Harry slipped his pilfered coins back into his inner pocket; Sither's, the coins were called. Of moderate value, named after a long dead king, and the most common currency of the non-wealthy people of Nandera—the land Harry has found himself in. Harry bit into the fresh bread bun he had just bought as he slowly walked the busy street, watching a group of children run past with shrieks and peals of laughter.

He's been here in this strange new land for about four days. He has learned a bit, here and there about this place, enough to go about without drawing unwanted attention. With all he has discovered, it has become absolutely certain that this was not the world Harry once knew.

Nandera. A powerful, prospering nation with land stretching as far north as snow-capped mountains at the edge of an icy tundra, to the hot and humid tropical lands in the south. From what he's heard, Nandera is populated mostly by humans, while other lands held races of creatures Harry has and hasn't heard of. Apparently, one of Nandera's former kings had some rather unsavory opinions on non-humans and most creatures had kept away since—which was reasonable, since there also seemed to be some shared sentiment amongst a minority group of Nanderians.

However, Harry cared very little for politics, especially since he was no longer thrust in the middle of it to be a figure head before he was even a legal adult.

Harry stuck mostly to the area pleasantly dubbed the 'Gallows District.' Wrought with criminal activity and the home to most of the city's poor, it was an easy place to stay anonymous. After his first night at the inn, Harry awoke feeling worlds better than he had in weeks—which didn't necessarily say much considering his previous living situation involved hunting for his own food and sleeping on the damp floor of caves. With the last of his stolen money handed over to the tavern's caretaker, Harry had gone out that morning with an empty stomach and the plan to once more relieve another unsuspecting mark of their Sither. Which soon became his only source of income.

He didn't take more than he had to, just enough to keep himself and his little one fed and with a warm, dry place to sleep. He had looked around that first day, getting his bearings in the city, as well as looking for possible work. The latter turned out to be fruitless. The only work available involved either heavy labor (out of the question in his state), a craft which he had no skill in what so ever, or the selling of goods he didn't have. Harry knew that the only thing he had to offer that no one else seemed able to, was his magic—however, he wasn't foolish enough to out himself and draw attention by waving around a magical wand when humans here had never even heard of a wand.

Which left his only immediate option being theft. Not the most noble pursuit, but a fruitful one, assuredly. It was pretty easy, actually. Lawmen and officers didn't enter the Gallows District unless they were after someone specifically, and the main streets were so crowded during the day that Harry usually didn't even need his cloak to pickpocket.

Harry slipped past a middle-aged woman piling apples into basket in the crook of her shoulder, in the matter of a moment, an apple had found its way into his hand and he was biting into it as he strolled away. He tried not to filch anything directly from carts and tables, since the merchants here had a keen eye for thieves and knew exactly what was on their tables at all times. It just wasn't worth the risk.

Tossing the apple up into the air and catching it on its descent, he smiled down at the fruit in his hand. It was an adjustment—to be sure—but after nearly a month alone in the forest, Harry accepted the situation for what it was. Sure, he had no idea how the people of this land would view his unique 'situation' and his future child, but even if he had to hide away until they were born, that was far better than having an entire government out for his blood. He would make the best of it. For his child, he would do anything.

As he was walking, Harry's attention was captured by the sight of a blacksmith using magic to blow flame against the tip of a sword and then quickly meld and forge it while it was still glowing a fiery orange. The display had brought in a thin crowd and Harry stopped amongst them to watch for a bit. From what little he had seen thus far, the magic of Nandera was quite fascinating. It still seemed to catch him off guard to see what would be considered wandless magic in his world, used almost commonly in these streets.

"Tch, that king of ours is going to drive the whole consulate to an early grave!" Grumbled a man off to his right, speaking to another man standing beside him. Ah, the king. Harry had discovered quite quickly that the kingdom's biggest form of entertainment involved gossiping about their beloved king. Not even anything truly important, mostly rumors of his personal life or fantastical tales from before he was king. From what Harry had heard, he was a young king, but a surprisingly competent one.

Praise for a king from his most poor and unfortunate, it was certainly impressive. Especially considering the throne had apparently been acquired through conquest, and not inherited. However, Harry cared very little for stories of a king he didn't consider his own. Harry was a fugitive, an outsider preying on the people of this land to survive. If the current king was suddenly disposed in the night, bloody and dishonorable, he would hardly bat an eye. He held no loyalty to this land or its people.

