All right, all right, I know I missed last month, and I promised an update this month. I was going to update on the full moon, as promised, but with band camp and me being drum major, I kind of haven't thought about my stories at all. Not to say the chapter wasn't finished in time, of course it was. It's just, I was so ready to be lazy, even when I kept reminding myself to update, that I only accomplished two things: sleeping a lot, and watching Doctor Who on YouTube (David Tennant, I love you).
Reviews—had seven this time, been a while since this story got that many. Thanks to all, and especially the idiot, whose review makes me smile whenever I read it.
SO! Here's your chapter.
I own nothing Pirates, Potter, or Doctor-related. (Although a little mini-TARDIS would be kinda cool right next to my Jack Sparrow action figure...)
Chapter Thirteen: Of Fears Unknown Part III
The door to Hagrid's hut burst open. In an almost drunken manner, James staggered in. Fang greeted him most happily, but his enthusiasm was ignored. Hagrid was not here; he had been with the other professors in Dumbledore's office. James stumbled to the table, where his clothes lay. Without reaction, he noticed that a dark brown waistcoat had been added to the small pile, as well as a neat white neckerchief. He dressed, and found that the kerchief hid his collar with a perfectly inconspicuous appearance.
That done, and neglecting shoes and stockings, he shuffled back out into the storm. A flash of lightning illumined him in silhouette, and Fang whined apprehensively as he looked after the man, before the door shut with a quiet slam.
Outside, thunder and lightning greeted the distressed Muggle. The sky rained sheets of icy water down on him, and the wind shoved him about with a terrible force, nearly knocking him off his feet on more than one occasion. Within moments, he was soaked through, and would have been shivering violently had he been aware of it; but all he was aware of was his imminent banishment from the only place he had—Had Potter told? Had he caused too much trouble even for Dumbledore? He stumbled blindly through the rain, and into the Forbidden Forest.
After perhaps an hour, or perhaps more, he distantly heard Hagrid calling for him. The Gameskeeper must have returned to his hut and found Fang whining at the door. He ignored the summons and continued his wandering, moving further and further from things familiar, deeper into the woods.
A long time passed, and dawn came—or so we assume, for black storm clouds continued to shroud the world in darkness. James had been out in the storm all night, and the pain in his stomach, lungs, heart, and every other organ he could think of, had at last become too much to bear. Out of the mix of this and sheer exhaustion, he collapsed in the mud and leaf mold, and did not move again.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
"Have you found him yet, Hagrid?" Dumbledore asked that evening. The storm still raged outside, wind howling and biting rain lashing at the windowpane. "I had hoped to tell him how proud I am of him for deciding to put on that collar."
"I'm afraid not, sir. Haven't seen 'im all day. Gettin' worried, now. I'd go out and search for 'im if it wasn't for this nasty storm."
"And this nasty storm is precisely the reason why he must be found. Ironic, isn't it? But do not worry. When the rain is done, we will find him, Hagrid, I assure you."
The storm lasted for three nights and two days. On the morning of the third day, Hogwarts awoke to a steamy, misty world, overcast by a sea of grey clouds. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, bundled up against the cold, were following the familiar path to Hagrid's hut. Even before they arrived, they could see the gamekeeper outside, dressed in fur coats and trying to situate Fang on his leash and Chrystafi on his lead without them getting tangled. "Hi, Hagrid," Harry called. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Truth be told, I'm goin' out ter look fer James. 'E went missin' days ago, and 'e hasn't come back. Sorry I can't stay an' visit, but he could be in trouble, 'specially after that storm, and I aim ter find 'im."
The three exchanged expressions. "Could we help you look for him?" Hermione asked.
Hagrid opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again to rethink his answer. "Now you know I'd say you can't, but I think more eyes on the lookout will give us a better chance findin' 'im. But no matter what, we keep together, is that clear? Don't want to be losin' anyone else." And thus, huddled in a small group, they headed into the Forbidden Forest.
"All right, Ron," Hagrid said after a few minutes, "let Fang sniff around a bit—keep a hold on 'im now!" The huge boarhound eagerly put his nose to the ground, dragging poor Ron around as though he weren't there. But, try as they did, Fang could not find the familiar scent.
"It's no use, the rain's washed everything away," said Harry.
They scoured the woods for hours—the children were missing classes, and beginning to get frustrated. At last, Hagrid called their search to a halt. "'S no use. You all get back ter Hogwarts now, afore yeh miss anymore classes. Yer teachers will be cross enough as it is."
