I am sorry this one has taken so long. I was really scratching my head about the focus of it and where to end it. Lucius and Hermione's relationship is moving on swiftly, but there was something very important to tie up with Hook first, and this chapter does it. I suppose it should be called 'The Pirate's Tale'. But, as you will see, Hermione is letting go and reaching out, quite literally, to someone else.

Hermione remained silent when she woke up the next day. James did not speak either.

Their relationship had gone beyond sexual banter and anachronistic euphemisms. She knew he was fading from her, and he knew, as precious as their relationship was, she wanted Lucius.

But now, given the transparency which arose from intimacy and the approach of departure, she said again what he had avoided explaining before: "You never told me properly how you got into piracy."

James sighed so deeply she feared he was unwell. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy above him, but this time his words came without hesitation.

"I fear the reasons which prompted me are no longer at the forefront of my mind." Hermione closed her fingers around his disfigured arm. "My father, although in a position of power in government, was ... not a good man. I was close to my mother; I adored her. She was, in my eyes, the embodiment of all that was perfect in woman: beautiful, clever, patient, attentive, bestowing the gift of love with perpetual selflessness. But despite giving all that to my father as well as to me, she received nothing in return from him. He had given her his name, his social standing and his wealth; in his eyes that should have been enough.

"I used often to discover my mother weeping. At first I was too young to understand the reasons why. It would pain me, make me want to take away her sorrow. As I grew older I witnessed, and felt, my father's temper both towards her and me. Its frequency when directed at me meant that I became rather immune to its effects, but when I saw him beating my mother, hounding her, deriding and belittling her, I wanted nothing less than to kill him.

"My mother and I would escape occasionally to her sister's home near Aldeburgh, and it was there that I discovered my love for the sea and for sailing. Those were the happiest days I can recall, apart from school days: the days my mother smiled.

"But we would always have to return. I would go back to Eton, leaving her with ... him. The guilt led me further to question myself. I feared for her but threw myself into life at school, not only academic life, which I found oddly satisfying, but japes and schemes. I managed to get by undetected for the most part; the other boys did not know how to react to me – I could tell I intimidated them.

"It was in my final year at Eton that my mother grew ill. My father's treatment of her worsened her disease. He continued to torment her, almost blaming her for bringing it on herself. He would drag her along to functions and social engagements even at her weakest, and on returning home would beat her, force himself on her for not being engaging enough in front of his so-called friends. His job protected him. If I had said anything, I would have been laughed to scorn.

"My mother died shortly after I started at Oxford. She had never been open with me about her health, and when the end came I was not there ... a fact that will haunt me forever. My father did not see fit to tell me until after she had gone. I could not bear to be stranded on dry land, as it were, with the pain and the memories. I left Oxford after only a term and joined the navy, rising swiftly to become a senior officer, thinking it was a way to get me as far from my father as I could.

"But one day, upon returning home on leave, I finally confronted him about his treatment of my mother. It took little for us both to react in rage and fury. I had been drinking; he had been drinking more. We fought, at first with swords, then simply with anything at hand, right there in the drawing room of our home. It was a mess, to put it mildly, but I had the better of it and in the end found myself beating him to within an inch of his life. It was only when I glanced up and saw the portrait of my mother staring down at me that I stopped.

"Father cut me off from any money immediately, even that bequeathed me by my mother, and I never saw him again. He died ... I know not when exactly ... I care not, but I hope it was slow and painful. At the same time as he cut me off financially, my standing in the navy started to diminish. I was denied any further promotion, denied a ship of my own. It was my father's doing, I know it. I was forced onto a ship with an incompetent drunkard of a captain and a slovenly crew: the laughing stock of the navy. After one particularly disastrous error, I dared question the captain's authority; our tempers quickly flared and he accused me of mutiny. He himself flogged me, a Lieutenant-Commander – fifty lashings with the cat; he was amazed he hadn't killed me - and then had me chained in the hold where he encouraged the men to come and spit on me and ... other things. As soon as we docked back in Portsmouth, two long months later, I left the navy. I suppose they are still looking for me, but I could not care less. I had no more magnanimity left in me – to the Admiralty or to my fellow humans.

