Inell's Fanfiction Archive

The attic was hot and dusty. Hermione had lost track of how many times she’d sneezed since venturing into the small space, but this needed to be done and she’d put it off long enough. Her mum had died six weeks ago, after all, and she was just now sorting the house. Normally, she would have accomplished any such task within days. This time, however, she’d been reluctant to enter her childhood home.

Nothing could make one feel quite so alone as tidying up a house after a parent was deceased. When her father died, she’d been so busy with the hunt for horcruxes that she’d not even found out about the heart attack until months after he’d been buried. She and her mum had always been close, though, and everything had felt empty and odd since she’d received the call about the drunk driver who had knocked her mum’s car into a pole.

She knew she could have asked Harry or Ron to come with her to do this, but they were busy with their own lives and families. She didn’t want to be a bother, which was how she’d begun to feel years ago as their lives moved on and she was left behind. There wasn’t an exact moment when she realized that things had changed, but it was an inevitable truth that she’d accepted years ago.

With her mum’s death, Hermione was completely alone. Her last relationship had been a failed attempt with Ron nearly a decade ago. She was twenty-six and work was her life. She found time for her friends when they invited her over, but the invitations had become few and far between unless it was a holiday or special occasion. She didn’t resent the fact that Harry and Ron were happy or had found people to love. They deserved it, after all. She was envious, though, because they’d found something she didn’t even know if she was looking for.

Most of the house was cleared out now. She’d sent a pile of things to a resale shop, had sold a lot of the furniture to cover costs, and had a large rubbish pile of things that just couldn’t be used elsewhere. It was a lonely feeling to go through childhood memories and decide what to keep, sell, or toss. It had taken her days to get through most of the house because the memories got overwhelming and she’d just have to stop. For the first time in a long while, she really wished she’d focused more on relationships and less on work because work couldn’t give her a hug and tell her that life would be okay.

The house was now on the market, but she still had to go through the attic and her father’s workshop, which her mum had never emptied. The attic was the worst, considering the summer heat, so she’d focused on it first to get it over with. A few cooling charms helped some, but not too much. Her tank top was sticking to her sweaty skin and her cotton trousers were damp with sweat by the time she searched through one old wardrobe.

She considered making her trousers shorter, but the floors were dusty and she didn’t want to risk scraping her bare legs on the wooden planks so she just grumbled and made do. Her glass of ice water, which she’d brought with her, was nearly empty and the ice had long since melted. Her hair was becoming frizzy and falling out of the sloppy ponytail she’d made, which was quite annoying. She thought about screaming, just sitting on the floor and letting out a loud yell, but such behavior was ridiculous and accomplished nothing.

Instead, she wiped her hand across her cheek and walked to the next pile of things. She found old clothes that were possibly her grandmother’s and a tattered leather briefcase bearing her grandfather’s initials. She opened the briefcase and inhaled the scent of old leather and cigars, two scents that made her instantly think of her grandfather. She blinked away tears as she shut it abruptly and put it to the side. He’d died years before she went to Hogwarts, but she remembered him vividly. He’d always doted on her and told her stories of pirates and buried treasure when she’d been young until her mum had insisted he stop telling her such silly stories.

Beneath a pile of old clothes, she found a small trunk that she couldn’t recall ever seeing before. It, too, had her grandfather’s initials. She traced the J.D. with her finger before she opened it. It was full of various toys and a child’s books. She smiled as she realized it must have been her grandfather’s when he was young. Hermione sat on the floor and peered into the trunk to see what treasures she might find.

There was an old notebook with letters of the alphabet carefully written in practice. She could just imagine her grandfather leaning over the paper and writing his lessons. There was a picture of three children with a childish scrawl at the bottom. Me, Wendy, and Michael She recognized the names of her great Aunt and great Uncle, and put the picture safely to the side to keep. She'd never met them as they'd both been dead before she was born, but she'd heard about them as a child. Her mum had been a late baby, coming at a time when her grandfather was already quite old, so most of his family had been gone by the time Hermione was a baby.

She found a small wooden push car with one wheel missing and a slingshot beneath the schoolbooks. She reached down to pick up the slingshot and grinned as she imagined her grandfather trying to launch sneak attacks on his siblings. When her fingers gripped the handle of the slingshot, her eyes widened in surprise as she felt something tugging at her. She didn’t have time to drop the toy before she was pulled through what felt remarkably like a portkey.

