At noon, Harry left the quiet confines of the captain's quarter's when curiosity had worn a hole through his concentration. All of the sails were down and riding the fearsome gales, propelling the massive ship through the water. All around Harry, men were moving about carrying crates, checking the rigging, or high up in the air, running along the tops of the sails and hanging out of the crow's nest as if their feet had never before touched the ground. It was bustling and loud and fascinating.

Harry weaved through the traffic of bodies and made his way to the side of the ship. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. The ocean was endless, not a spec of land nor ship on the horizon. The blazing sun above reflecting flakes of silver and mother of pearl over the water's surface, flickering in the waves licked up by the wind. The winter air was cool but the sun above lapped warmth into his skin.

Harry's eyes slipped closed and his head tilted back as he gripped the railing fiercely to keep his balance. The wind swept past him and threatened to lift him up off the deck. He drew in the cold sea air and felt it hollow out his chest. There was an inexplicable sensation settling over him in that moment, as if time stood still and the frigid salt water was flooding into him, and a bit if himself was going back into it. He felt . . . free, he felt . . . whole. . .

"Beautiful, ain't it?" Harry's eyes flicked open and to the side. Beside him stood a boy—for he truly was just a boy—no older than fourteen, with golden blonde hair, a wiry frame that still had some growing to do, and a soft face that belied his youth. The boy, obviously part of the crew, stared out at the sea reverently as though it was the only home he'd ever known. Harry could see the ocean reflected in the boy's clear blue eyes. The boy returned Harry's gaze with a beaming grin.

"The name's Lucas. You're that new fella, right? The one everyone's been talking about?" Lucas set down the box he'd been carrying and instead gave Harry his full attention as he leaned back against the railing. He could tell from his open demeanor that Lucas was a naturally bright and exuberant boy. He wondered how he ended up with such a haggard and dangerous crew.

"Harry." He returned, holding his hand out to the boy, who didn't hesitate to shake it. Harry continued to study the lad, wondering just where he fit into all of this. Apparently, his thoughts were projected on his forehead.

"I'm the cook aboard this fine ship," Lucas exclaimed proudly with a fond pat of the dark wood railing, "I make all the meals so if you don't want to find a fistful of salt in your stew, you best stay on my good side." Lucas teased with a quirk of his brow. Harry huffed and turned his head away so that the cheeky little bloke didn't catch the twitch in his lips.

"And I suppose you're a pirate too?" Harry retorted, playful but it was a real question that had been floating around in his head. Lucas pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking around at the rest of the crew, Harry looked as well.

"I wouldn't say we're pirates, exactly. I'd say we're more like 'Mercenaries of the Seas!' People hire us to do dangerous or unsavory jobs. We only do what we're hired to do, we don't murder and pillage for the sake of it. Most of the folks here either have a criminal record or 'just don't look right,' you know? So finding regular work ain't really an option. We're sort of an odd family." Lucas mused, a fond expression on his young face as he watched one of the crew members hook an arm around the neck of another and yank him down playfully with a great belly laugh.

"That's Jeb," Lucas pointed to the man who had tried to touch Harry earlier. The bald bloke built like a mountain. "He's a bit crass at times and makes the worst jokes, but he's a good man. A growling bear on the outside, but his insides are all sweet and doughy. You'll see it in time. He's usually our captain. Jeb was the one that plucked me from the streets, nearly starved to my bones and with a papa who beat me within an inch of my life." There was a writhing thread of bitterness in his words, but Lucas didn't let the easy smile slip from his face. The blunt, forwardness of his words were disarming to say the least.

"Jeb didn't ask any questions, he just offered me a place to sleep and warm food for as long as I wanted it. It's the same way for most of us here. We were lost, aimless, or broken and Jeb came and offered us work, or friendship. He offered us the chance to not die like stray dogs in the streets." Lucas turned his gaze to the back end of the ship, where the King was manning the wheel and talking with one of his guards.

"This was a very different place before King Thomas took over. We may not be very fond of having him on our ship, but he saved a lot of people by deposing the last king." Lucas then looked at Harry, a brow quirked curiously. "I heard the King demanded you stay on board, any idea why?" He didn't sound suspicious or distrustful, but plainly intrigued.

