The Secret Life of Neville Longbottom – Part Four

Cackles of glee echoed into the night as the pirate vessel The Devil’s Snare cleaved its way through the waters of the Caribbean, the rotting, rat-infested derelict of a ship crammed to the waterline with all manner of villainous rapscallions. The rakings and scrapings of the sea all congregated upon this vessel, each covered in filth, scars and assorted tattoos, and each with a murderous streak as wide as the Channel. None, however, were more cruel and vicious than the captain himself, the fiendish marauder known as Lucius Malfoy, Prince of the Waves! “Haul in the yardarms, me hearties! Loose the main sail!” the former officer of the Royal Navy barked to the villainous crew, his single baleful eye staring at each deckhand with barely restrained anger. “We must reach Tortuga by the break of day, otherwise that wretch Longbottom and his tub of a ship will be upon us! Put your backs into it!”

The two bosuns began cracking down hard on the crew, and they responded out of fear, their efforts made all the more feverish out of the knowledge of what Malfoy would do to them should they fail. Sails billowed in the fearsome winds, while heavy raindrops and the bosun’s lash fell upon the backs of the crew, spurring them onward. As the crew made preparations for the voyage to the pirate port, the Prince of the Waves approached the mast, gazing hungrily at the young woman bound to it. “We shall make Tortuga within the next few hours, Miss Granger,” the pirate told her with a sneer, ignoring her pleading brown eyes. “No one will ever find you there, not even Captain Longbottom. The Devil’s Snare is faster than the Indefatigable, and your fool of a fiancé will not risk his vessel flying at full sail through the storm. It is a pity it has to be this way, but my ship needs repairs and my crew must be replenished.”

Hermione Granger, daughter of the British Governor at Port Royal, patron of the sick and the orphaned, and fiancé to the dashing Captain Longbottom, groaned into her gag as she slumped against the ropes. The storm, as mighty as the Atlantic Ocean could produce, had battered the Devil’s Snare for hours, leaving the brunette beauty miserable and half-drowned as she stood bound upon the open desk. The pirates had been thorough, and their knowledge of ropes intimate. Her wrists had been bound overhead with thick coils, while two more sets looped around her body beneath her breasts, and again at her ankles. Each point of confinement had then been wrapped around the mast and tied off, forcing her back against the wood and leaving her hopes for escape crushed. She had been captured in her nightgown and little else, the flimsy garment left sodden with rainwater, and Hermione shivered, both from the cold and out of fear of the ruthless pirates who eyed her curved body like a starving man might look upon a feast.

Worst of all was the gag. Hermione wasn’t exactly certain what the cloth that now occupied her mouth had been used for, but it tasted oily and wretched, as if it had been used for scrubbing the decks. Another cloth had been placed over her mouth, preventing her from spitting out the offending article of fabric. “Nnnngh mmmmph…” came her pathetic cry, but Malfoy only smirked at her discomfort. Oh how in the world had she ended up in this situation?

It all, started, she surmised, when she had met Captain Longbottom during a party at her father’s house. The Captain was young, but charismatic, handsome and daring, and Hermione felt herself falling for him when he lambasted some of the older nobles for their support of the slave trade. They were a good match, and soon Longbottom had found himself engaged to Miss Granger, as his sense of duty, high personal morals, and his repeated successes against piracy had put him ahead of any competing suitors. Moreover, Hermione felt herself falling for him, day by day, and as Neville began to reciprocate her feelings, she knew they had something special.

She had been taking her morning tea with the other ladies when the pirates attacked, fighting their way past the shore defences and guards to spirit them away. Hermione had set the others to her father’s hidden drawing room, but the fiends were too quick, striking her on the back of the head with a heavy blow before she herself could escape. Coils of rope followed, and soon the dazed young woman found herself placed at the bottom of a rowboat, surrounded by the stench of tobacco, rotten fish and the pirates themselves. The girl strained against her bonds, but they were too strong, and Hermione could only listen as the pirates laughed at her distress, their mockery more infuriating to her than the peril itself. Hermione winced at the foul language of her captors; as a member of the gentry, such words were not permitted to reach her ears. Upon reaching the ship, she had been bound to the mast and left to watch helplessly as the pirates made sail and set course for the barbaric port at Tortuga. Once again, she fought for freedom, but the ropes denied her. Oh, her life couldn’t end like this, a prisoner of these cruel rapscallions! Was this how it came to a close? With the foul decaying odours of the pirates all around her, the sound of their harsh language, the crack of muskets, the cries of dismay, the scent of black powder...

Black powder? The noblewoman thought, opening her eyes. An excited squeal burst through the gag as she saw the red jackets of British marines carve their way through the ranks of the pirates, and a well-built young man with the cockades of a captain on his hat and epaulettes slicing open another foe. “MMMPH!” she cried, hoping to catch his attention. “MMMMPH! GGGGNH!”