*****

Hermione grunted when she landed on the ground in what seemed to be a thick forest. She cursed under her breath as she glared at the blasted slingshot. For once, she couldn’t even blame Fred and George because they couldn’t possibly have changed the toy into a portkey. However, she planned to find out who to blame and hex them to a point where they’d be begging for mercy. People should know better than to mess with someone who had faced Voldemort, himself, and managed to survive, after all.

She stood up and brushed dirt off the seat of her trousers and pulled a leaf out of her hair. Instead of panicking, she evaluated the situation logically. Someone had obviously left a portkey where she’d find it. She was now in some forest that was unfamiliar and it looked to be near sunset. Her mind rapidly ran through various time conversions to decide if she’d traveled internationally, as a portkey for international travel usually required paperwork versus one that would be more localized. Since it hadn’t even been lunch time at home, it was obviously somewhere several hours ahead of England, but the mental maps in her mind weren’t coming up with anywhere appropriate.

Within moments, she was frustrated at a lack of answers so she focused on the next problem in hopes she’d find a satisfying answer. Why would she be sent here? Her work involved research and magical history, which was quite dull to most regardless of how rewarding she found it. Part of her job required finding old curses and charms that were no longer used and researching their origin and purpose to determine the pattern of their use and make decisions on whether they had been improved and developed into something more familiar or common, if they were useless, or if they might be useful but just forgotten. There was nothing she was currently researching that would require such tactics to stop her work as it was really rather dry and tedious to most people.

The war had been over for nearly seven years and any random attacks had ceased ages ago. The last of Voldemort’s followers had been sent to Azkaban five years ago, in fact, so that ruled out some sort of twisted retribution for events during the war. There was always the case of good old-fashioned revenge, but she’d killed very few in the war, only when necessary, and could think of several others who would be much easier targets.

Regardless of the fact that whomever had succeeded in actually getting her to touch the portkey, she wasn’t about to simply accept it as finished. One of her worst faults was a need for reprisal when she was wronged, which she had tried to change many times but just couldn’t. So anyone who dared to do such a thing would most likely be aware that they had made a formidable enemy who knew ancient magic that was often long forgotten. That made the chances of this being some sort of elaborate hoax far less likely.

Hermione frowned as her thoughts came to nothing. She had no idea who would do this or why. Nor did she have any idea where she had been sent, which made it more difficult for her to figure out how to get home. She walked a little ways, alert to her surroundings and prepared to defend herself as she easily slid back into how she’d been during the war and those endless months of searching for horcruxes.

She hadn’t gone very far before she noticed various things that led her to believe she’d not been sent to a normal forest. The foliage was odd and there were several species she recognized from some of the texts she’d researched from the fifteenth century. There were also bloody fairies flying about now and giggling and twittering in that annoying way of theirs. She had never been fond of the daft creatures, but they certainly indicated that this wasn’t a normal forest. Fairies were rare these days, in fact, and were usually only found in various parts of Ireland and Scotland that allowed them sanctuary from those who wanted to use them for dark magic.

“Oh, bother,” she muttered as she scowled at the area around her. She couldn’t possibly be in Ireland or Scotland because the sun was going down and it was impossible for a portkey to also act as a time turner. All of the facts were just not adding up, which made her even more irate. Besides, she was hot, sticky, and hated walking through dense undergrowth and over this type of terrain without heavy boots. Her trainers were comfortable but worn enough that the rocks beneath her feet were poking her annoyingly.

She was so busy scowling at everything that she failed to notice the small tree root until her foot caught in it. She fell forward, catching herself before her face hit the ground, and cringed as her knees hit hard. Her palms stung and she was tempted to just lie there in hopes that she’d wake up to find this was just a bad dream. Before she could give in to that temptation, she heard leaves crunching in front of her. She glanced up, hair a wild tangle around her face as it fell from its band, and saw shiny leather boots.

Her gaze traveled past the black boots up black trousers that were quite tailored to whomever was wearing them, lingering on an awful velvety looking coat in a deep shade of scarlet that was quite atrocious for clothing and more suitable for a bedroom, and trailed past proof that the person was most definitely male, thanks to those very form fitting trousers, along a frilly white shirt that was enough to make her blink twice before she finally made contact with black facial hair. Full lips were curved into something that might have been a sneer but may well have been a smirk, and she finally met piercing blue eyes that were staring at her intently.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” he asked in a deep voice that was low and hushed in a way she had always considered ‘bedroom’.

“Are you speaking for yourself and the trees?” she asked dryly, not at all impressed with some poncy prat dressed in something that looked more suitable for a costume party. “As I don’t see any other ‘we’ you might be referring to unless you’re being all inclusive of your surroundings or possibly you just hear voices, in which case I’d suggest a visit to the local psychiatrist for help with that matter. Perhaps they can also give you fashion advice as that coat is truly awful.”

