Disclaimer: I don't own much, and I certainly don't own Harry Potter or POTC. I wish I did, though….

Ah, thank you all for the reviews! They really make me smile- all of them!

Some questions have been asked, and I'll answer the ones I can, that don't give anything away!

So, Yes, Will and Elizabeth will appear sometime- not together, though! I'm currently undecided on Captain Teague as of yet- I constructed a story without him, but I might be able to fit him in somewhere.

Time? Well, that's a little more complicated. I'm following the theory that time is relative, that is, the amount of time that passes in Jack and Harry's era has no bearing on the amount of time that passes in the era Harry left. Does that make sense? Probably not! What I'm trying to say is, it doesn't matter if Harry stays in the 1700s five years or fifty, the amount of time that passes with Ron and Hermione could be totally different. With my current plan, Harry will be quite a bit older than his best friends when he goes back, savvy? (Which answers the question on whether he goes back!) (That also means it won't be particularly soon)

And about the prophecy. That makes it all even more complicated. But, my theory is, because Voldemort does not actually exist in Harry's time, Harry can die. It's the same with Voldemort in Ron and Hermione's time- since Harry does not actually exist there, he could be killed by anyone with enough power. If it's possible to kill something like Spirit-Voldy-who-isn't-really-alive-anywho.

About the length of the chapters- I do try and make them as long as I can, but most of the time I just reach a good stopping point and decide to let go there. I'll try to make them slightly longer, but no promises!

If you have any other questions, please ask them in a review, and I'll try and answer them (providing I wouldn't be giving anything away!)

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry looked at the flask he held in his hand. It was very small, and could at the most hold only two or three mouthfuls of liquid, but that was all Harry needed. It had been hidden below the sole of his boot.

He unplugged the stopper and gulped down the water within. He felt suddenly happy, as though he was not in fact trapped on a ship, due to be executed in less than three days. He grinned, and started humming. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…

The light outside slowly faded with Harry's mood. By the time he was simply contented, it was pitch back, around midnight, by Harry's reckoning. He stared out through the hole in the wood again. This time, he could just make out lights in the distance. Port Royal. They would reach there around tomorrow afternoon, Harry estimated. Then he had about twenty-four hours after that until the hanging.

Harry lay back down in the corner. He wasn't worried. Not really. He smiled, and tried to get some sleep.

Harry slept clean through until around noon the next day. He only woke when the noise around him suddenly increased. He got up and looked out. They were in Port Royal. They had travelled faster than Harry had imagined they would. He heard a noise behind him and spun round to see Captain Willis and some of his guards coming down the stairs into the brig. He unlocked the door and the guards came in. Harry let them tie his hands behind his back, and he was led up and out of the ship.

As Harry was led through the town, he felt very conscious of people staring. He couldn't blame them, really. He'd have stared too. It was bound to be an odd sight: a pompous captain strolling ahead, and five guards surrounding one prisoner, who was still only a kid.

Harry was led up to the fort, which stood high, overlooking the sea. He eventually ended up locked in a cell there. It was the same cell, Harry realised, that he had first appeared in, over a year ago. His hands were untied and the door locked. Several guards stood outside it, just in case he attempted to escape.

Harry went over to the bed and laid down on it, resting his head on his arms. The bed was exceptionally uncomfortable. There were some other prisoners next door. They'd been interested in him when he'd first arrived - after all, a kid locked up AND guarded was rather unusual – but then had retired back to calling for the dog. Harry didn't feel the need to point out that, if the dog came over, his guards were hardly going to just let them escape.

Harry could feel his wand in his boot digging into his ankle reassuringly. It felt good to have some kind of a weapon on him, as everything else was back on the ship.

Harry heard footsteps approaching and he turned to look at the stairs. Captain Willis appeared, followed by an important-looking man, who was wearing the red coat of the Navy. The guards stood to attention, and at a nod from the redcoat, one unlocked Harry's cell door and pulled him off his bed and out. Another tied his wrists behind his back again. The men then turned and led Harry out of the prison.

