men of his boarding party revealed that most of them were at ease, though Harry was grateful to note they were well armed regardless. The sea was rarely a friendly place by any stretch of the imagination.
First command jitters, judging by the attitude of his men. That wouldn't keep Harry from being alert.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to shake his nerves before he gave the command.
"Boarders away!"
Harry waited for the ship to rise with the swell before he leapt the gap between the ships, landing on the slippery deck of the Fluyt with ease. The sound of boots thudding on the deck around him let him know his party was with him, and Harry walked over to the small gathering of men milling about on deck.
"Lieutenant Harry Potter of the HMS Griffin,"Harry said. "Here to render whatever assistance you may need. Where is the Captain?"
"The Captain was killed," one of the men said, stepping forward. "We were boarded by pirates, and the Captain refused to surrender. They...they killed him for it."
Harry studied the men before him, eyes narrowed. They were remarkably well dressed, for a crew that had just been raided by pirates. Well fed, too, from the looks of things. Pirates wouldn't have left them with many supplies.
"How long have you been stranded here?" Harry asked.
"Nearly three weeks now," the man replied, his face filled with gratitude. "We lost our navigator during the raid, and were unable to find our way to shore without him. Is there someone on your crew you could spare to help us find our way back to shore?"
Harry draws his sword and holds it to the man's throat at once. A merchant ship would have more than one man aboard capable of reading charts and plotting a course.
There was only one group of people who were almost always short on navigators.
"Lieutenant?" A midshipman inquired nervously at his shoulder.
"Pirates," Harry answered, eyes narrowed. "Pirates, looking to add to their crew by any means necessary."
Upon hearing his words, the rest of his crew drew blades as well, surrounding the small group of
"Why the ruse?" Harry asked, staring at them in consternation.
Any officer aboard a Navy ship would have the skills they would require. The Griffin was only a fourth rate. While she was more than a match for most sloops, a well-armed frigate would have put up enough of a fight to allow the pirates to board, giving them the opportunity to seize more than their fair share of crew members.
Why create a situation where six pirates could be captured, as well as what was clearly a pirate prize ship? What did forcing them to send over a boarding party accomplish?
Harry's eyes widened, his head jerking back towards the outcropping of rocks. Sure enough, there was a ship emerging from behind the rocks, coming towards them at an impressive clip.
A third rate, flying a very distinct flag. A white skull on a black background, a green snake emerging from the skull's mouth. Only one captain flew a jolly roger with that design.
Captain Riddle of the Voldemort.
Rage roared through Harry's veins, his pulse pounding in his ears. Today. Five years to the day, since he had received the news of his parents deaths. And before him was the ship responsible.
Then Harry realized the implications of the ship's appearance, and the rage was pushed to the background by the horror that washed through him at the realization. The Voldemort was a third rate, meaning she had at least twenty more guns than the Griffinif she was minimally outfitted. With pirates at the helm, it was more likely to be thirty, if not more. Not to mention the ship was known for being alarmingly fast, despite it's size.
In a sea battle, unless luck and the wind were with her, the Voldemort would sink the Griffin easily. Oh, there would be a few passes, certainly. But the Voldemort had the advantage, and there was no doubt she had the experience. In the five years since the Valiant had gone down, the Royal Navy had lost more than a dozen ships to Captain Riddle and his crew.
There would have been no reason to lure a boarding party onto the Fluyt if they simply planned to sink the ship.
By luring them aboard the Fluyt, they had ensured that the Griffin would be undermanned.
They were planning to take the ship.
"Pirates Ahoy!" Harry shouted, praying that his voice would carry. "Back to the ship!"
Before the boarding party had a chance to return and help defend the Griffin,dozens of men burst from below decks, cutlasses raised, forcing the boarding party to engage.
Harry lost himself in the battle. His world narrowed down to a series of sensation. The clash of steel against steel, the cool spray of the sea, the warm, slippery blood that coated his blade and sprayed his face. Pirate after pirate, cut down when he could not disarm them, working his way across the deck.
