CHAPTER TWO

"So," Tom said, setting his teacup down gently. "Who are you?"

The man – it was strange to call the youthful boy sitting opposite him a man – blinked at him owlishly. Bright green eyes, full of fervor and life, peered at him behind thick round glasses. "I still don't know who you are or what you're doing here," the man pointed out, laughing. "It's not everyday I pick up half-drowned passengers on my anchor, you know."

Tom eyed the stranger. Everything about him was a contradiction. He was shorter than Tom, with a head full of wild black hair and an oddly shaped scar on his forehead, but he drew the attention and respect of everyone else around him without fail. His scruffy jacket was stained and scratched, but the four stripes on his sleeve – denoting his position as a Captain – were stitched in gold thread. His boots were salt encrusted from many years at sea, but despite his worn clothing, his young features made him look like a rookie sailor on his first expedition.

"I'm Tom," he said shortly. He left it at that – the less detail about him, the better.

"And I'm Harry. Nice to meet you." Harry reached out and shook his hand, smiling warmly. "So what are you doing here, Tom?"

Tom took a sip from his cup, a calculating gaze fixed on Harry.

"I'm a navigator – or I was one. I planned routes and steered a merchant ship," he said finally. "But we – my crew and I – were attacked by pirates, and I was forced off board." Oh, the irony. At least the last part was true.

"Oh!" Harry's eyes softened in sympathy and pity – oh, how Tom detested pity – and he shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely. For a moment, Tom was surprised by the honesty shining in those vivid green eyes. "My family was attacked by pirates, too. Horrible, isn't it? The way they prey on innocent sailors…"

"Mm," Tom hummed in agreement. He was howling with laughter on the inside.

Harry sighed and leaned back, nursing his tea. "So how many years have you been at sea, Tom?"

"Almost 15 now," he replied truthfully. He recalled his first seven years at sea onboard Hogwarts with fondness. It was there that he had been introduced to the Malfoys and the Blacks, and it was there that he had first learnt about sea witches and Horcruxes…

"What are you going to do next?" Harry's voice drew him back to the present, and Tom found himself staring into curious green eyes. "I don't know," he said, shrugging. "I'll probably find another ship to take me on." And then track down Malfoy, gut him and regain control of the Slytherin.

"Well, if you'd like, I could take you back to land," Harry offered. "We're stopping by London to restock supplies. We can drop you off there –"

"No." Tom cut him off sharply. "I'm staying at sea, thank you very much." He'd vowed to never set foot on land again, and although the oath brought a certain weight to his shoulders, he had always preferred the ocean anyway. Never walking on dry land again was a small price to pay for immortality.

Harry blinked at him and laughed. "Alright then. Well, if you're looking for another crew to join, you're in luck. Our last navigator just left and we're looking for a new one."

Tom's ear perked up. From what he'd seen of the ship, it was an impressive vessel with both masts and engines, fully equipped with cannons and almost the size of the Slytherin. And if he worked as a navigator, he could steer the ship to his heart's content and drop by to pick up his Horcruxes…

"I'd love to," he replied, flashing a charming smile at the captain. Harry grinned. "I'd hoped you'd say that. Well, come along then and I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew."

"No interview?" Tom asked as he stood up and followed Harry out the door.

"Oh, that was the interview. You passed. Congratulations."

The edges of his mouth curled into a smirk. Harry must have been desperate for a navigator if he'd accepted Tom so quickly. One couldn't help but wonder why…

"What happened to the last navigator?" Tom said. Harry shifted awkwardly and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Erm, well," he said with a guilty tinge to his words. "To put it bluntly, he died. He got shot." At Tom's raised eyebrow, Harry shrugged defensively. "Well, he lasted longer than the others, anyway. He knew the basics of how to fight and he was quite happy to help aim the cannons, so he stayed with us for… hmm… almost a year, I think?"