"I can do magic." Was all Harry said. Lucas' head tilted to the side and he blinked.

"Most of us on board can do some magic. Having people who can move water comes in handy on those windless days."

Harry studied Lucas for a moment, but there wasn't much left to hide. If Lucas hadn't been there to see what Harry had done to Jeb earlier, then he would still eventually find out. Besides, he was beginning to like Lucas, he was a lively kid, and Harry would rather the first Lucas would see or hear of Harry's magic to not be of Harry nearly killing one of the crew members. Harry contemplated which spell to show Lucas. There were many to choose from, but only one that felt inconsequential and harmless enough, one that he wished to share.

"The kind of magic I do, is a little bit different." Harry said with a secret smile before he turned his body towards Lucas, not wishing to draw the attention of the entire crew. He held out his hand with his palm facing skyward and in a little burst of blue light, wandlessly cast a very acute version of the Avis charm. In the blink of an eye, there perched on his hand, was a little Blue Jay. Harry did not wish to use the bird to attack anyone, so it stood stationary on his hand, twitching its soft blue head this way and that as it took in its surroundings.

Looking up, Harry watched the dawning disbelief and wonder bleeding into Lucas' wide blue eyes. With a hesitant hand, Lucas reached out, perhaps to pet the creature's sky-colored plumage, but just before his fingertips could touch, the bird gave a soft trill and pushed itself off of Harry's hand, taking flight. The Blue Jay soared just over the heads of the oblivious crewmen, almost taunting as it glided within reach.

Lucas released a breathless laugh before launching himself after the bird. He weaved through the bustling crew and reached his hand high, leaping in order to chase those white-tipped tail feathers without any real intention to capture. Harry clamped his lips between his teeth in order to contain a chuckle when Lucas nearly ran overboard when the bird flew out over open waters, only stopped when Jeb had the sense to reach out and catch the boy by the collar of his dark brown shirt.

The bird took to flying through the top sails while the teenage boy struggled with his human-anchor, looking as though he was ready to start climbing his way up the main mast.

Not wishing to see Lucas scrambling up those endless rungs only to fall and break something, Harry called the Blue Jay back towards his hand. It immediately came fluttering down to perch comfortably on his finger. Harry's fingertips skimmed the soft little down feathers on its chest. Technically the bird wasn't real, just an advanced bit of transfiguration but it looked and behaved like any other living thing. The bird affectionately nipped at his fingers and it reminded him a bit of Hedwig. His beautiful snowy owl. Just another casualty in a needless war.

Lucas finally freed himself from Jeb's grip and ran back to Harry, nearly crashing into him if Harry had not moved quickly and caught the boys' arm to steady him.

"How did you do that?!" Lucas gushed with excitement while Harry smiled softly at the eager boy. Instead of answering immediately, Harry lifted his hand over the railing of the ship and with a little lofting of his hand, the bird took flight once more, but the moment it lost contact with his hand, its visage gave a sharp twist into nothingness, leaving only empty air.

"Like I said, the magic I do is a little bit different."

It seemed that his little display had endeared him to Lucas in some way, as for the rest of the day the young boy took it upon himself to acquaint Harry with the ship and its inhabitants. Harry mostly stayed quiet, silently taking in everything that the rambunctious boy pointed out to him and nodding when need be. The crew ignored him right back, greeting Lucas brightly with smiles or friendly jabs, but either pretending Harry didn't exist or sending him scathing, distrustful looks.

Which Harry didn't mind. He wasn't looking for friends or allies, he was looking for a way off the ship and as far away from anyone who might know his face as possible. Lucas was . . . he was different. Harry wasn't certain why he followed him around, or why he cared whether or not the kid was afraid of him. Though, a small part of him suspected that Harry was drawn in by Lucas' youth and innocence, that this newfound protective side of him was latching onto Lucas. Drawn to that brightness and optimism that in his own world, had been trampled, killed, and razed to ashes. Lucas was just a kid, one who'd clearly had a tough go of it.

After a short tour of the ship and all of its inner machinations, Lucas led him to the place he spent the majority of his time, the kitchen. At the front of the ship, opposite the captain's quarters, were two rooms: a small and tightly-locked infirmary, which held the most expensive and valuable cargo on the ship—medicine—and next to it was the much larger 'dining hall' which was just a room with a few long tables where the men ate, communed, and escaped the harsh sun. At the back of the dining hall, was a smaller, ventilated kitchen.