They went up several flights of stairs and down endless corridors, until they reached a rather big office with a fire crackling a map being drawn on one wall. It was very nearly completed. Harry's wrists were untied and he was shoved down onto a chair. The redcoat sat down on another (rather grander) one, Willis stood behind him and the guards hovered somewhere in the background, looking threatening.

The redcoat leaned forward in the chair, staring at Harry. "I am Commodore Gillette," he said. "You are Sparrow's son. There is, sorry, was a rather significant bounty out for you. Of course, Captain Willis has rightfully claimed it." He paused, still staring at Harry, and Harry was suddenly very afraid. He saw something in Gillette's eyes and didn't like it. Harry glared at him, and bit his tongue to make sure no words slipped out.

Gillette smiled, and Harry didn't like that either. It reminded him of Dudley just before he announced a game of Harry-hunting in front of his gang.

"Now," he said. "The reason you are in my office instead of your cell downstairs is that I have an offer for you. You should consider it, as it really is a matter of life and death. I want information – about your father, Jack Sparrow. You know his movements, where he will be and the like. You give us this information, Master Sparrow, and I shall see that you do not hang tomorrow. You will, of course, be our prisoner for a month or two, but we will then set you free. You will be a free man, if you decide to give us what we want. If you do not choose this option, your execution tomorrow will go ahead as planned. Indeed, the gallows are being set up as we speak."

Harry glared at him. He obviously wasn't going to take Gillette up on his offer. Harry knew he wasn't going to die, but he would rather face death any day than betray Jack- his dad.

"I know this is not a decision that should be rushed," Gillette continued. "But unfortunately, you will have to decide quickly. I do not have much time." He paused, and looked at Harry expectantly. "Well?"

Harry sat up straight in his chair and said clearly, "Not a hope in hell."

Gillette sat back and raised an eyebrow. "Very well," he said, "I did not think you would take me up on that. However, you are making a mistake. It is a very generous offer, after all. You are a pirate; many would not even offer you a way out. I, however, am a merciful man."

Harry stared into Gillette's eyes. He didn't see mercy there; he saw hatred and cruelty. Snape was nothing compared to this guy.

Gillette stood up and moved over to the fire, staring into the flames. Harry noticed for the first time, a long metal pole with a wooden handle emerging from the fire. Gillette grasped it and picked it up. Harry saw a white-hot glowing P at the end, and went pale. He had seen the mark on Jack's arm before, and now was looking at the instrument that caused it.

Gillette saw the expression on his face and laughed. "Hold him," he said.

Instantly the guards in the background reappeared and grabbed Harry. One held him down in the chair, another held his left arm to his side, and a third grabbed his right arm, pushed up the sleeve and held it out. Harry tried to struggle against them, but they were too strong.

Gillette raised the branding iron. "You have made your choice," he said coldly, and brought the iron down hard on Harry's arm.

Harry had never felt pain like it. Even with the Aqua de Vida shielding him from some of it, the agony was terrible. He screamed, and the glass in the windows shattered. At that, Gillette lifted the iron off his arm and looked around at them, frowning.

"What just happened?" he asked.

Harry, however, didn't hear him talk. He was too busy clutching his arm. He looked at it and saw that the skin was crimson and the pain, although less now that the iron had been lifted off, was still awful.

Gillette turned to the guards. "Take Sparrow back to his cell. The execution will take place at ten O'clock tomorrow morning. Have him ready to leave at half past nine, sharp. I shall make sure that this execution will be well-publicised. Keep him guarded at all times. If he escapes, there will be hell to pay."

As Harry had his wrists tied again (the rope just missing the brand, thank heavens) and was dragged out, he saw Gillette sweep back to the window and examine the shards of glass.

Harry was led back to his cell and shoved in again. He raised his arm and inspected his arm. It was still burning, and the cooler air in the cell was only making it feel worse. He used his other hand to rip off part of his sleeve and tied it around the wound. It was all he could to for the moment, but he'd have to let Jack see it as soon as possible. He'd know what to do.