Captain Neville Longbottom, of His Majesty’s Ship Indefatigable, gave a hearty cry as he saw his fiancé, parrying a clumsy blow of a cutlass before impaling the offender on the point of his own blade. “Lady Hermione!” he shouted, ducking under another pirate’s right hook. His fist came up and the golden-plated hilt of his sword slammed into the criminal’s jaw, dropping him with a mouth full of blood. “Mister Finnegan! Keep those scoundrels away from my fiancé! And watch where you shoot!”

“Right away, sir!” a young Irish officer exclaimed, leading a charge of marines and deckhands towards the stern of the ship. Boarding pikes raised and plunged into the bodies of the pirates, musket balls hissed through the sheets and punched into wood and men alike, while the flash of cutlasses was eclipsed by the darkened sky and gushing blood. It was a terrible sight, full of sound and fury like in those tawdry novels that many of the noblewomen took to reading, and Hermione found herself swooning at the intensity of all it. How did Captain Longbottom remain in control of his men while pandemonium raged all around him, and how did he remain disciplined and in control even when facing down that villain Malfoy?

Hermione watched curiously as the two rival captains duelled, their great swords clashing, both blades slick with blood and water. The noblewoman noticed how effectively her lover kept his footing on the filthy decks, and remembered that he had always been a good dancer. But this was far different from the dances or gentlemanly duels upon chalk-strewn hardwood floors at her father’s house. This was brutal fighting, where the rules of the gentry were nonexistent, and the only goal was to triumph.

The young woman was so engrossed in the battle before her that she did not see the pirate approach her until he was a few paces away, dagger raised to deny the Royal Navy their objective. With impossible speed, Neville parried Malfoy’s blow, before drawing his pistol and firing it in one smooth motion, taking the assassin right between the eyes. “MMMMMPH!” Hermione screamed into the obstruction, her breathing shaky from the shock of seeing someone die so horribly, yet so close. Her hands were numb from lack of blood circulation, but she tried picking at the knots once again, hoping to free herself before the ropes at her wrists left her hands completely unless or before the agony of having her shoulders pulled into this position rendered her senseless.

But before she knew it, her lover had disarmed Malfoy and struck him with the side of the blade, knocking him unconscious. The last of the pirates are either fled or surrendered, and now the valiant Captain Longbottom freed her from her constraints, ignoring the broken planks and the cries of the wounded as he did so. “Oh, you got her just in time,” Hermione told him once the foul gag had been removed, and she groaned in pain as the ropes were parted, leaving her to slide unsteadily into her lover’s arms. “What about your crew? Any losses?”

“A few dead, and others wounded,” Neville said in his strong tenor, “but The Devil’s Snare is now ours, and you are safe, and that is all that matters. Are you hurt?”

“No, I am fine,” she replied, kissing his brow as her still-limp arms flew around his neck. “I suppose then I that shall have a wonderful story to tell the ladies at tea! Hardly my usual course of events.”

“Indeed,” the strong British Captain replied, kissing his lady’s hand. “And to think with the prize money we’ll get from this ship, we might be able to afford that home you always wanted.”

“You’re sweet. Thank you again, Mr. Longbottom...”





“Mr. Longbottom!” the shrill voice of Charity Burbidge severed Neville’s daydream with one swift stroke, and the mortified young Gryffindor found the eyes of the entire classroom waiting impatiently upon him. “We are waiting, Mr. Longbottom,” the Muggle Studies professor stated, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Uh, for what?”

“For your thoughts on the film we just watched, Mr. Longbottom! What did you think of it?”

Scratching his head in a daze, Neville replied as best he could, becoming more and more aware of Hermione’s disappointed gaze centered on him. “Well, I thought it was alright, but I still didn’t get a lot of the details. I’m never heard of any coins possessing a curse like that one, and I still don’t know why that pirate captain had to keep repeating his name. We knew who he was, why must he repeat it?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for your lack of attention, Mr. Longbottom,” the stern teacher exclaimed, turning her attention to the rest of the class.

“Neville, what is wrong with you?” Hermione whispered probingly after the professor moved on to others. “You never drift off like this in Muggle Studies! Did you at least take some notes?”

To Neville’s shame, his parchment remained largely empty. “Sorry, Hermione, I guess I must have drifted off.”

At this, the girl rose in a huff. “Well, try and pay attention for next time, please? I have enough problems from Ron trying to get my notes from classes, I don’t want to have to deal with you too!”

As Hermione twirled back towards her own writings, Neville let his head droop. Ten points lost from Gryffindor, Hermione upset with him, and all over another foolish daydream. “It won’t happen again, Hermione. I promise...”