His nostrils flared and his lips into a definite scowl. Hermione rolled her eyes as she got to her feet and rubbed her knees. She wasn’t surprised when he finally spoke again, as it would be too much to hope that he’d be struck speechless. “You are an impertinent little girl,” he stated firmly. “I would suggest that you learn your manners before I’m forced to teach you a lesson, wench.”

“Wench?” Hermione repeated slowly, arching a brow as she frowned. “I don’t know who told you that women enjoying being referred to by such ridiculously condescending names, but they were lying. I am not a little girl nor am I a wench, baby, honey, or other inane title you wish to give me. Now do quit your posturing and tell me where I am and how I can get home.”

He gaped at her and his cheeks stained with red as his eyes narrowed. It was a shame that he was obviously mentally disturbed because he really was very good-looking. His eyes were beautiful, to be honest, and long hair suited the sharp angles of his face. Beneath the horrid costume, he looked to be quite fit and manly in a way that didn’t usually appeal to her, except in her fantasies.

“You will be whatever I wish to call you, girl,” he growled in a tone that did catch her attention and made certain parts of her body take notice.

Hermione studied him a moment and pursed her lips. “Did Harry and Ron hire you?” she finally asked, vowing that she’d hex them both for this. “It’s just like them to do something this bloody stupid. What are you to do? Play the part of a sexy pirate and ravish me until I’m not so miserable and pathetic? Men! Why must you all think that great sex makes everything better?”

“You’re daft,” he declared as he stared at her. “How dare you speak of such topics? You’re obviously a wicked girl, aren’t you?”

“Listen, I understand they probably paid you good money to shag me better or whatever silly plot they had in mind, but you can stop the act. I’m not about to become intimate with someone who has to be paid to find me attractive, regardless of how gorgeous your eyes are, and your whole method isn’t working on me,” she told him bluntly. “I’m not the type to simper and ‘Yes, Pirate Man, I’m such a naughty girl and need spanked’ or any such nonsensical drivel. Understood?”

“I do not understand,” he said firmly as he tilted his head and let his gaze move over her in a very masculine way that she refused to admit actually made her warm. He had on a silly floppy hat with feathers, for God’s sake. She couldn’t possibly find some bloody actor with bad fashion sense attractive. “You must pay men to bed you?”

“No, I most certainly do not,” she replied sharply as she raised her chin defiantly.

“I would think any man would welcome a feisty creature such as yourself to warm their bed,” he murmured thoughtfully as his gaze lingered on her breasts beneath her thin tank top. “The idea of breaking you has merit.”

“There is to be no breaking of anyone, unless I happen to break your nose for your ogling my breasts,” she warned grumpily, glaring at her breasts for their treachery when she noticed her nipples harden when he licked his lips.

“Would you prefer that I give you to my crew or perhaps feed you to sharks?” he asked conversationally as if he were discussing the sunset.

“I’m not yours to give to anyone,” she pointed out smugly, reluctantly enjoying herself despite how ludicrous this entire situation was. “And I happen to be a good swimmer.”

“You seem to forget just whom you are speaking to, girl,” he muttered crossly, acting much like Ron did when he couldn’t have seconds on dessert. His gaze met hers and she frowned when he stepped forward. “This is my forest and everything within it is mine to do with as I wish. Now tell me who you are and why you are here before I lose my patience.”

“My name is Hermione Granger and I have no idea where we are so I can’t say why I’m here,” she replied with just a hint of spite so he’d know it wasn’t by choice. “I was cleaning out the attic and then found myself brought here via a portkey.”

“I do not understand this attic or portkey,” he said lowly. “You are in my forest in Neverland, and you are dressed like a boy yet most definitely a female. You speak oddly and talk of things that make no sense. You are rude, coarse, and have a wicked tongue.”

“Yes, well, shall we begin the list of your faults now?” she asked. “I’d say that hat and coat were near the top of the list as well as that shirt, which has more frills than Ginny’s wedding dress. You’re obviously an actor of some sort or mentally deranged, though you could possibly be both. And you really should just tell me how to get home so we’ll be much happier.”

He took another step closer and smirked. “Is your dislike of my clothing an attempt to get me to remove it? All you need to do is ask, girl, as I’ll oblige, though I will expect you to reciprocate.”

“No, it’s just good taste,” she said dryly. “Now will you tell me how to get back to London? I promise that I’ll lie and say you shagged me so well that I was exhausted and sore for days so you can collect your payment before I kill Harry and Ron for doing this to me.”

