Bad Faith Island
A Harry Potter Pirate Story
by VG Jekyll


7. Slave no. 23: Sinclair
Dedicated to: Sailorcrzywaezel


Draco Sinclair find himself locked up in one of the many dungeon cells. He sits back on a bunk with his back against the bars and ponders why this had to happen to him. If he had left just a second earlier, then he wouldn't have been caught. Then he would've only needed to steal a little bit more before he had enough to buy a ship. Yes, that was what his goal was: buying a ship and becoming a good captain.

"-sailing from Spain to here and back. To Holland, Africa, but never England," he says to himself. Now he knows that it will never happen. He will be sold off as a slave and work as a peasant, no, as someone lower than a peasant and probably not even worthy to kiss Draco's feet. "Damn you father, this is all your fault!"

"Who hath desired the sea?" says a voice suddenly in another dark cell, which Draco can't see. "The immense and contemptuous surges? The shudder, the stumble, the swerve as the star-stabbing bowsprit emerges?"

A poet? There was a poet in this prison? Someone with an education, like him?

"Who is there?" he inquires at the darkness.

It is silent for a moment. "Who asks?"

"Draco Sinclair. Who are you?"

"I am Kipling."

"You're a poet?"

"Amongst things."

"How did you get here?"

"I got in a fight with a soldier."

"How did you get in such a situation?" wonders Draco.

"He was harassing a lovely young girl. I couldn't let him get away with it." Draco hears Kipling sigh, apparently he was a romantic. "So now I'm here, all in the name of Romance."

"Too bad for you."

"Indeed, and yourself?"

"I stole from some high nobles and they caught me."

"You don't sound like a thief."

"No thief does," Draco answers and Kipling doesn't say more. He is about to ask why the other man didn't reply when he hears the reason. The Major he saw when he was caught is walking swiftly towards his cell and stops in front of it.

"You! On your feet!" orders the Major, while staring at Draco's back.

"Ask me politely," answers Draco stubbornly and stares at the wall in front of him. The Major scowls and is about to slam his staff against Draco's back, when said person spins around and grabs it with catlike reflexes. He stares boldly at the shocked Major.

"You lack proper anticipation," Draco tells him and pulls the staff swiftly out of the man's hand. "It is more like a fencing move." He makes some fancy maneuvers with it, as if it's a sword. "See? Any fool can do it." He holds the staff out through the bars towards the Major, who pulls it briskly back and scowls darkly.

"I hope you enjoy pain, slave, 'cause I intend to buy you," he threatens and stalks away, Draco's eyes piercing his back.

Draco leans against the bars, still enjoying his small victory over the Major, when he hears a young boy's voice. "His name's Draco Sinclair, or so he claims."

"Where's he Colin?" asks another, older voice.

Three people stop in front of Draco's cell.

Harry looks Draco over, noticing that under the grime and dirt of four days prison lays pale white skin. Aristocrat. The young man's hair is dirty-blond and long enough to hang in his eyes. His body is sleek and emanates elegance.

Draco stares with fiercely grey eyes at him as he notices Harry's scrutinizing gaze, and crosses his arms. "See something you like?" he asks and lifts his chin to stare haughtily down his nose at them.

Harry chuckles, the sound comes from deep in his throat. The blond is definitely aristocratically raised. "Maybe," he answers, and grins over his shoulder at his companions. He turns back and his green eyes catch Draco's stare, who has quickly looked him over too. "I hear ya can read and speak Latin," says Harry without making it sound as a question.

"I can," answers Draco, realizing that if he became a slave, he would have more of a chance to escape with the guy in front of him than with someone like the Major.

"Say somethin' Latinish," orders Harry.

Draco thinks for a moment and then fluently recites a Latin proverb. "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

It is silent as they take in his words.

"What did he say?" wonders Colin aloud.

Harry raises a curious brow and stares at Draco's grinning face. "Was that about you, 'Draco'? What did you say?" he asks.

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon."

Harry blinks but then smiles amusedly. "Or what, dear Dragon? You will bite my hand off?"

"Maybe."

Harry laughs again and turns around to walk away. "I reckon there might be a Dragon slayer that can tame the dragon, so he shan't bite too hard," he remarks, just as cryptically as Draco had been, and walks away with Dean and Colin at his side.

Later that day at the Slave market, the bidding is furiously going on. One by one the slaves are pushed onto a raised platform where the auctioneer states their vices and tries to sell them off for the best bid.

"5 pounds? Two pounds? No one? Take him away and hang him," announces the slave trader annoyed as he motions to the scrawny slave besides him.

"Nooooo! Noooo! Please, I have a wife and children! Please, let me go!"

But his pleas are ignored.

"Next!"

Draco is pushed onto the platform and towards the slave trader. He tries to stay dignified, but that if difficult as the man is touching him everywhere as he points out that Draco's body is healthy and strong.

"Alright," says the man. "Slave number 23: Sinclair. He can read, write, and much more. Got good teeth, a quite young and nimble lad. I say he's worth a lot. I start the bidding at 5 pounds!"

"Five pounds?" Draco mutters in disbelief. "I'm worth more than that."

"I bid five pounds," declares the Mayor from somewhere amongst the crowd.

"Five pounds sir," repeats the slave trader and then looks around. "Anyone else?"

"Ten pounds!"

Draco searches for the second bidder and sees the man with emerald eyes, who had wished to know if he could speak Latin. He hopes that the man would keep bidding until the Mayor gives up.

"Fifteen pounds," says the Mayor determined.

"Twenty pounds!" shouts Harry with a fierce glare towards his bothersome opponent.

The black skinned friend of Harry walks slowly towards the Mayor and they talk for a moment. The Mayor sneers at the dark man, but then turns around to hurry away. The black man walks grinning back to Harry and Draco is maybe the only one who notices the silver object in the man's hand.

"Twenty pounds? No more? Sold."

Draco is brought to Harry, who smirks and holds his chains in his hands. "Well Dragon," he whispers into his newfound slave's ear. "It's time for you to meet your own kind."


To Be Continued