Oh, you have been a patient lot. As ever, thank you for the lovely, insightful reviews.

I loved writing this chapter ... for a variety of reasons. I find Hook a fascinating character - truly a very complex human being, even presented in what is supposedly a children's book (the original, not mine!); he just makes you wonder about what went before. This chapter makes reference not only to the book but to the 2003 film.

As I said, you have been patient. I hope the wait is worth it. Enjoy. LL x


She did go to dinner. And it was mussels.

Hermione and Lucius refused to look at one another. It didn't matter. Hook kept up a running monologue, although he glanced from one to the other occasionally, that amused smile on his face.

After dinner, only Hook lit up a cigar.

Despite the pungent aroma, despite her quarrel with Lucius, Hermione found her eyes inextricably drawn to the pirate. He talked with spellbinding passion about his exploits in the Southern Ocean, about daring raids on far-off ports which had required dangerous and highly complicated escape tactics. He spoke of nights at sea when the wind raged so fiercely and the ship pitched so violently that all were sure she would go down, when the only person brave enough to climb to the top of the mizzen and lash the sail would be the captain himself. She saw him in her mind's eye, his hair blowing wildly, icy rain biting into his beautiful face, his throat bitter from roaring commands to those less courageous than himself from the top of the mast.

As he spoke, he would fix his eyes into the middle distance and a look of peaceful calm would descend on him, even when describing moments of great danger. Hermione smiled. This man did not belong on land, she knew that, but while he was here, he captivated her completely. Her quarrel of earlier was forgotten, and she listened only to the ribbon of tales unwound by the dark-haired man before her.

At length his words drifted off as if they too were sailing into a distant sea. He closed his eyes, his cigar long exhausted.

"You are a wonderful storyteller."

He smirked, his eyes still closed.

"You should write those down, Hook. Make some money from them," drawled Lucius.

Hermione glared at the blond man. "Is that all you can think of – money?"

He frowned in confusion. "What? I was simply pointing out that a lot of people would be interested in hearing those stories."

"You didn't put it like that. After a wonderful evening of hearing James' tales, you have to reduce it to the banal of money! But then, I would expect no less." She stood up, irate again.

Lucius rose too, striding over to her so fast she took a step back. His body was rigid, but his words were as controlled and smooth as ever. His dignified indignation made her even more uncomfortable.

"Once again you have shown how little you understand me, Miss Granger. Quite frankly, it is becoming rather tiresome. It's late. If you cannot find anything pleasant to say, perhaps you should go to bed."

She stared hard at him, looking from one grey eye to the other, for once at a loss for words. Something inside was hurting so much she felt her eyes prickling.

"Right. I see. Good night, James. Thank you for your company and your stories. I ... I'll see you in the morning." And with that she rushed from the room.

Lucius stood rigid for a moment, staring after her. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he crossed to the decanters.

"For two people who are supposedly indifferent to each other, you two certainly make for diverting entertainment." Hook chuckled.

"I don't know what the hell's got into her recently. She's infuriating me. She's so ..."

"... in need of damned good rogering." Hook finished his sentence for him with a grin.

Lucius grimaced. "And she thinks I reduce everything to the banal?"

"It is true, however. Are you still sure you wouldn't care to oblige?"

Lucius threw a swig of brandy down his throat. "Yes. Good night, Hook. I'm going. I shan't be here in the morning - business. Somebody has to make some money round here."

Hook raised his glass to him. "Good night, Malfoy. Thank you for such a very fascinating evening." He smirked. Lucius did not return it, and left the room with a brief nod.

-xxoOoxx-

Was Hermione surprised to find she had been crying? As she rushed up the stairs, she had again been so furious with Lucius that she hadn't been aware of it. Once in her room she had shut the door hard and flung herself onto the bed. It was only then that she realised her face was wet and her eyes stung. She sat up, ashamed at her reaction, ashamed at her temper.

It was as she was reaching for a tissue that there was a gentle knock at her door. With a huff she got up. It was most likely one of the house elves bringing her some bottled water; she normally took some up with her.

Hermione opened the door. James Hook was standing outside, his hand leaning high on the door frame, his lips curled slightly but his brows set in a mild furrow of concern.

"Hermione. You left so quickly. I was concerned for you."

