Key:
-0-0-0-0-0- Scene break in one fandom.
8-7-6-6-6-5-4-3-2-1- Break between fandoms

Authored by: I bet you think I'm an idiot for saying that, right? Fear of Apathy. If you didn't see that, than, no offense, but you're an idiot.
Betaed by: You're awesome, Taylor-leighyoung

-Aboard the Black Pearl-
-Chapter Two: Enter Harry-

It had only taken an hour to get Will's meager belongings together, even though he had enough money to buy himself and the crew of the Black Pearl a better wardrobe and still have plenty of currency to repair several of the most wrecked ships.

As now, Jack was leading Will down the beach to a secluded cove where he'd supposedly left the boat, but, knowing the man, he could have been completely wrong.

Will was proved wrong in his assumptions when he saw the not-so-new black sails and dark lacquered planks, free from holes once again.

He sighed happily as he walked up the plank that had been set up by a tall rock and stepped onto the slightly dirty boards that made up the deck of the ship.

It was good to be back home.

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Harry Potter was not having a good day at all. If he stopped to think about it, it hadn't been a particularly enjoyable week. Or year. Or… well, he'd had a pretty fan-fucking-tastic life to put it simply.

He had been having, contrary to the majority of his life, a decent morning.

This meant that he woke up on time, sat at his usual seat at the Gryffindor table, and ate all he could, a normal portion for once, despite the shrinkage his stomach had endured during the previous summer, even though the Dursleys had let him come and go as he pleased. The coffee on the table was hot for once, and the sugar didn't have bits of food in it so it was safe to put in his caffeine alarm clock, and this made him ecstatic because he'd had to forsake his coffee for the last week because of problems such as this.

This alone alerted him that there was going to be something life-changing going on during the next 24 hours, and probably not in a good way. More like in a 'Voldie has captured me and is torturing me in his evil lair of evilness and fluffy bunnies' way. Yeah. He'd been mortally afraid of fluffy bunnies ever since he'd been 'attacked' by one when he was five. In reality, Dudley had thrown it at him, but those big, red eyes still scared the shit out of him, even though the rest of the bunny was relatively cute.

After reliving this memory, he hoped to Salazar Slytherin that the Lord of Hyphenations didn't figure out his fear, even if it was a tad irrational. Seriously, the savior of the Wizarding World and one of the most powerful men regarding magical strength, politics, and money (though money really is politics) scared of pink fluffy bunnies? The press would have a field day, and half of the school would bring enlarged Easter animals to class to spite him.

However, a decent breakfast wasn't the only thing that was, at the least, semi-pleasant, and everything else made him fear the worst. Evil pink bunnies, tea, lemon drops, socks, the Headmaster, and Voldemort in one room.

The Daily Prophet hadn't included any of its normal slander of him and actually only covered the last Quidditch game.

Ron was late, meaning that his morning wouldn't be ruined by having eggs spat at his face, and Hermione was still in the library. Malfoy looked on the brink of death while the other half of his house - bar the younger years, as they wanted to keep their ears, hair, eyebrows, ears, and other appendages to themselves, thank you very much – sniggered evilly at his mussed hair and the dark-circles around his eyes.

Professor Dumbledore appeared his normal happy self but didn't see fit to give him another chat about how he'd lied, yada yada yada, nor did he seem about to burst out into song yet again or make an annoyingly cheerful announcement to the school.

His CD player worked for once, even despite the highly concentrated magic, because he'd perfected the spell to make electronics work in Hogwarts last night, and he was free to happily bang his head to the rhythm of the loud music that was a wake up call. Harry really hoped that his friends didn't ask to listen; he took them more for rap/pop people and their eardrums would, undoubtedly, burst at the amount of bass most of his music put out. He'd become quite attached to the little electronic device and its companions – CDs – along with his MP3 player, which he hadn't been able to modify yet, during the summer, and had discovered that heavy metal was the best way to start a morning: loud.

Afraid that the Potions' classroom would be filled with fluffy bunnies, he rushed off to his first class, only to run into the wall to the right of the large double doors that led to the Entrance Hall from the Great Hall.

Professor Snape was not at all impressed when his least favorite student came limping into his classroom with a brick-shaped red mark imprinted on his forehead, nor was he excited that said student was technically on time. Actually, he was the first one in the class, which made him sneer hatefully.

Now, as we all know, neither held any fondness whatsoever for each other and thusly had no boundaries against ignoring, screaming at, cursing, and generally being disrespectful in the rudest ways to each other.

Snape was still extremely angry for the incident of the pensieve and said nothing, afraid that if he did open his mouth, someone would be sent to the infirmary.

Harry, on the other hand, just didn't want the morning to turn into a fluffy disaster and wisely kept his mouth shut.

He got out a sheaf of parchment and a quill to copy the instructions for the potion they would be making that day and the homework assigned regarding to it. Thankfully, the potion had nothing to do with farm animals, holidays, or the colors red and pink. Harry would have let out a sigh of relief had he not noticed that the professor was watching him with a hawk's eye.

It was, instead, a lineage brew mixed with another simple transportation and communication-within-dreams potion that would allow you to meet a magical ancestor of your choosing in a dream-like state temporarily. Together, this was a rather complicated potion.

