A/N: Listen. Guys. I'm not even going to question this.

(Did I not update this story in 6 years? Yes.

Did I ever intent to write more than one chapter? No.

Do I have SEVERAL unfinished, actual WIP, on this page? Yes.

Is there any reason why the f*ck I would write this and not any of the other stories? Honestly I have no idea.)

...Friendly reminder that the first chapter is meant to be a stand-alone oneshot...

Enjoy?

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3

The captain had been stabbed.

This did not strike Harry as particularly unusual.

The man showed a grace and a ferocity in combat Harry had ever only heard described in poems and songs. But they did get into a lot of fights after all. Usually totally outnumbered, many times with far inferior weapons.

So, Harry thought, Voldemort was bound to end up with more than light cuts and bruises at some point.

This particular battle though, had been more brutal than any Harry had witnessed so far. This was mostly due to the fact that their opponents actually knew how to fight and were willing to do so, despite the Voldemort's reputation. Even worse, after a while another ship neared from the horizon, clearly intent on providing reinforcements. So the pirates were under a bit of time pressure.

The captain had kept on fighting, with the wound barely slowing him down at all. Even after they won, he had remained upright and unbothered, directing his men in their efficient transfer of goods and valuables from the defeated brig to their ship.

Harry wondered whether it was pure stubbornness or idiotic pride.

Either way, by the time Harry finally got a good look at the wound, it had soaked the entire left side of the captain's shirt as well as his trouser leg and was still bleeding profusely.

Since this was a stab wound left untreated for almost half an hour, this was to be expected and not unusual.

Harry managed to jostle the man into his bed quite easily, which was perhaps the most damning indication of his weakened state.

Considering that he had lost what looked like a third of his blood, this too wasn't unusual.

No. The problem lay entirely with Voldemort. The ship, not the man.

The main sail was torn to shreds, despite not having endured a single hit, and no amount of mending appeared to fix its sorry state. The crew had replaced it with the stolen sail from the defeated vessel – it was in tatters within minutes.

And although not visible to the naked eye, if you ran your fingers along the mizzenmast one could feel a crack running through the entire wood, from the bottom all the way to the very top. It too had never been hit.

But fights were hectic and Harry couldn't possibly keep track of everything, and if you think about it, a ship in need of fixing was hardly unusual after a battle at sea.

This somewhat calmed him, until the next day, where he pulled the captain's bandages just a tad bit too tight (entirely justified), which earned him a vicious glare (entirely unjustified). When he left the cabin and gazed out about the decks, the foremast had broken into two.

This really did bother Harry, as he was all but certain that it had been intact after the battle, and considering that it was their only way of setting sail at the moment, would have been treated with the utmost care. Especially since they couldn't be sure if the other ship was still pursuing them or not.

However none of the crew seemed bothered and so maybe this wasn't unusual either. What did he know of ships anyways?

No. The unusual thing was the fact that the ship was gliding through the water at considerable speed, despite not a single one of its three sails being functional.

No amount of seafaring ignorance could find normalcy in that detail.

No sail, barely any wind (though it was hard to tell with the headwind whooshing past his ears), the ship was being pushed by nothing but the ocean's current.

"It's a bit fast don't you think?" Bellatrix asked him pointedly.

"What?"

"Mind slowing the fuck down? We can barely walk on deck at this speed."

She said it as if it was his fault. And then she left.

Three days after the fighting, Harry replaced Voldemort's stitches and the main sail was mended successfully.

They couldn't put it up though, for at this point the ship was going so fast a sail would slow them down at best or break the main mast at worst.

Five days after the fighting the captain was up and about, giving orders and making sure their routine was picked up again. There was no longer a crack in the mizzenmast.

Six days after the fighting Voldemort found Harry on the forecastle deck, looking up at the perfectly intact foremast.

The past few days no one was on deck unless absolutely necessary. While the sky was clear and no storm was in sight, their ship was going so fast the headwind made it tricky to stand upright and even small waves bounced the ship's bow out of the water.

Harry didn't do well being cooped up in his small cabin and the gallery was now jock full of the crew, hiding from whatever was going on outside. So he was determined to make a round on deck, though he had to hold on to the railing at every step of the way.

