Brigandage - POTC Crossover Oneshot (Part One)

[dysonrules]

Title: Brigandage
Rating: NC17 1/2
Words: 9,600 (whole fic)
Pairingishthingy: Harry/Draco/Jack Sparrow
Warnings: Um... lots of naughty stuff, but nothing terribly out of the ordinary for me, lol!
Premise: Draco finds a strange mirror at Malfoy Manor and gets sucked into a strange place. Of course it's up to Harry to find him.
Summary: This fic was written for hpstrangelove  for livelongnmarry  WOO! It was shockingly finished on time but I piled a few too many fics on my poor beta, who made it all pretty. I know there are a boatload of fics out there to read right now, but enjoy if you have time.  A trillion thanks to byaghro , as usual!  *squishes a billionty*

Brigandage

POTC Crossover (Harry/Draco/Jack Sparrow)

Misc. Notes: This fic takes place about a year after Jack acquires the Black Pearl. He is in the process of looking for information on the sword he seeks.

It happened in Draco’s fifth month of spring cleaning. Technically, spring had sprung and flipped into summer, but the accumulated detritus of Malfoy Manor would likely drag him into next spring before he finished cataloguing the huge assortment of items collected and stored by generations of Malfoys. It had been his mother’s idea after the unexpected death of Lucius in Azkaban. Draco suspected fellow prisoners or guards to be at fault, although none of it could be proven, of course. Suicide was the official diagnosis, an idea so ludicrous it had thrown Draco into a rage so severe it had taken the house-elves a week to clear the debris from his room. He still bemoaned the loss of his Quidditch figurine collection.

When his mother had suggested he start moulding the mansion into his image, as befit his new status as Lord of Malfoy Manor, Draco had jumped into the task with an almost vengeful eagerness. Banished were the moth-eaten tapestries that had adorned the front hall, gone were the busts of his wretched ancestors, and buried in the back yard were horrific knick-knacks collected by Malfoys with an unprecedented lack of taste.

Draco had begun with the attic and sorted items into three basics categories. Trash, naturally, although these items had been relegated to an unused room on the third floor because their destruction could result in some dangerous consequences. Followed by Items to Relocate, preferably to other areas of the planet. The third category was Items to Keep, some of which had already made their way to areas of the Manor based on Draco’s superior decorating skills.

Many of the Items to Keep were Dark Artifacts whose purpose was either unknown or unacceptable to release on the unsuspecting. Such seemed to be the case with the Mirror.

Draco had discovered it in an unused corner of a tiny bedroom in the West Wing. The room had been filled with “old lady” items, including frilly quilts, an incredible amount of magic yarn, and an almost terrifying collection of dolls, all of which Draco had immediately donated to a wizarding orphanage with a shudder of relief.

The Mirror, however, was interesting. It was full-sized, rectangular, and rested in a heavy wooden frame carved with arcane symbols and writing in Ancient Runic. It had taken Draco a week of study to remember how to pronounce the symbols—Hogwarts studies in Ancient Runic had been six years previous—and even then they made no sense. Perhaps the bloody thing was not magic at all.

He traced the symbols and mumbled the idiotic words. “Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.”

With a flare of gold, the Mirror turned into a swirl of power that reached out and yanked Draco inside before he could as much as gasp in surprise.

OOoOO

Harry was not at all pleased at having been assigned to the Malfoy case. So Draco Malfoy had disappeared. Who cared, really? Aside from his mother, of course, who had raised hell with the press until the Ministry had been forced to assign someone high profile to the case, lest the questionable circumstances around Lucius Malfoy’s death be revealed. Harry had questions of his own about that, but he had never brought them up because, after all, it was Lucius Malfoy. The world was better off without him.

Of course, it was far easier to rationalize that while sitting pompously in his office at the Ministry than standing uncomfortably before the pale-faced widow who had lost her husband and now her son.

“The house-elves say he was last seen in the room of Elspeth Amentina Malfoy. She collected several bizarre artifacts during her travels—she spent a particularly long time in New Orleans, apparently that is in America. I searched the room, of course, but found no sign of anything that might have taken him.”

She blinked rapidly and looked away. Harry felt a brief moment of pity. Regardless of his personal feelings toward the Malfoys, no mother deserved to lose her son. Not even one as wretched and worthless as Draco.

“I’ll find him, Mrs. Malfoy,” he promised and hoped he was not committing himself to the impossible. After all, it was documented that Malfoy Manor contained more Dark Arts items than could be counted.