Harry absently listened along to the conversation anyways, letting the affronted tone of the other man hold his attention as he watched the blacksmith work.

"Cobswallow! The consulate will be fine! The king has ruled this land far better than that fool before him. He has managed to keep peace with all the other kingdoms who had been just waiting to swoop in and snatch up this land for themselves." He huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest and turning up his nose, even though he was a full head shorter than the man beside him.

"Aye, but it is his duty as the king to be sure his line is secure to the crown. He has come so far with this country, but all of that would be wiped away if he died without an heir. The man hasn't even married yet! By the Great Mother Goddess, his stubbornness to remain unwedded is not so virtuous anymore, it's reckless!" The man exclaimed, turning a bit red in the face with his outrage.

Unconsciously, Harry's thin hand slipped between the folds of his coat to rest over the still ever so small swell of his belly. He couldn't really imagine what it would be like to have so much pressure and outcry to produce a child. His had come into his unexpectedly, and if anything, there was even more outcry from his 'own people' to not have a child. And even though it was very strange to think about it from a more objective perspective, it was true that Harry was still quite young. He had only just turned eighteen, and certainly hadn't been thinking about creating his own family at all before hand—not with the war and the threat of Voldemort hanging over his head.

Now, though, even trying to imagine where he would be without the gift growing inside of him, he couldn't dredge up a modicum of regret or disdain for his situation.

He might not give a damn about the king or his council of advisors—'consulate' whatever—but he couldn't help but wonder how loved a child like that (created for the sake of maintaining control and power) could truly be, and whether a king so obstinate in remaining spouseless and childless would come to resent the 'family' forced upon him.

Though, harboring such thoughts earned him nothing.

Harry turned and left the still arguing pair behind.

The following night, Harry had slipped back into the inn behind a lumbering drunk man while under his invisibility cloak. Clarence—the 'lovely' name of the woman who managed the bar and inn while her husband spent nearly every Sither earned on booze and willing women for pay—hadn't liked Harry from the moment he wandered into her tavern. He didn't know why she glared at him every time he appeared in her sights—though she had mumbled something once about not trusting such a pretty face on a man, he doubted that was really the source of her ire.

The first few days she had mostly ignored him, but on the third night, when it was time to pay again and Harry brought in another sack of coins, her ruddy face had scrunched up like she had bit into a lime and she looked ready to refuse his money. However, Harry was likely her most consistent customer, and he had yet to throw up on any of her floors yet like several others dared to do. Whatever her problem, she had seemed to grow more and more restless and irritable with each day and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before she booted him.

Unfortunately, despite how unwelcoming the company was, that inn was actually one of the only ones in the area with rooms available and he knew he just had to bear with it until he found a better place to sleep. So, trying not to agitate her more, Harry had taken to coming and going under the invisibility cloak. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

"I just don't see why he has to sneak around like a common criminal! This voyage will be dangerous enough as it is, taking so few of his men and sailing in secret is ridiculous. He is the King, by all that is just, why must he skulk around his own kingdom?" Harry paused at exclamation, standing near the bottom of the stairs.

"Keep your voice down you bleating Billie-goat!" Snapped the other, glancing around at the other patrons to make sure they hadn't been overheard.

The two men mostly looked like anyone else, dressed in street wear and each bent over a pint. They seemed unremarkable—if not a little cleaner and well groomed in comparison to the Gallows District's typical residents—except for the cutlasses strapped to their hips, which were gleaming, finely crafted, and marked with the palace insignia on the hilt. Harry was shocked to see palace guards in such a place, surely the taverns of the wealthier districts would have welcomed the guards with open arms. Especially considering most of palace guards were noble men and came from very wealthy families—non-inheriting sons usually found work like that, it was the same in the history of his own world.

"Besides," the second man continued at a lower volume, "He won't be staying in his own territory. Meeting the Pirate King of the Southern Isles requires stealth. You seem to forget, Gregory, that our king is not the only king and any wrong move by him could lead war right to our gates." He warned with a pointed glare.

Harry shook his head, once more reminded of how different of a world he now lived in. 'Pirate King?' what had he gotten himself into?

Harry silently walked away just as Clarence was bringing over two more pints for the guards.

It was time for Harry to leave.

