Once Hermione and the man in orange had partaken of their meal, the man in orange encased Hermione's arm in a steely grip and led her down the other side of the mountain. The couldn't use the carpet, because after a flying carpet has been rolled up, it takes a while to recover.
About a third of the way down, Hermione because out of breath from weaving between boulders. The man in orange stopped and pushed her at one, saying, "Rest."
"If you release me," Hermione panted, "whatever you ask for ransom you'll receive, I promise you."
The man in orange laughed, a bitter, incredulous laugh. "And what is that worth, the promise of a woman? You're very funny, Highness."
It was a great pity that the Women's Liberation Movement was still several centuries away, although Hermione could not have known that as she held a certain disdain for Divination and Seers. "I was giving you a chance," she said coldly. "It does not matter where you take me." She jutted out her chin stubbornly. "Prince Viktor is the finest hunter in all of Florin. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day; he will find you."
The blue eyes of the man in orange turned stormy. "You trust that your beloved prince will save you?"
"I never said he was my beloved," Hermione spat, "and yes, he will save me."
"You admit that you do not love your betrothed?" the man in orange asked. He sounded surprised. Again, Hermione could not blame him. How many girls fooled themselves into believing that they were in love with the prince of the realm?
"He knows I do not love him," Hermione said dismissively, tossing her bushy chestnut hair.
"'Are not capable of love,' is what you mean," the man in orange snarled.
"I have loved more deeply than a killer like you could ever imagine," Hermione told him, her voice hollow.
The man in orange made to slap her, but she flinched back. "That was a warning, Highness," he said in a voice as hard as steel. "The next time, I will slap you. Where I come from, there are penalties for a witch who lies."
Hermione gasped with realisation. "I know who you are," she breathed. "Your cruelty reveals everything. You are the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom!"
The man in orange bowed like a courtier at Versailles (the one in France, not the one in America). "At your service. What can I do for you?"
"You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces," Hermione growled.
"Well, now, that's hardly complimentary, your Highness," remarked the man in orange. "Why loose your venom on me?"
"You killed me love," Hermione reminded him.
"It's possible," said Longbottom lightly. "I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours? Another prince, hunter, Quidditch player like this one, ugly, rich and duck-footed?"
"No, a farmboy. Poor. Poor and perfect," Hermione whispered. "With eyes like the sea in a storm." She raised her voice. "On the airways, your band attacked. And the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom never takes prisoners."
"I can't afford to make exceptions," Longbottom informed her, shrugging. "I mean, once word gets out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and it's nothing but work, work, work all the time!"
"You mock my pain!"
"Life is pain, Highness," Longbottom said sharply. "Anyone who tells you otherwise is smoking Floo Powder." He paused as though in thought. Hermione was at great pains to flying at him and keep from gouging his eyes out. "I think I remember this Farmboy of yours," he said slowly. "This would be, what, five years ago? Does is bother you to hear?"
"Nothing you can say will upset me further than you did when you killed him."
"He died well," said Longbottom matter-of-factly. "That should please you. No bride attempts, or blubbering. He simply said, 'Please. Please, I need to live.' It was the please that caught my memory. I asked him what was important for him here on Earth. 'True love,' he replied.
Hermione closed her eyes. This marauding pirate had no business being on the same planet as Ron; who was he to jeer at true love like Hermione and Ron had shared?
"And then he spoke of a girl of surpassing intelligence and faithfulness – I can only assume he meant you," Longbottom continued. "You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you really are!"
Hermione opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. How could she be happy about Ron's death? "And what am I?"
"Faithfulness he talked of, madam, your enduring faithfulness," Longbottom spat. "Now tell me truly; when you found out that he was gone, did you get engaged to your Prince that same hour or did you wait a whole week out of respect to the dead?"
Hermione stared at him. How could he think that, after all she had said about Ron? "You mocked me once," she burst out. "Never do it again. I died that day!"
Longbottom's body language betrayed his surprise and disbelief.
"And you can die too, for all I care," Hermione added, and pushed him, hard.
Longbottom was caught off-guard, and fell backwards. Unable to regain his balance, he rolled over and over. As Hermione muttered to herself about how he should have applied constant vigilance around her – "I am a woman, and not to be taken for granted!" – she heard a cry, barely discernable. "As … you … wish!"
Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. "Oh, my sweet Ronald," she breathed. "What have I done?" Without a further thought, she flung herself down the mountainside after him. She would regret it, later - no one wants to be bruised on their wedding day.
A.N: When I started this, I forgot that Westley/Ron impersonates Roberts/Neville, but it was too late to change it. 'The Dread Pirate Bellatrix Lestrange' didn't work so well. Reviews are always appreciated!