“The house elves will show you to Elspeth’s room,” Narcissa said and turned away. Harry nodded and followed the suspicious-looking creature.

“Do you know what happened to Master Draco?” Harry asked as he plodded after the house-elf, who seemed to be clad in a threadbare seat cushion.

“The Mirror took him,” the elf said in a hushed tone.

Harry pursed his lips. “The Mirror took him. Where did the Mirror take him?”

The house-elf turned irritated eyes on him. “This elf is not knowing, of course, or this elf would be telling Mistress Narcissa and bringing back Master Draco.”

“Of course,” Harry said mildly. Before he could ask further questions, a door was opened and Harry stood before the mirror in question. He examined it closely and cast several spells. It radiated magic, but nothing more serious than an Enhancing Spell to make the viewer more visually attractive. Harry flexed muscles that appeared far larger than normal and smiled at himself through perfectly white teeth. “Nice mirror.”

The house-elf shook his head. “Not nice Mirror! Wicked, wicked Mirror!”

“Hmmm.” Harry peered more closely at the carvings around the edges of the frame. Most likely Draco had become tired of cleaning the Manor and had zipped off for a short vacation. He seriously doubted this innocuous mirror had anything to do with it, especially when he read the ridiculous writing around the edges. He mentally grinned at Hermione when he muttered the words aloud, thinking it well worth her tutelage to be able to read such nonsense. “Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me. How utterly ridic—”

He had not quite finished his sentence before a strange pulling sensation sucked him into the very mirror he mocked.

OOoOO

Draco staggered slightly and then fell to his knees, feeling as though he had been compressed through a very small tube. It had been similar to Apparition, but worse. Bloody hell, the stupid mirror, he thought, battling nausea. Without bothering to regain his feet, he turned his head to take in his surroundings.

He was in a tiny room piled high with wooden crates, lengths of rope, odd-looking cages, a wardrobe with a cracked mirror, and a stack of boots. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. It looked like nothing more than a storage room. Draco climbed to his feet and turned around to see a large mirror that should have been a twin to the one at Malfoy Manor. Instead, this one seemed to have a plain wooden frame and looked almost handmade.

Where the hell am I? Another secret room of Malfoy Manor? Are these a pair of teleporting mirrors? Experimentally, he reached out and touched the mirror, expecting to be sucked back into the room he had left. Instead, his hand encountered cool glass, rough beneath his fingers with the feel of dust. Fuck. There had to be an incantation.

An excruciating search of the frame turned up nothing at all. Not even scratches. He would have to leave the room and hope to hell he was still in the Manor. A number of trunks and boxes blocked his path to the door, forcing him to climb over them. He vowed to hunt down the ancestor responsible for the mirror and this room and burn their portrait.

He finally reached the door and wrenched it open to have his worst fears realized. There was no way this was a room in Malfoy Manor. The hallway was short and dark and led to a set of rickety steps where a dim glow filtered up from below. It was then that he noticed the humidity. It was cloying to the point of near suffocation. He had attributed the heat to the enclosed space of the storage room, but here it was even worse. Draco had the terrible feeling he was no longer in England.

Swallowing hard and grasping his wand tightly, he started for the stairs.

Partway down, he heard a voice. “I can ‘ere you up dere. You come down so dat I can get a look at you. No one come tru dere in a long time.”

Draco had never heard anything like it. His feet carried him the rest of the way to the bottom and he peered through a jungle of bizarre hanging objects to see a woman seated in a thronelike chair watching him curiously. Her hair was dark, twisted into huge dreadlocks and her outfit defied description. Black kohl surrounded her eyes and her lips were dark as dried blood. She sat up and looked at him more closely.

“Well, aren’ you da pretty one? Prettier dan Cap’n Jack, dou ye’ll never ‘ere dat from ‘im, now. What you be called, den?”

“I am Draco Malfoy,” he stated and looked around carefully. Only one door exited the small room. Not a single window adorned the wall to give him a hint of his whereabouts. “Where am I?”

“You are in da house of Tia Dalma, Draco Malfoy.” Her accent gave his name a strange twist, stressing the last syllable of each word. “You come tru da mirror, yes?”

“I did. And I would heartily like to return. Do you know how to activate it in reverse?”

