This is my first crossover fic. But it should come as no surprise to those who know my work that it is a Peter Pan/Harry Potter crossover, or, more precisely, a Captain Hook/Lucius Malfoy crossover.

The Captain Hook in this is unequivocally Jason Isaacs' Hook. If you don't know his portrayal, you will find links to images on my profile page. If you haven't seen the 2003 film, Peter Pan, with him as Hook, go and watch it now! You have not yet lived!

It always struck me that crossovers would be contrived and unbelievable, but I hope this one makes sense within a fantasy genre and has a certain amount of integrity. It is, essentially, a Lumione, but James Hook has rather a large role to play in developments, as you will see. I had intended to write a rather brief smutty one-shot threesome to assuage my Hook/Lucius needs (ahem) but, as ever, I couldn't quite manage it, and with characters like these ... is that surprising?

Although this is not designed to be an exploration of Lucius' character, it is fair to note that he is certainly a man who has been through hell and is still trying to come to terms with his changed existence.

The characters in this story belong to JK Rowling and the estate of JM Barrie. I make no money from the writing or publication of this story. And thanks to JI for playing what could be pantomime baddies in the most fabulously compelling way. The title is a quote regarding Hook from Peter Pan.

Hermione Granger would have liked to have been sure of more things in life. But when she turned up on the granite steps of Malfoy Manor to begin her research that October day, she was at least certain of two things.

One: books were the only things in life, amidst its ever-changing circumstances, that would provide her with the gamut of emotion, adventure and passion needed without the mess of actually having to experience it.

Two: she did not find Lucius Malfoy attractive.

Her beliefs worked to a point.


As part of her research ordered by the Ministry into deep magical lore, Hermione had come to stay at Malfoy Manor, working in the library which contained one of the largest collections of magical texts in wizarding England.

It would have been foolish to pretend that a woman, even of her fortitude and experience, did not find the prospect daunting. She was to be living under the same roof as a man whom she believed despised her, who abhorred her very existence. And when she had been ushered into the vast expanse of the hallway that chill morning, her feelings on the matter remained unchanged. Lucius Malfoy had barely spoken a civil word to her, save to point out that most of his house was strictly out of bounds and that she was to work in the library, sleep in a small guest room down the corridor, and eat the meals his house-elf provided in the adjacent sitting room.

She had not expected anything better, or sought it out. Malfoy Manor, after her experiences during the war, had hardly been a place to which she wished to return. When the Ministry had informed her of her project it had filled her with dread. But she would not turn down a challenge, and had accepted with her usual stubborn resolve. Yet as she began her work, she was compelled to recall that time, five years before, when she had been brought forcibly to this house and tortured. She had blocked out much of her own pain, dealing with it with varying degrees of success over the years, but her memory of Lucius Malfoy that day, standing dishevelled and disarrayed, a shell of the man he had once been, remained. He had clearly regrouped somewhat since; his exoneration due to apparent repentance was something, and Hermione was not one to hold the past against someone, although in this case it was not going to be easy, or even necessary; she was, after all, only working in the house, not with the owner. But, as ever, if she could make the effort to forgive, or at least forget, she assumed others could too.

And, admittedly, once inside the library, she had set about her task with glee. It was a beautiful, panelled Elizabethan room, canopied with a barrelled ceiling, the great ancient beams providing a comforting and remarkably cosy grandeur to the large room. The Malfoy collection was the finest in private hands. When absorbed in her work, Hermione could easily forget the events of five years before in the drawing room below.

To begin with, she rarely saw Malfoy. He was often away and she was left in the capable hands of his house-elves, who, she acknowledged, seemed to love having her around. They would often linger for a chat and would spoil her with treats and snacks. It was a comfortable, if a little lonely, existence. It was a few weeks into the project before she even spoke again to Malfoy. She had been poring over a fourteenth century parchment about the reincarnation of a dead witch when, looking up, she found him standing before her desk, staring down.

She had screamed.

He had grimaced.


"Histrionics are uncalled for, Miss Granger. The past remains firmly thus – in the past. I had thought you would have had more backbone these days."

Hermione had to bite her lip not to retort indignantly. "It's not that, Mr Malfoy. I was just surprised to see you there. You didn't knock."

"I don't have to knock. This is my house."

"Yes, but, it would've been ..." The man above her cocked an eyebrow with haughty froideur. There was little point in persisting. "Never mind."

