Take Me to the Stars

Chapter 1- Freedom

It was a little sad, Harry decided, to live in a cupboard. But, he thought, it wasn't as terrible as it seemed. The space was a comfortable size, being perfect for him. It was this fact that allowed him to appreciate his small size and stature. And, it wasn't exactly lonely, per say, because the spiders were here. They crawled over his hands and arms and waved at him with their legs from the corners.

There were two in particular that visited him the most and he decided to call them Jack and Jill, after that rhyme he heard from the telly when Dudley cranked up the volume. He giggled as he remembered his aunt sweetly asking his cousin to turn the sound down, but the boy had only thrown a fit until the woman gave up, returning to the kitchen, no doubt to finish cooking lunch, grumbling all the time.

Harry knew his relatives didn't like him that much, from the dirty looks, some unnecessary shoving, and small room he had, but that was alright. He had somewhere to sleep, food to eat, and clothes to wear. After all, he wasn't supposed to be in the Dursley residence anyway, but his aunt and uncle had been gracious enough to let him stay under their roof, despite already having a child to fuss and take care of. Harry also knew that while the way they regarded him was a little unfair, he was better off than some of the other children he saw on a rare trip to London with the Dursleys.

His family was nice. Aunt Petunia gave him pieces of fruit and slices of bread as snacks when it wasn't mealtimes, Dudley shared the morning showers with him from time to time, and Uncle Vernon got a new chair at the dinner table for the extra addition.

Life here, the boy believed, wasn't so bad. He even had a little light in his cupboard so he could find his way around. Though, he pouted, he did wish there were some more things he could put on the plain wooden walls and ground. Then, it would look so empty.

One day, on a Friday evening, Uncle Vernon came home, feet unsteady and face red. He had this cloud of sharp odor around him and his speech was slurred. He had returned to the house in the middle of a movie Aunt Petunia and Dudley were watching and decided to join them.

Harry knew from past experience that it was usually best for him to stay away from the man on these days, but his eyes darted to the right, knowing what was in that direction. Then, his eyes darted left where he knew the living room was. From the crack between the wall and his little door, the boy could see the light flickering in the darkness of the house and hear the dialog between the actors. It seemed they were watching a detective murder mystery today. Good. His relatives were completely glued the telly. He opened the crack a little wider when he sensed no movement.

Wait.

He retreated into his cupboard, shutting the opening swiftly as a couch groaned and heaved from the left. Pressing himself against the door, his heartbeat sped up and he held his breath. The ground shuddered under his feet as someone passed by in the hall. Uncle Vernon, his mind whispered to him, some how knowing who it was. His ears caught the whisper of a door clicking shut. After a moment, there was a flushing and he swallowed nervously. It wasn't until he was sure the man was back to the movie when he quickly jerked the door and rushed to the bathroom, almost crying in relief.

He did cry in shock when the bathroom door slammed open as he was washing his hands. He hadn't turned the lights on, oping to just leaving the door ajar slightly to let the moonlight in. His hands clutched a bar of soap tightly as he recognized the figure before the doorway. He would recognize it anywhere. It was Uncle Vernon, and he didn't look very happy.

Harry returned to his cupboard, head hanging low and bangs shadowing his face. He had been lucky today to only escape with a few bruises and scrapes, but right now, he almost wished it had been like last he was caught out of his room past eight o'clock. Yes, it had hurt when he was punched and kicked, but somehow it hurt a lot more now than it did then, inside his chest. The boy felt something trickle down his face and he raised a shaking hand up. The liquid smeared onto his fingertips and stared at it in amazement.

Was this what they called tears? He didn't know.

He curled up on his small bed and huddled under the blankets, a small ball, the only toy he had, in his hands. Its dim glow was a comfort to his eyes and he stared at it for an age, thinking.

Everything was alright.

Right?

Everything, was going to be alright.

It would.

It would.

It would.

No.

No, it wouldn't, and Harry knew this. Harry knew that the dirty looks were full of contempt for him, the shoving often left bruises on his elbows and knees, and that the cupboard he was given used to be a broom closet before he came. As for the food, the boy had to go onto his knees and beg for the small morsels from his aunt because he was given the bare minimum at meals, only enough to keep him tethered down to this world. The extra chair at the dinner table also wasn't for him. It was for any business guests that came over for dinner.