Well, that was what should happen theoretically, but we all know that a class with both Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom in it could be catastrophic, no less if they were paired together, meaning that someone would end up being sent to the hospital wing regardless of whether or not Harry and the professor spoke to each other at all.

While the instructions said that sliproot was to be added directly after the starshine and then stirred evenly fifteen times counterclockwise then quickly seven times clockwise, Neville thought that it would come out the same if he were to stir the potion the required amount before adding the sliproot.

Harry had been reviewing the instructions at the time and when he looked back it appeared to be the correct color, so he smiled at Neville encouragingly. They had agreed that Harry should be the one to test it, as he'd never met his family before, and didn't know where his family came from. He decided that, instead of going to see his parents or grandparents, he would see ancestors a few centuries back. (This decision was aided by the warning in bold letters not to visit a time near to where the user was, as they would, most likely, mess things up even though the meeting should appear as a dream to both ancestor and descendant.)

All he would have to do would be put a drop of his own blood in the finished potion, however nervous this made him, and state the full name of the relative he wished to visit. (The names and dates would be shown, though only people who'd lived in the last thousand years would be recorded.) The last part was relevant because he could get stuck because of the potion being confused if there was more than one with that name.

As he spread out another large, blank piece of parchment across the table, and pinned it down with various empty jars, their esteemed professor barked out, "Time's up. If your potion is the wrong color, texture, smell, or just hasn't been completed yet, do nothing. If, however, any of you dunderheads managed to get it right, then put a drop of the testers' blood a vial before the potion.

"Since you've made it this far, I expect you to know how vital it is to follow directions exactly. Wait five minutes after this, then slowly pour the potion onto the parchment." He took this time to look around. "What are you waiting for? GO!"

Harry reaffirmed his suspicions of this being a disaster after Snape's little hissy fit and snatched the vial away from Neville's trembling hands. Carefully, with the silver knife the instructions told him to use, he slit open the index finger of his left hand and dribbled a few drops of the crimson fluid into the vial before tapping his wand to the skin and muttering, "cicatriz" to heal the minor cut.

He snatched the ladle from the table and slowly poured a small amount of the potion's contents into the vial and placed it into the rack of empty vials he'd purchased in hopes of not knocking them down anymore.

Terrifying. Everything was going scarily well.

He was almost tempted to jinx it by bringing out his CD player again and playing it just to pass the time, but vetoed that idea.

The small timer that sat on the professor's desk dinged, signaling the end of five minutes, and Harry held the vial hovered towards the center of the parchment before lowering it so it wouldn't splash. Tipping the vial onto the parchment, he watched amazed as the whole surface was covered with spidery lines and letters as his family tree was mapped out.

The closest name towards him said 'Harry James Haden Potter' and the Haden part confused him until he looked to the two names directly above him. Lilianna Isabella Haden and James Caden Potter. So he did have a reason to be scared after all. The coot had been lying to him again.

He passed it off though and promised to return to his genealogy again sometime soon. Towards the top, there was one name that startled him greatly.

Salazar Slytherin.

He swore eloquently in Parseltongue, something he'd managed to pick up during the last summer, and set to keeping his anger in check again.

Relatively surprised that he didn't have people directing shouts at him, he looked around the room, only to find every single eye on him and his parchment. To show them that there was nothing to see there, though it would probably upset them more, he hissed, "What?" snappishly before returning to the analysis of his potion's outcome.

Running his finger down through the years to the recent generations he was surprised to find that the ancestor came from both lines. Ew. It was a wonder that he'd been born normal. Though he doubted that either parent knew of their relation to the founder(s), he checked once again along the line that Slytherin was on and sighed when he saw all of them at least distantly. Thankfully, the Slytherin line was the only one that he was given from both sides of the family with so he was relatively safe.

Coming to the conclusion that he'd like to see the opinion of the world from the view of someone whose family and heritage wasn't solely light, or who didn't believe that it was, he continued down that branch of the family, coming to a name somewhere in the eighteenth century that sounded common enough.

Jack Sparrow.

The man didn't seem to be a direct ancestor, but more of a great uncle several times removed. That seemed fine with him.

Looking around the room one last time, he saw that the students who had made the potion correctly were now dozing on their desks, having already embarked on their historical journey.

With one last glance at the parchment, he spoke, clearly, "Jack Sparrow."

-0-0-0-0-0-

A tugging sensation spread through his whole body as he watched the random scenes pass him by on his journey. He was pretty sure that it wasn't supposed to go like this, though, and nearly screamed when he saw a big pink, fluffy bunny bearing down on a carrot viciously.

-8-7-6-6-6-5-4-3-2-1-

He'd been on this ship for a month now and had to admit that it was so much better than staying in Port Royal where he had nothing.

At the moment, he and Jack were sitting in the captain's quarters regaling in the long-time pirate's mischievous adventures, encounters, and all around fuck ups.

Will was still curled up laughing about the stories behind each slap he'd received while in Tortuga when Jack screamed.

Normally, he'd laugh and point at his friend, but this time, when the scream continued, he looked up.

What he saw made him scream too.

Yep, Cher again.

Review. Be happy.

Hearts.