She shook her head and settled back against her seat with an unsettling laugh. “Not dat mirror. It don’t send ‘em, only bring. Da mirror you want sits wit’ Cap’n Jack on da Pearl. At least, last I ‘ere it was. Tings don’ always stick ter our Jack.” Her laugh deepened and Draco frowned.

“Captain Jack? Do you know where I can find this Captain Jack, then?”

She shrugged. “Mebbe I do. Mebbe I don’.”

Draco’s lips thinned, but at least this was something he understood. Bargaining was second nature to him by now, after taking over the Malfoy business. “What will it cost?”

She leaned forward again. “Smart lad. What I wan’ is a trinket. Jack was to give it to me when ‘e lost a game we played.” Her eyes flashed. “Dat snake run off wit’out payin’ me. ‘E tink I forget, but I don’ forget. I know de proper time will come for me to ‘ave me payment. An’ look, ‘ere you come ter fetch it for me.”

“All right. What sort of trinket?”

She waved a be-ringed and braceleted hand airily. “A ruby charm. Wort’ a pittance. On a gold chain it be and de size of a man’s t’umnail.”

“A ruby the size of a man’s thumbnail is worth a pittance? Right.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I will bring you this ruby charm. Where do I find this Captain Jack?”

“Last I ‘eard ‘e ported at Tortuga. You check dere wit’ de proprietor at de Broken Plank. Dey should know where ta find Jack.”

“Tortuga? Where the hell am I?”

She sat back again and laughed. “Dem is always confused what come tru da mirror. Dis be Haiti, Draco Malfoy. Welcome to Haiti.”

Welcome to Hades, he corrected morosely.

OOoOO

Harry stepped through the mirror and assumed a defensive stance immediately, not knowing what sort of threat he might face, not the least of which could be the man he was sent to find. Nothing met his gaze other than a dusty room full of assorted detritus and boxes. A single set of footprints cut through the dust and led to the door. Harry sighed and turned back to the mirror, where he noted a trail though the accumulated grime made by someone’s hand dragging over it. Knowing it was a waste of time, he did the same, only to find the mirror’s surface solid and impassable. There was no way back through there, apparently.

He sighed again and resigned himself to following the footsteps out the door, since it seemed to be the only exit from the room. He picked his way carefully through the boxes as silently as possible and opened the door, which creaked slightly. He found himself in a short hallway and was only slightly startled to hear a voice call from somewhere below, “You can come down ‘ere. I am no t’reat to you.”

Harry walked down the steps and peered into the semi-darkness. A bizarre-looking woman smiled at him from her throne-like seat. Harry quickly scanned the room, searching for any sign of Malfoy.

“Well, well,” she said. “Two ‘andsome ones in de same day. I must be de fortunate one.”

“He came through here, then?” Harry asked politely. His senses were practically screaming at him and he wondered where the hell the bloody mirror had deposited him. The jaunt had been ugly, far more wrenching than travel by Apparition or Portkey.

“Dat ‘e did. You tracking ‘im, den?”

“Sort of. Yes.”

“I suppose you wan’ me to tell you where him are?”

“That would be nice, yes,” Harry admitted with a sinking feeling. He had hoped she would simply tell him where Malfoy had gone.

“Dere is a price for dat information.”

“Naturally,” he muttered.

She stood up and strode toward him. He gripped his wand more tightly as she approached and placed a hand on his cheek. “Dere is a strange power aroun’ de two of you. I don’ know what it is. Maybe I should ‘ave kept de other one… or maybe I should jus’ keep you for awhile.”

“You might find that a harder task than you think,” Harry said quietly.

To his surprise she barked a laugh.

“You know de tings most wort’ ‘aving are ‘ard to get ‘an’ ‘arder yet to ‘old.”

“Not always,” Harry said, although he could not really refute her words.

She shrugged. “All right den. What can you pay me?”

“Gold?” Harry offered. He had some Galleons on him. “Although I’m not carrying much at the moment. I can get you more if you tell me where I am.”

She smirked. “I tink you a lot farther away dan you know. Do you ‘ave twenty pieces of gold?”

Harry nodded.

“Den dat is my price.” She held out her hand. Harry reluctantly tucked his wand away and took his pouch from a robe pocket. He counted out twenty Galleons and realized it only left him with five.

She held one up and then bit the edge before looking at it closely. “Deese be strange coins. Where do you come from?”

“England. Where am I?”

“You be in Haiti.”