Harry clutched his toy even closer to his chest, wishing he was somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

He closed his eyes and his breathing deepened as he slipped into a deep sleep.

The old grandfather clock in the middle of the dining room chimed softly and lowly eleven times. The sound was rich as the gong was struck behind the numbered face. A few minutes, Harry Potter was gone, vanished.

Captain Flint was not pleased with his crew. Exploring the Coral Galaxy, they had found a wandering ship by the name of the RLS Lady Medallion and attacked it with a full frontal assault. The boat was full of gold and riches, everything he desired, but one of his crew decided to slip up at the last moment and blow one of the his own ship's engines. The explosion had immensely crippled their attempt to sabotage the main city and he had wisely ordered a retreat. Luckily, the damage didn't appear to be too major, since they were still sailing at a relatively fast pace, and the crew member was only mildly injured. The gun that dropped into the pipes and gears, however, wasn't so fortunate.

The irritated man gnashed his teeth in frustration at the treasure lost and clutched the wooden railing, almost strangling it apart. He could feel the sensation of the yellow metal slipping from between his fingers like sand. Then, he returned to his cabin, snapping orders out to whomever had the misfortune to come across his path when he was in this mood, intent on recording the loss down, even if it was a failure.

Yes, he was not pleased. Then, a voice called from the crow's nest and he didn't resisted the urge to snarl angrily.

"What is it?" he asked, spitting the words out. "It better be good or you're thrown off the ship for good!"

"I-It's a vessel, sir! Too small to be a ship. Very strange oval shape. Forty-seven degrees north-west, sir! It appears to be blue and unmanned." His irritated mood was slightly lightened when he heard the fear drifting with the lookout's words, but was also intrigued.

"Somebody get me a spyglass," he snapped, holding a hand out. "And make it quick." The instrument was instantly pressed into his gnarly hands and he raised it, focusing on the directions. True to the lookout's words, there was a blue pod out there, floating, as if waiting to be plucked from the dark space. It made Flint curious and he gave orders to his first mate, knowing the man would be just a step behind him, like always. "Give the orders to go forty-seven degrees north-west, Grant. We're going to capture that vessel!" The man inclined his head with an, "As you command," before belting out the orders to the rest of the crew.

Flint grinned, showing off his sharp teeth even more and creating a frightening picture, as the deck became alive. Men popped out of holes and rose from below decks as Grant shouting everything necessary to change direction. Good man, Grant was. There was nothing like a good first mate that a captain could have. He caught the thin man's attention and curtly said, "Call me as soon as that thing is brought on starboard board." Then, he left to go back to his cabin, this time to add in two new logs to the record. The crew members around him shuddered as they heard his chuckle.

When the captain laughed, it was a longer day for everyone.

The beastly man shut his door and locked it securely, tucking the key safely into a breast pocket, feeling his body relax slightly now he was in his own environment. He drew the drapes down over spacious windows and lit a candle. The wavering light was small, but served its purpose as he sat down in front of his desk. He opened the top drawer and took a green covered book out. In golden letters, it read Ship's Log: Walrus. He carefully unscrewed the top of an ink bottle and dabbed a quill in.

"Month of February, the twenty-second. Location: Coral Galaxy. Found merchant ship RLS Lady Medallion, but failed to attack due to crew member dropping weapon into engines. Found blue vessel hovering space." At this, he paused, the tip just above the parchment, before setting the writing utensil down. "Name is unknown." Deciding to stop recording for the time being, he closed the book and returned it under the table. Then, he reached under the table.

Pushing a hidden switch with his claw, a decorative square popped out and he twisted it before pushing it back in. This caused a creak and whirr to sound before the first drawer popped open again, only this time instead of a green bound book, there was a stack of loose parchment. It was these that he took out reverently and set them on the wooden surface. He let out a breath of contentment.

