Hey all! I know, it's been a while since you've seen anything from me. Sorry. Been busy with the whole graduating thing and getting ready for college and preparing for a 3 week tour of Europe and all.

Frantically trying to get this up before I leave.

Thanks for all the reviews.

Of Fears Unknown

Chapter Twenty: Fearfully Unfearable

At Hogwarts, time passed at an alarming rate. The cold had fled, and with it all worry. Spring had come at last.

James finally attended his first Quidditch match, where he marveled at the speed and agility of the fliers, not to mention their fantastic aim, and he found he quite enjoyed the sport. True at times he thought on the almost savage brutality with which the Beaters clubbed the Bludgers at other players, and he was reminded of cannonballs and battles at sea, but such nostalgic thoughts were what drew him to the game.

With the passage of time and the presence of spring came a time of new life, and, more noticeably, of growth. It suddenly dawned on him how big 'little' Chrystafi had gotten. His golden fur definitely had a silver sheen to it, and his horn was almost two inches long, sparkling in the sunlight, making rainbows in its twists and curves. But what James was now realising was that the young unicorn was nearly big enough to ride—not by himself, of course, as he was a big man, but perhaps by a student, and most likely the young Miss Granger. Perhaps in a few more months...

The boat was coming along nicely. He had laid her keel and ribs, and was carving long planks of wood to a curve for her hull. He nailed each plank into place, as he finished carving, with the mallet and nails he had bought in town. That's right. Bought. As he was a member of the staff, Dumbledore had seen fit to pay him for his labours. The currency and the rate at which he was paid surprised him: instead of making only a couple hundred pounds a year as commodore, provided he took no prizes, he would make thousands—tens of thousands. He would be richer than he had ever imagined or dared to hope, and in a job so much lesser than his former post.

Often Harry, Ron, and Hermione came by offering to help, and when it came time for a break, or otherwise was raining and work had halted, he would bake for them and they would eat and share stories and be merry. It was on one of these rainy spring days that he learned of the effects of Draco Malfoy's sudden departure.

"They say he's been expelled."

"Not expelled," he corrected them gently. "He's just...gone away for a while. I do not know where." And it was true.

"Was he sent away?"

"People are saying he killed someone."

"If he had killed anyone, Mr Potter, would there not be two people absent rather than one?"

"Good point."

"Oh no—jam on my pants again—hundredth bloody time," groaned Ron.

"Again? You are simply a pig, Ron Weasely. Come on, I'll help you get it out," Hermione led him to the sink.

Taking the opportunity, Harry turned to the man with a glare. "He was sent away because of you, wasn't he? He must have known. He had you before Hermione ever did. He was sent away based on lies so you could save yourself. Is that how it was?"

Norrington put down his tea and looked the boy in the eye with his best intimidating-but-emotionless-commodore look. "No, Potter, the reasons for which he was sent away were real enough, and were acknowledged by the Ministry, as well as Dumbledore himself—although the circumstances under which said reasons came about were, regrettably, related to myself. I am sorry you would see me so selfish, Mr Potter. I had hoped you had a higher opinion of me."

Harry lowered his eyes, anger dissipating. "Sorry. I just thought..."

"Jumping to conclusions has never been a good habit to have, Mr Potter, and I know that from the experiences of making complete messes of things myself for my rash assumptions and rasher actions. But I see you are level-headed and so forgive you. That temper, however," he lifted his tea cup. "That temper you will have to watch."

In no time at all, it seemed, the little boat was finished. She was twenty-two feet six inches on deck, twenty-seven feet overall. Her mast was set just forward of the waist, and she carried a gaff-rigged mainsail, staysail, and jib. There was a well-sized cuddy in the bows that could be used for gear and other cargo during class trips and such, or, as James was planning, it could be used as a cabin for overnight trips.

