Summary: On Hermione's 21st birthday―while her husband is away―the Crown of England burns their ship to the ground and steals her away. It's a shame they were unsuccessful at killing her entire crew. It would have been easier for them.

A Pirate AU; not Ron-friendly

When Hermione was fourteen, she dreamed of adventures unlike any other: of pirates and warships, of freedom and the open seas. Instead, she was shuffled from one governess to the next and from etiquette classes to dance lessons.

When Hermione was sixteen, she left the palace for good, accompanied only by the son of the Captain of the Guard in the dead of night. By morning, they'd stowed away on a ship and thus began what would soon become their most exhilarating journey yet.

When Hermione was nineteen, she married the love of her life in the middle of a bar fight in a city she couldn't remember the name of. He kissed her breathless and they stole a ship right out of the harbor, laughing together and taking their own crew to help them sail the seas. She hadn't once thought to look back.

On the night that Hermione turned twenty-one, she was stolen away from everything she had come to care for and their ship was sunk to the bottom of the port. Or so she was told.

"I can't believe you," she hissed, staring at a long-familiar face. It had been years since she'd seen him and yet, he looked exactly how she imagined he would. "They were innocent in this."

"Innocent?" Ron scoffed. "They're pirates, Hermione! They deserved their fate."

"No one deserves that," she snarled. She stepped towards him only to be stopped abruptly. Two guards, one on either side of her with swords as long as her arm.

"Pirates do," Ron said just as bitterly.

He'd sunk her ship, burned it and her crew until it sunk to the bottom of the port floor. So sudden, so unexpected was the attack that Hermione was terrified no one had survived. Ron had taken the chance to quickly assure her that such was the case and she would never forgive him for it.

"Burn me with them, then," she demanded. "I was their captain."

"Co-captain, so I'm told."

Hermione saw red, but before she could draw blood from his nose or steal a guard's sword for her own, arms locked around her and chains clicked in place around her wrists.

"I'm to escort you back to the palace," Ron told her, pulling himself to his feet. "The king has so missed his daughter and I'm sure that for bringing her back, I'll be gifted a hefty reward."

Hermione scowled, tugging at the chains around her wrists when Ron added, "Perhaps I'll even ask for her hand in marriage."

"I'm already married," she snarled fiercely.

"Were," Ron corrected smoothly. With a flick of his wrist, he directed the guards, "Take her to her chambers."

Thrashing and snarling still, Hermione was pulled out of the captain's quarters and directed to a small cabin across the deck. Shortly after depositing her inside, the guards slipped out and locked the door behind her, leaving Hermione to fume in privacy.

* * * * *

When Draco was fourteen, he followed in his father's footsteps, step for step. He admired him in everything he did and turned a blind eye to the things that his mother warned him not to mimic. Instead of attending school, he joined his father in the stable yard and trained with the soldiers, befriending the princess long before he even knew who she was.

When Draco was sixteen, he stole away in the middle of the night with only the princess at his side. The image of his mother's murder burned his eyelids and the princess was the one to find them a way onto a cargo ship without being caught.

When Draco was nineteen, he married the love of his life in the middle of a bar fight in a city he couldn't remember the name of. He kissed her breathless, slipping a stolen ring onto her finger and raiding the harbor until they found the perfect ship and crew.

On the night that he was to celebrate his wife's twenty-first birthday, he left the port to buy her a gift and returned to find his ship smoldering and his wife missing.

"They took her, Draco," Zabini murmured, limping and bruised almost beyond recognition. Beside him, Parkinson stood in silent shock. Everyone else was gone.

"Who?" Draco demanded, clutching the parcel he'd bought―paid for and everything―for her birthday.

"The Crown."

* * * * *

Hermione had spent years on the sea. She'd spent endless days looking out across the horizon and plotting their course at night. It was a thrill for her to be on the water but in a locked cabin on a ship headed back towards England was torture. Her only company was Ron and the guards that delivered her meals, updating her on their progress and how much closer to hell they had sailed.

It was the third night when that changed.

She wasn't asleep. She hadn't slept a full night since before the Crown found her. As such, she was awake when their ship hit another. It didn't take long for her to realize just what was happening when a shrill cry of "Pirates!" erupted from outside her door.

Ron was on her in an instant. With a handful of guards at his side and a sneer on his face, the door to her cabin was thrust open and she was shoved out the door.

"Come on," Ron hissed, tugging her across the deck.

She resisted. Pulling back, she slipped out of Ron's hold and twisted to see what crew had found them. What she did not expect was to see familiar eyes swinging down between her and Ron.

"Draco," she breathed.

Zabini and Parkinson fell into place at his sides, swords held out when Ron made a move forward.

"Hello, love."

His cool hand skated across her shoulder and up the back of her neck, stopping just under her ear to brush his thumb ever so gently over the skin there. It was more reassuring than Hermione thought it ever had been or ever would be again.

"I thought you were dead," she gasped, staring up at him with wide, not-quite-teary eyes.

"I'm very much alive," he assured her, pressing a warm kiss to her lips. Turning to Ron with narrowed eyes, he said, "And not feeling very merciful."