"Child," Voldemort greeted exasperated.

Harry waited for him to elaborate, but Voldemort only scrutinized him.

"Yes?" Harry said after a while, thinking he was waiting for an acknowledgement of some kind.

Voldemort gazed out at the otherwise calm ocean around them, then back at Harry. "Do you know where you are going?"

"Just once around the decks," Harry replied, "I'll be back in the cabin shortly, I'm halfway done."

The captain looked both incredulous and highly amused.

"No, silly thing, where are we going?" he gestured out to the ocean.

Harry frowned confused. "I mean you can walk with me if you're feeling up to it. Don't tear your stitches though."

The man made another irritated gesture to the ocean.

"I'm not jumping into the water again," Harry said resolutely, "Or let you push me in for that matter. All the offense, but I'm pretty sure even I could take you at the moment."

The captain looked at him pointedly and Harry was suddenly acutely aware that he was holding on to the railing for dear life, while the other still managed to balance himself out on the unevenly moving deck.

Harry noted with some satisfaction that even he wasn't perfectly upright anymore.

"I could take you," grumbled Harry, "If your goddamn ship wasn't trying to detach herself from the planet."

"Hmm, yes we really should slow down," Voldemort said pensively. "This has been going on for days and it's starting to put a strain on the wood."

"Poor thing," Harry muttered, starting to walk again while basically dragging himself along the railing.

"The Voldemort is the only thing keeping you alive," said Voldemort.

"Ask it where it's going then," Harry retorted.

Now the captain was openly smirking. "Sure. Let's head back hm? Maye our quartermaster can tell us where we're headed."

Harry stared at him baffled. "I sure hope the man steering your ship knows where it's headed."

"The where doesn't concern me that much," Voldemort said, "I'm trying to figure out what the urgency is though."

"You're the captain," Harry reminded him.

"Why yes. Of the ship."

"Do you like making no sense?"

"Do you like not making sense of your reality?" Voldemort shot back.

Harry glared at him, but the man only smiled back innocently.

"It's been a while," the captain pointed out. "But you've yet to ask any questions. Where did all that curiosity go?"

"You said you'd explain everything."

"I did. I'll answer your questions. So ask them."

Harry remained silent. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. It's just that every time he did, he gave himself a headache and a bad feeling. Most infuriatingly, he didn't know what to even ask. He just knew that since he embarked on his ill-fated journey, something had been off. And it had gotten a lot worse since stepping onto the Voldemort.

They arrived at the quarter deck and the captain overtook Harry to climb up the stairs first.

"You should ask your first question soon," the man advised as he went ahead. "It's catching up to you and ignorance is not a good look on you."

Harry scowled at the other's back, but dragged himself up the stairs too.

"Severus," the captain greeted. "Any luck determining our course?"

The dark clad figure was vaguely holding on to the helm, although he seemed to use it more for steadying himself in the headwind than for navigation.

"East," the quartermaster replied.

Harry and Voldemort both waited a moment for any more information, but the stern looking man didn't continue.

"How wonderfully enlightening," the captain said drily.

Belatedly, Harry realized that the captain hadn't been joking. His unease grew. "Wait so you really don't know where we're going?" He glanced from one man to the other. "Either of you? Do we even know where we are?"

"Excellent question – Severus?"

The quartermaster shrugged. "Vaguely."

The captain looked at Harry and shrugged too.

Harry was dumbfounded. This was bad right? Surely this was bad? It struck him, not for the first time, that he was on a tiny floating mass of wood in the middle of a vast nothingness that stretched as far left and right as it did down, with no land in sight, dwindling resources and no way to gain any control over the situation. And apparently neither the captain nor the quartermaster had any desire to change their situation.

He was usually good at accepting his fate, rotten luck and all. He'd learnt to be stoic in the face of many hardships.

Usually.

Now he felt lost in a way he hadn't since drifting alone with his plank. Except this time his sense of panic was not dulled by starvation, heat stroke or insomnia. It welled up in him, briefly, like a cold spike of ice in his veins.

The ship jerked forward so abruptly, the quartermaster lost his grip on the wheel and flung backwards. Even Voldemort was slammed against the deck's railing.