Now he was painting a name in curling letters on the fantail. At last, a boat! "I christen thee the Fallen Star," he announced to the cheers and congratulations of his three assistants. He had thought long and hard on a name that would hopefully remind him of his world, and had settled on the means of his arrival as a decent mind-jogger. "And what a fine day it is for sailing." With help from the young magic-doers, he got the Star to the bank of the lake, and from there the four of them pushed her into the water. For several moments they carefully watched her for any signs of taking on water, but she only bobbed merrily on the waves. "She is seaworthy! Let us embark." He pulled the Fallen Star by her mooring line closer to shore, well enough into the shallows for the students to climb in without getting too wet, then shoved her off and clambered in himself, quite enjoying the fact that he was sopping wet. "Messrs Midshipmen Potter and Weasely, take the helm if you please." Which it was a tiller, rather than helm, but of course 'helm' sounded better and more like on a ship. "Hold as straight a course as you can."

"Aye-aye, Captain!" they chorused with eager salutes. Ahh, it was good to be called that again, and he felt a distant part of him stirring.

"Lieutenant Granger, let us drop canvas."

"Aye-aye."

"Why's she get to be first mate instead of a middie?" Ron asked with a hint of jealousy.

"Because I have more sailing experience than either of you," she shot back at him.

"A warning shot has been fired across your bows, Midshipman Weasely. Shall you turn and deliver broadside or run up a flag of truce?" The redhead seemed quelled. In truth, James had intended to name all three of them midshipmen, but it was always Mr Midshipman, and of course Midshipwoman didn't have quite the same ring to it. Lieutenant, however, had no gender attached to it. And she did know her knots and the basics of small boat sailing and steerage. "Haul on the mainsheet, Lieutenant Granger," he ordered.

"Right—er—which one's the mainsheet?" The skipper quirked an eyebrow and the crew snickered. Blushing, she said in her defense, "I know which ropes do what, I just don't know the names. It was always 'Pull that rope over there.'"

"The mainsheet is a rope?"

"A line, rather," James corrected them. "It is only a rope when it is coiled up and out of use. This one here is the mainsheet."

"Why is it called a sheet instead of a line, sir?" Hermione asked, disappointed that she knew less than she thought and eager to learn.

"You are asking a sailor what-sailor talk means?" he replied with a chortle, and it was left at that. In truth, he could not remember. So, the sails were raised, lines secured, and his young proteges were shown the ropes, as it were. "Setting course for the island." And with the wind in the sails, the waves beneath his feet, and the tiller in his hands, James was home.

"You don't suppose the giant squid'll try to sink us, do you?" Ron asked, looking nervously over the side. His friends laughed uncertainly and looked to their captain. He only continued to look out over the water, as though he hadn't heard them.

In all too short a time, they reached the little island, which was actually much bigger than it looked from shore, and moored on a narrow beach. Dense forest covered the island, and they could not see through it for any signs of life. Eagerly, they pushed their way through the trees until they came upon a natural path, sunlight beating down through gaps in to canopy, stone and dirt patches leaving gaps in the grass and moss. Hermione, as Lieutenant, had the privilege of leading the way. Their fearless captain was bringing up the rear, senses alert, ever wary of danger—for danger there must surely be, for few to ever come to this place. There were other reasons for suspicion and caution: it was almost silent. Not a birdsong within a mile, not a rustle of leaves. Instinct kept him sniffing apprehensively.

"Wonder if there's anything cool here—buried treasure, like." A smile tugged at Norrington's lips. How typical. Put them on a boat, and the first thing on their minds was treasure.

"Or pirates," the other lad agreed.

"Or monsters."

"Now, now," their captain cut in. "Careful what you wish for, lads. Speculations such as those are not entirely out of possibility, knowing this place." But he did not want to dampen their cheer, and spoke as though he were merely playing the part.

Ever curious, they continued deeper into the trees, until even the gentle lapping of the waves on the shores faded to silence. "Ohh, it's eerie here, isn't it?" shivered Hermione.

"Some fearless Luff-tenant."