Malfoy had stood silently, glancing around the room, as if unsure why he was there.

"Was there something you required, Mr Malfoy?"

"I came to ask what exactly it is you are working on. I realised that you are living under my roof, eating my food, using my possessions, but you have not yet had the courtesy to inform me why."

"You never asked."

He shot her a glare. She returned it with cold impassivity.

"I'm asking now."

"Your library has one of the most concentrated collections of suitable texts contained in a quiet environment necessary for my task. The Ministry has asked me to investigate the possibility of bringing back the corporeal form of a historical figure through their documentation in text alone."

Malfoy's eyebrows wrinkled a little. It was clear he did not fully understand her.

"I'm trying to bring someone from a book back to life. Make them real again."

His eyebrows rose up high. "Deep magic indeed."


"And this is sanctioned by the Ministry?"

"They have ordered it. The possibilities are endless, as long as it is handled with the strongest guidelines and ethical awareness."

"And they have entrusted ... you ... with this?"

She could hear the clear distaste in his voice.

"Apparently so, Mr Malfoy." The rancour was growing within her and escaped with sarcastic bite. "Shocking, isn't it? Allowing a Muggle-born such liberties with the deepest magic. Whatever is the world coming to?"

Malfoy eyed her coldly and his smooth tones were laced with grievance. "You will remember where you are, Miss Granger. You may be here under the authority of the Minister for Magic himself, but this is still my house and you will do well to be civil."

Hermione stood up, tense. Her temper did not allow her to be submissive. "I am trying to be civil, Mr Malfoy. Perhaps if you gave me the chance to show you, you'd realise that."

He drew back, clearly struggling with himself.

She thought he would go. Hermione drew in a silent huff of frustration, swallowed back her spite, sat down and lowered her head to her work again.

"Very well."

She darted her head back up, astonished. "What?"

Malfoy glanced down, his brows furrowed with displeasure yet again. She corrected herself. "I mean ... excuse me?"

"Come downstairs in half an hour and we shall have tea. Come into the Red Room – the second door on the left in the hallway." He strode to the door before turning back, not quite meeting her eye. "You need not fear – it's not the same room as you were in ... that day."

Malfoy turned away, and was gone.

Hermione remained staring at the space he had vacated. Had her ears deceived her? Had Lucius Malfoy really gone from insulting pureblood to gracious host in a matter of seconds? Perhaps he'd changed more than she realised.

She smirked out a laugh. Tea would be welcome, even if it was with him.

He had shown her to a high-backed chair before a fireplace and had sat opposite in a similar one. The house-elves had put on a feast far beyond what was needed, and after a few moments of awkward silence, Hermione had simply started talking about her work. It did not take long for Lucius to inquire about it. It was fascinating after all, and pertained to his books and documents. He had much to say on the matter. Despite the awkward start, which seemed to have been an almost necessary shadow of the past, their conversation came freely and easily.

It continued like this for several weeks. Morning coffee or afternoon tea shared in the surprisingly intimate Red Room became a common occurrence. When Malfoy was at home it was rare that they missed a short time of rest and discussion together. Hermione had given up resenting him for his past, she was far too sensible for that, and she started to believe that Malfoy must have reappraised, or at least adapted, his beliefs too. She would occasionally catch a snide comment or frown of revulsion when she referred to a Muggle pastime or event, but he now engaged with her readily and openly.

As much as it surprised them both, Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger were getting on.


It was rare that he talked about himself, but he had mentioned his divorce factually at least twice, simply dropping it into conversation then moving on. He never mentioned Draco, and Hermione did not ask. She had no real desire to do so, and Lucius seemed to sense her reluctance to discuss his son. She noted and was appreciative of his tact.

"And are you any closer to achieving your goals?" he had inquired smoothly one afternoon over tea as the autumn rain tapped steadily on the leaded windows of the manor.

Hermione laughed. "Goals? Do you mean my goals in life generally, or the goals the Ministry have assigned to me at the moment?"

"I meant the goals of your work here." There was a flicker of a smile on his face.

She blushed and lowered her head. "I knew you meant that. I was just ..." Hermione smirked, mumbling a little before raising her head and focussing the conversation. "I had a breakthrough this morning, actually. I was able to extract a snippet of someone's voice. It was only a snatched bit of conversation, but it was definitely there, I heard it quite clearly. Quite exciting really."

