Chapter 12

The promised meal came soon enough, and with it, a familiar face.

"So what you're saying is you can turn yourself back to the way you were before? Whenever you want?"

Grue leaned on the boarding beside Harry, arms crossed. Harry looked up briefly, caught the older crewmember's sceptical look and took another bite of his stew. He chewed, forcing himself to slow down and savour the meaty flavour of the soup, though there was no actual meat, apart from gristle and a few pieces of sharp bone. Whatever it was, it was better than nothing, especially if Jones had been telling the truth and he'd managed to go without food for a month.

"I think so. At least, I've been able to so far. I'm not sure if there's a limit, or if I'll eventually not be able to change back."

Harry looked down at his plate. If that ever happened, and he'd have to become like the other crewmembers permanently, he wouldn't know what to do. Would he even have his magic? None of the others do, but none of them were wizards, either.

There was only the base of the stew left. He swirled the spoon around and picked up a lump of a root vegetable. Carrot? Potato? He couldn't tell, but it didn't much matter, when everything became mush in his mouth.

"Could you just finish that? That clinking's driving me crazy."

Harry blinked up at Grue. The clinking? Oh, the chains. Odd how he'd gotten used to the sound they made. It was as if every movement were to be recorded in the vibrations in the air.

"Sorry," he murmured and drained the bowl. Then he stared down at the empty plate when his stomach still yearned for more. Now that he'd had a taste, the hunger wouldn't let him go. He could have another bowl of stew, no, he could have another ten bowls. Who dared give him such meagre supplies that wasn't even worth feeding to the birds?

"I want more."

"Well, you're not getting more," Grue said.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "This little bit isn't enough. My stomach isn't even close to being full. I need more. Fish, perhaps, or meat, if there's any."

His grip on the bowl tightened and the chains shifted, restless. The hunger was insatiable. What he'd managed to press down into forgetting now reared up, churning his stomach with acid. Everything that he'd suppressed, concentrated into this instant. This now.

Grue held up his hands. "It's not me you're meant to take your frustrations out on, boy. I'm not the cook, I'm not the one who tells the cook what to cook and I'm not the one who's saying how much you get."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Break out of these chains and hunt the chef down myself?" Harry clenched the bowl and whipped his arm back. It went flying. In one of the shadowy corners of his prison, it struck and bounced harmlessly into the water.

Great, Harry thought. Now he'd have bits of bone and gristle floating around his ankles.

Grue followed the path of the bowl, not speaking as Harry's ragged breaths ran their course.

"You're different," he said. And it was all he said.

Harry pursed his lips, looking down. "Of course I am. I'm hungry."

"No, it's more than that. You're different."

Neither of them spoke for a minute. Harry didn't look back up. Grue was right, though not about him changing. He shouldn't have shouted. He knew full well who was responsible for his hunger. Jones. Not Grue. And yelling at the man was the opposite of what he'd wanted to do when he opened the door to Harry's prison.

He opened his mouth, poised to speak, then thought better and returned to silence. It was a minute later that he'd rounded up his confidence and speared the guilt to the bottom of the sea.

"How- how is your back?" Harry asked. Then he grimaced. He'd wanted to apologise, not make it seem like a question about the weather. It was bad enough he'd stalled at the beginning, after Grue had asked him the details of his 'grand adventure on land,' as he called it. Then, as one topic lead to another, they'd spoken about Harry's ability to change back into himself. And, of his rapid progress to one of the crew.

And then he'd yelled at him. Harry breathed out harsh through his nose. "I mean… what I wanted to say was-"

Grue snorted. Water sloshed as the man made his way closer to Harry and settled on the floor nearby. Harry glanced sideways at him, but the other man gave nothing away.

"I know what you're trying to do, and let me tell you it's unneeded."

Harry opened his mouth, frowning. "How is it unneeded? It was my fault that Jones-"

"Jones. Jones, Jones, Jones. That's right, boy. And Jones was working for the interests of the Flying Dutchman, don't you forget. He is her captain, and she is his ship. The same way that she is my ship and I am hers. It was no great burden, and it's with some pride that I remember back to that day."

