Aright, so I've gone slightly (actually, totally) Pirates of the Caribbean mad. So I thought, why not combine it with Harry Potter? It'll be absolutely brilliant! So here you are. The result.

…I've just seen POTC3. Amazing film, by the way. Go see it.

Trouble is, pretty much everything I've written about Jack and co. is now totally, amazingly, wrong. So this needed rewritten. But fear not! I've re-planned everything out, and it'll work out.

HOWEVER, this fic will contain MAJOR spoilers for POTC3. I would not recommend reading it unless you've seen it. There may or may not be spoilers for HP6, and when Deathly Hallows come out, I doubt I'll incorporate it. But who knows?

Disclaimer: Plotline mine. Characters and things you recognise aren't – They belong to either Disney or JK Rowling.

Oh, and please Read and Review!


11-year-old Harry Potter was beginning to regret sneaking out to visit the Mirror of Erised again very much indeed. It was very late and he was on his way back to the common room. Harry continued down past a tapestry of trolls towards the portrait hole.

He heard a noise towards the entrance. It sounded like footsteps. Harry thought he recognised the fast steps of Professor McGonagall. He quickly wheeled round and headed back the way he had came. The corridor was too narrow to risk just going past her, but it widened out a bit further down.

Harry had only walked past the tapestry again when he heard footsteps coming from the direction he was going. He saw a dark shape coming closer. It looked far too much like Professor Snape for Harry's comfort. Harry turned around again and walked back to Professor McGonagall, preferring to take his chances with her. He wished he didn't have to face either of them!

Harry blinked. A door appeared out of thin air in front of him. He blinked again. The door was still there. He rushed over to it, twisted the handle and slipped inside. The door closed just in time.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and then decided to make sure that there wasn't anything in here that could hurt him in the next few minutes while the teachers moved away. Or, at least, make sure that there weren't any more three-headed dogs.

The room was huge, but not packed with stuff. There were a lot of books and some small glass spheres on a shelf at the back. There was old furniture, like tables and chairs and beds scattered about, laden with stuff. There were piles of paintings and statues on the floor. Directly in front of Harry on a small stand was a very old book. Harry couldn't read the title; it was so worn.

Harry looked around the room for a few minutes while he waited for Professors McGonagall and Snape to go away. He had made up his mind to come back again as soon as possible and investigate more. He suspected that Hermione would love this place.

Harry stopped looking at a large cup with a badger engraved on it and wandered back to the door. He wondered if the teachers were gone yet. Suddenly he noticed two lights above the door. One was on, glowing red. The other was out. The red light disappeared and the green light came on. Harry assumed that meant the coast was clear. He put on the cloak again and went to turn the handle. Then a thought struck him; what if he wasn't able to find this place again? He'd never get the chance to chat with those paintings or look through some of the books. Harry turned and lifted the very old book off its stand. It was surprisingly heavy. He held it carefully so it wouldn't get damaged. Then he made sure the cloak was covering him and left the room.

Sure enough, the door vanished the second he had closed it. Harry was glad he'd taken the book. He looked up and down the corridor. The teachers had gone. Harry hurried back to Gryffindor tower.

Once he was back in his dorm, Harry hid the book under his bed. It was too late to look at it now. He'd read it tomorrow night. He changed into his pyjamas, climbed into bed and was soon asleep.


Jack Sparrow was beginning to regret raiding that last storeroom very much indeed. How was he to know that the pride of the King's navy happened to be just outside? He knew his he could take them, of course. Well, if there had been one or two, or maybe even three. Four, if they weren't particularly good at fighting.

But there weren't four. Not even five. There were seven. Seven What was a pirate to do?.

Jack was currently fighting with the new Commodore Gillette. He was good. Very Good. But Jack was better. He'd already sent two others off to Heaven or Hell or wherever, and he'd injured another two badly enough to put them out of the fight. That still left him with Gillette and two others as backup, and Jack was getting tired.

Jack lunged at Gillette, who parried the blow and stabbed his sword at an opening. Jack quickly brought his sword down, blocking the blow and slashing the Commodore's arm. It was a shallow cut, but it would sting something horrible.

Gillette was distracted by the injury and found himself with a sword at his neck. He looked up at Jack, eyes hard.

"You won't get away, pirate," he hissed.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You mean like I didn't last time? And the time before that? And the time before that? And the-"

Jack quickly swiped his sword at one of the other soldiers, who had remained mysteriously subdued during the fight. He launched a kick at him, and he fell to the ground.

"Alright, alright! I get the point!"

Jack raised his voice. "This is the day you will always remember as the day you almost-"


Jack's eyes unfocused and he swayed from side to side, and then collapsed. The other soldier stood behind him, holding a broken rum bottle.

Jack woke up with a killer of a headache. And to the smell of rum, surprisingly. He opened his eyes and found himself in a rather familiar jail cell. He glanced to the next cell over. The same prisoners as last time were there. They were calling for a dog. A different dog, Jack noticed.

His cell door opened and Gillette stalked in. His cut arm was bandaged.

"Well, Sparrow," he gloated. "I'm just here to inform you that you'll be hung tomorrow, just after dawn. Pity, really, that it should end like this. I so wanted to be the one to kill you."