Curious. Since when did navigators have to fight? The thought remained at the back of his head as he walked across the deck with Harry, his long strides easily matching Harry's fast pace. He surveyed the barrels of gunpowder and the silver bullets embedded in the deck, and he frowned internally as he stared at the well-used cannons.

When they reached the main mast, Harry popped open the trapdoor. He beckoned Tom over as he clambered down the ladder. They ended up in a large, cool, dark chamber filled with sailors. In the center of the room, a round table was nailed to the floorboards. Detailed maps and used quills were scattered across the table, and… was that a blueprint for a shotgun?

When he had come here, Tom had thought that this was just another simple merchant ship, but now it was clear to him that this was anything but.

"Everyone listen up!" Harry's voice carried through the chamber and the loud chatter died down to a soft murmur. He stepped up onto a makeshift dais constructed from shipment boxes and pulled Tom in front of him. "This is our new navigator, Tom. He's very experienced and I hope you'll all welcome him to the crew."

Tom offered what he thought was a friendly wave. A loud cheer came from the crowd. "Finally!" The tall, lanky ginger at the back yelled. "Someone who looks like they know their stuff!"

Tom appraised the crowd before him. Many of them had pistols tucked into their pockets. There, some young sailors near the front that looked no older than fifteen. Some older members with scarred skin and rugged hair at the back. One with a noticeable mane of frizzy brown hair – was that a girl? Most of the crew seemed loud and familiar with each other. A disproportionate amount of them seemed to be redheaded.

"So," he said, turning to Harry. "What do you do here?"

"He doesn't know?" A man with a shocking resemblance to a certain Regulus Black called out. Tom barely managed to restrain the urge to jump out and strangle him. "Harry, are you serious?" Another sailor called out.

Harry stopped and turned to Tom, a serious look on his face. "Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Tom nodded. The Order of the Phoenix was an organization that targeted pirates and sought to "protect the innocent sailors". Personally, Tom had found them an absolute pain; for some reason, their founder Albus Dumbledore had a thing against pirate Lords, and so the Order had made it their personal goal to chase down the Slytherin and bring him to justice. Honestly.

Well, it wasn't as though they'd ever manage to get him. Even though their best ship, the Gryffindor, had come close to outrunning them, the Slytherin was still the fastest ship on the seven seas. Tom had built the engine, after all.

But how was that related to his new position as navigator? Unless… no, surely not. He couldn't have been that unlucky. A sudden sense of foreboding crept up on him and Tom found himself waiting expectantly for Harry to continue.

The captain in question gestured around him. "Well, welcome onboard to the Gryffindor, the best battleship in the Order's entire fleet."

Oh, shit.

Then that meant –

"Harry Potter," he breathed. The Boy Who Lived.

Tom looked at the messy haired captain in a new light. How could he have just ignored the faint scar on his head? Harry Potter, the only person to survive a personal attack from Lord Voldemort. Oh yes, Tom remembered now. Back in his first year of commanding the Slytherin, he had chosen to attack the Potters because they were one of the wealthiest merchants in the region. It hadn't been anything personal – although there may have been a prophecy or two involved – and it had been a great success for the Slytherin. The gold in the Potter's coffins had been enough to triple their stash of loot.

Yet, unusually, he had left Harry Potter alive. Normally, Tom kept to a policy of not keeping prisoners. Not even his mother, who had begged for mercy, had been spared. However, he had not killed Harry Potter, simply because he had not been able to. Tom had stabbed the boy in the head with his dagger, but the boy had not died. By some freak chance of nature, the baby had survived and lived his life perfectly content with a piece of his knife embedded in his forehead.

And now the boy had grown up and become a Captain for the Order.

Harry sighed. "Took you long enough. It was refreshing to have someone treat me normally though. I don't like hero worship and I won't have it from anyone onboard this ship, and that's an order. Let's keep this professional, okay?"

"Of course," Tom nodded courteously.

Harry looked at him expectantly.

Tom gritted his teeth. "Of course, Captain."

Thank you for reviewing. I've fixed a few errors in the previous chapter. I have a vague plan for where this is going, but I'm open to suggestions.