Harry sat back on his heels, a cold lump settling in his stomach. Surely Grue didn't mean that he'd enjoyed the lashing? This wasn't happening. Everything was turned on its head.

"Now don't give me that look. I'm no masochist. But sacrifices have to be made if we are to serve the Dutchman, and what is a little pain if it gets you working up to scratch? If you hadn't faltered, we would have caught up to that merchant ship and their men would be new members of the crew."

This was wrong. Grue hadn't been like this before, there was no way he was so dedicated to the ship, no way that he'd justify the pain he suffered because of Harry. Those cries of pain hadn't been faked, they were real. Harry glanced at his expression, found nothing that told of lies. If only he had a spell, some form of magic that would give him the truth.

"I faltered?" Harry asked instead. It was all he could think of to say, after that revelation.

"Faltered. Misdirected your powers and sent yourself flying to the enemy."

And felled Jones as well, Harry thought. Then he shook his head. He was certain. Grue hadn't been this fanatic before. He would've been able to tell him how his wind blew Jones down on his back. They'd share a laugh, maybe. But not now.

Now, Harry needed to be on guard around Grue. All of a sudden he questioned his openness in answering the other man's questions so frankly. Who knew if he was sent here by the Captain with the intent on drawing information? Already, Harry had told his… friend? Companion? More than he'd ever be willing to tell Davy Jones.

With this new caution set in place, the rest of their conversation steered to matters of the ship. They were headed to a sheltered lagoon, said Grue, running course in a south-south-west. Somewhere in the time that Harry spent in the dark below-decks, the Dutchman had taken on two new crewmembers, salvaged from a wreck of a ship in the rocks near the shallows.

Odd, to have people newer to the Dutchman than himself. He hadn't even seen them. They'd be more human than he was, though the changes would no doubt begin soon. There would be Pugwash and Benny, hammering them, of course.

One good thing about staying down here, Harry thought with a wry tilt to his lips, was that he didn't have to deal with his past tormentors.

Grue left soon later, citing his duties servicing the Dutchman's cannons. Harry managed to get him to promise getting a larger meal next time but he didn't have much faith. If Grue had been telling the truth, then he'd do nothing if it went against the words of the Captain. Harry's best bet would be waiting for Jones to show his face again and then, maybe his words would be of use.

# scenebreak #

Harry paced. With every step he tried to imprint again the memory of his human form. Every step accompanied a check. Were his legs still legs? Were his hands still hands? Gills? No. He didn't know how long he paced, only that he been overly optimistic about the food. Neither Grue nor Jones had made a reappearance, and Harry was starting to think that he faced another month of being alone and hungry in the dark.

One more round, and he could rest. How long had he lasted this time? Longer than the last? Shorter than the last? Harry didn't know if his endurance was increasing of if he was suffering from the lack of sustenance. He'd be grateful even for half a bowl's worth of stew. A quarter.

Exhausted, he shuffled back to the curved boarding and slid down, drenching his trousers with the layer of water still sloshing in his prison. His head dipped and Harry jerked himself awake. Get up. Get up, he thought. Lying down and moping never did anyone any good.

He lifted a hand – it was still a hand, a human hand – and pushed himself back to his feet. Alright then. If Jones wouldn't come to him, he'd go to Jones. Call up his power, blow these Merlin cursed shackles off and stalk up all the way to the Captain's quarters.

Harry took up stance. How had it happened last time? He'd need something big, something powerful enough to wrench the metal out of the wall.

There had been a pooling of power in his stomach, or at least, that was what Harry remembered. He closed his eyes in concentration. If he'd be able to do even a little and work on it, he'd be able to do it.

Pool the power. Draw the power… and his stomach rumbled.