"But the sea was still a preferable alternative to land and the proximity of my father, still alive at that point. I teamed up with a man, as bitter as me, who had also suffered at the hands of his superiors. We bought a small ship and at first tried to set up a trading business between here and the Americas. Business was difficult and I knew that if we were to make our way in the world, it was not going to be through honesty and humility. My father had shown me that. It was apparent that it was easier to get one's way with a little force, and we soon fell into what you so eloquently term 'piracy'. The pain I carried constantly inside dulled any conscience I might have felt. But this so-called partner of mine proved as duplicitous as me. I caught him trying to poison my wine one night after a particularly lucrative ... negotiation. I was a better swordsman than he ... I killed him quite swiftly and surprised myself at how easy it was, how little guilt I felt – it was nothing to the guilt I had felt over my mother.

"Over time I acquired a crew and a reputation, both amongst men and ladies. I soon became used to the idea that my notoriety terrified the former and entranced the latter. I used both to my advantage.

"And then, after years of sailing across nearly every mile of water this earth allows, I found myself, through darkness and dreams, arriving in that place – the Neverland. And there I met him, he who was still young, still guilt-free, still ... happy. And he cut off my hand ... little shit.

"I suppose I had grown tired of constant time at sea and the effort of planning and implementing raids. Here was an enemy who would at least stay put, an enemy who was as far removed as possible from the inebriated and depraved excuses for men I had known, men who reminded me only of my own failings, of my own mortality. And so I stayed ... in the Neverland." He sighed once again. "And there it is ... I believe you know the rest."

Hermione was numb. She had lain still, listening to the story of the shattering of his hopes and dreams, of his mother's death and his father's treatment of them both. He had held her all the while and she found herself stroking over the stub of his arm, unaware she was doing it. As his tale at last came to an end, her face was wet with tears.

"I don't know what to say."

"Then you should keep silence." He tightened his grip on her. "We all have a tale to tell, Hermione. What is yours, I wonder? And Malfoy's? I do not expect you to tell me. But your story, and his, will go on, whereas mine, I fear, is drawing to an end."

"No, James ... yours will never end. It will endure, as it has, long after even I am gone. This life you've described to me – that isn't written down anywhere. Where did that come from? Who else if not you could have lived that? Thought that?"

He stared hard at her, his expression completely transparent. "Do you hate me?" For the first time, she detected doubt and fear in his eyes.

She furrowed her brows, a stab of pain shooting through her at his sudden question. "What? Of course not. What on earth do you mean?"

"I am hated. I am loathed. True, I can entrance, I can charm for a mere moment or two, enough to bed a woman, enough to disarm someone long enough to kill them, but then the reality of my dismal situation is revealed and I am as hated and scorned as the devil himself."

"It took more than a mere moment of entrancement to bed me, James. And I knew I wanted you immediately."

"But you are ... you. But even you would, sooner or later, as you yourself said, find me disgusting. It is always the way. It was with her."

"Who?"

"The mother child."

Hermione wrinkled her brows.

"Wendy."

"But she was a little girl. You didn't want her then. You said."

"Not in that way, of course not. But they all adored her. We all adored her. My men, the boys, Pan ... me. Mother ... that is who she was to us all. Mother - without the agony of actually being one. She had my mother's eyes. My mother's eyes before the disappointment of my father."

"That is an awful lot of responsibility to heap on a little girl."

"Ay ... and that is why she left, to grow up in her own time. She came to Neverland seeking adventure and she found instead the burden of Man and Boy before it was due her."

Something struck Hermione suddenly. "But ... how do you know she left?"

"Because I saw her go. And she is no longer there."

"But she left after ..."

"After what?"