Haiti? Fuck, that had been a long jaunt. No wonder he felt ragged. And Apparating home was out of the question.

“Tell me, ‘andsome. What be dem sticks you and de other one be ‘aving? You ‘old dem like weapons, now dat I tink on it.”

Harry refrained from grabbing his wand once more. Although it seemed bizarre, the woman seemed to be a Muggle. Or the Muggle version of a witch, which was even stranger.

“Divining rods,” he replied. “We use them to find our way. I hope to use mine to find…”

“Draco Malfoy,” she supplied.

“Yes. Now, where did he go?”

“Draco Malfoy went to Tortuga to find Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“Jack might ‘ave de mirror to send you back ‘ome.”

OOoOO

Getting to Tortuga was a bloody nightmare. Draco did not dare Apparate, since he had never been to the Caribbean in his life. And for some fucked up reason the only forms of transportation available were some Merlin-forsaken sailing ships. Draco wanted to know where the bloody modern yachts were, or even the Muggle aeroport, but his questions were met by blank stares and confused looks. His inability to Apparate was annoying. He wished he could Apparate straight to Malfoy Manor, but attempting such a huge jump would be suicidal. He considered it a wiser course of action to find the damned companion mirror and step through.

Tortuga was hot, humid, and revolting. Draco had to renew his Cooling Charm every twenty minutes as he tramped through the filthy streets searching for the proper tavern. It should have been a simple job, but taverns were in abundance. Apparently there was little to do in the stifling heat other than huddle indoors and drink heavily, although a variety of riffraff lurked in the streets and alleyways. Draco assumed his air of superiority and irritated glare kept them from attacking him en masse.

He finally located a weathered sign with barely legible writing that announced The Broken Plank. It was a ramshackle building close to the beach, but at least it had windows. The pathetic sea breeze was no match for the stench of unwashed drunken bodies, but at least the heat was lessened minutely. Draco made his way to the bar and caught the attention of a one-eyed man with a greasy bandana wrapped around his head.

“What can I get ye?” the man asked.

“I am looking for Jack Sparrow,” Draco said in a low tone.

The bartender looked around shiftily. “Never heard of ‘im.”

Draco sneered. “Just tell me where to find him. I won’t mention your damned name, especially since I don’t know it. A woman in Haiti told me he frequents this establishment.”

“Frequents,” the man repeated and snorted a laugh. “Jack ain’t welcome ‘ere after ‘e busted up the place las’ night. Ye should try The Barnacle.”

“The Barnacle. Is that another tavern?”

The bartender rolled his eyes. “Tis Jack’s ship.”

Draco sighed. Lovely. Another ship. He had seen enough ships to last him well into his hundreds.

A short jaunt along the pier disclosed the ship in question. Draco had expected to spend hours looking for it, but the squat vessel rocked in the gentle swells at the edge of a dilapidated dock. It seemed barren of crew, so Draco walked up the gangplank and finally encountered a sailor clinging to the rigging. He seemed none too coherent.

“Where is Captain Jack Sparrow?” Draco demanded.

The man blinked at him blearily for a few minutes and his jaw worked as though trying to speak, but finally he just jerked a thumb toward the aft portion of the ship. Draco rolled his eyes and headed for where he assumed the Captain’s cabin to be. The door was unlocked, so Draco flung it open.

A large four poster bed sat in the centre of the cabin, flanked by a variety of chests, urns, crates, and containers. The room vaguely resembled a disaster left by a hurricane. Clothing had been strewn everywhere and Draco noted everything from a blue satin dress to dingy white underdrawers. Amid the scattered detritus piled atop the bed lay a man. A hand lifted languidly in Draco’s direction.

“Damn that Smitty. When I told him to fetch me a piece of arse, I assumed he would be smart enough to know I meant a female piece of arse.” The dark brow wrinkled. “Then again, why would I assume Smitty to be intelligent? He’s never demonstrated that quality before. I must make a note of that.” The man’s speech was slurred and he raised an index finger to inscribe symbols in the air.

“Are you Jack Sparrow?”

“That’s Captain Jack Sparrow to you, lovely, and I would advise you to use a more civil tongue if you wish to be brought to the heights of ecstasy. Now come here. I was hoping for some softer company, but at least you’re pretty enough.” The hand beckoned airily and Draco scowled.

“I am not here for your entertainment. I am looking for a mirror.”