"No one's allowed in when I'm not here. Those men might take a cutlass between the ribs for me, but they're also notorious food-thieves." Lucas confided with a sly smirk. Harry glanced around the kitchen curiously, it was cramped, but everything was clean and well-taken care of. Harry turned back just in time to catch the raw potato that had been tossed his way.

"If you give me a hand, I'll let you have seconds at dinner." The boy offered with a cheeky grin. Harry felt the corner of his mouth curl involuntarily and huffed out a faux-annoyed huff to cover it as he tossed the potato back.

"Deal."

Harry spent the majority of the day in the kitchen with Lucas. It didn't actually take that long to cook the meal, but the kitchen was Lucas' domain and where he stayed to avoid being put to more laborious work—not that anyone would dare, according to the boy—and to stay out of the sun. He also confided in Harry that the one who cooked the food never went hungry, no matter how low supplies ran. Though, the more time Harry spent around the lad, the more convinced he was that the crew was just too soft on him to ever deny him anything.

Lucas was quite the chatter-box. He could go for hours, talking about nothing and everything all at once. He didn't pry into Harry's business—in fact, Harry hardly spoke a word—which was greatly appreciated. Harry liked to listen to the kid, to let his aimless ramblings fill the space with warmth and excitement.

Secretly, Harry wondered if this might be what it will be like when his own son or daughter comes into the world and grows up. His mind drifting to woeful fantasies of stirring a bubbling pot of savory supper while his raven-haired, bright-eyed child rambled on and on about their day. He imagines hearing whines and complaints about chores, or that Harry is too embarrassing when dancing around the house. He pictures what it will be like to finally have his child in front of him to love like nothing else before. He wants to watch them grow into a person with their own gifts and faults and still love them to the furthest star and back.

Harry gently wrapped those thoughts in silk—as a swell of emotion threatened to crash against his walls—and rested it on soft hazy clouds in the back of his mind to revisit when he was alone.

Together, he and Lucas cooked up a large bit of hearty stew, with meat and vegetables served with a good portion of fresh bread. Lucas explained to him that they weren't usually able to be so generous in their meals, but the presence of the King meant that they had been stocked to full capacity and would be renewing their stores every time they docked.

When the sun had set over the horizon and the lanterns had all been lit, Harry helped move the food from the kitchen—carrying the bread while Lucas got a surlier man to transport the heavy pot of stew—into the dining hall where quite a few of the ship's inhabitants were already waiting. As Harry set the bread on a short table perpendicular to the other tables, he was suddenly reminded of his fourth year at Hogwarts. The distrustful stares, the low murmurs passing from lips to ears.

This was why Harry had been trying not to get caught doing magic. They now saw him as dangerous, and if he wasn't careful, he could find himself tossed overboard at sea without anyone the wiser. The King's supposed interest in Harry might not be enough to outweigh the crew's fear.

One by one, men rose from their seats and approached for their portion of bread and stew. None of them thanked Harry when he handed them their cut of bread, but neither did they throw around profanities. He would take what he could get. Though, he could see Lucas frowning from the corner of his eye as he watched the proceedings.

Everyone else seemed to have received their food and were sitting down, talking away, when the final crew member stood and approached their table. A hush fell over the men as the low resonating foot falls sounded. The giant of a man stopped before their table, gaze focused solely on Harry. Such a glare would put his old potions professor to shame. He held the man's gaze unflinchingly, until his eyes inevitably drifted down to the painful collar of bruises that painted Jeb's thick neck. There were parts of his skin that the rope had torn and rubbed raw during his struggle.

Harry didn't regret doing it.

It may have been an overreaction to a horrid joke, but Harry did not like to be touched—especially by someone he didn't know. He didn't regret hurting the man, and that was why he would never apologize for it. . .

However.

Every moment that those bruises lingered, everyone was reminded of just what Harry could do. They would only see him as a monster. With an internal sigh, Harry's small hand lifted and reached out towards Jeb's throat.

The reaction was immediate, Jeb jerked back as if Harry was holding a bloody knife in his hand—might as well be—and Harry paused but didn't drop his hand.