"I just wish we could find him," Harry sighed. He felt partially responsible, although he didn't quite know why. Everyone—even Fang—looked sad and disappointed. But not Chrystafi. He pricked his ears and stared intently into the trees, quivering. Then, without warning, he took off in that direction, pulling his lead free from Hagrid's grasp.
"Chrissie, come back!"
"Where's he going?"
"Maybe he's found something," Harry replied as they raced after the baby unicorn.
They ran a short distance before they saw Chrystafi, standing at the edge of a small clearing, nostrils flared to find any sign of his surrogate parent. "Is 'e here?"
"I don't see anything."
"What's that?" Hermione pointed at something poking out from behind a tree at the clearing's far edge. It was a foot. They rushed toward it to find a form half buried in the leaves, lying on its side, and only a shoulder, an arm, and the legs uncovered.
"James—dig 'im out, quick," Hagrid cried. The students hastily brushed away the mud and leaf mold, until at last James Norrington was uncovered. He was unconscious, soaked through, and looking altogether unwell.
Hermione at once kneeled beside him and attempted to rouse him. "Mr Norrington—Mr Norrington, please wake up..." His eyes fluttered for a moment, but that was all the response she got. At least they knew he was alive. "He won't come to."
Hagrid sighed. "All right, lads, pick 'im up. We're takin' 'im ter my place. Th' Hospital Wing's just too far."
Ron was all for levitating the man, but Harry insisted on carrying him, and as soon as they had him situated, he made a grave discovery. "Hagrid, he's burning up!"
"A fever? Oh, frightful bad, this is. You three keep an eye on 'im back at th' hut. I'll go find Madam Pomfrey." And with that, he raced off in another direction.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
"Easy, easy; okay, put him on the bed," Harry was instructing as they navigated through the door to the guest bedroom.
"I'll get a rag and some cold water," Hermione announced.
"Good idea. Ron, see if you can find some towels and blankets. I'll stay and keep watch."
It seemed ages before Hagrid came back with Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore. "What are these students doing here? Should they not be at class?"
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir. They offered ter help, an' I thought it'd give James a better chance."
"Please, Professor," began Hermione, "couldn't we stay and help?"
"I am afraid not. You have already missed most of your morning classes; surely you are not asking me if you can miss your evening ones as well?"
"No, Professor Dumbledore."
"Very good. That is what I'd hoped you would say. However, you have my permission to come down and help out during meals and any free time."
"Thank you, Dumbledore.
"You are welcome, Miss Granger. Now hurry to class, before you miss more." The trio obeyed, with lingering glances as they emptied from the room. When the door had closed, Dumbledore approached the still form. Madam Pomfrey was already at his side, feeling his temperature. "How is he?"
"Not good, sir," she answered grimly, placing a wet rag on his forehead. "He has a terrible fever. How long was he out in the storm?"
"The whole time."
"Then he probably hasn't eaten at all, either. And I can't use any potions to heal him, because of the reaction he may have."
"Do you know any Muggle methods?"
"Sir, besides this rag and those blankets, I don't know anything."
Dumbledore nodded as though he had expected this. "I will see about finding you some help." James' head fell to one side, the rag sliding off. The headmaster replaced it, considering the man with a grim thoughtfulness. "Until then, do all you can." And with a small bow, he left.
Sighing, Madam Pomfrey dipped the rag in the bucket again. As though the cool dampness aroused him, his eyes blinked open. "You're awake."
Fevered green eyes slid to meet hers. No recognition sparked; it was like he was staring at a stranger. "Water," he croaked. "Please—so thirsty."
One of the students had left a glass of water on the bed table. She cradled his head and brought the vessel to his lips. "Easy now, not too fast." It was as though she weren't there. He tipped the cup farther back with his own hand—he still had the strength to do it—and drank greedily. When it was empty, he let it fall, where it shattered against the floor, and turned away from her, going straight back to his delirium.
Hours passed, and soon the dream overcame him. His sleep was fitful and his waking hours were spent mumbling and muttering to people who weren't there. "Set loose that tops'l. Look lively, men..." Most of these ramblings seemed to be orders given at sea. Others were half-conversations with familiars. Madam Pomfrey, who had been sitting with him all this time, could not help but sigh for him.
"You're back with your crew again," she murmured. "No more melancholy there."
Her words must have jinxed him.
All righty then, so there's your update. Don't expect much in the way of an on-schedule update. I'll try for it, but I don't think I've got my thoughts in order. You know, the whole "I know what I want to write but not how to write it" shpeal. Etc, etc...
REVIEW! Thanks.