"I'm fine. Thank you." She struggled to compose herself.

"You've been crying."

"No. I'm just ..."

"You don't need to hide from me, my dear. I see more than you realise."

"James, really, I just ..."

"I think you would benefit from some company." He looked nowhere but at her. "May I come in?"

"Here?"

"Yes."

She crossed her arms in admonishment. "I thought gentlemen weren't supposed to invite themselves into ladies' bedrooms."

"Only when the lady is in clear need."

"And what am I in need of, Captain?"

He smiled, his eyes still holding her. "If you let me in ... I'll tell you."

She sighed. He was fine enough dressed in his waistcoat and white shirt, but she couldn't help but fix her eyes on the morsel of exposed flesh visible through the open neck, reminding her of what she had seen earlier in the ballroom. Her mind was as heated as her body. Something had to give.

She held the door open and he stepped inside. Hermione closed it tight behind them.

"A delightful room. And a very large bed. All for one? You must get lonely."

She grinned at his blatant flirtation. "You are a devil."

"Thank you."

"And a conundrum." She sat on the bed and did not object when he placed himself beside her.

"How is that?"

"Those stories you told earlier, the way you treat me, the way you speak to me ... it doesn't tally with the cold-hearted villain."

"I find a little paradox in life makes things rather more stimulating."

She laughed. "I agree."

"You are no less of a conundrum, Hermione."

She was unable to disagree.

"You remind me of a girl I once knew ... a mere child," he continued.

Hermione looked carefully at him.

"Tell me about her."

Hook turned away from her, his eyes creasing as if recalling a time long distant. "She was a fascinating child ... remarkable in her wit and intelligence and thirst for ... adventure. And she told the most marvellous stories. How can one not admire one who spins tales so captivating and exhilarating that one feels transported to the very place they are detailing?"

Hermione smiled. That was exactly how she felt about him. She knew who he was talking about but prompted him, wanting to hear his thoughts.

"How old was she?"

"I cannot be sure ... eleven, twelve ... on the cusp of imprisonment."

"How do you mean? Did you hold her captive?"

"I did, come to think of it, but only for a moment. But that is not what I meant. No. Time was approaching to hold her prisoner. As it does to us all. We are free for those first years of our life – free from the conscience of care and ... responsibility. And then, after thirteen or so years comes Time with his chains and his fetters, to ensnare us, to pull us into his prison cell where he stands in attendance over us, and we must try to dance for him while he adds more and more weight to the shackles which bind us."

"James ..."

"It is a glorious time ... that golden time before a child's body changes. Never do you feel more alive, more ... immortal." He looked to her suddenly. "Do you sing, Hermione?"

She laughed, confused and embarrassed by his question. "A little. Only in the shower, really."

"A girl has other problems thrown at her at this time, but for a boy, one of the most curious, and revealing, is the change in his voice. I used to sing. As a boy. By all accounts, I was very good. My mother wished me to sing in the Chapel Royal at St James' Palace but my father had no time for such 'aesthetic frivolities', as he called them."

Although he was sitting beside her, at that moment Hermione barely felt she could reach him; his eyes were misted with a thwarted past. Paradox.

"There comes a time with a boy's voice, just before the change, when the sound is at its most captivating, most transcendental. A most curious thing, as it is also that time when it is most fragile, and threatens to fall forever. It will toy with the boy, cracking and leaping about, but when it chooses to play ... ah! It is the sound of the angels themselves. Perhaps the boy is indeed an angel, sent from heaven, allowed to canter chaotic and carefree on earth in those last few glorious moments before Time ensnares him too. Transcendent beauty and fragility captured in one instant. Then gone."

"What happened to the girl?" She knew the tale so well but was curious to hear it from him.

"I invited her to join me at sea. Not sincerely, or so I thought. I simply wished to use her to get to ... him. But ... if she had said yes ... she would have made a good pirate, I believe. And we would have enjoyed her stories. My crew liked her ... she liked them, some of them ... Smee ... everyone likes Smee. But ... we would have cared for her, and she for us. I know it.' His eyes were staring beyond Hermione and his voice was achingly wistful. Hermione felt a tug at her soul. He had been so alone. Alone with his intelligence and disappointment and frustration. 'And when the time was right, she would have become a beauty, I know ... like you ... you have the same mouth ... Hermione. I remember well. But, alas, as ever ... she chose him."

