Pirates (But Only on Sunday, Around Teatime)
By TwinEnigma
Chapter 1: Owl Post
It was yet another normal Friday morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – well, as normal as Hogwarts ever was at this time in the morning on the Friday immediately before a Hogsmeade weekend. Most of the younger students were eagerly chatting away about everything from classes to Quidditch and beyond over their breakfast. The sixth and seventh years, on the other hand, were clutching at their coffee, trying to eat and scrambling to finish last minute additions to their homework at the same time, all the while somewhere in-between the conscious world and semi-slumber. They were no longer in the little-to-moderate homework boat with the younger students, no sir. That had changed immediately after their OWLs. Consequently, much of their free time was spent doing homework in preparation for the upcoming torture known as NEWTs.
The fluttering of hundreds of pairs of wings heralded the arrival of the morning post. Many students had subscriptions to the Daily Prophet or the Quibbler and other such periodicals, so it wasn't too surprising to see the owls lingering while students fished through their pockets for their money. One rather unremarkable owl – small, brown and about the size of a football – gently swooped in through the window, keen yellow eyes scanning the hall for his human. Spotting her at last, the owl went into a looping dive for a landing.
"GAH! Bloody 'effing bird!" cried one Eliza Turner, seventh year Gryffindor, as her pet owl Archimedes nearly knocked her out of her seat. She gave the offending avian an annoyed glare.
Archimedes merely blinked at her, snapped up a piece of bacon from her plate and puffed out his chest, feathers rippling against a study leather cord.
Eliza rolled her eyes and sighed, before her eyes drifted to the cord hanging around her owl's neck. "What's this?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, and reached for the cord, following it with her eyes to a familiar battered old wooden compass.
The compass was an old family heirloom that had been in her mother's family for generations and it had been left to her Uncle Jimmy by her grandfather. Her uncle always carried the thing with him, claiming it was a lucky talisman of sorts, even though the stupid old thing didn't even point north. The fact that the compass was broken didn't seem to matter to her uncle, who insisted that just because it didn't point north didn't mean it wasn't working properly. Between her uncle and her mother, Eliza knew of over a half-dozen stories where the compass had somehow indirectly saved either her grandfather or her uncle from a horrible watery doom.
The last time she'd actually seen the compass was literally the day right before she left to go back to school. However, it wasn't with Uncle Jimmy. Aunt Jackie, her mother's younger sister, came over to the house that morning with a package from Uncle Jimmy, containing the compass and nothing else. Aunt Jackie seemed a bit shaken by the whole thing, now that Eliza actually thought about it. She hadn't paid it much mind before, considering that her mother was trying to make sure she was all packed before sunup the next morning and Eliza had been quite preoccupied with running through the house like a madwoman, looking for her Potions textbook – which just happened to have her entire summer's worth of homework stuffed in it.
Eliza carefully lifted the compass off her owl's neck, put it around her own, and took a look at his legs, hoping to see a return letter. Finding nothing tied to his leg, she gave the owl a curious glance. "No note, Archimedes?"
Archimedes ruffled his feathers and went back to stealing her bacon.
"Greedy little git," she groused, grabbing her toast before her owl managed to get to it.
The owl ignored her, as he did just about every time there was bacon to be had, snapped up the last piece on his owner's plate and took off for the owlry.
"Eliza, you coming?" a girl's voice asked from behind her. It was Rosamund, a rather shy girl that she had a few classes with. Though no one would suspect it at first glance, timid skinny little Rosamund was a particularly gifted professional Beater. Every so often during the Quidditch season, she would disappear for some matches and come back from each of them all smiles.
Eliza nodded, shouldering her book bag as she got to her feet, and fell into step beside Rosamund. She had a History of Magic elective first – though how or why she'd ever agreed to sign up for the stupid course was a complete mystery, as she really didn't need to be taking it at all. It was just one of those classes you took to fill time or because you absolutely couldn't stand the thought of voluntarily going into another Divination classroom.
They had just about reached the doors to the Great Hall when the school bells began to toll, signalling the end of breakfast. Both Eliza and Rosamund stared at each other a moment and hurried out into the hallway before the horde of noisy underclassmen completely swamped them. The saving grace of being a seventh year was that you had the benefit of having a far longer stride than most of the underclassmen, something that could get you across the hallway and upstairs with far greater speed. The downside was that those little buggers moved in large packs to make up for their shorter gait and could completely block staircases and hallways.
Rosamund led the way upstairs, staying close to the wall as a group of first years scampered by them in a mad rush, and Eliza followed, scowling at the few that lagged behind. They gave her nervous looks and hurried on. Yet another good thing about being a seventh year: the younger students were deathly terrified of all the seventh years for some odd reason and would scatter to the four winds if a seventh year so much as looked at them cross-eyed. It didn't make much sense to her, but it was rather humorous to see.
Their class was on the second floor, in a stuffy dusty classroom that was always uncomfortably warm. Because of this, undoubtedly half the class would be sound asleep by the end of the period. It didn't help that they had the ghostly Professor Binns, who was notorious for being able to put almost anything alive to sleep. Dry lecture and sleepiness aside, the class was at least somewhat interesting. It was all about cursed artefacts and treasures of the world, many of which were still missing – scattered all over the globe by treasure hunters, thieves and other scavengers.
Rosamund drifted to a desk near the far wall, sitting down quietly. Eliza moved towards the middle back rows and found a desk. Several students were already in the classroom, most of whom having left breakfast well before the bells tolled to avoid the rush. A few of them she'd had classes with ever since first year, while others she only had classes with once in a while. Some of them she knew better than the others – mainly those in her own house – while there were a few people in the class that she'd rather not know at all... mainly the Slytherins.
Addams, the brat prince of the serpents, had caught his reflection in the window and preened, tucking a stray strand of jet-black hair behind his ear. Dark-haired with pale, delicately sculptured features and dark eyes, Addams was probably one of the most handsome boys in Eliza's year. Unfortunately, he walked around like he owned the place and was probably the single vainest creature in the world. Eliza didn't particularly like him too much - or his friend, Vlasko, for that matter.
Vlasko was a lanky Slytherin with aquiline features and a constant scowl. He also had rather nasty opinions about anyone with muggle parents and a predilection for putting Gryffindor's Chasers into the Hospital Wing – something that was rather disturbing considering that Vlasko didn't play Quidditch. What really irked Eliza was that no one could prove that the bloody prat had done anything, even though everyone in the school knew he was the one who was behind it.
At the corner desk in far back row was a rather odd Slytherin girl called Loft, who was discreetly scanning the entire classroom and doodling on her parchment. Loft was a social outcast, even in her own house, though Eliza couldn't fathom why. Loft seemed harmless, if a bit out of touch with reality, but she was one of those quiet artistic types anyway, so being a bit loopy was to be expected. Still, there were rumours about her, some of them pretty odd, that made Eliza wonder how out of touch with reality Loft really was. For example, it was widely rumoured that Loft was not the type of person you ever wanted to be indebted to and that she had something over almost everyone in the seventh year, including Addams and Vlasko.
Eliza snorted softly, rolling her eyes at the thought of such nonsense, and set about pulling out her stuff for class.
AN: Just a reminder, this story takes place about four years after Harry and co. have left Hogwarts. I haven't decided if this will be HBP compliant yet. It probably won't be, as I started writing this way before HBP came out. Rosamund is based off an ice hockey player I knew. This does have a slight crossover element to it and Kudos to those who have already identified it. Reviews are welcome and greatly appreciated.