Jack barely looked at Gillette. "How were you planning on doing that? You couldn't beat a blind monkey in a sword fight if it had its hands tied behind its back, mate."

Gillette frowned. "You know, maybe I'll let the crowd throw rotten tomatoes at you first. Then you'll be hung." He smiled. "I will enjoy watching that immensely." Gillette turned and left the cell, locking the door behind him and giving the keys back to the dog.

Just before he left, he grinned and said to Jack, "This is the day you will always remember as the day we did catch Jack Sparrow."

Jack couldn't be bothered to think of an insulting retort, so he stuck out his tongue. "Don't forget, I ain't dead yet!" Gillette's grin disappeared and he left, guards following.

Jack stood up and went to examine the doors. They looked the same as last time. How did you get them open again? Something to do with leverage…

Jack looked around the cell. There was nothing he could use. Damn. He realised that there wasn't anything he could do right now and sat down. He'd get out of here, he just didn't know how yet…


Harry woke the next morning to Ron yelling down in the common room. It sounded like he was yelling at Fred and George for something. Harry sighed and got up.

Fifteen minutes later he was down in the common room, wearing his new jumper and watching Fred and Ron yell at each other. Fred seemed to be enjoying it. George sat down next to Harry and muttered, "3 sickles that this lasts till Ron realises he'll miss breakfast if he keeps arguing."

Harry raised his eyebrows at him. "No thanks, I'm just enjoying watching!"

The argument lasted another half-hour before Ron did indeed realise he would miss breakfast. He left Fred in the middle of the argument and stalked towards the portrait hole, his ears glowing. "Come on, Harry," he muttered sullenly, "We'll miss the rest of breakfast. I'm hungry."

Harry suggested that they play a few games of chess after breakfast. He knew he was rubbish, but maybe playing a lot would help. It surely wouldn't make him much worse!

After a filling breakfast of bacon and eggs, Harry went back up to the common room with Ron (Fred and George had left, presumably to cause mayhem somewhere) to play the promised games of chess. Sure enough, Harry lost. Repeatedly. But, thought Harry, after the seventh game he was definitely better than when he started.

Eventually lunch rolled around and passed uneventfully. Ron decided to let Harry have a break from chess and they went outside. Fred and George were already outside, charming snowmen to throw snowballs at each other. Harry wondered how they did that. The spells were at least fifth year level. Maybe the twins had an older friend that did it for them. Or maybe, the twins were a lot smarter than the teachers gave them credit for.

Harry and Ron started a snowball fight with Fred and George against the snowmen. More students joined in and more snowmen were created, until most of the remaining students were competing against an army of snowmen. The fight went on for hours (Even some teachers joined in. Professor Flitwick had a very good aim) until it was dark. Everyone went back inside, leaving the snowmen to fight each other. Fred had assured the teachers that the charms would have worn off by the morning.

It was still far too early to go to bed and although Harry was itching to go and look at the book hidden under his bed, he knew it would look suspicious. He stayed down by the fire for another while, joking with Ron and the twins and roasting marshmallows that the twins had procured on the fire.

It felt like hours later when Harry left the Weasleys by the fireside and went upstairs, claiming that the snowball fight tired him out. He had yawned several times (quite realistically, he thought) but Ron had still given him a funny look as he got up, as it wasn't that late. Harry ignored him and headed up to the dormitory.

Harry knew that Ron probably wouldn't come upstairs until much later, but he grabbed the book, sat on his bed and closed the curtains, leaving only a small gap for light to read by. Harry was about to open the book when he thought of something. What if the book was hidden away in that room for a reason? What if it was dangerous? Harry realised that he wanted to open the book regardless.

Still, Harry would feel safer with his wand. And his pillow. He grabbed his wand from his bedside table and the pillow from behind him. He held the pillow close to his chest, in front of him and held his wand tightly in his right hand, pointing it at the book. He reached out with his left hand and opened the book.

Then Harry Potter disappeared with a loud "Bang!"

Downstairs, Ron and the twins heard the bang and wondered what it was. They worried about it for a minute, but there were no more noises from the dorm.

When Ron went to bed much later, the curtains on Harry's bed were closed. Ron assumed Harry had just dropped something earlier and was now asleep. He didn't worry until the next morning when he discovered Harry wasn't at breakfast. After Harry didn't turn up at all during the next few hours, he told the twins. They mysteriously pored over an old piece of parchment before telling Ron to go to Dumbledore. (Oddly enough, they also knew that he was on his way back up from the kitchens. How did they know that?)

Dumbledore conducted a very thorough search of the castle, the grounds and the local village, with help from the remaining teachers, Filch, the paintings (most of them, at least) and the ghosts.

Harry Potter wasn't found.

Harry felt like he was falling very fast, but in constantly changing directions. He was still holding his wand, book and pillow very tightly. The world was blurred. Harry couldn't make anything out – streaks of colour whipped around him, making him feel dizzy. He couldn't see; the colours were blinding him; he felt like he was going to be sick; why, oh why, did he open that book?