"Exceptionally exciting, Miss Granger. Now I see why you were such a clever little thing at Hogwarts."

Hermione felt her cheeks warming further at his compliment and when she raised her eyes and looked into his, her mouth ran dry. Malfoy held her gaze confidently, and she could detect none of the icy hollowness she could have expected before.

"Who was this person?" he continued, his words providing welcome relief from the tension starting to coil within her.

"Well ... that's the thing. It wasn't actually from a historical text, but a story book - a fairy tale. I just managed to bring a few spoken words to life."

"But no sign of a physical presence?"

"No. That'll take a bit longer. But I have to say, I have all the ingredients to do it, I feel. It's not the fact that I don't know how. I've worked out the magic necessary. I think it's more a question of need ... of want. Magic of this nature requires the wizard or witch doing the enchantment to desire the outcome with their whole being ... to will the person into existence, I suppose. I don't suppose I'm interested enough in the historical figures the Ministry want me to focus on."

Lucius stared at her intently. "In that case, perhaps you should use one of your own books: a book which is special to you, with characters or situations you have a deep interest in, one that means something significant to you."

"Why not? You're right; that seems really obvious now. I should've thought of it myself. Thank you." She smiled at him with delight. Malfoy's mouth turned up at the corners as he saw the open warmth on the woman's face. It was rare he saw such a genuine expression of joy. It gave him a jolt of pleasure which rather unsettled him.

As Hermione worked now, following Malfoy's suggestion, she focused on books which had a particular resonance with her. Progress was slow, but the snatches of voice she managed to manifest grew longer and clearer.

Her enthusiasm seemed to spread into Malfoy, who became more interested in what she was doing, often lingering and asking searching questions. Hermione grew to look forward to the times he would come into the library. He was well-informed and curious and she felt her magic benefited from his scrutiny. Although she was used to the large space of the library, his presence added a further human element to her quest, and she knew he was aiding the success of her work. He would linger at a desk in the corner, searching his volumes for hints or tips. On finding something, he would bring it towards her and they would lean in together, scouring the volume, discussing details and ideas with dynamic and harmonious enthusiasm. His physical presence, vital and tall beside her, which in itself had struck fear into her in the past, was now an additional comfort and encouragement.

When Malfoy was away, Hermione admitted to herself that she missed his conversation, his discussions, his company. But as the days passed he seemed to be around more than before. It was rare he went out for long periods of time now. He would mention business meetings to her with a sigh of resignation, clearly not relishing the prospect of having to attend them. She would laugh and tease him about shirking, telling him that she had been much the same. When she laughed, she would catch him looking at her intently, the corners of his mouth turning up, his eyes alight. She liked that. But he would not stay away long; he now seemed to choose to be at home far more.

Their conversation still focussed on work and magic. They left the personal out of it. Coffee and tea times, although convivial, were still always formal, with the two of them sitting straight-backed in opposite chairs. Hermione told herself that was acceptable; it was certainly what she expected. But she still looked forward to those moments. She would sip her tea and glance up at him; he would sip his, each aware of sharing the physical sensation of hot liquid seeping into them. It brought a secret smile to them both.

And now, after a glance, he would catch her eye and not lower his head.

When Hermione was caught in the deep grey of Lucius Malfoy's eyes she acknowledged at last that things had changed between them.

Yet neither did anything about it.

History, habit and circumstance would not allow them to do any more than talk and smile. Here were, after all, a former Death Eater pureblood and a Mudblood who had fought openly against each other. If his glances became more protracted and his smiles a little warmer, her pride did not let her act on it, and neither, apparently, did his.

With her magic she had moved onto stories which had enthralled and fascinated her as a child. It was while working on 'The Princess and the Pea' that she had her breakthrough. It was tea-time, late on a Friday afternoon and Lucius had been expecting her downstairs. When she did not appear, he had gone up to the library to inquire after her.

"Miss Granger?" he called softly as she worked concertedly across from him.

There was no answer. The woman had her back to him, leaning hard over a cauldron, her hair tumbling in dense, ragged curls down her shoulders. She was flitting from a book to her left, to the cauldron, and occasionally lifting her wand to chant a lengthy and complicated spell. He watched her silently for a moment. At one point a long leg bent up behind her and she let out a slight sigh of frustration. The leg dropped again and the foot tapped discontentedly on the floor. Her left hand came up to run through her hair, causing strands of it to kink in a bizarre bushy form out from the side.