"Wh—"

"Please." Harry interrupted, not a plead but an offer. The room seemed to hold their breath as Jeb stared hard at him, scrutinizing while Harry held his arm aloft, refusing to drop it until he got a response. The silence had passed far beyond any dregs of 'comfortable' and was sinking deeper and deeper into 'tense' as the moments dragged on.

Finally, after what felt like a spitefully long stretch of time, Jeb still had confusion and apprehension written all along the lines of his face, but he leaned in minutely. Harry felt a flicker of relief in his gut. He didn't know how much this would help—if at all—but perhaps it would lower his chances of being cast overboard.

His fingertips made contact with the mottled skin of Jeb's throat, he could practically feel the tension coursing through Jeb like an electric current. With a warmth that crawled up his arm like heated, overflowing syrup, Harry's magic rose to the point of contact and was immediately soaked up like a sponge. Careful not to release a slew of pent-up magic on the jumpy man, Harry only let it spread superficially. The dark blues and purples began fading before their eyes with a small pulse of magic. Harry heard Jeb's stuttered intake of breath, but ignored it as he focused. Jeb stared in confusion and wonderment at his arms as the marks lightened and evaporated along with the subtle ache that had been there since their conception.

The very second that the bruises and rope burns were gone, Harry snatched his hand back and dropped his gaze to the table where he picked his borrowed knife back up and sawed through the loaf. Exactly even with all the other portions he'd given, Harry took the bread and held it out towards Jeb, his expression blank and unreadable.

After a few extended beats of silence, Jeb took the bread without a word and then stepped to the side to receive his stew. From the edges of his vision, Harry caught the beginnings of a smile Lucas was fighting—and failing—to hide.

Lucas was preparing two more bowls—for themselves, assumedly—when six more men entered the dining hall and immediately drew everyone's attention to themselves. The five guards in their pale uniforms loosely surrounded their king, looking calm but alert as they approached their table. Harry's eyes were drawn to Tom like a magnet and something indescribable bloomed in his lungs. Harry hadn't encountered Tom since the man had left him in his quarters, after having promised them to Harry for the night.

Bathed in the soft glow of the lantern light, having abandoned his stiff tailored silk coat for some looser dark blue shirt and fit black trousers, with unspoken words leaden on his tongue and uncertainty in his eyes. Before him stood, not a King, but just a man. Humbled before Harry. Harry, who in many ways was a lover, but a stranger in that he likely didn't even know Harry's name. The thought struck Harry from his haze and made him blink and look away.

Harry picked up his bread knife but suddenly stopped when he heard the scrape of metal sliding from its sheath and looked up to find one of the guards had taken a half-step forward and had started to draw his sword, only stopped by the arm Tom had immediately put up between them with a fierce look sent the other man's way. The tension in the air was nearly suffocating as the guard refused to back down in his miss-guided attempt to protect his King, despite the look he was getting from the very same man he wished to protect.

It was not a guard Harry had met before, an older man with bone-white hair pulled back into a neat braid and venom dripping from his cold overcast eyes. Harry held the man's violent gaze, not breaking it for a moment as he slowly grabbed a loaf of bread and began to cut several more even portions for the King and his men. No one moved as he cut, and when he was done, Harry set the knife down perhaps a little too aggressively. It was only when the blade was no longer in his grip that the man finally sheathed his blade.

They really believed he would attack Tom with a blasted bread knife.

Huffing indignantly under his breath, Harry grabbed the bread and held it out to the men, if nothing else, then to get them to leave sooner. Tom took the bread from his hand gently, the barest brush of fingertips against his knuckles as Tom's larger hands retreated.

"Thank you, Harry." Harry looked up at that, unsure how to proceed with the use of his name, nor the humility strung through Tom's words like a sigh. All he could do was give a shallow dip of his head in acknowledgement and wait for the men to take their bread from Tom and move on to a silent Lucas as he gave them the rest of their meal.

Tom and his men took their seats at the end of a table, but even when they sat and began to eat, the previous hum of conversation from before did not fully resume. Witnessing for himself how uncomfortable the crew seemed to be with sharing a meal with the King of Nandera, Harry wondered what on earth had led Tom to choosing to sail with this group of mercenaries and criminals instead of his own soldiers and naval officers. Surely, he had some sort of naval force, right? Just what in the name of Morgana was Tom planning to do?