He's only been in the city for a full week, but he knew it was time for him to move on. He had heard of other cities he could go to and continue to steal until he found another means to make money. The Gallows District has been fruitful, but it was no longer a safe place for him. It seemed that—practically over night—everyone had heard of the new mysterious thief plaguing the district. Beyond the usual round of desperate pick-pockets, people had put together that most of the recent thefts were one person. Someone who was never seen nor caught, and could rob a man blind in the blink of an eye.

The rumors had riled up the public and set everyone on edge. Harry could probably continue to go on stealing without being caught, but hyper-vigilant citizens would not make his job easy. He knew, better than anyone, that it was better safe than sorry.

And so, that morning, Harry had been sure to have all of his possessions on him when he left the inn. He still had another night paid for, but he wasn't going to tell Clarence his plans to leave. He didn't trust the woman not to try to stab him while his back was turned now that she had wrung as much money out of him that she could.

Harry was walking through the bustling market place, just as he had done every morning since arriving in this strange world. The sky was a bit overcast, the floor still wet from early morning showers. Everyone's heads seemed a bit foggier as they shuffled through their routine, either pedaling their wears or starting to prepare food that would chase away the scent of wet stone and stale bodies.

Harry had only meant to make a quick route out of the city and be on his way to the next. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he would be leaving for an unforeseeable length of time, but it had him looking around more than usual, casually scanning the area for anything he might wish to buy before he left. During his time here, Harry had only been concerned with food and shelter, but he knew from his many trips through the area, that some of the tables actually held some very interesting items.

Further up the road, hidden by the clogged streets, he heard an odd pick up of noise, some sort of disturbance up ahead. Whatever it was, Harry didn't need the trouble. As he turned to find a branching ally way to take him to another road, something caught his eye and Harry paused. Beside him was a table piled with folded squares of fabric. Cotton, linen, chiffon, velvet, lace, silk and satin. Ranging from all manner of dye, cut, and quality. However, the focal point of each bit of material was not the fabric itself, but the beautiful, intricate hand-sewn embroidery displayed with the careful folding of the fabric.

There were stretches of complex designs that must have taken someone a very long time to craft; depicting flowers, stars, butterflies, peacocks, or even landscapes. They were all impressive in their own right, but only one had caught Harry's eye. A dark blue silk, like the reflection of the midnight sky off of the ocean, without a single snag in its finely woven material. The most important part resided in the bottom corner, embroidered with vivid violet, indigo, emerald, and black silk thread, was the depiction of a little hummingbird mid-flight. Reaching out, almost tenderly, he followed the little curve of the creature's head with the tip of his finger. It was so intricately made, it looked as if it were going to suddenly fly away at any moment.

With something tenuous clenching around his heart, Harry finally picked up the fabric—perhaps some sort of handkerchief—intent on paying for his newfound keepsake that reminded him so much of his little one. However, just as Harry lifted his head to ask the wrinkled woman behind the table how much the handkerchief was, Harry felt something cold wrap around his wrist and just as suddenly, he lost all feeling in his hand and halfway up his forearm.

Whipping his head around, Harry came face to face with a disgruntled-looking palace guard—one of the guards he had seen at Clarence's inn—who was reaching for his other arm to also lock it into the strange looking wooden cuffs that had caused one of his hands to already go completely numb and useless. Panicking, Harry jerked back and slipped the handkerchief into his pocket before his free hand was yanked back in front of him to clasp into the cuff before he could fight anymore. Seething, Harry sent a burst of magic down at the cuffs, but whatever magic had been used to render his hands useless was also resisting his magic.

He would have apparated right then and there—the consequences of being seen be damned—but the guard had a hand firmly wrapped around his bicep and would only cause him to side-along apparate the guard as well.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Release me!" Harry ground out dangerously. A mix of incredulity and fear practically tinting his vision red.

"We have received a grievance that you have been breaking the law and stealing from the people of the capital. You may plead your testimony at the commissioner's office—"

"No time!" Announced the other guard he had seen at the inn, who had just been tucking away a pocket watch as he approached. "We've already wasted enough time looking for him this morning. We don't have time to escort him to the palace. We'll just have to bring him down to the docks with us and hand him off to someone else." Harry growled in protest as his other arm was grabbed by the guard and they began to lead him back down the street in the direction he'd come from—the direction that he knew that the harbor was in.

What neither of them knew, however, was that the man they had just arrested was no common thief. Infact, Harry had likely seen more of war and death in his short life than either of them had combined. And so, almost immediately Harry fell quiet and calm, all of his focus turning onto the enchanted shackles paralyzing his hands and used wandless magic to meticulously begin eroding away the effects of the cuffs. He walked on autopilot, hardly blinking at his passing surroundings as he was marched through the streets.