He seemed to slow down. The colours became duller and as he kept slowing, Harry began to make out scenes. There was water. Boats zoomed through at amazing speeds – so fast Harry could only assume they were boats. Then there were islands. Harry caught extremely short glimpses of scenes: people in weird wigs; pirates taking over a ship; a female pirate (Did they even exist?) and another pirate having a swordfight while a huge swordfight raged on the ship they were on…

Harry felt ill. Where was he? When was he? When would he stop?

His last question was answered when he suddenly appeared in a rather small, bare room. Unfortunately, he appeared closer to the ceiling than the floor and he fell. His pillow, now below him, cushioned the fall somewhat, but Harry still hit his head on the floor hard. He just saw a man with long, dark hair and a very odd dress sense rush over before he passed out.

To say Jack was surprised would be a rather large understatement. It would be like saying the ocean was quite big, or that the Black Pearl was a fairly good ship. Jack was surprised, shocked, astonished, confounded, flabbergasted, mystified, dazed and taken aback, and he was only getting started.

He'd been contemplating that this prison must be his personal hell, as he could smell rum very strongly on his clothes but he couldn't have any to drink, and he was set to be executed tomorrow. He still intended on escaping, but he'd accepted that it wasn't possible right now and he'd just have to out-wit the guards tomorrow when they led him to the noose. The prisoners in the next cell were dead to the world. They didn't have a hanging tomorrow to look forward to. They'd be released in a month or two, then find themselves back behind bars within a fortnight.

Then a runty looking kid appeared. Out of nowhere, like. Just appeared near the ceiling. In his cell though. Couldn't he have landed on the other side of the bars and passed the keys through?

Although, he'd have to wake up to do that. The runt was out cold. Well, he had received a rather nasty knock on the head when he hit the floor.

Jack knelt down beside him. He reached out a hand to try and wake him. Jack failed. Miserably. "C'mon, runt…."

No response.

Jack sighed. Looks like the runt would have to wake up in his own time. Couldn't rush it. Jack went to lie down on the (exceptionally uncomfortable) bed, and then he glanced back to the youngster. He paused, and then pulled the pillow out from below him. Jack lay down on the bed and put the pillow under his head. It was an improvement. And it wasn't as if the runt was using it…..

It was nearly dawn when Harry woke up. He looked around after his headache faded a bit. He was in a room that looked far too much like a jail cell for Harry's comfort. The other man in the cell had dozed off – was that his pillow? In the next cell, more prisoners were slumbering. One was muttering about poison. That was a bit ominous….

Harry sat up, and his book and wand fell to the floor with a clatter. It wasn't very loud, but it woke the guy in his cell.

"Oh, awake then, are ye?"

Harry tried to place the accent. American? He was horrible with accents. He could hardly tell Irish from Australian. Harry then remembered that the man had asked a question was probably waiting for an answer. Although, it was a rather stupid question. Of course he was awake.

Harry looked at the man and nodded. The guy got up and offered his hand to Harry. Harry was unsure if the guy wanted to shake his hand or help him up, but he reached out his hand and grasped the other mans, who pulled him up.

"Sooo," the man raised an eyebrow, "Who might you be then?"

Harry made sure he was clutching his wand and book tightly, and replied "I'm Harry Potter. Who are you? And where am I?"

"Me, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, and you're currently in the jail at Port Royal. Where are you from and how did you get here?"

"Uh, I'm English, I was at my school in Scotland and I have no idea how I got here." Harry looked around the room. It looked, well, old. Not old as in Hogwarts old, but old as in, he wasn't in the 20th century. But how could he have travelled back in time? One way to find out… "What date is it, and can we get out of here?"

Captain Sparrow looked confused. "What date is it? Eh, I think it's the-" he counted on his fingers- "18th of June, 1732. And it's a jail, mate. Ye aren't meant ta get out of it! Now, my turn… Why do ye want to know the date and can ye get me out of here?"

"Eh, I wanted to know the date because…" Harry wasn't sure what to say. Was he meant to tell Sparrow the truth? That he'd somehow disappeared from his bed about 260 years into the future and reappeared here? Would Sparrow believe him? Probably not. But, Sparrow had seen him appear here. And he was smart enough to know that that was impossible. Harry couldn't stall much longer. Sparrow was waiting for an answer. "Er, it's a long story. And yes, I can probably get you out of here."

Harry went over to the cell door and examined the lock. It looked like a pretty normal lock. He pointed his wand at it and said, "Alohomora!" The door swung open.

Sparrow gaped.

"I'll explain later," said Harry, "but first, we've got to get out of here!"

Captain Sparrow headed out of the cell quickly, but he didn't head to the exit. He headed instead to the shelf to the left to pick up some stuff there. "Me effects," he explained. "Can't go without them!"

It then occurred to Harry that Sparrow was probably in that cell for a reason. He could have murdered loads of people, or he could have gotten into a huge fight in a pub. He could be evil, for all Harry knew.

Sparrow positioned a hat on his head, made sure all this things were with him, and headed towards the exit. Harry had no choice but to follow. He didn't want to be left alone in a place he didn't know at all. The Captain at least seemed to know his way about. Harry made sure he had his book, his wand and his pillow and jogged after Sparrow.