She sighed, stroking some hair from his face. He was here now, she may as well say it. "James ... in the book you are swallowed by a crocodile. Not just your hand. A second time ... all of you."

"Oh, that."

"Didn't it happen?"

"Oh, yes, it happened. But I am nothing if not resilient. You seem to forget I have a rather impressive iron hook attached to my wrist. It does tend to come in ... handy."

She giggled at his humour. "So you survived?"

"Of course I survived, woman! How could I be here talking to you now?"

"I ... well ... in the book ..." Hermione stopped fumbling for an explanation. It hurt her head. She smiled softly at him instead. "So you will go back ..." She kissed his chest. "... and you will live ..." And again. "... and thrive." She planted a final deep kiss on his mouth.

When she pulled back he was looking at her, his blue eyes paled with mist. "But I won't have you."

Hermione swallowed to deaden her sorrow. "There will be others, you know. But you do need to actively seek women out and treat them with respect. Not just bodies, James."

"I don't treat you just as a body."

"No. You took the time to get to know me. And you can do that with others."

"I have to say, however, you particular body is ... rather exquisite."

She grinned. His voice had returned to the low seductive drawl she so adored. "In that case, you had better give it some attention."

"That, my dear, is precisely what I was thinking."

He was inside her within the next heartbeat. As he moved firmly but tenderly, coaxing the sweetest pleasure, she stared hard into those blue eyes. She had never seen them so innocent.

"Beautiful, beautiful man."

She held him tight and thought only of giving to him. It was too much for James. He spilled into her quickly before she came, unable to stop himself. Hermione stroked his back, the tips of her fingers soothing any lingering pain.

"I'm sorry, my darling, you didn't ..."

"Shhh ... it really, really doesn't matter. After all you've done for me ..."

Hermione glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten o'clock.

James seemed to voice her thoughts. "It is late. Malfoy will be wondering where you are."

"Will he?"

"Oh yes. And you are wondering where he is."

"I wasn't earlier."

"But you are now."

It was her turn to sigh. "You are right, James – Lucius has a story too. He has been through great suffering; far more than me in many ways. His beliefs – beliefs which were so clear to him, so obvious, through no fault of his own in a way, only through ignorance and the fact that that is what he was brought up to believe - he has had them trampled and ripped apart. It was right that they were - they were fearful deceits and terrible lies - but he was left with nothing: his mind confused, his house desecrated, his soul emptied, his body abused. And he still survived. I hated him. I feel I should hate him still. But I can't. He was a pathetic excuse for a man, but he has, because of what he went through, become a far greater person than he could ever have thought possible. I admire him so much. He has achieved so much since it all ended. I just wish he'd realise that. That's what infuriates me about him."

"What you have told me - why don't you tell him?"

She stared hard at him, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere; she was almost looking through him.

He brought his hand up to her face. "Get dressed and go down to see Lucius."

-xxoOoxx—

Hermione took herself downstairs.

Somehow, Hook's story had reinforced to her not only what a complex man he was, but also how he did not belong in this world. For the first time since bringing him here, she wondered if she had done the right thing. He had suffered so much already, was it sensible to bring him into a place and complicate things even more by stirring up deep emotions again? Her desire for him remained largely physical, but there was no denying their connection and the emotional stability she was currently providing him. It was almost too much for them both. When the time came for him to return, it would be right.

Looking around, she was deeply disappointed that Lucius seemed to have gone out. She glanced down at her hand; he had healed it perfectly and there was only a faint scar remaining. She placed her palm over the scar, remembering the warmth of his fingers on her, how her blood had flowed over his own hand.

The door opened behind her. She turned, hoping to see the blond man. It was James. She couldn't prevent her heart sinking a little.

"I came down for some food." He seemed bewildered. "I was feeling rather ... odd."

Hermione approached and took his hand. "James ... you know what's happening, don't you?"

"I will be leaving you soon."

She nodded, reaching up a hand and stroking his face.