The ship accelerated further, wind howling in Harry's ears. It felt as if they were in the middle of a terrible storm, yet the sea looked as blue as the clear sky.

"Child," Voldemort yelled warningly.

Harry looked up at the man, who had closed the distance and now stood right in front of him.

"I- I don't understand," Harry said.

"Your question. Ask it."

He had always been curious about everything. Enjoyed knowledge found in books as much as the grand tales of sailors.

But struck with the sheer impossible oddness that was going on around him, he couldn't comprehend enough to even put it in a question. Except.

"What is happening?" he asked tonelessly.

Voldemort's face, for once, was devoid of smugness. Although the man did look pleased, there was none of his usual amusement dancing in his eyes.

"I know the what, but we should really address the why first," he replied. "I've been pondering on it while I was recovering. I might be wrong, but then…" he looked at Harry pensively. "You do care too much about everyone after all."

He grabbed hold of Harry's face, much gentler than expected, his hands blocking out most of the howling wind over Harry's ears.

He stared down at him intently. "Harry we are safe, they are long gone, no one is coming after us I promise. Slow down."

Harry exhaled.

The wind was gone.

The ship started to slow, gliding through the water as if having been pushed by a giant hand and now released. Gently drifting along with the last of the momentum.

Harry blinked. "What..?"

The captain looked out across the sea, no longer hurling past them at breakneck speed, then back to Harry with a satisfied expression.

He released his head and turned around. "We should get you a drink, come along."

Harry, feeling numb, started to shuffle after him for lack of any sensible alternative.

"Captain?" the quartermaster chimed in, having recovered from his fall. "The course?"

"Keep it as it is, we might as well see where it takes us," Voldemort ordered. "And ready the sails! No more idling around!" he shouted across deck.

As several crew members emerged from below deck and got to work, Harry followed the captain into his familiar cabin.

"Wine or rum?" the man asked nonchalantly.

When no answer was forthcoming he turned back to Harry, noticing his dazed countenance.

"Child," he sighed. "The only thing worse than ignorance is denial."

Harry took the goblet that was handed to him, but remained mute.

"I've seen you in much worse situations with much better mental resilience. What has you so shaken this time?"

Finally Harry took a breath, shaking his head to rid himself of his stupor. "The fact that the laws of reality do not seem to apply to your ship."

"Hmm. To be fair," the captain said between two sips of drink, "Most of them do."

"Most," echoed Harry hollowly.

He set down his own drink on the table, untouched.

"What did you do? Out there?"

"Me?" the other barked out a laugh. "I didn't do anything."

"But..!" Harry protested.

But.

"But-," he started again.

Voldemort was watching him, an amused smile on his face once again. "Go on."

Harry just stood, his thoughts as frozen as his feet that were rooted to the floorboards.

The captain kept observing him. "Ask the damn question. Really, this will go smoother if you figure part of it out yourself."

"What did I do?"

Voldemort took another sip of his drink. "Emotions got a bit out of hand. It happens, I suppose."

"It happens? It happens?!"

"Well you are an unusually calm person. You certainly seem to have no fear, even in the face of imminent death. You react to goading with pride not anger, if you react at all. Your empathy though… Now there's a problem. And once a dam breaks, well…"

"Does annoyance count?" Harry asked crossly. "Because I'm feeling a great deal of that. Can't you just explain?"

"It's a lot and you are most definitely not ready for a lot."

Anger welled up in Harry, hot and all-consuming, replacing the numbness.

Water suddenly leaped against the cabin's stern windowfront. It slapped against the glass so hard it shattered, spilling into the cabin and pooling around their feet, soaking their boots.

Harry froze in shock, but the captain merely leaned forward and observed the water around his feet, fascinated.

"Having a bit of a day, Harry?" he asked wryly.

"I-…" Harry stuttered, then scowled as he saw the other smirk. "It's not fucking funny! That's- that's-…!" he gestured wildly to the water on the cabin's floor. "That's dangerous!"

"Oh yes," Voldemort said hungrily, "exceptionally so."

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to think through the unease.