Malfoy smiled. He should not disturb her. And he wanted to carry on watching her.

"Yes! That's it! Finally!" Her sudden exclamation startled him, and he watched as her body reenergised with frantic determination, moving quickly from one thing to another.

Hermione turned abruptly to reach for something on a shelf behind and saw him. Instead of the surprise she might have displayed, her face beamed exultantly. "Lucius! You must come and see this. I think this is going to do it. Quickly, come over here, hurry!" She spoke in a flurry of excitement. He could not remember her ever using his first name before.

Lucius walked carefully over, not wishing to disturb her careful preparation, and stood a little off to the side, observing as she made her final adjustments.

"OK – It's gone so well today. I'm ready for the incantation ... you can be my witness." She smiled across at him, her eyes dancing with excitement. He returned her smile softly.

"I'm listening. Go on then."

The woman closed her eyes, drew her wand over the cauldron, and intoned deeply, "Corpora animatus, libra formatus, corpora vitam surrexit!"

Her incantation was spoken while she dropped the final ingredients into the cauldron and scrolled her wand fluidly three times over the potion.

Lucius' eyes followed Hermione's transfixed stare. And before them, rising from the cauldron, there grew a deep green mist. At first, it seemed to be amorphous, but gradually the swirling top formed into a head and arms grew from a developing torso. The phosphorescent mist stretched into long hair and the dips and hollows within it morphed into eyes, a nose and mouth. They watched entranced as a perfect image of a beautiful woman appeared before them. But this was not just a shape, a hint of longing, this was a sentient being. For a moment, the nebulous eyes searched the room, the mouth widened and then words sounded. "I have been searching. The storm was so terrible and I was lost. Is this your castle? May I rest here for a time? Please ... I have been travelling so long ..."

And as the girl reached out a long, slender hand and Hermione in turn prepared to grasp it, the glowing shape imploded upon itself and was gone.

Hermione remained staring over the cauldron, but then with an expelled laugh of incredulity, she turned to Lucius. "Did you see? Did you see that?"

He was smiling broadly. "How could I not? Remarkable. Truly remarkable. You're a very talented witch indeed."

She was not sure if it was with the euphoria of her achievement or at Lucius' compliment, but in the next instant, Hermione had thrown her arms around his neck and held him close into her.

Lucius took a staggering step back, his arms rising to his sides, unsure what to do. The woman's body pressed itself hard against him, giving, warm and lithe. He smelt her suddenly and overwhelmingly – lily-of-the-valley. Her hair tickled his chin, her hands clasped his shoulder blades. Her slight firm body heaved with excitement and he felt her gentle breasts pressing tight into him. Emotion surged through him and he recognised all too well that other feeling, that nudging heat in his belly which would manifest itself too soon elsewhere. And this with a Mudblood!

It would have been so easy. So easy to enclose his arms about her and hold her into him, share in the joy of the moment, share in her body, her body which he had gazed at, thought about.


Panic welled up in him and, keeping his hands limp at his side, he cleared his throat tersely.

With a slight embarrassed laugh, Hermione pulled away. "Sorry," she smiled. "The moment clearly overcame me." She laughed again. His face was dead straight. She dropped her head quickly, covering her embarrassment with a blabber of excited monologue.

"Isn't that amazing though? That was her – the princess from the story. Do you know that story? She has been out in a storm and finds herself at this castle and knocks on the door asking for shelter." She searched his face for a reflection of the wonder she felt, but this time she did not find it. Lucius was looking down at her, his face inscrutable. She recalled the feel of his broad shoulders under her fingers, his firm torso against her as she held him in happiness. She had liked it. His apparent sudden switch to distanced formality grieved her more than she let on.

"I'm sorry, Lucius. Is tea ready? I'll be down in a moment."

He stood for a while, silently looking down at her. She wondered for a time if he had misheard her. Then with a sudden intake of breath Malfoy pulled himself up sharply. "No, Miss Granger. I came to tell you I have to go away. I won't be back for several days. Good afternoon."

He turned from her and left the room.

And as Hermione watched the door closing behind him, suddenly and unexpectedly, she burst into tears.

Oh dear. As my aunty always told me - better out than in. Some people never learn. Any thoughts greatly appreciated. Don't worry - the pirate captain will be along in due course. LL x