"Hey!"

"Fearless Fluff-tenant is more like it."

James wasn't listening to their playful bickering. He had seen something overhead—a shadow?—and his head snapped up, eyes scanning the branches. Nothing there. Just my imagination. My, am I a jumpy one... A rustling of leaves. What was that? Getting closer, closer. It was almost on top of them. He began to draw his sword.

"Mr Norrington, why do you pronounce lieutenant with an F in it?" Potter asked without turning around. Something crashed through the branches. A muffled cry. They spun around to see...nothing. Not a thing, not a one. Not even Mr Norrington.

"Mr Norrington?" Hermione called as the three rushed back to the place he had been. Not a sound. No sign of a struggle. "Mr Norrington?" she called again, worried now. "If this is a joke, it isn't funny!"

"H-Hermione," quavered Ron, "I don't think it's a joke."

There was a rustling in the bushes off the path, and they turned toward the sound hopefully. But a great, ear-splitting screech quickly changed their minds. "Run!" cried Harry.

They crashed through the trees, hearts pounding, and always around them the wildly waving branches as their invisible predators pursued them. In the trees, away from the path, they could hear great footsteps. They didn't dare look behind them. Harry was the first to fall, and his comrades looked back to see him being dragged into the bushes, clawing at the ground for a hold and finding none.

"Harry!" Ron raced back and caught him be the arms. "Hold on!" But it was no use. The thing pulling him was too strong.

"Don't worry about me, save Hermione!" Potter cried. "Get back to the boat, and get help!" After a moment's hesitation, Ron nodded and released his grip, and Harry was pulled into the trees.

"Run!" the redhead shouted as he ran back to Hermione. "Don't just stand there, come on! Move!"

"But—Harry—."

"He's got his wand. We have to get help, come on!" They pounded along the path, desperate to find a place where they could double back, or else they'd have to keep going until they reached the opposite shore and then skirt the beach to get to the boat. Another screech behind them. They skidded to a halt at a fork in the path.

"This way," Hermione yelled, tearing down the one to the right. For a moment, it seemed they had lost their pursuers.

Then a great, deep chuck-chuck-chucking boomed behind them. "What the bloody hell is that?!"

A like reply echoed from in front of them, and they skidded to a halt. "There's more than one," observed Hermione as she and her companion drew their wands.

"Which way are they coming from?"

"They're all around us! Stand back to back." No sooner had they done so than one of the creatures came crashing out of the trees. Hermione whirled around in time to see Ron's frightened face disappearing into the branches. "Ron!"

"Keep running!" she heard him shout in the distance. "Get out of here!"

But she did not. Whether she could not or would not we may never know, but she did not run away. And so, quaking, she turned to face the thrashing bushes, wand out in front of her. She could not help but scream—out of surprise rather than fear, to be sure—when she saw the creature that had been pursuing them, picking them off one by one. A giant rodent, at least the size of a bear, if not larger. It was brown, with black and white stripes down either side and a skinny, bristly tail. It regarded her with beady black eyes, tail twitching seemingly with its own mind. It leaned forward and sniffed her, whiskers nearly touching her face. She dared not move. It was not enough. The great beast reared up on its hind legs with a monstrous screech, pawing the air, and came crashing down. She hastily jumped backward to avoid it, stumbled, and fell, her wand knocked out of her grasp. Defenseless now, she could only scoot farther backwards as the creature stalked toward her. At last, she could go no further, having backed into a tree, and she looked back at the creature, desperately trying to think up a plan.

Then, somewhere, the sound of footsteps pounding through the leaf mold. As the giant rodent bore down on her, through the trees came her rescue: a very wet Mr Norrington slid between fallen girl and monstrous beast, sword drawn. Furious at this new distraction, the monster rose onto its back feet, ready to strike with its claws. James swung his sword, missing its nose by a fraction of and inch, air whistling. "Back," he cried, swinging again. "Back, you silly animal." As can be imagined, something fighting back was an entirely new experience for the creature, and, as a rodent, it decided that flight was a better—and safer—option, turned tail and disappeared, chuck-chuck-chucking as it went.