The cuffs were strong, but they wouldn't hold for more than an hour if he kept up his ministrations. If he was taking a detour to the docks before the palace, then he'd probably be able to get out of them before he ever found himself behind bars.

So focused on his task, Harry only realized his surroundings when the air was sharp with the scent of the sea, the thriving fish market set up right on the harbor, and the musk of unwashed bodies coming from those returning from sea. Harry had never ventured down to the docks, but now a small part of him wished he had. The crowds were cast in shadow by the huge vessels and billowing sails that inhabited the docks. He hadn't expected the ships to be so . . . enormous! Bigger than houses, and completely steady and unmoving in the shallow waves surrounding the hull.

Each ship was unique in size, shape, color, and level of disarray and damage. Harry watched as quite a few of the plainer ships were loaded and unloaded of its goods and supplies—likely cargo and trade ships—but he also spotted a few more intimidating, wicked looking ships amongst them (usually with more damage along its hull that had been hastily repaired at sea) that seemed as though they flew darker colors when at sea.

Neither of the guards on either side of him paid any mind to those vessels, clearly turning a blind-eye to the less-than-savory characters littering their decks. They kept their eyes forward and their pace relentless. The morning sea air was crisp, and the cries of the seagulls overhead agitated his burgeoning headache as Harry continued to use his wandless magic ceaselessly to free himself as they moved further down the docks.

Harry vaguely remembered the conversation he had overhead between those two guards the other night—something about the king and a secret trip to see some Pirate. They had said something about the king moving around discretely, but he had still expected them to be using some sort of military vessel for travel. However, the ship that the guards stopped before and carefully began to board with Harry in tow, was just as nefarious-looking as any of the other non-cargo ships he had eyed along the way.

The ship was massive, even in comparison to the other large ships docked around it, and the weathered wood that comprised the hull's sturdy walls was stained so darkly it looked nearly black. Some of the vessels had carefully crafted figure heads and carvings on the front of the ship—either animals that displayed the identity of the vessel to all, or some fearsome maiden in various states of dress or species—this ship, though, was bare. Just smooth dark wood under the long extension at the front of it. The blank anonymity of it clenched ominously in Harry's diaphragm as he carefully walked up the steep wooden plank that served as a bridge between the ship and the docks.

When his feet were firmly planted on the deck, one of the guards immediately walked off, perhaps in search of someone who could take the thief off their hands. By that point, Harry had worn enough of the enchantment on the shackles away to be able to use his fingers and could feel the leaden weight on his magic lift enough for it to feel like he had some control back. Now on the ship, Harry glanced up at the towering masts and thick canvas sails, feeling incredibly small in that moment.

Unlike the other ships, this one was abuzz with activity as a large crew of men were hurrying about, preparing to depart at any moment. Unfortunately, it seemed that the acute focus of some of the sailors was not shared by all and their arrival on deck quickly stole most of the crew's attention, stopping them in their tasks to wander down to the main deck.

Harry eyed the crewmen and picked up immediately that these were not the king's guard out of uniform. The man still firmly gripping Harry's arm was straight-backed, clean, well groomed, and clearly born of wealth and status. On the other hand, the men gathering closer to get a look at the both of them were surly, either rippling with muscle or looking underfed, skin glistening with sweat and dark with both old tans and new burns. There was a wild, dangerous light in their eyes and an underlying crudeness to their mannerisms.

Harry was beginning to doubt his assumption that this was the secret trip he had heard about previously. Harry was surrounded by criminals and he honestly could not see a king making company with folks such as these.

Harry tensed as he watched one of the men break away from the rest and approach them with a grizzly smirk painting his chapped lips. The man was at least a foot taller than Harry, his shoulders nearly twice as wide as the younger man's, with a shaved scalp and arms like tree trunks. The hand on his arm tightened, and he didn't know if it was to restrain him, or an unconscious response to the dangerous man approaching.

"What do we have here?" The man jeered, tone both gravely and droopingly slick with hidden intention as he eyed Harry's form, heedless of the glacial pale green gaze practically flaying him where he stood. The man's eyes never left Harry, but his grin grew twice as wide. "His Majesty finally deciding to play nice and bring us some company for the long journey?" His gaze was awash with amusement as he looked at Harry as if he were some-thing only worth the warmth he brought to someone's bed.