"Peter?"

He grimaced.

"His voice never changed."

"No."

"And that is why you hate him."

"I hate him because he is an arrogant little clodhopper with dirty toes, dirty fingers, and all the dirty secrets of the island at his disposal."

"And he had her."

"Yes. Not that it was her specifically I wanted, not then at any rate. She was, as I said, a mere child, but ... it would have been nice to have had companionship ... someone ... and she would have grown up ... rather marvellously, I warrant."

"What was her name?"

"Her name?" For a moment it seemed he could barely remember. "Her name was ... Wendy."

"And what happened to her?"

He pouted, recalling his actions dispassionately. "I tried to kill her."

"Not the way to endear someone to you."

"Subtlety is not my strong point. But I failed. A practice at which I seem to be very adept. And then she returned whence she had come. And grew up ... away from Pan ... and away from me."

The ache of his conversation was almost too much. He seemed to sense it and looked at her, his eyes brighter again. Hermione spoke smoothly, steering things away from him which she suspected he was silently grateful for.

"I'm rather happy I grew up. My childhood was interesting, my adolescence ... busy."

"You have history with Malfoy, I presume, beyond working with him now."

"Yes."

"Going back to your childhood?"

"Yes. I was at school with his son."

"Was that a good thing?"

"The school or the son?"

"The son."

"No. He was vile."

"And you have transferred those emotions onto his father?"

"No, Lucius was evil in his own right."

"But not vile?"

"Isn't being evil bad enough?"

"I am evil. And yet you are happy to sit and talk to me."

"I sit and talk to him. Well, I used to. Quite often."

"But you berate yourself for it. You try your hardest not to enjoy it."

"Lucius is not a good man. He has killed people."

"So have I."

"Yes, but you're ..."

"I'm ...?"

"You're not re ..." She changed tack. "I created you."

"Did you now?"

She dropped her head with a smirk.

He reached across and drew his finger momentarily under her chin, lifting her head. She rose swiftly and crossed to the window. His words followed her.

"Why do you deny yourself pleasure, Hermione?"

"I don't. What do you mean?"

"I see before me a beautiful woman full of vitality and passion, and yet you keep it so tightly reined in it is choking you."

"I ... no ... really, I ..." She could hear him approaching slowly behind her.

"You must allow yourself to live ... to desire ..."

"I do desire ... you know that." She spun around and gasped. He was close to her now, so close that she could see each individual hair on his chin, feel the soft, hot falls of breath as they escaped him. His eyes stared down at her, as blue as she had dared imagine. In them she saw all her dreams, all her imaginings, encapsulated in the purest illumination.

"How, Hermione ... how do I know that?"

"Because ..." The truth was so obvious in his eyes she could only voice it. "I desire you ..."

He had brought up his hook to push a strand of hair off her shoulder and allowed his eyes to drop to follow its progress.

"How can that be?"

"I don't understand." She almost sobbed. The tension inside her whined at the denial of his touch. Her chest ached with frustration, trying to relieve it by sucking in air in gulps of desperation.

"You say it yourself ... I am not real." He leaned in, but still held himself a whisper away from a touch.

"You're here now."

"Is that enough?" It was murmured soft against her ear. His hair fell across her cheek, the softest tease. It smelt of that same sweet vanilla which had entranced her from the beginning. This man could be exactly who she wanted him to be. Man. With him, now, it was so easy. So easy and so good.

"Yes."

"But I must go back. You know that."

Her hands came up, searching, but not quite touching. His shirt sat before her, the top two buttons undone, revealing the dark hairs beneath shading the rise of his torso. "Don't go," she murmured. "Don't leave me. I have dreamed of you … for so long … I have wanted you ... I want you now ..."

He hovered, a mere breath from her, his lips moist with enticement, his eyes prancing over her face.

"Show me."

Her lips came up and touched his. That was all. It was only a slight touch. James Hook would have liked more, but it was all the affirmation he needed. In the next moment he had her head hard in his hand and had plunged his desperate mouth down onto hers. It took little for her then to open to him. He was searching for her acceptance, for her desire, and he found it. She gave his searching tongue her own and tasted blood as his teeth dug into the pulpy flesh of her lips. He was kissing her so violently that she staggered back and was held up only by the firm grip he still had on her head. Her arms flailed at her sides, still amazed at the events which were overtaking her.