When he was sure it had gone and there were no others about, James sheathed his sword and let out a breath. "Giant squirrels. Wasn't expecting that." He turned to the girl. "All right, Miss Granger?"

"I am now," she replied with a smile, taking the proffered hand and hauling herself to her feet. "What about Harry and Ron? They were taken, too."

"They're safe. They are with the Star."

She looked up at him in surprise. "But how?"

He chuckled. "Once they found out we were not nuts, they let us alone."

"So I didn't really need saving, then."

He shook his head. "They have very sharp teeth, however." Then she noticed the blood on his sleeve.

"Are you all right?"

"It may need a few stitches, but it is nothing to worry about."

"Stitches?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. It's just—I thought only Muggles used stitches. Healers use potions to do their healing."

His spine stiffened. Yes of course. Another slip-up, you blundering idiot. Well done. "Yes, well... You might say I am a little more resistant to potions than most. And seeing as I can't legally do magic, stitches are something that I can do for myself." They were nearing the edge of the trees now.

"You can't legally do magic?" What was wrong with him, spouting all this information unbidden? Had he let his shell grow thin?

He gave her a sideward glance, accurately feigning rueful amusement. "There was a bit of an incident—but the Ministry wouldn't want me telling you about that. Let it suffice to be said that I may have been a little, ah, cavalier in some of my past endeavours. Ah, here we are," he said with no small relief as they came to the beach and her questions were silenced.

However, the boat was at least a chord, or two hundred feet off shore. Hermione could make out Harry and Ron waving from the deck. So that was why Mr Norrington was so wet, then. He had sailed the boys out to safety and then swam back to find her. If there was not infatuation, there was certainly a strong admiration blooming in her young chest.

"Would you do the honours?—Unless you would rather swim, that is."

She smiled and waved her wand, and they floated to the deck of the Fallen Star. "Hermione, you're okay," her friends exclaimed, and they began to talk excitedly as they hauled up the sails and set on the return trip. When they were a safe enough distance away, James went into the cuddy and brought out a treat he had ready for the celebration of his Star's maiden voyage: a six-pack of butterbeer to share. His young crew received it with exclamations of gratitude—apparently they were very fond of it—and clinked their bottles together in appreciation of a fine adventure. While they were discussing what had happened, James rolled up his sleeve to have a look at the damage. It was bleeding rather a lot, and looked rather deep, but it was nothing permanently deleterious. Ten or twenty stitches and he would be fine. He dipped one of the bandages he had gotten out into the water and set to cleaning himself up as best he could, then wrapped a clean bandage around his arm.

"So what were they, anyway?" Ron was asking.

"Ground squirrels, like the captain said," replied their personal encyclopaedia. "They're called chipmunks, I think. They live mostly in North America. There's only one species in that lives on another continent, and they live in Siberia: genus Tamias sibiricus."

"And on that island: genus Bloody-ginormous-vicious-beast-from-Hell."

"Poetry, Mr Weasely." They looked back at their captain and laughed.

Hermione spotted the bandage wrapped around his forearm as he steered the tiller. "How is your arm?"

He surveyed the wrapping. It was already smattered with blood. "It is bleeding a bit, but it should stop on its own; I've seen enough injuries like it. I will treat it properly when I return to Hagrid's."

"You shoulda seen it, Hermione," Ron said with admiration. "The thing just clamped down on him and threw him twenty feet. And he got right up like nothing happened."

"I've been thrown farther," Norrington supplied.

"Yeah, but not by a giant squirrel, I reckon." That was certainly true.

"But what made it so angry?" Hermione wondered. "You said they left you alone once they realised you weren't nuts."