"Lieutenant!" an unfamiliar voice called out, the words somehow carrying across the sea and the space between them.
Harry, when he was certain it was safe to do so, spun around only to freeze at the sight before him.
A man stood aboard the Griffinwearing a dark green coat with a lighter green sash tied around his waist. His white shirt was spattered all over with blood, gaping at the throat, a golden necklace of some sort glinting in the sun. A tricorne hat sat atop his head, a smirk upon his face. He held a sword in his hand, and at the end of the sword stood Captain Wood, restrained by two other men who were unmistakably pirates.
"The battle is over, Lieutenant," the man called again. "Lay down your arms."
Staring at the deck of the Griffin, Harry was horrified to realize he was right. The fighting had stopped completely. every man in uniform having laid down his sword and pistol. Pirates had taken her.
The boarding party faired well. Another quarter of an hour, and the Fluyt would be theres. He was certain of that. But she was badly damaged, and had no weapons. Even if they did take her, using the Fluyt to retake the Griffinwould be near impossible.
Harry had faced worse odds before. He would gladly face them again. Still, it was not his decision to make.
"Captain?" Harry called, looking to Wood. Whatever his orders were, Harry would follow them.
"Lay down arms, Mr. Potter," Captain Wood said, though Harry could tell it truly pained him to do it. "There's no sense in the loss of more men."
Harry grit his teeth, but did as ordered, placing his weapons down on the deck.
"Potter?" the man in green said, tilting his head to one side. "Mr. Crouch!" he called out again.
"Yes, sir?" the man Harry had been battling with said, stepping forward to the edge of the deck.
"Escort Lieutenant Potter aboard," the man ordered, sheathing his blade. "Make certain he is secure."
"Aye, sir," Crouch said before turning to face Harry. "Your hands, Potter."
Clenching his teeth, Harry held his hands before him.
Crouch laughed in his face.
"Behind you, Potter. I'm not a simpleton."
Harry did as he was ordered, jaw clenched. The odds of it working had been slim, but it had been worth the attempt.
"I must say," Crouch remarked as he wrapped a length of rope around Harry's wrist, "you're an incredible swordsman. Only the Captain is better."
"You seemed to be managing well enough," Harry said, tugging at his now bound wrist.
It seemed Mr. Crouch knew what he was about. The man in question put a hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him forward. Harry had no choice but to comply. As friendly as the man's tone was, Harry knew that one wrong move would have a sword lodged in his back or a musket ball in his brain.
"We both know that if you weren't so damned determined to disarm, I would have been dead three times over in the last quarter of an hour."
It was a mercy Harry was already regretting. He should have just killed the man and been done with it.
They crossed back to the Griffin using a plank that had been put up between the two ships, which Harry found insulting. He knew it was to prevent him from getting into mischief while making the crossing, but still. He was a Navy man. Crouch was right behind him every step of the way.
Before he knew it, Harry was standing before the man who could only be Captain Riddle.
For all he was a scoundrel and a rake, the man was undeniably handsome. His eyes were dark, his skin tanned from endless hours out on deck. His cheekbones were as sharp as his grin as studied Harry intently.
What surprised Harry most, however, was how young he was. Perhaps five years Harry's senior at most. Which meant he would have been all of twenty-two, if not younger, when the Voldemortsent his parents to Davy Jones.
The anger that rose in Harry's chest felt like a living thing. For all that Harry wanted nothing more than to leap at the man and inflict whatever damage he could, even with his hands bound, there was the crew to think of. Harry wouldn't be able to do any real damage to the man before he was stopped. Riddle was vindictive, according to the rumors. It wouldn't surprise Harry if punished the crew for Harry's transgressions.
He channeled his anger into working to slip free from the bonds around his wrists. It would be unpleasant and painful, seeing as Crouch had done his job well, but Harry was confident in his ability to work free. The lessons of all the various Uncles who had been in and out of his house had seen to that.
"Lieutenant Potter," Captain Riddle said, staring down at him. "So you're the man who nearly ruined everything. Clever of you, to have figured out what we had planned."