Harry frowned, smoothed out his nerves and tried again. Find the tingling that had travelled through his arm, find the force behind winds powerful enough to spur on an entire ship. Focus. Focus. He stood there, searching inside himself, willing his magic to return and help him out of his chains.

He gripped the chains with his hands, trying to channel his intent along the metal links. Every time his mind wandered, every time he swayed on his feet, Harry pulled himself back. Without his wand, this was all he had. He needed to get a hold of the power he knew he had, needed to control it. He was a wizard, he could do this.

But as minute after minute passed with nothing more than a twinge in his stomach – hunger, and nothing magical – Harry opened his eyes and sighed. Maybe he was tired. Maybe that was it. A little rest, a bit of sleep. He'd try again when he woke.

Yes, that was what he needed. Sleep and some time to get over the hunger gnawing at his stomach. Disappointed, though not at all discouraged, Harry returned to his spot by the wall and settled down. He closed his eyes, adjusted his position and stayed still. But his back was aching something awful, with the odd curvature of the wall. Harry shifted, uncomfortable.

This wouldn't do. Not if he wanted some proper rest. He tested the water. It might be alright if he stayed on his back, if he didn't roll over in his sleep. Resolute, Harry eased himself down to lie properly on the decking. His chest and the back of his head were totally submerged. Water rushed into his ears but, thankfully, his mouth and nose were free.

That was better. Back finally straightened and relaxed, Harry drifted.

And woke, spluttering, the sting of seawater in his nose and at the back of his throat. He pushed himself up to sit as the Dutchman lurched. The water sloshed over him in a wave, the force of it enough to make him slide a couple of inches.

A storm. A storm had roused the waters. Through the ship's hull came the distant thunder and the crash of waves. Harry gazed upwards, trying to see through the decks and into the majesty of the skies above. What strength, what ferocity!

Harry blinked water out from his eyes and paused when he found hears rolling down his cheeks. It was beautiful, the sounds, and the sheer movement of it all. Beautiful, yes, but nothing that should have moved him to tears.

He wiped his face, checked his body all over, found it to still be 'Harry' and was distracted as another clap of thunder boomed through the ship. Harry felt the sound travel through his chest. They must be close to the centre of the storm, so close they risked being struck by lightning.

He could feel the electricity in the air, the tension that seemed to say: be wary. Be wary or you'll be struck next.

Harry scrambled to his feet, braced himself against the wall as another lurch threatened to throw him off again. There would be no sleeping in the weather. Not when he needed every muscle he had to keep himself from crashing to the ground. And in the darkness, with nothing to warn him, all he had was the feel of water moving around his shins.

The water level had risen. It must have been from all the rain. Rain and the ocean itself as it spilled into the depths of the ship. It didn't bode well, Harry knew that much, but right now he needed to stay on his feet.

The storm was over seemingly in the next instant. The ship calmed, the thunder faded, then grew indistinguishable from the groans of the Dutchman's hull. Harry blinked, holding onto his shackles with white knuckled grip. How could it end so suddenly? Or was it sudden at all?

He'd not been able to tell when a month had passed. Who knows if the storm had lasted a day, two days, a week? Or had it been only an hour since it began?

Harry shook his head. This was really doing him in, not knowing how fast or how slow time passed.

And now his whole prison was flooded with water. He tried to sit down, press his back to the wall like he had before and when he did, the water reached his neck. If he ever leaned a little too far, he'd drown. Same thing if another storm came upon them, or even a torrent of strong winds.

He tried again, to focus on his dormant power. Break the chains. Break them so he could be free of his watery cage.

But again, it illuded him. What would it take? Why wasn't it coming to his aid now, when it had so readily helped him before? And now he couldn't even lie down and sleep. What a beautiful, tortuous storm that had been.

As he stayed, awake and tiring, another thought came to him. He didn't have to breathe air. His other form, the monstrous form. It would serve him well now that his world was half-water. He'd be able to sleep, not worry about choking, and get some rest in the hope that his powers would reemerge once he woke.