"Then I must make sure that you, and I, are ready for it."

Hermione stared once again into the blue of his eyes and reached up for a soft, chaste kiss with closed lips. Hook brought his hand up to hold her into him and deepened the kiss. She wanted to assure him of the memory of her. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she opened her mouth to him, allowing him to push his tongue searchingly into her, knowing he needed the affirmation at that moment more than her.

Hook eventually tore his mouth from her lips and moved down to kiss her neck hungrily, while his hand dropped to reach inside and find her naked breast, capturing the nipple between thumb and forefinger. Hermione would not stop him now; his body was seeking her out in desperation. She bared her flesh and held him hard against her; he needed it. After all he had told her, her own soft emotive cry caught on the air.

Hermione opened her eyes and they fell instantly on a man standing in the doorway, staring across at them.

Lucius' face was passive, lacking any discernible emotion, but all colour had drained from it and he seemed unable to move. He looked unblinkingly at the sight before him.

Hermione felt her heart drop like a stone. She pushed James away from her almost violently and stepped back instantly, causing him to stumble forward.

The pirate spun and saw Lucius. For once, he said nothing, no witty one-liner, no wry explanation. But eventually, still looking at Malfoy, with slow deliberation, he brought up his hand and drew his finger along his bottom lip, as if savouring what he had just tasted.

Hermione thought she could see the merest flicker cross Lucius' face. She knew she was not hiding her emotion. She was burning up, her breathing heavy and desperate.

Lucius turned back into the corridor and walked away from them. Without a glance at Hook she ran after him.

"Lucius! Please!"

She caught up with him, grabbing his arm and pulling him around to her. His face was as unreadable as ever.

"Yes?"

"It's really ... nothing ..."

"It is of no matter to me what you get up to, Miss Granger."

"Please stop calling me that. Lucius, please ..."

He stood looking down at her, his nostrils flared, his high cheekbones now tinged pink.

"It's not all it seems, you know. He has been good to me, good for me, when I needed him, but he's only here to ..."

"You may do as you wish. Why are you taking the time to explain yourself to me?"

"Lucius, I ... you know what I mean ... you know ..." She could feel her eyes hot and sharp. Her hand came out instinctively and took his, clasping his fingers hard. For a time he simply stared down at their conjoined hands as if he could not quite process what he was seeing.

He swallowed and leaned into her slightly, almost about to take a step towards her. Then Lucius' eyes squeezed tight shut and he held her fingers so hard it hurt.

"What are you doing to me?" His words were so hoarse as to be almost thoughts which had escaped illicitly.

Hermione could only stare, her cheeks burning, her head shaking helplessly from side to side.

Then dropping her hands suddenly, he turned and walked off, leaving her once again.

-xxoOoxx-

It was only James and Hermione at lunch. Hermione didn't speak at all.

"I think at last things are falling into place," he declared softly as he finished.

Hermione dropped her head and rubbed her eyes. "Don't."

"A good thing too. My time is nearly done."

And with that, Hermione's tears broke out with a sudden explosive sob and she ran from the room.

James did not come to her room that evening and was therefore surprised to hear a knock on his own door just after midnight.

"I don't want to be on my own." Hermione was standing there, her eyes red from crying, her lips swollen.

She had not come to him for sex. They both knew that. He undressed her carefully, innocently almost, down to her underwear, before she went to lie still and silent on his bed, her legs curled up into her. James lay beside her, wrapping warm encompassing limbs around her and rocking her gently, surrounding her in his aroma of vanilla and brandy and sea. For the briefest moment, Hermione thought that this is what it must feel like to be on his ship, to be cocooned by the ocean and the sensual, perpetual balm of James Hook.

But only for a moment. In her last conscious moments before sleep took her, it was not the ocean blue of James Hook's eyes which glinted in her mind, but the stormy grey of Lucius Malfoy's.

Sigh.

Any thoughts on this chapter are greatly appreciated. LL x