Chapter 14

The waters were calm, the surface marred only by a faint evening breeze from the eastern front. The sun dipped low at the horizon, covering the surface water in a thin sliver of orange. Beneath that was darkness. A ship, anchored for the night, sat still with the sea on either side clear of danger. A skeleton crew manned the decks, the rest, cloistered away in lamp-lit cabins. A merchant ship, going by the quality of the timbers and the set of triple cannons on its deck.

From deep underneath, he watched and waited as the shadow crept over the thin oval of the ship's bow. His captain, safe aboard the Dutchman, was a little more than half a day's travel away.

Half a day more. Half a day more and he'd feast-

No. That's not right. He had to restrain himself. The puny little humans were to serve his ship, not to fill his bellies. A hunt, perhaps, before the main event? But no, he was in no mood to graze on floaters and there were no larger prey in these waters. And he mustn't venture far, or else the Dutchman would come to find him gone.

Their presence was a constant in his mind. An awareness that distance couldn't shake. The Dutchman had been lacking in crew, and here was such a fine vessel for the taking. He'd settle for one night. It wasn't long now.

He dipped into position and felt as his ship and his captain grew steadily closer. Then, in the small hours of the morning, they were here.

The Dutchman travelled beneath the water, just as he did. A looming hull, long since waterlogged, crawling with every manner of sea creatures. Scuttling crabs, barnacles, small grime-feeders that leeched at algae growing on the wood. And then there was the crew. All who served were part of the sea, became part of the sea sooner or later.

It came in silence, propelled by no current or wind, but the intent of its captain. His captain. Davy Jones. The Dutchman slid to a halt and stayed there, waiting. The sun was just easing back into the sky. The shadows were still held reign and not even Jones could see him, tucked in the depths.

With a slow, controlled uncoiling of his tentacles, the waters parted and he emerged into the dim under-waters and into sight. He had continued to grow, though slower. When before he could barely grasp the sides of the Dutchman, now his tentacles could reach all the way to the upper decks. Though his body was still small, he could stretch to the size of a ship.

He looked up at the drifting merchant vessel, ready.

A pressure wave burst from the Dutchman, rippling out through the water in a sphere of force and he was off. Before the merchant ship could even rock from the underwater disturbance, he latched on, wrapped his tentacles around the sides of the hull and started to squeeze.

Beside him, he was aware that the Dutchman had surfaced, becoming buoyant once again. Vague cries from both vessels reached him, though muffled and blurred into one.

A sharp prick on one of his tentacles and he withdrew, only to smash it down on the board again. Then he started to search in earnest, sweeping up and down the deck for the main mast. Or anything at all that rose vertically. The sensors on his tentacles felt resistance, then give way. Again and again came the sharp pinch of metal as the sailors defended. They were shallow wounds, barely more than scratches, on his mucus covered limbs. He turned back to his main task. A ship couldn't sail without sails, could it?

The waters suddenly peppered with bodies, trailing bubbles – sailors who had jumped overboard. He ignored them, though the writhing they made in the waters spoke so eloquently of prey. No eating tonight. He caught a stray thought and worried for a moment that he'd already damaged too many. Then he found the mast, a thick, tall thing, almost as wide as his own tentacles. It rose higher than he could reach, but that was no matter.

Before he could strike at the mast, thunder split the waves. Cannon fire. He let go of the ship's sides, wary that he'd be caught in the fire and regrouped. Sinking, slightly into the relatively calmer waters underneath it all. Around him, men drifted. Some had gone still, leaking trails of red. Others, clawing their way up to the surface. A handful were struck dumb with his presence, horror in their faces, their tiny bodies seized up in fright.

One of them seemed familiar.

For a moment he paused, taking in the sandy brown hair, cropped close, the same eyes, now older, surrounded by the faint lines and wide with the same fear as in the others. He had seen this human before, in a different time, a different place. But how? A human was so insignificant, so weak. But there was significance in this individual. A significance that lay just out of reach.

What was his name again? That man had a name, hadn't he?

And all at once, it came back to him. The truth, the past, that man was Bill Turner. And Harry shrunk back. What had happened? What had he been doing?

At once, he shared the sailors' horror, at once, he shared the Dutchman's thick visceral taste of victory. Floundering between two opposing forces, Harry drew into himself. A war raged above, both sides calling for assistance. Save the sailors, don't let them drown. Haven't you already killed enough people? But the Dutchman needs its crew, the Captain had ordered. And he was so, so hungry.