Several men howled with laughter behind him. It was probably just a vulgar joke, but when the man before him reached out to touch Harry's cheek, the incensed teen acted on instinct to protect himself and his child, causing his magic to lash out without a second thought, no longer crippled by the magic in his shackles. In a split second, Harry wandlessly and wordlessly threw a powerful Incarcerous at the man.

Ropes as thick as his forearm and painfully abrasive suddenly wrapped around his neck and jerked him backward before his hand ever made contact with Harry's cheek and elicited a gurgled shout from his throat. He stumbled back a few steps as more ropes wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso. They constricted like powerful snakes and caused him to fall to ground, body jerking and contorting as it was relentlessly yanked into immobility. The other crewmen either stumbled away in fear or surged forward to begin pulling uselessly at the ropes.

Over the commotion, a hush befell the on lookers and even the most focused of the crew grew still and turned to watch as the huge man struggled and writhed on the ground. Harry took a deep breath and tried to settle the livid fear that had cropped up in his gut and regained enough control over his emotions to cease the ropes' attempts to strangle to life from the man before him. As his grunts and shouts settled down into exhausted panting and the man fell back against the deck almost limply, the silent tension amongst the crew was palpable as they turned their attention on the still-glaring young man that was clearly the cause of the impossible feat of bewitching they had witnessed.

Magic was elemental—as natural the sun rising in the morning or thunder following lightning—it didn't create something from nothing like that! It wasn't so purposeful like that, used in such a strange and unfamiliar way. The boy before them was small, thin, and hardly looked old enough to drink, and yet he was inexplicably dangerous and powerful.

Harry stared down all those who dared to look at him for too long, filling the atmosphere surrounding him with aggression. A figurative bearing of claws and teeth, hackles raised and defenses up. Harry was still shackled and vulnerable, but he wouldn't allow anyone to think for a second that they might be able to overpower him. Some of his key cards were on the table and he was not going to have an inch of give and let it be used against him.

The silence was broken by the sound of a door clicking open and Harry turned to his left to see the door settled between the two staircases that led up to the top-most deck at the back of the ship, swing open and the guard who had disappeared earlier, strode out. He then promptly stepped aside, turned to the side, and bowed his head respectfully as another man followed him out into the morning air.

As Harry's eyes took in the man, everything in his mind came to a sudden, violent halt. Everything and everyone else was forgotten when dark, stormy blue eyes met his and the other man froze as well.

Glossy dark brown hair settled in a gentle, yet controlled wave. Impeccable alabaster skin that he had reverently caressed so many times in the sacred halls of his mind. Full, lightly flushed red lips that he intimately knew tasted of honey and thunderstorms. Handsome and beautiful features he had marveled at in quiet moments of comfort and peaks of pleasure. Broad, strong shoulders that he had gripped tightly in his most vivid and intense moments. He hadn't uttered a word, and yet Harry already knew that his voice would be a deep, dulcet baritone that sent shivers up his spine, having been invisibly tattooed onto the skin of his throat and engraved into his bones. It had whispered adoringly into the shell of his ear and the tender flesh of his inner thigh alike. His phantom lover.

Tom. . .

There he stood. Impossibly. Tall, imposing, and regal. In a world Harry never imagined to find him in. Looking no more than a few years older than him without a trace of the mutilated, snake-like visage he had sported at the end of his life. He looked young and healthy and powerful. Harry's mouth was dry and he felt like he could hardly breathe. The unmistakable recognition in Tom's eyes doing everything in its power to further befuddle the younger man in his state of shock. Reflecting in Tom's expression was the same unmasked shock, confusion, and strange overtone of reverence that Harry knew displayed plainly on his own features.

As if pulled forward by some unseen force, Tom shuffled a few paces closer until they were within reach of each other and Harry was able to gage just how ridiculously tall the other man was.

When Tom finally spoke, his voice was just as enchanting and consuming as he remembered, washing over Harry like a strong ocean wave and nearly distracting him completely from the words spoken.

"It's you. . ." It was hardly more than a whisper, but Harry heard it as clear as if he had shouted. He may not have really registered his first words, but the following statements struck Harry to his core and upended the world around him.

"I thought- . . . I feared you were but a dream." Tom shook his head slightly, as if disbelieving of the sight before him, not trusting Harry to not turn to smoke and disappear. Harry felt his eyes widen and sudden, overwhelming compression capsized him. That meant . . . this was not just 'a Tom,' this was 'TheTom!' Not just Tom from an alternate reality, but the very same man who Harry had shared his dreams with, the very same man who pulled him out of his darkest moments, the one who had saved Harry.