Harry continued to think about it as he and Lucas took their own generous portions of food and found a seat amongst the crew. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and Harry asked Lucas.

"I don't know all the nits and bits," Lucas started with a non-committal shrug, "But from I've heard from the others, we're escorting King Thomas and his Knights to the Southern Isle off the coast of Tsrilay. Some folks call it the 'Isle of the Damned.' The island is mostly jungle, but it does have a port city, Corrfédo. Which is my best guess at why we're going there. Corrfédo happens to be the number one criminal capital of the world, home to all those dark and depraved." Lucas spoke as though he were telling some suspenseful tale and not talking about a real place that they were going to.

"The place is considered lawless, since it is both governed and policed by 'criminals.' It's also one of the most diverse cities you will ever come across, with all kinds of species and creatures and humans. Most stay far away from such a place, because if one thing can be said about Corrfédo, it's that it is immensely dangerous. I've only been there once myself, and that was only because we had to retrieve something for a client from there. I hardly stepped off the ship." Harry absorbed the information with a slight frown between his brows. Hopefully they would be docking someplace else first before they reached this Corrfédo, so Harry could slip away before getting entangled in whatever dangerous venture this mission is turning out to be.

"And this 'Pirate King' I've heard about?" Harry asked tentatively, hoping that what he had overheard from the guards that night at the inn was just as nonsensical as it had sounded. Lucas snorted impetuously.

"What a ridiculous name! That's something you'll only hear the public call him, but us folk? We refer to him as The Cardinal. Ain't a man or woman alive that has sailed these seas and not heard of the Cardinal. That man has more tales and legends than he can count, sailed every sea, fought in wars and battles both on land and not, claimed untold riches and gained the respect of every man, woman, and child born with the sea in their hearts. He brought order to the chaotic society of criminals and vagrants. You could say he's the 'King' of Corrfédo, but his influence over the people who live there will never be recognized by the mainland. So, the Isle of the Damned remains a lawless place in the eyes of most." Lucas leaned in and glanced over to the other side of the room where the King sat.

"Though, if I were a King myself, having the Cardinal on my side would be incredibly smart. Pirates of all kinds and patronage will follow the Cardinal wherever he goes."

Harry considered Lucas' words for the rest of his meal, wondering why exactly Tom needed the favor of a bunch of pirates and criminals. Secretly gathering forces and outside help, could this be the first signs of an impending war? If so, then it truly might be best that Harry get as far from Nandera as possible. A nation at war was not a suitable place to raise a child.

When they finished eating and brought the dishes to the kitchen to clean, it thankfully didn't take too long to get everything washed and put away for the night. Afterward, Lucas graciously offered Harry the free bed below his own. Harry thanked him but admitted to having been given the 'captain's bed for the night. Lucas blinked and sent Harry fearful look. It took only a moment for Harry to catch onto the path of Lucas' thoughts. Harry quickly assured the young boy that it was not as he thought, he would not be sharing the bed with the King. The blonde still insisted that he sleep below deck with the crew, Harry would admit only to himself that he was a bit endeared by the boy's concern for him.

Harry did his best to assuage his worries by promising Lucas that it was only for one night, and then he would join him below deck. In a rare show of cheekiness, Harry confided that—as a convicted criminal—it was his moral duty to put the King out of bed for a night. Unfortunately, it did nothing to convince Lucas that Harry would be safe.

Harry heaved a sigh and ran an exasperated hand through his onyx curls. Without much thought, as his fatigue was fast consuming what remained of his caution and forethought, Harry blurted out the first solution that came to mind.

"If you do not trust my words, then just stay with me." He gave a half-hearted gesture towards the captain's quarters just several paces away. They were both quite small in stature and the bed in there was more than big enough for the two of them. Besides, if Harry was taking only one night to enjoy the luxury of the lodgings, then he might as well use the rare opportunity to share it with the candid boy he had befriended in such a short amount of time.