No, no. This was too much. Everything was too different. How could he be both and still be sane? Was he even sane? Had he ever been?

The water seared his lungs and he coughed. Tentacles, fused into a not-quite arm rose to his neck. Before his eyes they shifted. Growing, shrinking, morphing between his two forms. He floated, half-human, half-monster. Limbs in a tangle, boneless, and yearning for air.

He was unsure which way to go, though staying such would surely kill him, under the waves. The water was suited to one of them. A plentiful, cooling home, where he could be lord and master of all that swam. For the other, a threat of a painful death, of chill and predators in the deep.

Harry looked up, saw the floating sailors, and made up his mind.

Bill was Harry's friend. Harry the human, not Harry the monster. He had to save Bill so he had to be human. His limbs receded, turned more easily into the pair of arms and legs that he was familiar with – yet the tentacles were also familiar and losing them was a real loss. The world dimmed, pressure of the water crushed against his chest, squeezed out a breath that must have been left over from his other form. Bones grew under his skin, muscles threaded themselves onto them, skin and hair returned and now Harry was struggling for the surface.

He looked up and it was frightfully far. What had once been an easy stretch to traverse in his other form was now a rising column of water as he sunk. So he started to kick. Kick and claw and curse that he hadn't chosen to change closer to the surface. Though the salt in the water stung his eyes, he kept them open, searching for the suitably shaped shadow that would mark Bill from the other sailors.

There was no other choice. He could only save one, if he saved any at all. To turn into his other form would be to release himself to the will of the Dutchman completely. At least as human, he could remember what he used to be. Harry. A wizard. He reached the lowest of the drowned sailors, swam past them, sparing only a small glance at bulging eyes, and gaping wounds, guilt threatening to give him pause. None of these men would have died if not for him. But he continued.

He found Bill just a little way away. The boy's eyes were closed, bubbles trailed out of his nose and he was still reaching out to the surface. The edges of Harry's vision grew blurry, the water dragged on his limbs but with another effort, he pulled Bill up under his arms and started to make for the surface in earnest. Kicking furiously, he nearly missed the explosion from above. A bright plume of red flickered across the waters as burning shrapnel scattered across the surface. A thick plank of the hull thudded into the water, still burning, the water hissing as it turned to steam. Harry turned his head amidst the wreckage just in time to see the merchant ship tilt and start to sink. Bill was heavy in his arms, but now, driven by the sight of the surface, only meters away, illuminated by the fire of the burning vessel, he used one arm to claw his way there.

He broke the water with a thick gulp of air. Cries echoed all around, those of the injured, and the victors alike. Permeating it all was the cracking keel of the merchant ship as its planks shuddered, overcome with the fire and the assault from the Dutchman. Harry gasped for air, savouring the sweet cool, freshness of it all. He hadn't breathed in such a long time it was an alien sensation. He blinked the water from his eyes, sought out blindly and found a piece of driftwood.

There was no room for himself when Bill was on, but that was no matter. The other boy had grown, that was for sure. Taller than Harry, more muscular. Bill looked nearly twenty. Perhaps that was the work of the sun and the harsh life of a sailor, but Harry thought there was more to it. Just how much time had he lost? How long was it since he first threw himself off the deck of the Dutchman to land on the Spiracle's masts? Would Bill even remember who he was?

The thought chilled him, but Harry didn't let the disorientation sink in. They needed to get out of here, and fast. A light breeze blew through his hair, stirring up the water around him. A warmth built up in his stomach, spread through Harry's chest and reached out to meet a growing gust of wind that caught the piece of driftwood and nudged it hard away from the wreckage and the battle.

His power was back. The control that he seemed to have over the winds, enough that he could bolster an entire ship's sails. The warmth bubbled over and spilled out. Around them, a funnel of wind pulled together, cocooning Harry and Bill in a tall column that battered away pieces of debris. Harry gaped up at his creation in awe, but even as he did, the funnel started to collapse. He shook his head. The wind didn't like to be observed. Too much questioning and his power slipped. He just had to go with it.

It was desire and need that moved his power, nothing more and nothing less. He needed to move Bill, and the wind came in answer. The funnel tipped, angled away from both the Dutchman and the doomed merchant ship and spun the two off into the wide ocean.