“When I shag you, Hermione, you will be unable to move for days,” he purred in a tone that made her shudder. Okay, so maybe he was better at this than she thought. “However, I will require no payment other than your complete surrender.”

“I surrender to no one,” she informed him. He moved his arm and her eyes widened slightly when she caught sight of a silver hook. She was reminded of Pettigrew and that was enough to put a halt to her growing lust and temptation to just indulge in the fantasy since Harry and Ron were probably paying quite well for this.

He smiled confidently as he moved the smooth curve of the hook over her cheek. “You will surrender to me,” he vowed as he dragged the hook over her warm skin.

“What happened to feeding me to sharks?” she asked as she licked her lips and wondered why her mouth was suddenly so dry.

“You can swim,” he reminded her smugly as the hook traced the curve of her jaw. “Besides, I have not had a suitable wench to warm my bed in far longer than I care to admit and I have grown fond of the idea of breaking you, girl.”

“Breaking is quite messy and rather impossible,” she pointed out. “I should go back now before I do something really stupid.”

“You won’t be going back, Miss Granger,” he told her firmly before he moved his arm quickly and tangled the hook into her hair. He pulled her head back hard enough that she gasped. “I have no idea what brought you here, but you won’t be leaving. I can see it in your eyes, you know? The loneliness and need that causes you to act like a scared kitten when cornered yet makes you crave someone who will make you purr.” He lowered his head and breathed against her lips. “I shall make you purr, girl, and you will surrender to me.”

Not one to enjoy being dominated, too much, Hermione refused to simply stand there and let him think he’d won. This entire thing was very confusing despite her logical conclusion, but, really, what choice did she have but to go with it? That was a good excuse, at least, and one she could accept for now. Later might be a different question but he did have beautiful eyes…

“No, I won’t,” she retorted before she leaned up and brushed her lips against his. She reached up and moved her hand into his hair, knocking that awful hat to the ground in the process, and kissed him with every bit of pent up passion and frustration that five and a half years of celibacy had caused. He stiffened in surprise and then his lips parted and the kiss deepened. He fought for control, which just made it even better in her opinion, and she was soon rubbing against him like some wanton slag.

“You lie, girl,” he hissed as his hand moved behind her to grip her arse, the hook still buried in her hair. “You are, indeed, very wicked.”

“No, just horny,” she murmured as her face flushed at her boldness. She bit his bottom lip, which was full and plump and very bitable. He groaned and pulled her against him hard, grinding his very obvious erection against her belly. Maybe she wouldn’t hex Harry and Ron, after all, as they obviously chose well for their twisted little gift.

“You are unlike any woman I have ever known,” he muttered with a hint of confusion and curiosity. “A lady does not act like this.”

“Who said I was a lady?” she asked as she pressed her thigh against his cock. She decided to play his silly game if it meant she got laid sooner, which was enough to confirm that she definitely spent too much time around boys. “Maybe I’m just a normal wench who needs to be fucked hard and deep?”

“Your tongue is so sharp,” he murmured as he stared at her. “I wonder if it will be as such when I am taking your mouth.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t stop playing games and just do what you’ve been paid to do,” she told him grumpily. Oh God. She was about to have sex with a stranger. Not only a stranger, but one who had to be paid to wear poncy clothes and shag her. She was torn between shame, embarrassment, and desire. In this case, desire won. “What’s your name?”

“My name, girl?” He gave her a sneer worthy of a bloody Malfoy as he looked at her as if she should know him. “I am Captain James Hook, of course.”

“James,” she repeated before she writhed against him. “Are you going to be a pompous prat or are you going to fuck me?”

“I do not know this prat,” he murmured, “but I do understand this word ‘fuck’ that you say so often. Perhaps I will or perhaps I will simply make you beg to have me inside you.”

“I don’t beg,” she informed him with a roll of her eyes. “You can stop with the ‘breaking you in’ and control shite because it just makes me irritated more than aroused. I’ve no wish to be anyone’s slave or wench, understood? I much prefer speaking my mind and being independent. Now that we’ve established that, perhaps we can focus again? I don’t want to shag against a tree because I don’t think it would be pleasant to have the bark rubbing against my arse. I don’t suppose you have a bed around here somewhere?”

“You are impossible,” he grumbled as he moved the hook along her neck. “I could kill you or ravish you against your will yet you speak to me as if it were I under your control.”

“I could hex your bollocks off with a few choice words before you could even attempt to take me against my will, not that I think you’re the type to have to force a woman into being with you,” she reminded him dryly. “You know, all this conversation is a really distracting interruption. I’ve nearly forgotten that I’m aroused and want to shag.”