All of this was bizarre. But then it had been strange for a while. In fact, Harry wasn't sure anymore whether he felt uneasy due to the odd situation or his own ignorance. And as much as he hated to admit it, the other man was right. Denial was not going to do him any favours.

"This is my fault," the captain suddenly said. "You've never seen us in a fight that was even remotely a close call. It must have shattered your confidence in your safety."

"You won easily," Harry pointed out.

"I got injured," the captain said seriously. Then his ever-present smugness returned. "I'm flattered by the way. For the concern."

"I wasn't concerned," Harry protested.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"I've examined your wound myself and I knew you'd be fine," Harry said irritated.

Voldemort bowed his head slightly, still amused. "Far be it from me to question your expertise."

"That being said," Harry continued and crossed his arms, "You shouldn't be able to walk around the way you do. It hasn't even been a full week."

The captain merely shrugged.

Harry wanted to dig deeper, but there were more pressing questions in his mind. He uncrossed his arms, took one deep breath and steeled himself.

"What am I?"

"Oh that one is easy," the captain snorted. "You're human."

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but somehow that wasn't it.

"Does answering questions with lies count?" he asked suspiciously. "Humans can't…" (move the sea) "…do…that."

"You'd be surprised."

"I am bloody surprised!" Harry shouted and the pool of water around their feet surged and splashed against the captain's legs.

The man's smile grew until it was all teeth.

"I-, uh… sorry?" Harry said sheepishly.

Voldemort snickered. "You've aged normally?"

Harry gaped at him. "Of course I aged normally!"

The man nodded, as if he had just given him the last piece of a larger puzzle. "Definitely human."

"I'm taking that means there are other options," Harry said drily.

"I notice you're not formulating that as a question," Voldemort smirked and Harry shuffled on his feet, uncomfortable.

Voldemort sighed and stood up. "I did consider it. But I've been watching you since we first met and it is really very clear. You lived on land your entire life. You eat, shit and age normally and you have all the emotions without any of the control. Definitely human," he repeated.

"I thought you said I'm unusually calm," Harry grumbled.

"Thankfully," the captain said. "Otherwise you'd probably have drowned us all and possibly yourself a long time ago."

Harry frowned. It was clear the other would only give very specific answers to very specific questions.

"Fine, I'm human. Who is my father?"

"I don't know."

Harry threw his hands up in frustration "Really? Because it didn't sound like it last time you brought it up."

Voldemort shrugged. "There are many names and descriptions for it. Humanity doesn't do well with the unknown. So they gave it a male form. The ancient greeks called him Poseidon. Romans renamed him Neptune. He's known as Varuna, Tlaloc, Enki, Llyr and I could go on. But if you want even a chance of a response from him, you should refer to him as Aegir."

"Ae-" Voldemort's hand was on his mouth immediately.

"I really wouldn't chance it, at the moment."

Harry narrowed his eyes and withdrew his head. "Why? What would happen?"

"No idea," the captain said flatly. "Usually nothing. With you? Best not to find out in the middle of the sea."

"So you think my dad is a god?"

"He was worshipped as one, there's a difference."

Harry blinked. "There is?"

"Aegir is the power of the ocean, not the sea itself. It is formless, without thoughts or desires. It just is, has been and will be forever. Intangible and yet undeniable."

"Intangible doesn't exactly track with…" Harry made a vague gesture to himself.

The captain flicked his forehead and Harry scowled at him.

"As I said, you're human."

"Then what is that?" Harry pointed to the innocuous looking puddle on the floor.

The other shrugged. "An echo, resonating within you. A vestige."

"Doesn't feel very vestigial," Harry muttered.

"As I said power doesn't have purpose. Doesn't have will or drive. And yet it is absolute. It can't be caught, can't be destroyed, can't be created. But you are human."

"I am human," Harry repeated, hoping if he said it enough his doubts would stop to linger.

"You are not formless. You have desires, thoughts and emotions. And so the power within you - however small - has no choice. It takes a form, because you are human. Your will shapes it."

Harry squinted at the puddle, willing it to ripple across the floor, splash around their legs, hit the captain in the face, anything.

But it remained unmoving, like any respectable puddle would.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him.

"But I don't know what I'm doing," Harry said.

"Clearly."