But then he wouldn't be 'Harry.' But it was worth it. It had to be worth it, when he had no other options.

What horrors awaited him? He had to be prepared. He hadn't let his control waver since Jones left, staying human all this time. Imagining a dozen different mutations, and acclimating to each and every one of them, Harry took a deep breath.

He let it go. He let it all go.

Harry forced down a groan as his body twisted. His arms lengthened, as he suspected they would, his skin slicked, and the water, previously a clammy and unwelcome present around him, at once turned into a warm embrace. He nearly smiled at how pleasant it felt as it moved softly over him before a stretching at his fingers caught his attention.

He tried to wriggle them but found them stuck. Then the stretching became unbearable, not painful but still unnerving in the force of it. Something had to give. And that something was the flesh and bones of his palm.

Harry sucked in a ragged breath, felt his head spin as his hand split in two. And it didn't stop there. Once it began, there was no stopping it. His bones softened, his muscles lost their attachment, the whole structure of his arms changed as it split. Up his wrist, his forearms, through his elbow. Through it all, Harry was helpless with the shock.

He snapped out of it, tried to force his changes to revert, turn back to his human form. Too jumbled were his thoughts that he couldn't do much more than slow down the progress. Inch after inch, his arms continued to separate. What was left was flexible, strong in its own way, each new appendage moving with more dexterity than could be managed with traditional bones and muscle.

Tentacles.

He had tentacles.

In a jolt, the transformation was complete. At his shoulders emerged four, thick tentacles, two on either side, each reaching further than his toes. He checked, just to be sure, but he still had toes. A small relief, when faced with the fact that he had grown bleeding tentacles. Merlin. This wasn't what he expected, not at all.

Nobody could prepare themselves for this. Tentacles!

Tentatively, he brushed one of them on another. A burst of information, sensation relayed from thousands of little suckers. His tentacles had suckers! And each as sensitive as a fingertip. It was too much to handle. Not just from the shock of it all but from the way he couldn't comprehend all the information. Controlling the tentacles were as different as walking was to flying.

But, just like when he was in the air, on his broomstick, this felt natural. Like he was born to do this. Of course, unless his father had actually been some sort of squid-octopus creature, that wasn't likely to be the case.

He couldn't overthink it, but like always, if he wanted to reach for something, he'd reach for it. Only now he had four upper limbs instead of two and a thousand suckers instead of hands.

Alien but… well, not the end of the world. He was still the same person, a little weirded out – okay, a lot weirded out – but he was still Harry. Just Harry with tentacles. And potentially more stuff.

He did a cursory check with his weird little suckers, finding with interest that what used to be his gill bumps had expanded out into two fleshy cylinders. Well, better test it out, then. See if he could actually spend a night underwater.

Harry leant down, stuck his head underwater and took a breath. Water flower in through his nose, was diverted sideways, like swallowing only passing through different channels, and then squirted out the tubes on his neck. Huh. That was alright. A couple more breaths and he got used to the sensation of having water go neither to his stomach nor to his lungs.

A quick pat down revealed that he'd lost his hair, and that his legs had gotten a tad longer than he remembered. Then, secure in the knowledge that he'd be able to return to his human form once he awoke, Harry closed his eyes.

He'd find the strength to break his shackles. Then, he'd change back, march up to Jones and demand he be treated right, that he'd be allowed back up on deck and in the water, where he belonged. A faint thought of meat stew drifted to the front of his mind and Harry dismissed it with promises of hunting whole schools of fish. Red tuna, sturgeon, bass. Each as slick and fast but none fast and deadly as he.

The Dutchman rocked, and by reflex Harry shifted, adopted a new position of equilibrium. His tentacles drifted out of the chains that imprisoned him, but by then, he was deep in sleep.

AN: Hahahah. So yeah. Harry's going to be epic. Don't worry, he's not going to be stuck there for much longer. And not much more description of his transformation, at least not in such detail. If you enjoyed, please leave a review.

Til next time,

31st