Albus Dumbledore was a wizard who had lived quite a long time. He had seen many strange and unusual things in his lifetime, and yet he thought that this might be one of the strangest yet. He was thrilled.
Mr. Gibbs was going around the interrogation room, introducing the crew. He, too, had seen many odd things during the course of his life, but this old man with the really long white beard and strange attire took the cake. He was less than thrilled.
“…Cotton, Cotton’s parrot, Marty, Gunnar, Moises, and that's Jack.” Gibbs finished his introductions and sat down at the metal table in the middle of the Ministry interrogation room heavily. Dumbledore smiled.
“Yes, I’ve already met Captain Sparrow.”
The aforementioned captain shook his head from where he was standing, cleaning his nails with a dagger. “Not me, mate. He means the monkey. I really hate that bloody thing.”
Dumbledore looked down at the monkey.
“Eep,” Jack the monkey said, eating a flea.
“So, mate, hate to talk and run, but we really must be going now. People to see, mayhem to cause, treasure to find, savvy?”
Dumbledore nodded sympathetically.
“I understand your desire to return to your ship. However, I must ask you one thing. How, Captain Sparrow, were you planning on returning to…wherever you came from? I assure you, our world here does not end so abruptly.”
Gibbs banged his head on the table. “I asked him the same thing, didn’t I? But oh, no, the great Captain Jack Sparrow hadn’t really THOUGHT that far! Mum was right, I should have been a blacksmith.” He banged his head on the table again.
Jack shrugged. “I was just making it up as I go, mate. I was not told that the edge of the world would take us to another world where strangely dressed people point sticks at you. You can’t blame a man, really.”
“Eep.” Jack the monkey gave Jack the captain the finger. Gibbs banged his head again. The rest of the crew shifted uneasily.
“Well,” old Marty spoke up warily, eyeing the old man in front of him, “why don’t ye just use yer stick and…er…poof us back?” Murmurs of agreement filled the room. Captain Jack looked hopeful.
Dumbledore shook his head sadly.
“As I don’t know where, exactly, you come from, or even when, I’m afraid that would be impossible. We have people in the Department of Mysteries working on finding you a way home, though, have no fear.”
Jack made a face. “And how long d’you reckon that’s going to take, mate?”
Dumbledore sighed. “Well, we are a bit occupied at the moment with a crisis of our own…”
The crew groaned.
“What could be more important than yours truly getting his paws on a load of glittery riches?” Jack demanded indignantly.
Dumbledore gave them an abridged version of Lord Voldemort’s history, return to power, and attack on Britain.
Jack sighed. “So once you kill ol’ Snakey, your mystery people can get us back home?”
Dumbledore nodded.
Jack glanced around at his crew. “Well, then, mates, let’s just speed this along, shall we?” He drew his sword.
Dumbledore laughed. “Captain Sparrow, we already know who will be the end of Tom Riddle. He must be destroyed by a boy named Harry Potter, according to the Prophecy. However…” He studied the group thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could be of assistance…”
“Right! Good! We will help your bonny young lad kill his evil Voldywort person and then you will poof us home. Brilliant! Now, I’m bushed. We’re going to need beds and rum, mate. Lots and lots of rum. And do you have any wenches to go with those beds and that rum?”
The crew cheered in agreement.
Dumbledore looked down at Jack the monkey.
“Well, then, I better go find some rum, shouldn’t I?”
“Eep,” the money replied.
YOU ARE READING
Maelstrom of Destiny
FantasyA parody of what might happen if the cast of Pirates of the Caribbean were to sail into Harry Potter's magical Britain. Short and humorous.