Lucas blinked once, twice, considering Harry's suggestion. It didn't take long, however. With a determined nod, Lucas agreed. He may not know much about the quiet fellow who had unexpectedly joined their party at the last minute, but he liked Harry. There was something serenely calm about Harry, a fluidity to his movements and in what little he spoke, it was just so . . . captivating. Harry coveted his secrets and certainly kept them close to belt, but Lucas got the feeling that Harry was a good person under it all. He'd heard about what had happened earlier with Jeb, and while what exactly Harry can do with his strange powers is still a bit up in the air, the fact that he had healed Jeb's bruises when he certainly didn't have to, had to say something about his character.

Harry offered the barest smile and led Lucas towards their temporary room for the night. As expected, it was empty when they entered, though the lanterns inside had been lit at some point to cast warm light throughout the room. Once inside, Harry closed the door and made sure to put up strong wards around the room that would prevent anyone from getting in, but not them from getting out—in case Lucas awoke before him in the morning or got up during the night and had to leave for whatever reason.

The younger seemed to eventually believe what Harry had told him about them not getting any unwanted visitors and finally allowed himself to be excited to be able to spend the night in such a comfortable bed—which apparently hadn't belonged to Jeb at all, the former captain's bed having been replaced with something slightly more befitting a King.

The two teen boys prepared for bed and snuffed out the lanterns. The bed itself turned out to be even comfier than it had looked. Warm and soft against the harsh winter winds beyond the vessel. They slipped under the covers and Harry's half-lidded gaze traced the flickering wisps of light dancing across the ceiling as he waited for sleep, coming from large window at the back of the room that looked out on waters painted in moonlight. Just as he was passing the point-of-no-return for unconsciousness, he felt warm fingers curl around his pinky under the blankets.

There was a pressure in his ears, the low thrums and clicks of bass humming in his skull. A muffled wall of sounds that bled together and weren't quite decipherable from each other. Like he was trying to listen to something while underwater. Whatever it was, it seemed he was getting closer to it as it was steadily growing louder and louder. And when it was so loud he could feel it resonating in his bones like the hollowed pipes of an organ, there was a moment of stillness before it popped.

With the sound of a vacuum stealing all the air from a room, the world around Harry burst into a cacophony of sound. It was deafening and so sudden that his heart lurched painfully in his chest and frantically battered his ribs like the thundering hooves of a horse fleeing in fear.

His eyes shot open and were coated with a cloud of smoke and dust as blinding flashes of spells struck the ancient stone around him and soft vulnerable bodies alike. The crumbling castle, explosions, and screams consumed Harry as he stumbled forward into the middle of the ongoing battle.

No. . .

His chest clenched so hard it was as though it was trying its damnedest to crush his heart. All around him, witches and wizards who had never even tasted adulthood were fighting for their lives and being cut down relentlessly. The rubble piled and strewn everywhere was mixed with clotting scarlet and the broken limp bodies still donning their school uniforms.

Harry whirled around on his feet just to tear his eyes away from the sight, but when he turned, his eyes connected with desperate gaze of a girl who looked no older than thirteen just as a black pillar of smoke descended on her, grabbed the battered girl around her waist before shooting back up sixty feet in the air and letting go. . .

Harry would never forget the sound of her skull meeting the stone floor. Hard. Heavy. Unforgiving. Wet.

His chest constricted again and the air contracted in his lungs, refusing to let him suck in a full breath. And then with another turn, Harry's wand raised automatically to block the bombarda sent at his head, and he was sucked into a fight to the death with a Dark wizard he'd never met. All too soon, Harry had backed the man into a corner and with a quick reducto Harry's chalky flesh was flecked with hot points of crimson. He didn't stop.

He was running before he even realized his feet could move, throwing his whole body into every arch and jab of his wand as he cut people down. Each time a spell left his wand, he seemed to shrink inside the shell of his body, pulling tighter in on himself like an imploding star on the brink of death. His vision pulsed as his lungs refused to work, hot stabs of agony slipping between his ribs, and his mind was tripping over itself in fear and the horrid adrenaline of battle.

The world was squeezing in tighter. He fell anyone who passed into the line of his wand until he wasn't even sure who was crumpling to the ground before him. He couldn't tell whether their robes were all black or if somewhere hidden between the folds was a certain colored insignia. He just frantically cast, never fast enough.