The one who had given him his child. . .

This was not just because of the horcrux that had resided within him. Somehow, for some reason, his link had transcended reality, reached through time and space, and had connected him to a Tom who knew nothing of his world or the war that had ravaged it. The very first thought to surface from the pandemonium of his mind was, 'Huh, no wonder the Tom in his dreams hadn't recognized him at first.'

Tom seemed to pick up on his thoughts—if only vaguely—from his expression. Some of the confusion dissipated from his eyes, replaced by a growing fascination and raw curiosity.

"So you remember as well. . ." He stated under his breath, as though he hadn't known he'd spoken aloud.

"My king?" The hesitant voice broke through the bubble surrounding them, unbidden and unwelcome. Harry turned to find the guard who had been holding his arm before, had let go and was now bowed respectfully before Tom. With a brief glance around, Harry noted that a few of the crewmen had also dipped their heads slightly in a barest semblance of deference. And that was when it clicked in his mind that this Tom was not only that Tom, but also the famed King he had heard so much about since arriving in Nandera. Harry really wasn't sure anymore what matter of incredulity was supposed to take precedence now.

Harry looked back at Tom just in time to see the man's eyes flicker thoughtfully from the shackles around his wrists, to the sailor who was just now picking himself up off of the deck, still a bit winded and harsh red marks forming on his skin that would undoubtedly transform into brilliant bruises with time. Then his gaze shifted back to Harry's and it was like they were caught once more. Unspoken words flittering through the air between them like pale moths.

And then the silence was broken by the last words he had expected to hear.

"He's going to accompany us." Tom stated, heedless of the befuddled looks he was receiving from everyone.

"Your Majesty!" The guard sounded incredulous as Tom reached forward and wrapped a gentle but firm hand around Harry's still-shacked wrist and led him back towards the door he had exited from without another word. Harry could only frown and stare perplexedly at the back of the taller man's head. When he passed the crewmen, Harry noticed the way they stepped back and sent him wary looks.

Harry didn't know what to expect when he was led into the place Tom—The bloody King—exited from, but it hadn't been this.

The first thing to catch his eye was the large window at on the opposite side of the room comprised of wrought iron and small, thick glass panels that flooded the room with grey light. Which illuminated an oak desk covered in half-rolled up maps and various documents. There was another table off to the side that was stacked with even more maps and several thick tomes to weigh them down. In the middle of the room, there was also a couch and a couple of armchairs facing each other. There were latched cabinets full of books and all manner of objects. All of the furniture had been nailed to the floor to keep it from sliding around on the rough seas, assumedly.

But, that was not all that was in the room. Harry also noted the large, plush bed in the corner that was piled with silk pillows and soft down blankets. Though this room may function as the Captain's quarters, it had clearly been commandeered by the King. In the back of his mind, Harry wondered if the King just slept there, or if he had actually taken up the mantel of Captain for his journey.

"Stay here, don't touch anything. I need to prepare for our departure, and then we can talk." There was a thickness to his words, Harry noted, like he wasn't sure what to say or what to do with himself. Harry said nothing, a frown still inhabiting his features, and watched as Tom nodded to himself and them promptly left him to his own devices.

As soon as the door clicked close, Harry dropped down onto the comfortable seat of the couch and returned all of his focus to the cuffs around his wrists. He didn't know what had just happened or what Tom's intention towards him was, but he needed to get off of this ship before it set sail. It is one of the most important rules that one does not attempt to apparate over open water. Within the ship? Fine. But from the ship to the docks? Harry would end up appearing with his feet planted on the seafloor if he tried.

Harry may be starting to regain control over his magic once more, but it was not nearly enough to apparate. No, he needed to get out of these cuffs!

Concentrating his magic on stripping away the shackles' enchantment, Harry let his mind drift back to Tom and what on earth to feel about that. Tom obviously knew of the dreams they had shared. But that was it. He didn't know of the life Harry was harboring, or the world he came from, or even his name! Harry didn't know why he had decided to bring Harry with them—perhaps for answers, or maybe Tom didn't even know why he did it either, caught up in the moment and confused—but Harry knew one thing: this Tom was essentially a stranger. He may have seen Harry at his barest, they may have shared moments more intimate than Harry has ever shared with anyone, but the young wizard knew nothing about the King.