"I only wish I'd done it sooner," Harry replied with as much cheek as he could muster.
Riddle's mouth twisted into a quick smirk.
"Potter," he said, studying him intently. "Any relation to Lord Charles Potter?"
Harry let out a huff of breath. So that was what Captain Riddle was after.
Lord Charles Potter was his uncle, his father's older brother. The man was nearing fifty, and despite their best efforts he and his young wife Dorea had been unable to have any children. Leaving Harry as heir to the Potter estate, something he had no interest in being. All Harry wanted was to spend his life at sea.
Ransom. Riddle was planning to ransom him.
Harry was tempted to lie, but he knew Riddle's reputation. The man was cutthroat and ruthless and would no doubt do away with the entire crew of the Griffinas soon as he was finished gathering what information they had to offer. Riddle didn't take prisoners, save when they were useful to him.
But he needed Harry alive to collect the ransom. Harry could leverage that.
"My uncle," Harry said simply.
"Making you heir to the Potter fortune," Riddle said with an unkind smile. "I'm certain he would pay a great deal to have you safely returned."
That was undoubtedly true, as much as it galled Harry. Still, it was an advantage in this situation.
"You're an officer, too. I trust you have experience in navigation?"
"I spent two years serving as Master's Mate while waiting for my promotion from Midshipman to Lieutenant," Harry said.
"Excellent," Riddle said. "It seems you are to be our guest, Mr. Potter."
"What is to be done with the crew?" Harry asked.
Riddle gave him a look, brow arched, but he answered.
"The will be give an opportunity to sign the articles and join the crew," Riddle replied.
"And those who refuse?" Harry asked.
"Davy Jones is waiting for them," Riddle said with a cruel smile.
Harry took a deep breath.
"If you leave those who refuse to sign the articles on the Fluyt with a weeks worth of supplies, I will give you my parole," Harry said simply.
"You are my prisoner, Mr. Potter," Riddle said with a raised brow. "Why on earth should I require your parole?"
Harry brought his freed hands forward, letting the bloodied rope fall to the deck as he pressed the knife he kept hidden in his coat against Riddle's throat.
"I'm somewhat unpredictable when bound by rope rather than my word," Harry said simply.
Riddle stared at him for a long moment before he threw back his head and laughed.
"You will certainly be an interesting addition to the Voldemort, Mr. Potter," he said, eyes sparkling with delight. "Have you any other demands?"
Harry was sorely tempted to press his knife just a hair harder. That was all it would take to slit the bastard's throat and avenge his parents. That was all it would take to forfeit his own life, as well, as the lives of all his crewmates.
"A vote on the council," Harry said simply. "If I am to be ship's master, than I want the rewards as well as the responsibilities."
Harry watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Riddle gave him a look of genuine surprise.
"You are remarkably knowledgeable about our ways for a Navy man, Mr. Potter," Riddle said, eyes narrowed.
"And you're very inquisitive for a man with a knife at his throat," Harry returned with an unkind smile.
"If you sign the articles, you will have your vote," Riddle said, studying Harry intently. "And those of your crew who do not sign will be left aboard the Fluyt with provisions enough to allow them to survive. You have my word as Captain."
The words, witnessed as they were by the man's crew, were enough. If he broke his promise, there would be mutiny. A Captain was only as good as his word.
Harry removed his knife from the man's throat and offered it to him, handle first. Riddle took it, before passing it off to one of his crew, who had gathered close the moment Harry had held their captain at knife point.
Riddle's hand snaked out faster than Harry's eyes could follow, fisting Harry's hair and tugging his head back painfully as the man took another step closer, closing the space between them.
"You're a puzzle, Mr. Potter," Riddle said, his breath ghosting across Harry's face. "A pretty puzzle indeed. One I will relish solving."
The man held his gaze for a long moment before releasing him and taking a step back.
"Crouch," he ordered, "take Mr. Potter aboard and have him sign the articles. It is time he became acquainted with his new ship."
He met Harry's gaze one last time.
"Welcome to the Voldemort, Mr. Potter.