Harry lay down on the bed, shifting around to find the most comfortable position. He looked out the window. From his position, all he could see was the sky and a little bit of the sea. He estimated it was still only about one or two O'clock. That meant nearly twenty-one hours until the execution tomorrow. He wouldn't die- he knew that much, but what was he going to do? He had no idea what would happen to him, or exactly how he'd react to being hanged. He decided to just play it by ear. It was something Jack did remarkably often and he'd managed to survive so far.

Harry thought back to his conversation with Gillette. Had he really managed to shatter the windows? He'd only done magic like that when he was younger, with the Dursleys. He remembered talking to the snake at the zoo, managing to make the glass disappear and reappear.

Was it possible to do magic without his wand? Well, obviously, as he'd just done it. But could he learn to control it somehow? It would be very useful if he was ever stuck without his wand. And maybe, if he could do that, he wouldn't need to use the words for the spells. He didn't know very many, after all.

What did he know? Harry frowned. He knew how to make things fly. He could transfigure very small objects and shoot sparks out of the end of his wand. He could unlock doors, which was useful. Well, unless there were several guards outside it, as there was now. What else could he do? He remembered his other lessons: potions and herbology, astronomy and history of magic. There weren't much use. Defence against the dark arts? Professor Quirrell hadn't taught them anything worth knowing, and most certainly not any spells.

Harry thought. He had learned a few things out of his book – how to summon things, and he had just begun learning how to make himself invisible. He had learnt a spell that made a light come out of the end of his wand, and one that, according to the picture, would knock someone out. He hadn't actually practiced that one yet, though, as he hadn't wanted to risk doing someone some serious damage. He had learnt the word and the wand movement, though.

Just sitting thinking about it, Harry realised how little he really did know. He hadn't had all that much time to study his book over the past year – working on a pirate ship would do that. Often he went to bed too exhausted to do anything but sleep. If he could learn, if it was possible, to control his magic without his wand, that would be brilliant, and amazingly useful.

Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to try it now, but he knew that wasn't possible – not with the guards outside, watching his every move. He would just have to wait until he was back on his ship with Jack, until he had some time alone in his cabin to try.

Harry shifted in the bed again, trying to find a more comfortable position, which was quite difficult as he couldn't put any pressure on his right arm, and the bed was none too comfortable anyway. He tried to sleep, but it was not easy, considering he'd slept for a while on the crossing here and the pain in his arm was keeping him alert.

He lay face down and tried to think about anything other than his execution tomorrow. Anything other than that. Anything at all. It wasn't working.

He knew he wouldn't die, at least. He had that to reassure himself with. However, not dying means that there would most likely be lots more pain involved. And that was not the slightest bit reassuring.

24 hours, he thought. 24 hours, and I'll be out of here, gone. Harry didn't know what he was going to do after the execution, but he'd be damned if he let them arrest him again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jack Sparrow stood on the deck of his ship, gazing at his compass. He had been following it faithfully for over a day now. Since Harry had gone, Jack hadn't slept a wink or eaten or drunk anything. The crew were worried about him.

One approached him cautiously. "Captain?"

Jack didn't turn around. "Aye?"

"We, that is, the crew, we thinks that you should take a break. Ye've been up 'ere for ages. Ye won't do yer son much good if we find him an' ye collapse in the middle of the fight, just because ye haven't been eatin' or sleepin'," said the man who had been singled out of the crew, called Wally by his friends.

"No." said Jack shortly. He wasn't about to go, when any second something could happen.

Wally nearly gave up, but a glance back at the rest of the crew watching the interaction stopped him.

"Seriously, captain. Ye need to take a break. 'S not good for you, just standin' and starin'. I'll keep watch for ye, if ye like. You go get somethin' to eat and go to sleep for a bit, and if anythin' happens, if anythin' appears on that horizon, I'll send for ye and ye can be back up 'ere in seconds."

He gently pried Jack's hands from the wheel and pushed him towards his cabin. "There's some food for ye in yer cabin," he said, "an' some fresh water. Then take a nap, and ye'll be back up 'ere in no time, and ye'll be able to watch better."

Jack knew that Wally was right, but he didn't want to go.

"Come on now, Captain," said Wally again, "Ye know that Harry wouldn't want ye wastin' away like this. He'd want you to eat an' sleep, like the rest of us."

