Author's note: Many thanks to Naomi for the French translation.   

***

   Draco felt like crying in relief. They still had a lot of ground to cover, and depending how quickly Harry was moving between lands, it would still be hard to catch him. But with this, they might actually stand a chance. "We haven't a moment to lose," he said. "It doesn't look like Harry's here, but there are less second level holidays to search through." He gripped the pirate by the arm. "Thank you, so much."

"Cap'n!" the buxom crewman called to him. "Askin' yer permission, but-" She held up some boots just like his, a sheathed sword looped into a belt, and a dashing three-pointed hat complete with a large, green, feathery plume. "We be thinkin' the lad needs better boots if he's to be traversin' all around the lands."

Blackbeard roared with laughter and pushed Draco towards the women. "That he does. Get them there shiny shoes off and try those on for size!"

Draco thought it safest not to refuse, so he allowed himself to cajoled as the pirates swapped over his footwear and kitted him out with a rather lovely rapier. He wasn't sure about the hat, but he figured he could always 'lose it' in the next land, and, as impractical as it was, it did feel rather empowering as it was jammed on his head.

Combined with his black trousers, white shirt and silver waistcoat, he was now informed that he looked like a "Proper buccaneer" which pleased him a bit more than it should have considering he had almost been murdered by these ne'er-do-wells not half an hour previous.

"If you're quite finished with your fashion parade, Sunshine," Bones drawled. "We best be getting a move on if you ever want to get back home."

Draco would have felt guilty over the wasted time, except Bones had enjoyed a slab of some sort of dried meat whilst he'd been waiting, his tail thumping happily against the wooden deck the entire time. "Thank you," said Draco to Blackbeard, shaking his hand. "For everything."

"No," replied the captain, a mad glint blossoming in his eye. "Thank YOU!"

He charged past Draco with a below, his cutlass already waving in the air as Draco spun to see what was happening.

The HSP had arrived.

The first wave were thrusting their way through the door to the cabin that Draco had also exited from. The air was suddenly filled with the clang of steal on steal as the skeletons pushed through, the bellows and cheers of the pirates adding a surreal frivolity to the event.

"Quick!" Bones cried, leaping into Draco's arms and pointing with his peg leg. "Up the mast, up the mast!"

He didn't need to be told twice, and he legged it over to the central pole holding up the sails. From this angle he could now see that the rippling black material was decorated with an enormous skull and crossbones, and Draco was once again glad he'd been able to win the vicious lot over as friends.

He didn't stop climbing until he reached the crow's nest, where he was unsurprised to find an inordinately inebriated Brandon still lurking after the trouble he'd caused earlier. "We swapped!" he cried in delight, sloshing the skin of rum he'd traded with a squiffy looking parrot for his hipflask of whisky. The parrot hiccupped in response.

"Looks like you're having fun," Draco said dryly. "I guess you'll be happy to stay here?"

"Yo ho ho," Brandon sang blearily, a serene smile on his face.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Draco with a modicum of relief. He'd rather not be burdened by a sloshed leprechaun with light fingers if he could help it. He pulled out the map. "Okay, where to do you reckon? He's not on the map at the moment, so he must be in level two..." He scanned the possibilities, but he slowly became aware of Bones staring at him. "What?"

Bones cleared his throat, the sounds of the melee drifting up from the deck below. "What if we don't find him?"

Draco frowned. "No – what? No, look we have the map now, it's going to be fine."

Bones sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "The map helps. But we've still only got half a dozen hours or so now, and that includes the time you'll need to get yourself to whatever holiday takes place today so you can portal to the real world."

Draco was staring purposefully at the map, but he could feel his jaw clenching. "Yes," he gritted out, shaking his head. "So, we need to hurry, right? Pick a land and go!"

There was a pause, long enough to make him look up. Bones' expression was sad and weighty. "You need to consider the possibility you'll have to save yourself."

He was right.

Draco knew he was right. There was no sense in sacrificing both of their lives. If it came to it, he knew the logical move would be to get out whilst he still had a chance.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Because it was hopeless. There was no point in agreeing, and promising to do the sensible thing. There was no way Draco was going to go back and live a life where he would never see Harry Potter again.

His mouth moved again, a pitiful sort of croak coming out, before he gave up and closed it.

"Do you love him?"

Draco hadn't realised he'd looked away until those words snatched his attention right back to his companion's face. "Do I-?" he stuttered. Tears pricked at his eyes.

Bones sighed even more heavily than before. "Alright," he grumbled. "In that case, I guess we haven't got much of a choice have we? Let's try our luck up in Bastille Day, huh? You speak any French?"

Draco rubbed his eyes and tried to swallow the angry lump in his throat. "Oui," he mumbled. "Ma mere le parle couramment."

Bones smiled, and licked the back of his hand. "Marvellous. Well, shall we then?"

***

  French Translation: "Oui. Ma mere le parle couramment." – Yes. My mother speaks it fluently.