Chapter One – Technical Difficulties

With a gust of air, Harry splashed down into the sea.

Wha? He fought his way to the surface, gasping for air as the stormy waves tried to drag him back down. Choking on salty water, he spied a barrel and grabbed hold.

"Man overboard!"

There was a splash, and beefy arms encircled his waist and hoisted him up. Coughing convulsively, he kneeled on the wooden deck that had somehow appeared beneath him. A coarse blanket was draped over his shoulders as he shivered in the cold air.

"Are you all right, boy?"

Taken by surprise at the aristocratic accent, he looked up into the concerned face of a man in 17th century British naval uniform. "Wh-what?" he gasped in shock.

The officer frowned at him. "I asked if you were unharmed." He looked puzzled. "Have you been...where did you come from? Surely you could not have been out here long, but there are no other ships in sight."

Harry swallowed. "I don't know...I can't remember," he lied. Something was clouding his vision, and he swiped at his eyes.

The officer's reaction was immediate. He tore off a strip of his shirt and wrapped it across Harry's forehead, tying it securely. Startled, Harry looked down at his fingers and was surprised to see blood...lots of blood.

The strong man picked Harry up easily and took him below deck, away from prying eyes. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Uh...Sirius," he lied again, not sure if this wasn't some elaborate trap or joke. "Sirius Black."

"My name is John Hawke," the officer said, seemingly unfazed by the unusual name. "How old are you, Sirius?"

Harry winced as John set him on a bunk and washed off the blood on his forehead. "I'm fifteen." Sensing John's curiosity, he wracked his brain for a good story. "The last thing I remember is being at home...and then suddenly I was in the ocean."

Hawke nodded slowly. "Perhaps you were struck on the head. It would explain your injury and memory trouble."

By now, Harry had figured out that he was on some sort of ship. "Where am I?"

"On board the Golden Crown, about thirty kilometers off shore of Great Britain. We'll be taking you back to shore after we've completed our mission. I'm sorry, but it's not likely to be less than a week."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind, sir."

John gave him a strange look, but finished tying off a proper bandage over Harry's forehead – his scar, he realized. "All right Sirius, I'm going to have to leave you for awhile, but I'll be back to check on you later. All right?"

Harry nodded. "I won't be going anywhere." And it'll give me a chance to figure out what went wrong, he thought to himself.

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"WhaaaaAAAA-oof!"

Ron spat out a mouthful of sand as he propped himself up on his elbows...and stared.

He was on an island.

An ISLAND.

There was a gasp behind him, and he turned to see Hermione. "Ron, how did we get here?" she asked. "Why are we on an island?"

Ron was too disconcerted himself to poke fun at her not knowing something. "I...I don't know." He frowned. "Before we were...um, whatever happened to us...did you hear Harry's voice?"

Hermione nodded. "I think he was casting a spell...Ron, you don't think that HARRY did this to us!"

"Maybe not on purpose," Ron mused. "But if we came along on accident, where's Harry?"

A loud boom distracted them, and they looked out to sea. There, about a kilometer offshore, were two ships firing cannons at each other. Hermione grabbed Ron's arm. "Ron...we've time traveled!"

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"RETURN FIRE!"

Harry was jolted from his thoughts at the sound of cannonfire, and saw part of the wall blow in. "What the..."

Forgetting his promise to John, he fled up to the deck of the Crown. Floating on the port side was another ship, flying a black and white flag...a pirate flag.

Pirates!

That was as far as his thoughts got before he was grabbed from behind and pulled between his captor and John, who held a sword unsheathed. "Sirius!" the officer called anxiously.

"I'll be takin' the whelp," a voice behind him sneered as he felt the end of a pistol press against his temple. "Try to take 'im and he'll be off to Davey Jones' Locker."

Harry nearly laughed at the insanity of the situation. By now he should've rescued his godfather and been back at Grimmauld Place, but here he was, four centuries off his target date, being held hostage at gunpoint by pirates.

"And you," the pirate snarled in his ear, "won't so much 's twitch if ye want to see yer little friends get away alive, savvy?"

Harry nodded slightly, and the pirate dragged him back towards a board that connected the decks of the two ships. "Now then," the pirate called to Hawke, "ye'll be grantin' us safe passage, and I'll be keepin' the kid as insurance that ye do. Try to sink us and ye'll only kill the whelp...so if ye care fer 'im at all, ye won't try any funny business."

Hawke met Harry's eyes, as if begging him to get away somehow, but Harry didn't dare move as he was hauled aboard the pirate ship, and thrown into a small iron cell belowdecks.

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Ron and Hermione watched as one ship sailed away, leaving the other apparently unable to fire. As the defeated ship drifted closer to their island, Hermione spotted the flag that flew from the mast.

"Ron, it's the British navy!" She began to gather up dry wood. "Hurry, help me build a fire to get their attention before they sail away."

In no time at all they had a good bonfire going, and the British ship had come as close as it dared before launching a jollyboat. As it beached, Hermione's suspicions were confirmed – the sailors wore 17th century uniforms of the navy.

"Ahoy there!" called an officer. "Been shipwrecked, have you?"

Ron opened his mouth to tell the truth, but Hermione spoke first. "Yes, not too long ago. We'd just made it to this island when we saw your ship."

The officer hesitated. "You didn't happen to be traveling with another young man? Short black hair, strange green eyes?"

Ron's jaw dropped. "You found him? Where is he?"

The man sighed. "I am sorry. He was taken hostage by pirate no more than a quarter hour ago."

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances. Harry, in the hands of pirates? This spelled trouble with a capital T.

"We'd best be getting back to the Golden Crown," the officer said sadly. "What are your names?"

"Holly Granger," Hermione answered, quickly shooting a warning look at Ron. "And this is Arthur West."

Ron did his best to look as if that was indeed his name. The officer frowned as they got into the boat. "You have rather unusual names. Were your parents foreign, perhaps?" At Ron's confused look he clarified, "Holly and your other friend, I mean."

"Something like that," Hermione said, evading the subject. "Did our friend leave anything behind?"

The officer pulled a wooden rod from his pocket, handing it to her. "He left this belowdecks."

Ron felt his face whiten. Bloodstained holly wood glinted deep red in the sunlight as Hermione held Harry's wand.