“You are correct. I have never had to force myself on anyone,” he said indignantly as if she were the one to bring up rape in the first place. “I have a bed in my quarters back on the ship, of course. I merely came for a stroll this evening because I was bored and there wasn’t anything there to entertain me.”

She recognized the flash of loneliness in his eyes and sighed softly, remembering that this was just a paid for shag and would do nothing to make life more fulfilling. She almost stopped things before they did go too far, but it wasn’t as if she had opportunities for things like this usually. She might be ashamed of herself when it was over, true, yet there was something about him, even with the silly clothes, that made her want him.

The hook was cool against her throat as he touched her, and she smiled. “Then take me to your ship and ravish me the way that any self-respecting pirate captain would do,” she told him matter-of-factly.

He leaned down and picked up his hat, unfortunately, and she squealed in surprise when he suddenly tossed her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. She glared at his back as he began to walk but then realized she had a nice view of his arse, which was firm and tight. Good grief, was she really doing this?

Hermione Granger was just not the type of woman to act like a wanton slag or shag some virtual stranger no matter how sexy and virile. She wasn’t beautiful by any means, though she could clean up well enough, and her figure was curvy and not at all thin and lithe. She was soft in a few spots, actually, though her breasts were quite nice and men seemed to enjoy ogling them whenever she wore something that showed them off, which wasn’t often. He hadn’t seemed to have a problem being aroused when they kissed, though, so maybe he didn’t mind curvy plain women.

She wondered where he was really taking her. Perhaps this was some tropical island and there was a hotel of some sort nearby. She couldn’t begin to calculate how much this entire set-up must have cost Ron and Harry. Well, she assumed it was both, though it didn’t particularly make sense for them to think about her sex life, much less pay someone to shag her. It was the only logical explanation, though, so it had to be true. Besides, James, as she was quite sure that his name had been real, hadn’t denied knowing them or being paid.

When he stopped walking, she tried to peer around him but wasn’t in a position to do so. It sounded like people were around, which was quite embarrassing considering that she was tossed over his shoulder and his hand was on her arse. He moved her and she slid down his body, her leg making contact with proof that he certainly didn’t seem to mind her.

“This is Hermione,” he announced in a deep, authoritative voice that sent shudders to all the right places once again.

He turned her around and her amused smile faded when she found herself staring at what appeared to be two dozen men, at least. They were dressed in a variety of different things, looked somewhat clean, and were staring at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. They were also doing what seemed to be chores on a very large ship.

“She’s mine,” he declared in a tone that made her think any opposition might very well be met with a meeting with sharks. She gulped as she blinked at the men and rapidly tried to figure out what the bloody hell was happening.

An overweight man with a plump face and ginger hair came forward. “Yes, Captain,” he said, obviously speaking for everyone. “Does she---does she tell stories, Captain?”

“Perhaps you should ask her,” James murmured as the curved surface of his hook rubbed her neck in a spot that made her nearly whimper.

“Yes, Captain,” the man said before he looked at Hermione and pushed up his spectacles. “Do you tell stories, Miss Hermione?”

“Uh, um, well,” she stammered as she tried to make sense of this entire ordeal. He looked so hopeful, as did the others, that she couldn’t bear to disappoint them. God, she was pathetic. “Yes, I can tell stories.”

The men cheered and there was a scattering of welcomes before they all went back to work. She looked up at James, eyes wide and confused, and saw him smirk before he led her to what was obviously his bedroom. The ship was anchored and there was a slight lull as it rocked in the water.

“We had one once who told stories,” he informed her briskly. “But she was a silly child and wasn’t here long. The men remember her, though, and liked the stories. They’ll be very pleased that I’ve no intention of letting you go.”

“But, I, home, where, how…” She blinked at him and felt as if her entire world had just toppled over and logic meant nothing anymore, which left her floundering and confused. And he was looking at her as if he planned to carry through with his promise that she’d be sore for days, which was really quite distracting when she needed to think.

“You know, Hermione, all this conversation is a very distracting interruption,” he purred her own words back to her as he removed that awful coat and began to unbutton his shirt, soon showing her just how fit and muscular he was beneath the frills.

When he stepped forward and moved his hook along the curve of her breast before he snagged the material of her tank top and ripped, she whimpered. Well, it didn’t seem as if she could fix things yet, so it shouldn’t matter if she didn’t think about it for a few hours, she decided as she reached out and dragged her fingers along his broad shoulders. When he kissed her hard and pushed her back against a very soft bed, she kissed him back and focused on the moment. There was always time for thinking later.

End