And then she relented. He was Desire. She had brought him to her. And she would have him.

Days, months of restraint and inhibition were thrown off in a few seconds of Man upon her. If he wanted her to show him, she would do it, she would do it all.

Her hands at last found purchase on his shirt and she fumbled for the buttons, undoing the rest through gasping breaths and snatched kisses.

"Yes, yes, you beauty ... that's it, that's the way ... show me all you can be."

As soon as the last button fell from the eye, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, dragging the sleeve past the glinting metal of his hook. "Careful ... it's sharp." He raised a wry eyebrow.

Hermione merely smiled, and pulling the shining steel up towards her, she leaned into it, and with sensual deliberation, licked along the flat of it with a long sweep of her tongue.

"That's more like it, my girl."

Hermione applied herself to undoing her own buttons. Hook's eyes lit up as her pale skin was revealed to him little by little.

"Can't you use magic to rid yourself of those?" he muttered, transfixed by the sight before him.

"I could ... but where would be the fun in that?"

He smirked. "Quite so."

Her shirt was off soon enough, revealing the pink and black satin bra which encased her ripe breasts. Hook shall be allowed a momentary lapse of concentration; he had never before seen a bra.

"My my ... how times have changed. Little left to the imagination I see ... not that that is an impediment."

Hermione turned for him, dragging the straps partially down her shoulders – she was used to lovers undoing her bra clasp deftly. She forgot for an instant that this particular lover had only one hand.

Hook stared at the fastening in bewilderment, but, never one to be thwarted; he set about fumbling over the metal clasp. Hermione's head fell back in delirious expectation, causing his efforts to be further hindered by copious amounts of hair falling across his fingers.

"Damn it to hell!"

With a slice and a snap, Hermione felt herself freed from the bra. It fell to the ground. He had cut clean through it with his hook.

After a soft laugh of delight, she tensed, not allowing herself to turn around. She felt the man behind her move. With silent footsteps thick with erotic menace, he paced around to stand before her. His eyes lingered on her face for the merest moment before dropping to take in the vision of her naked breasts before him.

His eyebrows rose up with satisfaction and she heard the soft sigh escape him. "Now there's a wonder."

With almost reverent silence, his hand came up and gently cupped her right breast, feeling it full and expectant in his hand. His thumb brushed the nipple, causing it to harden and swell immediately under his touch. Hermione brought her hands up, slipping her thumbs through the sensitive fine hairs around his temples and pulled his head in to kiss him, gentle and sweet compared to the passion of earlier. And then she brought him down and when his questing mouth closed around her ever-tightening nipple, she banished any doubts for good.

If James Hook had a weakness with women, it was the feel of a nipple hardening and dancing on his tongue. He could stay at a breast for an age, the comfort of the pillowy flesh, the tight nub craving his lips and tongue ... when all else in life failed, as it invariably did, he could always return to the bliss of a woman's nurturing comfort.

"More ... harder ..." His ears strained to catch her words. Hook moved to the other breast and applied himself more fervently to his task, tugging and pulling, his teeth catching the hard flesh with an occasional sharp nip. "Yes!" Her need surprised him, but with it he was reminded of his own. His groin groaned. He was still constrained tightly in his breeches and his hand instinctively dropped to release himself.

He felt other hands there. Hermione was desperate to see him and pulled back suddenly to concentrate on undoing the lacings which kept him from her. Her sudden jolt back caused a pang of loss as her delicious nipple popped from his mouth.

The immediate desolation was just as swiftly cast aside, however, as he leapt large and proud from his breeches, free at last.

Hermione glanced down, her mouth forming immediately into a broad grin of delight. It wasn't just the size of his hook which was impressive. She glanced back up at him and whispered, teasing and sensuous, "Now there's a wonder."

Warm hands enveloped him, sliding along the rigid shaft, running lightly over the tip. Hook groaned. He could not remember a woman ever being so forward. Perhaps the passage of time had its merits after all.

Hermione continued to ply and rub the shaft. He was leaking unstoppably onto her palm now, but she only used the moisture to ease her progress up and down, up and down. His breath came fast and furious into her hair as she rested against his neck. "Damnation, woman! You are too much."