On these parchment, lay designs and lines of every sort, all carefully lined in ink. Flint's eyes glowed as he gazed upon his work. Every inch of detail was done deliberately by him. He was a clever man, and knew how to protect what was important, like his cabin space, for example. He fingered the key against his chest and grinned as he shuffled through his papers. However, he eventually got to the last few of the stack and scowled, spreading the two sheets out in front of him. His red eyes narrowed.

It was these two projects that brought him great frustration. Despite having been the first two inventions he had designed, they remained incomplete all these years, and he growled deeply in his throat.

One was a humanoid robot, designed to be the perfect crew member, programmed for any task assigned to it, and only took orders from Flint. Bio Electric Navigator, or B.E.N. for short. It would create its own energy and run continuously without constant maintenance, but what this energy would be, was his obstacle in this invention.

The other was much more complex. It was supposed to a portal, so he wouldn't have to waste time idly as the Walrus traveled from place to place, but he hadn't come up with much with that innovation still. He clenched his fist. It all boiled down to the energy source.

Solar power, while obvious, was not reliable for what he intended. Most everything in this century ran on the sun, and hile that worked fine and dandy for the ships and other things, Flint needed something that could run both on-planet and off-plant, night and day, fair or foul weather. He was interrupted from his thoughts when there was a polite knock on the door.

"Cap'n Flint, it's Grant. We have secure the vessel on starboard deck, as according to your orders." The man stood up and unlocked his door. Giving his first mate a look, he was led to where the strange thing was. Flint found himself strangely eager.

From the moment he laid eyes on it, he knew it was something entirely out of this world, no, galaxy. Never before had be seen such a odd object. Blue in color, it seemed to glow with an opaque aura, covered in an unreadable writing. The crew was crowded around it, but easily parted for him and he inwardly smirked, but scowled just as quickly when he saw a fresh sailor reach out curiously to touch the smooth surface.

"Don't touch it, you bilge rat!" he snarled, six eyes flashing. "What are you? A fool?" Wisely the other kept silent, curiosity curbed by his captain's anger. Flint snorted. Idiocy, it seemed, was spreading across his crew. First was the engine, and now this. Speaking of this... He stared intently at the glowing blue pod. Taking a quill from his pocket and checking it was not one of his favored ones, he twirled with his long fingers before tossing it forward. They all watched with bated breath as the feather floated slowly down. It made contact and there was a collective breath.

1...2...3...4...5...6...

Nothing happened and a few men grunted, daring each other to touch the vessel. Their chuckles were deep and gravely, matching their appearance perfectly and one of them extended a hand. Flint made no move to stop him, wanting to see what would happen if the surface was touched by a hand instead of a feather.

He never got to find out.

This was a time where Harry Potter could say he was truly, deeply frightened. Waking up somewhere different than when he fell asleep, he was instantly panicked. The tight walls around him, even if they were extremely soft, did not ease his state at all and instead skyrocketed it to higher levels. He heard voices around him, deep and foreign, threatening, and his small frame trembled. His body tensed and there was a pressure on his chest. He blinked, realizing that he still had his ball with him. A new look entered his eyes and his ears picked up on a slightly rustling outside of... wherever he was. It seemed something was coming and he prepared himself.

The instant his prison was cracked open, he leaped out, toy clenched safely against his chest. He didn't notice a bright white light flare around him, blinding anything and everyone within ten meters of him. His mind was focused on only one thing: escape.

The boy noticed the area he was in was small and constricted, but there were enough little nooks and crannies he could hide in easily. Spotting an opening in the deck, he jumped through the narrow opening, hearing cursing behind him. His legs pattered faster against the wooden deck, feet slapping rhythmically. By the time the voices were gone, he allowed himself a break and surveyed his surroundings. He was in an odd room, full of tubes and knobs to turn. He wiped his his forehead with a sweaty palm. It was also warm in here too. He froze.

"What do we have here?" an elderly tone asked. "A boy? No, it can't be, can it? My eyes must be deceiving me." A wizened man stepped from the shadows of metal and grease. His eyes were covered with monstrously large goggles and he was bald, but had a beard of white. He squinted at Harry before smiling. "Well what do you know, it is a young boy. What's a young boy got to do on a pirate's ship?"