The presence of Jones and the Dutchman still weighed on Harry's awareness, but there was no immediate need for him, and so he took a closer look at Bill. The boy-man still hadn't awoken, and worry was starting to gnaw at Harry. He raised a hand to the other's mouth. Not dead, was he? Breathing? Yes. Harry let out a sigh. That was good. Then he turned to look out into the still glowing husk of the wrecked ship. None of Bill's crew would be so lucky. Either they went to the depths of the seas, or in the indenture of the Dutchman, it was all the same. They were in Davy Jones' grasp now.

And so was Harry.

Though, as he stared down at Bill, checking that his friend was still breathing, Harry knew that he'd do everything in his power to keep this one away from the clutches of the Dutchman.

But first, he needed to rest. He needed an island, or another ship. Anything. The funnel of wind angled, Harry stirred them in a random direction and started off.

In one hand, he gripped onto the piece of driftwood. In the other, he held tight to Bill. What precious cargo this was, he thought. He wouldn't stop before he brought him to safety.

#scenebreak#

Bill woke some time into the third hour. Harry, taking a break, had nearly dozed off in the relative warmth of the morning sun. The driftwood tipped as Bill tried to sit up and both boys ended up in the water. Harry blinked into awareness, reached out to give Bill a hand and helped him latch onto the wood.

"It's okay, it's okay," Harry said. His voice was husky, dry. The words tore at his throat, and again he was reminded of how thirsty he was. There was no water for him, nor for Bill.

"What?" Bill took it all in with wide eyes, glancing to Harry, then all around them at the blank waters, and then back at Harry.

"Do... Do you remember me?" Harry asked. He licked his lips, wary of the answer.

Bill continued to stare, his gaze moving fast over Harry's face. Harry could see his own reflection staring back at him. Youthful face, familiar black hair, green eyes - his mother's eyes. He hadn't changed a bit since when he was back at Hogwarts. How could this be, when Bill had changed so much? The other boy was silent, and Harry would've preferred silence from the sounds Bill made next.

The sob caught at Bill's throat. Another, and another, the sound of someone trying to hold it all back and failing. Harry looked down, the sobs crashing over him like a wave many storeys high. The piece of driftwood started to shake as Bill trembled and Harry, hesitantly, edged over and patted Bill's shoulder.

Bill recoiled, threw himself off the shared driftwood and started a mad swim away. Harry starred at his hand, at the fleeing back of his friend and felt his stomach sink. He was cold. Look at all he had done. He should be locked up and never let out. Only where was there a prison suitable for his other form?

As soon as that thought formed, another came from deep inside. Something strained against the thought of confinement. No, he would not go back to the darkness and the chains and the hunger. He would not!

But this was the alternative.

Harry bit his lip and tried to get some warmth back into his limbs. He had to make this right, if only a little. Gripping the driftwood with both hands, he started to kick towards Bill.

Bill redoubled his efforts to get away, and for several minutes they were locked in a race, neither gaining ground. It was Harry who drifted first. He'd forgotten how weak he was, how thin his limbs, how unsuited to swimming the human body was.

"Bill, stop it. I'm sorry. Just stop, please stop. I'm too tired." The last bit came out as a whisper.

"Are you here to take me?" asked Bill. There was a tinge of hysteria in there and Harry winced.

"No. No, just. I'm sorry. I-"

"It was you, wasn't it? You're the Kraken. The monster that's been tearing up ships. What are you waiting for? Come on, eat me, drown me, I don't care. Go on!"

Eat him? Harry clenched his jaw and threw his head back in anger. He splashed helplessly in the water. "I'm not going to eat you!" He shouted. From his stomach burst a tiny tuft of power. It amplified his voice until he heard echoes bouncing back at him.

"..eat you."

"..eat you."

"..eat you."

It was the last ounce of energy he had.

Harry let himself flop backward, completely drained. There was nothing else for it. Bill, was his only friend, after Grue had changed. His only friend thought he was a monster. And he held no illusions either. Just right now, at this moment, he couldn't bear to think back, reach into the depraved psyche of his other self and pull out the memories.

"Well? You're the Kraken, aren't you?"

Harry heard Bill's word from a distance away. It was a time before he registered that Bill had stopped trying to swim away, was, in fact, swimming closer. The question was hesitant, though spoken with a voice deeper than his own.

"Kraken?" Harry asked.

He got no reply.

"Kraken?" He asked again, louder. He didn't like the way Bill said it. The Kraken. Ominous. Harry didn't want to be known as something like that. Then thinking became the last of his worries as his vision drew dim and sensation seeped out of his body. He felt the water edge up the sides of his face and let himself into the chilling embrace. At the end, just before things went black, he felt a strong grasp pull him onto a damp, solid surface that rocked in time to the waves.