The very shadows around him seemed to solidify and step forward as one, surrounding him. The flashes leaving the tip of his wand turned verdant and as frigidly lethal as his pale green gaze. His vision pulsed black for a moment and his crumpled to his knees with a cry. The shadows moved closer until they seemed a hundred feet tall and Harry curled down until his forehead met cool stone.

'Go away . . . go away. . . GOAWAY!'

He closed his eyes, feeling as though dozens of wands were aimed as his back. Hogwarts has fallen. Harry failed. He turned himself into a monster but it wasn't enough.

Harry breathed out and disrupted a bit of dust.

He heard the sizzling of a spell.

Harry awoke to the feeling of a train having crashed into his chest. The air wheezed out of his lungs and he launched himself from the bed, hardly noticing when his knees made bruising contact with the floor. He scrambled to the side, eyes impossibly wide and entire frame quaking violently. There was a horrid sound of choking and wheezing air and it took far too long for the teen to recognize that it was him that was making such distressed noises. His numb body not processing the avid burning in his chest as his system refused to accept any air in the midst of such debilitating panic.

His mind was stuttering in his head and his ears rang with the echo of battle. He felt like the dark held hundreds of wands pointed right at his vulnerable form, the stark black surrounding him were thick swaths of fabric wrapping around his limbs and forcing its way into his mouth and down his throat to suffocate him, and only one thought seemed to make it through the chaos of his mind.

Escape.

Harry's weak, gasping form stumbled unsteadily to his feet and he ran in the direction of the door. In his terror, Harry didn't hear the shifting of blankets or the sleepy call of 'Harry?' as he crashed through the pitch-black room and fumbled for the door. Harry burst forth from the room and nearly fell as he dragged in a painful breath that hardly reached his lungs. His heart pounded erratically and he staggered his way over to the side of the ship until he could grip the railing. The harsh cool air of the winter's night scraped along his exposed skin and bit at his bare feet, but he didn't care.

His sense was a fleeting creature that was slow to coax back. It felt as though minutes had ticked by like sand between his fingers as he fought to understand the situation and regain control over his body. As Harry was just beginning to realize that he was not—in fact—in the midst of battle, he became vaguely aware of the cold wetness staining his cheeks, the harsh breaths leaving his throat in phantom-sobs, and the tight arms wrapped around him that were the sole thing keeping his trembling form up.

As soon Harry realized that he wasn't alone and that Lucas was whispering soothing but tremulous words into his ear, he pulled in the first real breath he'd had since before his night terror. For, as the minutes continued to tick by and his body was slow to settle, he came to the conclusion that that was what had happened. Harry had a night terror. Any strength he may have had to carry himself out onto the deck left him as his breathing started to regulate again and his heart no longer felt like it was being crushed.

They stood there, alone on the darkened deck, until they were both shivering from the cold and Harry had mostly come down from his panic.

Harry leaned more of his weight on the boy who had followed him into the cold night and allowed the worried teen to finally guide them back around in the direction of the captain's quarters. Though his vision still continued to pulse, it was not blurry enough for him to miss the figure frozen half-way down the steps. His eyes met the depths of the darkest blue, but he could do no more than stare at Tom as he finally reached the door and was led carefully into the darkened room.

Tom must have seen. He must have been at the helm when Harry ran out onto the deck, bearing his demons on his flesh and in his tear-filled eyes. And from where he was frozen on the steps, he must have rushed to approach Harry but was cut off by the appearance of Lucas.

A matter to worry over in the light of day, where dust and blood were only distant echo's. Lucas half-carried Harry to bed, supporting his weight but holding him as if he were made of tissue-paper. Harry caught a glimpse of the boy's face as he was helped back into the still-warm bed. Lucas' expression was painted with concern and uncertainty. A distant part of his exhausted mind felt guilty for the boy who was so very far out of his depth.

Lucas followed Harry under the covers and didn't hesitate a moment to close the distance and wrap a protective arm around Harry's form. In the darkness, Harry wondered at the easy generosity—gentility—of the boy before him. Still a child himself, yet valiantly shielding Harry from the dark creatures living within his own mind. Harry closed his eyes and shifted closer so that they were sharing the same pillow, the same breath. As exhaustion claimed his body once more, the raven silently hoped that he would one day be able to instill the same kindness in his child.