Jack made a snorting noise and levered himself off the bed. Draco’s eyes narrowed as the man came forward with a mincing sort of step, staggering once and nearly falling before catching himself on the bedpost. He wore only a white linen shirt that had seen better days and a pair of black shorts. His brown hair was long, worn in dreadlocks, and several multicoloured strings had been tied here and there.

Jack stopped when he was close enough for Draco to smell the rum on his breath as he spoke. “The mirror is right over there. Might I suggest, however, that you need not primp yourself for me? I rather like what I see.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s chin before leaning forward and trying to press a kiss on his lips.

Draco jerked away to glance over at the indicated mirror. It was a simple round sheen of silver hanging from the wall over a barren dressing table. “That can’t be it. I came through a mirror that was in a large frame, a carved wooden frame. Tia Dalma told me you had its twin.”

Jack pressed kisses into Draco’s neck in a distracting fashion and mumbled, “Mmm. You came through the mirror. Isn’t that interesting?” His fingers began to unbutton Draco’s shirt.

“Do you have the other one?” Draco asked, thinking he should probably stop Jack from molesting him, but it had been a dreadfully long time and Jack was not unattractive. He smelled delightful, apart from the rum, simultaneously spicy and tropical.

“Perhaps,” Jack replied and slipped warm hands into Draco’s shirt to caress his chest and abdomen. “What sort of payment do you have in mind for the use of my mirror?”

“I…” Draco frowned, realizing he had nothing with which to bargain. He had been lucky enough to be carrying enough gold to pay for passage to Tortuga. “What do you want?”

Jack stepped back and cocked his head. His gaze sharpened and Draco wondered if the man was as drunk as he seemed. A pink tongue flicked out and trailed over Jack’s lips as a wicked grin stretched them wide. Draco flushed.

“Besides that,” he said.

Jack’s eyes swept over him. “That is an interesting ring you have on.”

Draco lifted his hand. The green stone of the Malfoy’s signet glinted in the light. “Sorry,” he said wryly. “That one doesn’t come off.”

“And what is that fascinating stick you have in your pocket?”

Draco grinned. “You can’t have that, either.”

Jack pouted and his hands resumed their soft stroking. “Then what can I have?” he asked huskily and moved his fingers lower to cup Draco’s growing erection.

“Would you accept that in payment?” Draco asked huskily, shying away from the idea that he was whoring himself out in order to get home. After all, he had been thinking about sleeping with Jack anyway.

Jack smiled. “You think you’re that good?”

“I know I’m that good,” Draco purred.

Jack wrenched at Draco’s clothing, divesting him of all but his silvery silk boxers. “Let’s see, shall we?” He pulled Draco to the bed and then dropped atop him as they sprawled over the jewel-toned blankets.

Jack sat up suddenly and dragged the white shirt off over his head to toss it haphazardly next to the bed. Draco perused his tanned body and noted that Jack was rather fit. A single tattoo decorated one arm—a sparrow in flight across a setting sun. Jack pressed forward and attached his lips eagerly to Draco’s. He certainly had enthusiasm, Draco noted with amusement.

“You are wickedly sexy,” Jack commented around Draco’s lips.

“I know,” Draco admitted and slid his hands over the corded muscles of Jack’s back. Something hard dug into Draco’s thigh and Jack sat back with a look of consternation before holding up one finger. He reached down and unbuckled the pistol that had been strapped to one thigh before lobbing it aside to join the discarded shirt.

“That’s better,” Jack said and resumed his position. This time the hardness against Draco’s groin was all Jack and no gunpowder and metal.

“Much better,” Draco agreed, warming to the idea of Jack fucking him. Strong hands fumbled at Draco’s boxers and then slipped beneath the silk to fondle Draco’s hardness. He sighed blissfully. Jack groaned and buried his face in Draco’s neck. He stayed that way for long moments… and then longer still.

“Jack?” Draco asked finally when it appeared the man did not plan to move. A soft snore met his question and Draco shoved him off with an oath. “You bastard! Wake up!” Jack’s limp form rolled onto the bed, but he made no voluntary movement. He was unconscious. “Fuck!”

Draco lay back with his hands crossed behind his head wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. His erection could be taken care of with a few strategic strokes, of course, but the mirror was his larger concern.

At that moment the cabin door opened and a black-haired man stepped into the room. Draco barely had time to ponder the stupidity of not casting a Locking Spell when he realized the man was Harry Potter.

PART TWO!