Jack stared at Wally, and gave in. "Alrigh'," he said, "But if you see anythin', anythin' at all, come get me."

He strode away to his cabin, his walk even shakier than usual.

Wally took the wheel. Jack Sparrow left him in charge of steering and finding Harry when he couldn't and he was determined to do this duty as best he could.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sirius Black sat in his cell, staring out of the tiny, barred window set high in the wall. All he could see out of it was the blue sky, but that was a view to be cherished, as he had realised long ago. He had been very lucky to get a cell with a window at all, really. Not like the poor guy across from him. Sirius could hear him sometimes, moaning and wailing about pineapples. The man was totally bonkers, and although Sirius felt very sorry for him, he was relieved that it wasn't himself who had been reduced to insanity and shouting about various fruits in the middle of the night.

By Sirius's estimate, he'd been in here for over ten years now. Of course, the only thing he'd had to judge by were the minister's twice-yearly visits and the odd newspaper that he was given.

The minister was late, this year. Of course, it was a new minister. The last visit had been his first one, and Sirius had enjoyed seeing the effects of the dementors on the little fellow. Then Sirius had had a brief conversation with him, and probably freaked the man out even more, because he was still somehow sane.

Sirius wondered if the minister would give him a newspaper this time. He had the last time, and Sirius had spent hours poring over it, because it featured several pages on "Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts!". There had been quite a few photos of his godson, and Sirius was amazed at how much Harry had looked like James. He kept the paper neatly folded under his bed, and still looked at it sometimes, when he thought that he might be going insane. It helped, by giving him something to think about other than James' and Lily's deaths.

Sirius heard a commotion at the other end of the corridor that his cell was on. It was getting louder, and he could make out voices.

"-surely the work of the Dark Lord, Dumbledore!-"

"- yes, but-"

"-need to question… whereabouts…"

"…Harry Potter…"

Sirius caught Harry's name and listened in harder. Had something happened Harry? The conversation was growing louder as the people approached. Dumbledore was there, and Sirius thought he recognised the minister's voice.

"Albus, we need to question him! He's the most important Death Eater we have! Well, the most important coherent one, at any rate! The rest have gone totally crazy."

"I appreciate that, Cornelius, but he has been incarcerated here for years. There is no chance that he will know anything, and even if he does, getting it out of him will be near impossible."

"That is why we have veritaserum! He will tell us all he knows, and if he doesn't know anything, we will have at least tried! However, we cannot rule out the possibility that he is privy to other Death Eater hideouts where they may be keeping the boy!"

Sirius's heart felt like it stopped. Harry was missing, kidnapped by Death Eaters? They were undoubtedly coming to question him, now. He went back to listening, to see if he could pick up any more information. The voices were much louder now, and Sirius knew they mustn't be far from his cell.

"-wasn't he interrogated about these things during his trial?"

"No, he wasn't actually given a trial. We didn't need one- we were busy rounding up all other death eaters, the evidence was overwhelming against him, there simply wasn't any point!"

"Nevertheless, it is a basic human right to be given a trial, Cornelius. One cannot just throw people into Azkaban."

"I know that, Albus, but I had no say in it. It was Barty Crouch, remember? He was up in arms against all of the followers of you-know-know. Authorised the use of the unforgivables and all that. You know that. Hardly anyone was given a trial – save for his son, of course. Poor man. Lost his wife and son in such a short time…."

The conversation had stopped outside Sirius' cell. He just had time to get away from the door before it creaked open. Outside were Albus Dumbledore, Minister Fudge and at least twelve Aurors. Two of them came in and hauled Sirius to his feet.

Sirius knew he looked a mess. They had water to wash once a week, but he couldn't do anything with his hair, which was all matted and tangled, or his beard that had grown, which was the same. His prison robes were grimy, changed once a week too.

The conversation that Dumbledore and the minister had been having had ground to a halt in his presence. Sirius didn't mind much for some reason.

Sirius was led out of the cell in silence to be interrogated.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

And that is the end of another chapter. We've just seen what's happening in the time Harry left – I thought that I'd stick that in!

The next chapter will be up ASAP!

Please review!

'Til next time!