In a flash, his sword was at Ron's throat and Zabini had pulled her aside, a flicker of a grin on his face as he unlocked the chains around her wrists. Rather than thank him, she stole his sword, twisting back to stand at Draco's side even as seven swords were leveled at his own throat.

"It appears you are vastly outnumbered," Ron mused. His fingers twitched at his side, a nervous tick that Hermione had identified early on when they were children. "On behalf of the Crown of England, I order you to drop your weapons."

Draco barked out a laugh, his eyes stony even as he roared with cold laughter.

"Order me?" he echoed, the ghost of a laugh still dancing on his lips. "You stole my wife," he chuckled, "and I'm going to kill you for it, should she grant me the honor."

Hermione was the first to move, having anticipated the soldiers' attack a second before Draco. With a deafening clang, she stepped forward and blocked half of the swords that threatened to come down on Draco's head. Parkinson disarmed one, tossing her winnings over the ship's side with a glint in her eye.

"Do not resist," Ron snarled, fingers twitching still, "or I'll have you all hung as soon as we make port."

"No need," Draco sneered in return. "You won't make it there."

The resulting attack was as sloppy as it was anticipated and although Ron reached for his sword, Draco had him disarmed in the time it took Hermione and Parkinson to disarm and kill the remaining soldiers at his side. Around them, the ship went still and silent as soldiers hesitated to come to Ron's aide or man the ship. When one finally made the decision, Zabini and Parkinson threw him overboard and Draco forced Ron to his knees.

"You'd best pray now, Weasel," he hissed, his sword resting on Ron's neck. "You won't be alive to do so at dawn."

"Draco."

At her call, Draco looked away from Ron. His eyes searched hers for a long moment, his sword never once dropping from Ron's neck, until she gave the slightest shake of her head.

"Granger―"

"You trust me, love," she reminded him. She handed Zabini's sword back to him and stepped forward to press her hand against Draco's cheek. At her repeated, "You trust me, Draco," he nodded and dropped his sword.

Ron scrambled to his feet, but the moment he made a move towards a weapon, Draco's sword was back on him and Parkinson was at his back.

"Tie him to the mast," Hermione instructed. She offered Parkinson the chains that had been around her wrists, giving Ron a coy smile as she said, "These should do."

Around them, soldiers watched on uneasily. Zabini and Draco kept a sharp eye on all of them, waiting until Hermione gave the command to leave. When she was satisfied that the chains were secure and had been jammed so as to prevent the key from unlocking them, she did so.

Ahead of them, Parkinson swung aboard their new ship while Hermione cut loose the lifeboat with Zabini's help. As it went crashing into the water, a shared look passed between her and Zabini. Snagging the sword from a dead soldier nearby, she flung it towards a lantern at the same moment Zabini did.

The remaining soldiers scrambled, but when Draco threw his own sword into a lantern hanging above Ron's head, it was only a matter of time before the ship was too far gone.

Swinging aboard after Parkinson, Hermione helped to untie their ship from Ron's, watching as a few soldiers tried hopelessly to unchain Ron.

Upon spotting her watching them, Ron scowled and shouted, "You'll hang for this!"

"I only do to your crew what you did to mine," she shouted back. When Draco settled at her side, arm warm and heavy around her waist, she added, "But I will be successful."

Parkinson was the one to take the helm, steering them away as soldiers cried for help and Ron's curses floated across the water to them. By the time they were far enough away not to hear their shouts, the ship was halfway underwater.

"Would you have gone back?" Draco murmured at her side, drawing her attention away from the burning ship. "If I hadn't come, would you have left?"

"No." She turned to face him, her arm draping lazily across his shoulders. "No, I would have come to find you."

Ever so softly, he pressed his lips to her temple and drew her into his arms. They stood there until the burning ship was no longer in view and the only sound around them was of Zabini and Parkinson's bickering. Following the sound hand in hand, they moved from the deck to the captain's quarters that Zabini had taken to, a parcel in hand as he argued fiercely with Parkinson about who got it.

"I believe Hermione does," Draco drawled, arm still around her. "I did buy it for her, after all."

With a scowl, Zabini tossed the parcel to him and Draco hastily removed his arm from her, fumbling for the parcel and muttering a dozen curses. Scowling back at Zabini, Draco turned and handed her the parcel.

"Happy birthday, love," he said.

Inside, she found a dagger just over 10 inches long and with a handle made of vine wood. The blade shone in the moonlight and even if Hermione had still had her old swords, she knew the dagger would have quickly become her weapon of choice anyway.

"You bought this?" she asked, a skeptical brow raised as she glanced up at him.

"Yes," Draco huffed. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"It is, yes," Hermione said with a laugh. Drawing him to her, she kissed him firmly. "Thank you very much."

"I'll expect a proper thank you once Parkinson and Zabini have left our quarters," he said, eyeing them both over her shoulder.

Huffing and grumbling, the two walked out. With a flourishing wave, Zabini closed the door after them and Hermione reached for Draco's shirt collar, pulling him back down to kiss her again.

"I love you," she breathed against his lips, being careful not to drop her new dagger even as Draco backed her up into the bed.

"I love you," he echoed. Pulling the dagger from her hand, he set it aside and said, "Now let me make up for your birthday," and slid downwards without another word.