"You wanted me to show you. Do you believe me now?"

"Yes, yes! You are incredible. I will do anything, anything for you ... tell me, tell me, Hermione ... tell me what you want."

She fell back upon the bed, her arms stretching into the silks around her, her legs spreading invitingly.

"I want you to fuck me."

Despite the fury of his erection dictating his every move, Hook stopped momentarily.

"Now there's a word one does not hear very often from a lady."

Hermione groaned, arching her back off the bed, cupping her breasts towards him. "Then perhaps I am not a lady."

"Oh yes, my dear, you most certainly are."

"Do I shock you?"

He had come up onto the bed and was kneeling above her, his hair hanging down, once again tickling her eager nipples to attention. He laughed at her question.

"No. Nothing shocks me. But I am ... intrigued, shall we say, and more than a little enthralled."

She glanced between his legs. "I can see that."

He glanced away from her, his mouth set into a curious pout. "Now ... remind me ... I have forgotten ... what was it you wished me to do again?"

Hermione giggled, before drawing her knee up to nudge the tip of his engorged cock. "I want you ... to fuck me."

"Sorry ... didn't quite catch that ... again?"

"Fuck me."

He smirked. "One more time."

"Fuck me, James ... fuck me deep and full. Fuck me so hard a part of you remains in me forever."

"Now there's an offer a gentleman can't refuse."

He slipped down her body. He dragged her jeans, those jeans which had captivated him since he had first seen her, slowly down her legs and off and then, with a swift and well-aimed slice of his hook, her knickers were shredded, tossed to the side, and she lay before him, naked and ready.

After a gaze of adoration at what greeted him, Hook moved back up the bed, drew her leg around his torso, positioned himself at her expectant opening, and thrust.

Hermione's back buckled and her mouth gaped. A rush of air was pulled into her as her eyes rolled back in her head.

"Oh my god!"

"Something like that," groaned Hook. He pushed deeper yet into her and emitted a rasping moan of sheer abandon in the process.

As his great cock stretched her like none before, Hermione smiled in wonder, holding his head close, staring hard into those extraordinary eyes. "You are real."

"Did you doubt it?"

She could only nod, tears forming sharp along her lids. He started to pull out, so slow it mesmerised her. Then he was back in with a grunt, all the way, jolting her up the bed. "Do you doubt that?"

"No."

He pulled out hard then plunged deep into her again. "That?"

"No."

And again. "That?"

"No."

With relentless affirmation he fucked her. Hook's cock ploughed along her hard and fast, never slowing, confirming the reality of his existence with each plunge. And in the midst of his pistoning assurety he did not neglect her pleasure. With his hook digging into the bed for leverage, his other hand dragged down between her legs, moving nimbly through her trimmed hairs and aching flesh to find the perfect place. He rubbed tenderly at first while continuing to move inside her. Her head thrashed from one side to the other, her breath growing ragged.

"Ye gods! But you are wet and tight, wench!"

In the lust-soaked recesses of her mind, Hermione was aware that she had never been called wench before. It turned her on even more. She groaned exultantly and clenched around him.

"Careful, woman! If you do that, I'll come off before you – and that would be terribly bad form."

Hermione smirked – he was true to his character. Hook slackened his pace and concentrated on coaxing more pleasure from her clit. His skilled fingers worked quickly, and when his eyes met hers again, her pleasure rose sharply. With a final thrust into her and a perfect pluck of her clit, she came completely.

"James! Oh my god, James!"

When he heard the delirious cry of his name and felt her body shatter upon him, Hook moved frantically again, aware that he was about to erupt. He gripped her shoulder hard with his hand and ploughed more brutally along her than before.

"Yes, yes! But you are perfect! I can hold on no longer ... Hermione ... take it, take me ..."

He burst into her, his breath groaning out of him as his head arched back in rapture.

He collapsed onto her, his hair falling over her face. She reached up to brush it off, her own breaths coming fast and heavy.

"Bloody, bloody hell, James. I can't believe it. I can't believe I've just done that."

He raised himself slightly and smirked. "Well then ... we'll just have to keep doing it until you do."