#scenebreak#

The cry of gulls brought him out of sleep and into the glare of a noonday sun. Harry lifted his hand from where it had dipped into the ocean and stiffened. He turned slowly and found Bill staring solemnly back. They gazes caught and Harry was scared, almost, but at the same time he couldn't break away. In that moment, Harry couldn't see the young Bill he knew before. Here was a man, stern, grown, judging.

Unused to feeling weak and small, especially before a flimsy little hum- Harry broke his gaze and shook his head. No. He wasn't to think like that again.

Unbid, Harry's attention was drawn to the sound of gulls, far away. A brief moment passed where he considered whether a regular human would think of gulls as prey, before he realised their significance.

"I brought us to Scapegoat's Isle," Bill said. The man's face was lined with stress. He didn't look good.

Harry narrowed his eyes in the direction that Bill pointed and sure enough, lying low on the water was a small island, made entirely of sand. There were a scant few palms, surrounded by a halo of white birds that straddled the wind currents.

Harry turned back. "Bill," he started. But the other man wouldn't listen, staring listlessly to the island, kicking and edging their little piece of driftwood ever closer. Harry watched, pained, before summoning up his power and called forth a gust of wind.

Their pace picked up as Harry directed a path of wind towards the island.

He glanced at Bill, but the man didn't seem to notice. That might have been for the best, at least before either of them set foot on stable land. Harry already decided to reveal everything to Bill. He had started their friendship off with lies, though necessary. He'd make sure to part with the truth.

"Hold on," Harry murmured. He moved to grab onto Bill's wrists, but thought better of it. He didn't want the man to flinch away again. Harry strengthened his wind and they sped up to the sandy shore. Slipping off the driftwood, Harry shook of the shock of the water and sought for purchase underfoot. Together, he and Bill brought the wood that served as their raft onto shore. The sand was baked hot under the sun but to Harry, the scouring was a well-deserved punishment. He cast his eyes low as they stood under the shade of a palm and waited for Bill to speak first.

After a while, the man did. "I don't understand anything," Bill said. And for a while, that was it.

Harry sat, not out of any decision – his legs simply folded underneath him. Sand caked his legs. Everything was sticky. Bill sat next to him. They both stared out into the ocean, the gulls crying out above them. There was nothing all around. The presence of the Dutchman and Davy Jones was but a small itch on the peripherals of Harry's mind. They were long gone.

"Please," Harry said. "Ask."

Bill took a deep breath and turned to face him. Again, that stare. Daring him to lie, to omit the truth. "Who are you?"

Harry stared at his hands, clenched them into fists. Who was he indeed? How could he answer that question when he himself didn't know? He lifted his gaze, settled steadily back on Bill's. Well, here goes, he thought. Perhaps the truth will figure itself out.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning," Harry said. "I don't know the whole story myself. I wish I did but I don't. And there'll be strange things, things that you might not believe." He snorted. "But I suppose after seeing such a horrible monster attack your ship, there'll not be much that shocks you," he said depreciatingly.

Bill stared back, silent.

Harry cleared his throat. "My name is Harry Potter." He hesitated. "I was born in 1980. My parents were both wizards. I am too. Not evil. We're normal people, with magic, is all. I went to a school. Had friends. Did homework. Got into trouble. And then I found myself in the ocean, three hundred years in the past. Well, my past. Your present, I guess."

Harry didn't dare look over to see if Bill was believing him or not. He cringed. It had sounded better in his head. He carried on.

"The Dutchman picked me up. I didn't have a choice." He trailed off. The excuse sounded trite, a pulseless attempt at an apology. He wish he could take it back the moment it left his lips. But the truth was what Bill wanted, and that was what he was going to get. "I guess I've been many things, but for now and the foreseeable future, I serve under the rule of Davy Jones as a crewmember of the Flying Dutchman. I've been turning. Turning into the Kraken."

And there it was. The truth as best as he could make it. Harry tasted salt and hid his face in his hands. There was nothing false about the words he'd spoken. Nothing false at all. He tucked his knees in close as silent shudders shook his body.

#chapter end#

AN: Hello! A big cheer for everyone who's reviewed. I have a bunch of time right now but sometimes still need a good kick to get going. Thank you for all the enthusiasm for the fic, I've really enjoyed writing this chapter. Boy, what a journey. We see Bill again, after a bit of time skip. And Harry's back to his relatively-normal self. Tell me if you liked it, and until next time,

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