Chapter One
Draco wouldn't consider himself a hateful person. He said his prayers daily, lacked in enemies, and couldn't honestly say that he wished death upon a man. Blood thirst and corporal punishment were subjects he tended to shy away from, to the commodore's displeasure and his mother's delight.
Looking upon the gallows, from his position in the shade beside his father, he couldn't understand why men and women made it a habit to observe such horrific happenings. Watching one hang by his neck in such a lovely square sickened Draco. Despite the crimes committed, death was an intimate affair and it felt wrong to deliver it before a crowd in such a humiliating position, even if the miscreant didn't grant that choice to another.
"Ronald Weasley, be it known that you have for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and containing acts of or relating to piracy…"
Tuning out the man reading off of a scroll, Draco's eyes locked onto the man being led up to the gallows. His hair was limp, hanging down to his shoulders, and a fiery red almost as vibrant as the uniforms some of the soldiers wore. Despite the intimidating drumroll and the stating of his crimes, his blue eyes met those of anyone who dared hold his gaze. Draco felt his stomach flop and his chest tighten when they locked with his gray eyes and after only a moment, he glanced down at his hands.
"… for conspiring with known enemy to the crown, convict, and pirate, Harry James Potter…"
Draco's eyes widened and he looked up at the red-haired man again. He was part of Captain Harry Potter's crew? His mouth went dry and he gulped—this man, Ronald Weasley, somehow seemed much more dangerous than he had before.
He chanced a look at his mother and father and wondered how they could look on with such stony expressions on their faces. Draco knew that his father had to be an expert at controlling his emotions—it was an important art one must master before even considering breaching the world of a politician—but it still unnerved him.
"And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead." The man rolled up the scroll and tentatively met the eyes of the pirate. "May God have mercy on your soul."
As a soldier stepped forward to secure the rope around the pirate's neck, Draco could hear his pulse thrumming in his ears. He'd never watched a man die before—he'd only attended this hanging because his father had insisted he start partaking in public events, as Draco would most likely secure the position as governor once his father stepped down. It hadn't fully occurred to him until that moment that he'd actually witness a man's life torn from him.
"May God have mercy on all our souls," he breathed, his words audible to only himself.
Once the rope was snug around the pirate's neck, the soldier stepped back and nodded to the executioner. He stepped forward, toward the lever that would unhinge the trapdoor-like floor beneath the pirate. Draco took a deep breath and prepared himself, pushing his emotions away in an effort to remain indifferent.
Right as the executioner reached for the lever, a thud sounded and Draco wondered if the lever had been pulled. He frowned—the pirate was still standing at the gallows. Confusion flooded him as a disheveled soldier stumbled into the courtyard, panting and mumbling hysterically.
"What is the meaning of this?" Commodore Snape demanded sternly, striding toward the broken man.
"P-pirates," he stuttered. "They're in the village. Headed this way."
Commodore Snape's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. Draco turned to his father, ignoring the commodore's response. The only indication that Lucius Malfoy was even remotely unsettled by the soldier's words was his white-knuckle grip on his cane. Narcissa took her husband's arm and looked on with wide eyes, alternating between the gallows, the commodore, and Draco.
"Governor, if you'll follow me, we'll get you and yours to safety."
Lucius hurried after the commodore, glancing back frequently to make sure that Narcissa and Draco were following. Draco's mother had his hand in a death grip and she would pull him closer every time they'd hear the shattering of glass or a scream. The commodore led them through back roads, avoiding the main streets in the village. Draco could hear the commotion and the sound of swords clashing, could hear the sound of children wailing and men and women crying out. Despite his lack of military experience, he wanted nothing more in that moment than to go and help. He wanted to do something, anything, to ease the shrieks and gasps even a little bit, but his parents and the commodore would never hear of it.
The wooden cottages that had previously been surrounded by the hustle and bustle of everyday life, the scent of pastries and flowers, and the clang of metal were now being set ablaze and ransacked. The cobblestone streets that Draco had once strolled down were littered with unmoving bodies and watered with blood, mud, and rain. The people he'd once chatted with or delivered business to were now stumbling through the streets, screaming for their loved ones, for mercy, or lay unfound and forgotten beneath rubble.
"Commodore, is there not something we can do for these people?" Draco demanded, grabbing his mother's arm as she nearly tripped over a wooden board.
"My men are already doing all they can to defend Port Royal, Draco. Forgive me for being blunt, but any attempt of yours to aid them would merely be a hindrance."
Draco scowled, but hurried after the commodore and his father, if only to ensure that his mother was brought to safety. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to maneuver the streets in her large skirt and tight corset. Lucius glanced back and motioned to Draco to hurry, hooking his arm underneath his wife's arms and practically carrying her up the pathway to the manor.
The doors flew open and Draco and his parents were promptly rushed inside. There were soldiers hurrying from room to room, locking and securing all the windows and doors.
"Draco, son, go up to your room," Lucius ordered, letting Narcissa be whisked off by some nursemaids.
"Father, I can help! If I'm to truly become governor-"
"Draco, please." His father's eyes softened slightly and Draco could see the utter terror and desperation in the gray irises that mirrored his. His blood went cold seeing his father so vulnerable.