She laughed, pulling him down onto her, running her hands leisurely over his hot, damp back and kissing him deeply.

Eventually, he slipped out of her and rolled over. Hermione pulled herself up from the bed and rushed to the bathroom where he could hear the splash of water for a few minutes as she washed. When she returned, her lithe body gliding back to him, she nestled against him, curling her leg around his thighs.

He ran his hand up and down her arm. "You do have the most exquisite little cunny I have ever encountered."

Hermione laughed aloud, the sound of gleeful mirth pulled hard out of her. Hook frowned, confused at what he considered the ultimate compliment. "My dear ...?"

She noticed his dejection and set her face straight. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean that ... thank you ... it's just ... that word."

His eyebrows rose up in query.

Hermione tittered again. "Cunny."

"Do you not know what I mean?"

"Yes. It's just, we don't use that word ... it sounds a little ... old-fashioned."

"And what words do you use?"

She giggled. "It's a bit embarrassing really."

"Try me."

"Well ... snatch, umm ... fanny, I suppose ... quim, but I hate that ... pussy ..."

"Pussy? Most of those are familiar to me. I had forgotten pussy. That could certainly make me roar."

She giggled again. He was by now slipping down over her skin, lingering over her nipples, sliding hot hands over her belly, questing down through neat curls to find the object of discussion. "Any others?"

"Umm ..."

Two fingers had slid up inside her. She squirmed onto them. He was descending further, keeping the fingers inside, flexing them agilely along her sweetest place. She moaned. "Just the one ... you know it ... it's similar ..."

"Say it ..."

"It's not very ladylike."

His mouth was hovering over her clit, she could feel his breath enticing it, feel the fine hairs of his moustache exciting the succulent flesh of her sex.

She groaned, arching towards him. He pulled back, but angled his fingers again deep inside. This time she sobbed. "Say it."

"Cunt."

And his mouth was on her. He sucked around her clit so hard she gasped in shock. Delicious jolts of the pleasure to come danced around her belly. He pulled out his fingers to replace them instead with his tongue, and she felt them instead ease dexterously up into her arse. "Oh fucking hell!"

Hook smirked against her cunt, his tongue delving in to devour the sublime taste of her. He had never heard a woman using such base and primeval language, but her filthy tongue was making him so rock hard he thought he would explode just from eating her alone.

Keeping his fingers tight up her arse, he worked his thumb in dizzying circles in her pussy now, while his tongue concentrated on her clit, laving hard over it, before dancing lightly and tantalisingly.

"Yes, yes, harder, James ... more in my arse ... that's so good ... you're so fucking good ..."

Were all women like this now? The forty cent whores in Havana had been so flexible and accommodating as to make his eyes water, but this intelligent, sensitive, enlightened woman pouring her passion out, raw and uninhibited, allowing herself to be broken down under his mouth and fingers, gave him a thrill and sexual satisfaction which surpassed anything he had ever before experienced. He could get used to modern life.

She writhed, and he reached up with his hook to press down on her belly in an attempt to control her. The cold flat of the blade brought her to attention and she gasped with the shock.

"Please ... please, James ..."

He was devouring her now, his tongue, his lips, his teeth nipping lightly to reinforce the sharpness of who he was. Taking her clit fully into his mouth and sucking so hard she felt it pulling into him, she came. Hermione screamed. The fingers in her arse delved deeper, the thumb inside her stroked sweetly and she was undone.

Her back arched high off the bed and her wail of ecstasy keened hard into his ears. If he had doubted his reality after what she had said, he did so no longer. A woman didn't come off like that without a real man.

After she had stilled he pulled himself up, took the binding of his hook off completely and lay beside her. Hermione snuggled against him, laying her head on his chest and reaching across to curl her fingers around him. She did not seem remotely worried by his maimed wrist. Turning her head, she kissed his breast before closing her eyes. James stroked her hair, enjoying the raw lushness of it.

"Thank you," she murmured, her breathing slowing into sleep.

He paused, his mind ticking. When? When was the last time someone had said thank you to him? He could not remember one.

James Hook lay awake for some time, staring at the canopy above him. Despite the fact that he had not killed anyone for over three days, he was remarkably content.


Oh ... James ...

I'll have what she's having.

Plenty more where that came from, have no fear ... Thoughts? xx