"P-Pirate's ship?" the dark-haired boy squeaked. "I'm on a pirate's ship?" The man nodded proudly and squatted so they were more even in height.

"You got that right, laddie. And this is no ordinary pirate's ship, it's Captain J. Flint's ship, the Walrus." He sighed. "That man's destined for great things, great things." The giant eyes behind the goggles focused on Harry. "But enough about this ship and her captain. What are you doing here?" The boy was silent, stiff as a board. Nodding and humming thoughtfully, the man stood up to his full height and beckoned him to follow. "Let's talk about this over some tea and cookies, shall we? The name's Ol' George, by the way." George ambled down the narrow path and Harry glanced back where he knew the other men were before deciding to follow the strange man.

He was led to a room that was small, but homey. He gazed about in amazement at the sheer amount of things compacted into the cabin. Pictures and pictures were posted on the wall, hiding the dull black-gray color with words and color, but what caught Harry's attention the most were the hand-drawn designs that seemed to dominate space. Flying machines, little nick-knacks, and practical mechanisms alike dotted the wall like candy at a carnival, something you never got enough of. He stared in speechless wonder and genius displayed about him. Now, he didn't understand most of it, but knew intellect when he saw it.

George chucked at the boy's gobsmacked expression, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to him. At this, Harry was shaken from his staring and accepted the drink with both hands, feeling the warmth from his hands seep into the chipped cup. He peered into the brown liquid. Cold tea?

"Now," the old man said, sitting down on his bed. He waved the boy to come next to him. "Tell me how you came to be on the Walrus." The dark-haired boy gazed down into his reflection pensively. There was a nudge on his side and he looked up. George was holding out a plate of cookies and he took one, biting into it. It was hard and brittle, but still one of the sweetest things Harry had in a while and so he didn't complain. He washed the crumbs down with some tea, almost spitting it back out. It was so bitter. Not wanting to insult his host, he refrained from making a face.

"How I came here...I don't quite know myself," he admitted quietly. The man seemed friendly enough. "I'm sleeping on my bed one moment and then I wake up in this strange, blue thing. Somebody opened it and I ran away, coming here." His grip on the glass cup tightened. "That's all." George nodded, not pressing for details.

"Usually when strange things happen in life, I like to think it was meant to be. That way, it doesn't seem as bad."

"Like destiny?" The man nodded, taking a long drink of tea.

"Just like destiny. If it's meant to be, then it's meant to be. There's no point in fighting it." At this, Harry frowned and he gave George a hard look.

"That seems rather pessimistic of you to say so." The old man shrugged and swirled his cup around.

"To each their own. That's the philosophy I've been living by and it's served me well."

"Well..." the dark-haired boy trailed off, not know how to say what was on his mind without offending the other. George noticed this and smiled crookedly.

"Look, kid. I never said you had to take it as your own. I just said that was mine. That's it. You're free to come up with your own way of life." He gave the other an amused look. "It took me thirty years to come to that conclusion. You're in no need to rush to find yours." Harry's eyes widened at the implied offer in that statement.

"You mean...?" he asked. The elderly nodded in affirmation, standing up and collecting both tea cups. He deposited them in a bucket.

"Take as long as you need." Harry felt a true smile tug on his lips and he grinned, giving George a grateful hug, but immediately shied away after.

"S-Sorry," he mumbled, looking down. His relatives hadn't liked him touching them and he didn't know if this man, who had kindly given a place to stay, would like being touched by him either. A pair of white bushy brows shot up in question.

"For what is there to apologize for?" George asked, and then he cackled with glee. "Pretty soon you'll regret taking me up on that offer. I'm going to work you so hard, now that I have a young ruffian like you around now."

Harry had to work for a place to stay again, but he found he didn't mind so much anymore. Instead, he felt even more liberated and energized. He laughed.

Was this what freedom felt like?

Hey all you readers! I am back from a long, long hiatus of no writing! I just watched Treasure Planet this afternoon and had to get this out before my inspiration flew out the window. So, forgive me if I'm a bit rusty.

Feedback is appreciated. Should I continue this?

Next chapter, Harry meets Flint.

Love,

Shini