Harry didn't know what Tom was like, how he may have felt about the dreams. He couldn't predict how the other would react to discovering Harry carried his child. Whether he would take the child from Harry's arms the moment they were born to have his heir, or perhaps reject the notion of what Harry held inside him and try to harm his child as well. It was all up in the air, and Harry wasn't waiting underneath it for when it would come down, praying it didn't hit him. A good king, did not necessarily make a good man.

Besides, it was Harry's child. They were housed within his body, he had been the one to protect them from danger against all odds. Harry had traveled to another universe just to save his little one. He would not put the fate of his child in the hands of a stranger. Harry would leave this wretched ship, he would escape once again, and he would leave Nandera as quickly as possible. The fate that brought him and Tom together again be damned, Harry would leave and never return—never again look upon the face that he had caressed and peppered with kisses in his most vulnerable moments—if it meant shielding his precious baby from harm.

Harry didn't trust Tom, and he was getting out of there.

With a soft click, the cuffs finally fell away and Harry released a shuddering sigh of relief as his magic once again flooded his body and he had full use of his hands. Standing, Harry glanced out the window, which looked out on the harbor, only to find his breath catching in his throat to see it was much farther than it should have been. Rushing over to the window, Harry pressed a desperate hand to the cool glass as he watched his means of escape slowly drifting away from him. He didn't know how long he had spent trying to remove the shackles, but in that time, the vessel had set sail.

Harry turned away from the window as he heard the door opening behind him and his face immediately melted back into an obstinate frown at the reappearance of the King. Tom blinked at him before approaching the spot he had vacated, leaning down to pick up the cuffs and then settling a slightly wondrous gaze on Harry.

"I suppose from what I heard from Gregory, I shouldn't be all that surprised you managed to get out of these." He shook his head and let them clatter loudly onto the small table situated between the couch and the armchairs. Tom took a seat in one of the chairs, looking regal, but the comfort to his posture belied a life before his kinghood.

"Sit." He gestured towards the couch, but Harry didn't move or speak. Not to be spiteful, but to keep as much distance between them as possible. He was stuck on this ship until he found a way off, he would proceed with the utmost caution.

Tom sighed when Harry remained in his spot near the window.

"I heard from Gregory that you're a thief. That you have been wreaking havoc in the Gallows District." His words were probing, looking to provoke a response from him. Still, Harry said nothing. Tom studied him, looking for anything to answer him where Harry's silence did not. His dark blue eyes narrowed and he spoke his next words carefully.

"Where did you learn such strange magic? I've never heard of anything like it before. Did you have a teacher? Have you always been able to do that, make rope appear from thin air? Was it some sort of trick?" Again, silence. Tom huffed and slumped back against the chair, mumbling under his breath. "Do you even speak?!"

Harry was tempted to either turn back towards the window or maybe venture out on deck and assess his options. He was just beginning to turn away when,

"How did you do it? How did you get into my dreams? Was it some kind of enchantment, like the one you did outside?" His deep baritone was hushed, not aggressive but intense. Harry whipped back around at the words and for the first time, approached the seated King. He didn't sit, but he stopped in front of Tom.

"It was not my doing." He stated firmly and Tom looked back up, taken off guard. "I . . . I don't know why we shared those dreams, or how. To be honest, I didn't believe you existed either. All I know, is that for some reason, we were able to meet while asleep, it went on for months. And then one day, it stopped. I don't know why it stopped either."

Tom seemed to absorb the information. After a while, though, he nodded minutely and got to his feet as well. He still appeared to be lost to his thoughts when he spoke again, not even looking at Harry.

"You can stay in here tonight, I don't know how accommodating the crew will be after what happened." Tom was already leaving the room, not giving Harry the chance to argue or even ask why he would do that.

Once more alone, Harry turned to look at the bed that had been given to him for the night. Well, it was probably worlds more comfortable than whatever lodging the crew had. He would take it.

However. . . Harry thought as he shifted his cautious eyes back to the door, if Tom thought this meant Harry was going to share that bed with him and rekindle their previous endeavors, he had another thing coming. Tom might be king, but Harry knew enough wards and locking charms to keep out an army. And if he still managed to get in, well, Harry also knew an ungodly number of defensive spells.

This new world may be dangerous and gritty and violent, but pity the man who ever thought he could take what he wanted from Harry Potter.