"Yes, well, unfortunately I didn't realise there was no danger until it was too late. You would think I'd know better, living with Hagrid and dealing with dangerous creatures right and left, but nope. Haven't learned a thing." He swallowed, thinking of the large egg lying hidden in the cuddy, the real reason for the creature's upset. He had stumbled on a whole nest of them and, thinking of Hagrid, had grabbed one—there were at least half a dozen—before meeting up with the boys on the beach. No sooner had he been certain of safety than what must surely have been the distraught mother had come upon him. He had managed to keep his treasure from breaking during his fall, however, and was able to scare the beast away. He considered it a gift for Hagrid. The mystery that lay inside, coupled with the great possibility that it was probably dangerous, was sure to bring a smile to the great man's face. But it would probably be better if he kept that bit from his young crew. He didn't fancy getting a scolding from children less than half his age just then, thanks.

"I bet Hagrid'll be eager to come see them," Hermione echoed this thoughts.

"See them?" Ron scoffed. "He'd probably put saddles on them and make us ride them in class."

"Good idea, Mr Weasely. I'll be sure to recommend it to Hagrid." A look of horror crossed the redhead's face, and the others laughed. James was, of course, kidding.

He let them talk among themselves for a while and let himself revel in the wind that blew through his hair and the pitch and roll of the Star as she skipped merrily over the waves. This was how it was supposed to be. It felt as though a distant part of himself were suddenly alive, and a refreshing wave of memories washed over him. That's right, the pirate's name was Jack Sparrow. Hard fellow not to recall. And Elizabeth's eyes are brown, or course. How could I forget? It was working. He could remember again. And with the memories came the whispers of his former self. The bravery, the fortitude, the sense of dignity and the ability to achieve anything, to be a great man, admired and recognised. He had definitely changed into a different man since then, but it was good to know that the hero he had once considered himself was still there somewhere, and could be summoned should the need ever arise. But with the return of his old self came also the certainty that he was happy with who he had become, and he at last threw away the worries he had had about all the changes his character seemed to have undergone. It seemed that every day were better than the last. He reminded himself that it was bound to end soon, but for the moment he was content to enjoy it. For the moment he was content to be happy.

All too soon, they were pulling up against the dock and their voyage was over. The Star was moored and, hoping the giant squid wouldn't bother her, they trudged back up to Hagrid's hut to finish their butterbeer in one another's company.

"Where's Hagrid gone off to?"

"He mentioned something about a three-headed serpent."

"Oh no," the three of them groaned at once, and they began listing examples of Hagrid's unfortunate fascination with dangerous creatures. "Remember Norbert the dragon?"

James listened amusedly to their tales of dragons and hippogriffs and giant spiders and a vicious three-headed dog named Fluffy, all the while tending to the fire. He had gotten out his curved medical needle and thread, and was busy sterilizing said needle in the flames. He had already taken off his bandages and given the wound a proper cleaning. The children's conversation trailed off as they turned to see what he was doing, and watching in fascination as he threaded the needle. "D'you need any help?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"Nope," was all they got. He took a steadying draught of butterbeer, though he knew it wasn't strong enough to affect him, and, brow creased in concentration, he pinched the edges of the wound together. He was about to send the needle through when Hermione interrupted.

"Ohh," she quavered, voice shaking nervously, "Shouldn't we get Madam Pomfrey or something?"

"I'm fine," he said in that same distracted voice. "Goodness knows I've bothered the woman enough." There was a beat of silence before he suddenly looked up at them, concentration broken. "My apologies. It never occurred to me that I might be making you uncomfortable." He made to put the needle on the metal plate beside him and forget about it.

However, not wanting to look weak in front of the midshipmen, Hermione stopped him again. "No, it's okay."

His eyebrows rose, and Harry and Ron looked at her in surprise. "Are you sure? There will be some blood."

"I know. My parents are dentists. I've seen them rip open a person's mouth, take out teeth that don't belong there, and then stitch it back up again. I was just thinking it's bound to hurt a bit, and maybe she could give you something for the pain."