Harry glared at him.

Another shrug. "Let me be frank. You are human. A lifetime is not long enough to even attempt to control your gift."

"Is a lifetime long enough to learn about it?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"Oh-ho," the captain chuckled. "Careful child. You're dangerously close to another question. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"I'm just saying you seem to know an awful lot about this." He made a vague gesture. "For a human."

Voldemort's smile was sharp. "I notice you still didn't formulate that as a question."

Harry sighed in frustration and turned away to look at the puddle once more. "Whatever. Fine. What the hell happens now?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Harry echoed.

"I really did believe there's no way you can control it."

"Hmm." Harry made, squinting at the puddle. Then he snapped his head back up. "Wait. You did believe it?"

"Well. You did just push my ship several days into gods know what direction."

"You knew before that," Harry said accusingly.

"Why yes," Voldemort agreed. "When my ship got pushed several weeks into a direction that turned out to be your trading vessel."

"How would I even-… Why would I-…" sputtered Harry.

"I'm afraid I'm not qualified to answer that question," the captain said nonchalantly. "But if that wasn't enough of a hint then it was the fact that you somehow drifted in the sea back to my ship. Still alive, miraculously."

"But I-… But…" Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But you said there's no way I can control it."

"I did. But then again…" the captain trailed off, clearly having no intention on finishing that thought.

Harry sighed and lightly splashed around in the water with his foot. It moved about normally.

Willing it to move clearly wasn't working. It only seemed to respond to his emotions. And now that his mind had settled somewhat into this new and albeit confusing reality, he felt rather calm again.

It was true that usually nothing really rattled him. Except-

He glanced back up at Voldemort, casually nursing his drink, as if he hadn't shattered the very foundations of Harry's reality.

That man.

The water below his foot leaped up, splashing across the captain's goblet, mixing with the drink and dripping down the man's hand and arm.

Harry stared at it.

"But then again," Voldemort repeated, slowly putting down his ruined drink. "You are on my ship after all. Voluntarily."

He shook his soaked sleeve in an attempt to stop the dripping, then smiled that sharp smile at Harry.

"What a delightfully interesting combination."

"Uhm," Harry made, intelligently.

Suddenly there was yelling outside. Through the general whooping and cheering, Harry could just about make out the cries of "Land!".

"Finally," the captain said and strode past him, leaving the cabin.

Harry backed out slowly after him, glancing back at the puddle several times, slightly scared it would creep after him.

He followed the captain back up to the quarter deck.

"Where are we then?" Voldemort asked the quartermaster, who was looking ahead at the thin strip of land through a spyglass.

"As far as I can tell, close to Shanghai."

The captain turned to look at Harry with an exasperated expression. "Really, child?"

Harry adopted what he hoped was an innocent look. "No control at all, remember?"

Voldemort chuckled. "So if I were to tell you that we cannot dock and that you are under no circumstances allowed to go on land?"

The ship made such a sharp turn to the left, anything loose on the deck toppled to the right side. People shouted and fell over, the ones in the masts desperately holding on to the ratlines.

Harry slammed against the railing so hard, he folded over and might have fallen out completely, if Voldemort hadn't snatched the scruff of his shirt.

The ship kept turning to its left side, starting to spin on its axis, gaining momentum and spinning faster still.

People started to scream for good.

"Severus," the captain shouted calmly to the man clutching the helm. "Course to the mainland and prepare to dock."

"Sure thing, captain," the man pressed out, sounding anything but.

The spinning stopped instantly, causing everything to slam to the left side amongst more screams.

Voldemort hauled him upright by his shirt and looked at him oddly.

"Huh," offered harry.

"You," he emphasized, "need to stop pushing my ship."

He left him there, disappearing somewhere onto the other decks while Harry was still clutching the railing.

The land was too far for him to make out anything but the vague outline of the terrain, but the ship was steering straight towards it, steadily gliding through the water.

They still weren't using any sails.

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A/N: I doubt I need to remind anyone how absolutely effed up the past couple years have been.

But istg I am faithfully getting a notification about new kudos on these stories every day and it is kind of blowing my mind. So here you go :). May it provide some lighthearted distraction to anyone who cares.