Despite the fact that every fiber of his being was shouting at him to rush out the doors and go to assist the soldiers and the villagers, he gave his father a curt nod and ascended the grand staircase to his quarters. A young soldier followed him up and as soon as Draco entered his room, the man shot him an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but I'm only following orders. It's for your own safety." Confusion flit across Draco's face, disappearing as soon as it had appeared once the soldier shut the door behind Draco and locked it shut from the outside.
Anger reigned as Draco lunged for the door, rattling the knob and pounding against the polished wood.
"Release me this instant! I'll not be made a prisoner in my own house!" Draco slammed his fists against the wood over and over again, desperate to be let out, but despite the footsteps echoing outside, no one answered his pleas.
With a low growl, he slammed the palm of his hand against the door one last time before stepping back and taking deep breaths to calm himself. There must be a way out of this god forsaken room, he assured himself, rolling his shoulders back and turning to look around his chambers.
"Aha," he murmured, grinning.
He strode toward the French doors that led to his balcony. It overlooked the ocean and had lush greenery directly below. Draco could see fires blazing in the village and he steeled himself, gathering his courage. What kind of man would he be if he hid away in his bedroom like a coward? What kind of man would the citizens of Port Royal think him?
Pushing any inklings of doubt from his mind, Draco gripped the balustrade and swung his leg over the edge. Gulping, he glanced down at the ground beneath him. The fall would most certainly ruin his new coat and breeches. His mother would have his throat if she knew he was even contemplating wrecking the set she'd had imported from Paris.
With a small grumble, Draco let one hand go to rub his throbbing temple. He had to focus. Exhaling sharply, he furrowed his brows and reminded himself once again that every moment he wasted thinking of fashion there were pirates running loose and people being slaughtered. That sobered him immediately and he glanced down at the ground once more.
The sound of a canon going off caused him to yelp and jump, which, in turn, resulted in Draco losing his balance and slipping off the balustrade. His stomach lurched and he cried out, his hands grabbing at thin air. He managed to clutch a tree branch, but it snapped in his hand and did nothing to slow his fall. Somewhere between the blink of an eye and eternity, his back finally collided with the harsh earth. Pressure spread throughout his body and he swore he'd never felt such pain before.
"Oh, Christ," he mumbled, slowly forcing himself into a sitting position.
Draco tentatively arched his back and hissed as the pressure intensified. He wondered if he broke his spine—perhaps he'd be paralyzed. Then how would he help the villagers? Squinting one eye shut and watching anxiously through his open eye, Draco wiggled his toes and watched, in relief, as the tips of his boots shifted slightly. Good. With an annoyed huff, he realized that he'd most definitely be left with a bruise—he'd only gotten one before in his life, when he'd attempted to ride a horse and gotten bucked off, and the dark splotch did absolutely nothing for his delicate complexion.
Hoisting himself up, Draco dusted off his breeches and looked around, frowning as he realized that he had no idea which way the town was. Using the manor as a guide, he started through the thick greenery, hoping to God that he was going the right direction.
Just as filling his lungs was starting to become somewhat of an issue, the trees started to thin. Draco sighed in relief and was about to continue onward when a twig snapped behind him. Whirring around, he gasped as each of his arms was enveloped in an iron grip. He lunged forward, desperate to escape, but his efforts were in vain—his assailants merely sniggered and adjusted their grip, holding him securely. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of rum and sweat.
"Unhand me at once," he demanded, thankful that his vocal chords were much more confident than his pulse. "My father will hear of this!"
He glowered at the two men holding him. One was rather short, only reaching Draco's chin, and had sandy blond hair. The other man had tanned skin and dark hair. With a start, he realized that the shorter man had a wooden leg.
"Timber Toe," the taller man snickered, "have ye ever seen hair so white?"
"Nay," Timber Toe grinned wickedly, his Irish accent prominent, "an' he certainly is a pretty thing."
"I am not pretty," Draco growled, struggling to lurch himself out of their grasp.
"I say we kill him and get it over with," the dark man grunted.
"What've ye bloody idiots done now?"
Draco, still bristling from the absolute gall of these men—most definitely pirates—glowered at the bronze-skinned man that stepped into the clearing. His hair was in dreadlocks, streaked with gold, and tied back with a lock. Only upon seeing the bloodied sword at the man's side did he realize that these were pirates. It hit him forcefully and he found himself numbed and clenching his jaw to keep from shaking or begging for mercy. Malfoys did not, under any circumstances, beg.
"We found 'im runnin' from the manor, Zabini," Timber Toe explained.
"We were about to kill 'im."
Zabini stepped forward, only stopping when he was a head away from Draco. His eyes narrowed and scanned Draco, taking in the lavish dress and facial features. Draco didn't move, using every ounce of pride in his bones to keep himself upright and unmoving.
"Yer the gov'ner's son, are ye not?" Draco merely lifted his chin and remained silent. "Answer me!" When he still got no answer, he snarled. "So be it. Take 'im to the cap'n, boys."
Draco's eyes widened, "what?"
"You heard 'im," the taller man was grinning. "Ye get to meet the cap'n."