"Ah. Well I can assure you that I have given myself this same treatment on numerous occasions, without the aid of medicine. But, if it makes you feel better..." He took his bottle of painkillers out of his pocket, popped off the lid with his thumb, and tipped a dose into his mouth. "All right?" Hearing no protest, he proceeded. He took up the needle, pinched the skin together, and sewed himself up, nice and clean. It went just as he'd known it would: quick and, by his standards, painless. He was done before the painkillers had taken effect...although he was worried for a moment that his audience would swoon if they did not stop holding their breaths. "And that," he concluded, cutting the thread, "is how the Muggles do it."

"Dad'd go bonkers if he saw that," said Ron, staring in awe. "He loves Muggle stuff."

"Yes, well I suppose they are somewhat fascinating, aren't they?"

"Yeah, especially when they do stuff like that." At last he seemed to have found his way into young Weasely's favour. "That was brilliant."

Smiling somewhat, James wrapped his arm in fresh bandages, and the job was done. He raised his bottle of butterbeer, nodded at them, and downed the remaining contents in one gulp. At last it was beginning to grow dark, and it came time for the young magical folk to go back to the school. "Bye, Mr Norrington. Today was fantastic."

"Don't think you're done with the adventures yet, mates," he called after them. "I may have need of your services again. Bring some friends along, if you like. But, ah," he dropped his voice, "I think it might be best if you didn't tell anyone about what we found on the island today, at least not yet. Let that wait until we hear from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures whether they want that fact known or not." They agreed and, promising to visit soon, they set off up the path to the castle, passing Hagrid, who was on his way home, carrying a large wooden crate which was emitting a loud hissing.

"All righ', James?" he puffed, setting down the crate.

"Grand. So you were able to procure a Runespoor after all?"

"Ar, an' I got it at a decent price too. Can't tell yeh where from, mind, but I trust 'em, I do. Blimey, is that the Star I see on the water a'ready? Fer not usin' magic, yeh sure got 'er done quick, an' don't she look beau'iful?"

"I had some help," James replied with a nod at the distant shapes of his crew as they hiked in to supper. "We took her for her maiden voyage this afternoon. Went out to explore the island."

"No one's bin there in ages. Izzat what happened ter yer arm?" he asked, suddenly catching sight of the bandages.

James mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "Wait til you hear."

And thus his days passed.

Within a few days they had heard back from the Ministry that, because James had discovered the creatures on the island, he had the rights to name and study them. Having little interest in research, he left the task to a more than eager Hagrid. The Ministry had also given the school permission to let students visit the island to see them, as it would likely be educational. It would become like a wizard zoo, almost. Another place students could go in their spare time, like Hogsmeade. And of course it would become a focus point in their Care of Magical Creatures classes—right after they got done with the Runespoor, that is.

To make travel to and from the island easier, James was commissioned by Dumbledore to build a small fleet of boats for class purposes, and would be conducting sailing lessons for anyone who wanted to learn. With the help of his eager crew—which had grown to include Ron's younger sister Ginny, his elder twin brothers Fred and George, and a round-faced, rather accident-prone Gryffindor by the name of Neville Longbottom—he built five twenty foot cat-boats; four for class use, and one exclusively for Hagrid. The Star was named flagship, and was for his own private excursions, although he led the first few Herbology trips using her until he could get enough students trained to sail themselves. What surprised him, however, was that the students who signed up for sailing lessons took to calling him "Professor."

Suddenly James felt like he belonged here. He had become a real part of Hogwarts: he was finally doing something that seemed to have a purpose, simply by doing what he loved. If they ever found a way for him to get back to his own world, he wasn't sure he would take it: he could not have been happier.

There. Next chapter is most of the way done, unless my pencil gets the best of me again. I dunno when I'll have time to post it, but if I can get to an internet café I'll see what I can do.

See you when I get back!

Review!