Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or Harry Potter.

A/N: Hello. I discovered this fandom recently, and I have to say... I freggin love it! This is my first attempt at crossing these two over, so if I seem to be screwing up facts, I apologize. It's hard trying to get two different things to blend together, but I'll try my best!

WORD OF WARNING: This is a slash story, so if you do not like slash, this is for you! Please leave now or you will be dissapointed! Also, there will be MAJOR spoilers for both universes. If you want to avoid spoilers, leave!

Now then. This story takes place during the last of Harry's seventh year. Yes, there will be slash, but no, I am not telling you who the pairing will be. It will be a surprise!

And that's all. Enjoy the story and leave a review!

Harry had thought that he was prepared to die—that he could face his eternal slumber with a peaceful heart and no regrets. With his departed loved ones at his back to support him, he honestly thought that he could do what was expected… no, required of him. He was one of Voldemort's Horcrux. For them to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all, Harry would have to die, and the rest… would be left up to Neville.

Even though Harry understood this, as a green light flashed, what he dreaded most came to past. He had tried to still his fear and cowardice, but the hat was right. He would have done well in Slytherin after all.

"—vra!"

The killing curse had been cast, and Harry's heart thumped loudly before kicking into overdrive. Fear and adrenalin rushed through his veins, and while his head screamed for him to stay still and accept his fate, his body moved of its own accord and he launched himself to the ground.

"Harry!" the cry of Hagrid's relieved voice was drowned out by the surprised gasps of the Death Eaters. They all drew there wands but were stilled with a dangerous hiss from their master

"Harry, what—?" Lupin began, trailing off as Harry stared up at him with tear filled eyes.

Lowly, Harry choked, "I—I don't want to die."

His family stared down at him with compassion and understanding, but before they could open their mouth, there was another hiss of, "Avada Kedavra."

Still pressed into the forest floor, Harry rolled, narrowly avoiding the curse as the area he had been previously exploded with green light.

"Harry!" Hagrid called again, and this time Harry heard him. Their eyes locked. "Run!"

Eyes wide and breath heaving from his lungs heavily, Harry leaped to his feet and turned, silently apologizing to his half-giant friend. There was cursing and shouting behind him, but he didn't turn to look back. Hopefully, he would draw the attention of the Death Eaters to him, allowing Hagrid to go free.

For once in his life, Harry thanked his whale of a cousin and his bastard friends. Rushing through the dark forest, it took all of Harry's seeker sight and reflexes to avoid the obtrusive flora in the Forbidden Forest.

Ahead of him, the edge of the forest loomed, and the sight that greeted him made a pained choke leave his throat. Standing there was the specter-like images of his family.

Instead of condemning him for running away like the coward he felt, they smiled comfortingly, accepting of his decisions, no matter what they may be. As he ran past, not even able to stop and drink in their images, his mother whispered, "No matter what—we'll always be proud of you."

Even though it was said quietly, Harry heard her, and he slowed to a stop, her quiet words repeating in his head. He turned to them, but they were gone.

"Mom," Harry whispered quietly, tears of mixed emotions streaming down his cheek. He wiped them away viciously, his resolve slowly returning. What was he doing, running away like a frightened Hufflepuff? Hell, even a puff would have stood his ground.

Harry suddenly found himself ashamed. And he called himself a Gryffindor?

As if waiting for him to stop, a flutter of robes appeared at the edge of the forest, and slowly, the form of Voldemort emerged, his snakelike face a mix between annoyance and amusement.

"Harry," Voldemort hissed, taking a step out of the forest behind him.

"Tom," Harry called back, backing away.

"I didn't expect you to run—however, I cannot fault you for being afraid."

Harry's face twisted. "I merely needed a change of scenery. Looking into the faces of your Death Eaters was starting to make me sick."

Voldemort's red eyes flashed, a dark laugh escaping him. "If you are not afraid, then why do you continue to back away from me?"

Harry looked behind him, and as was said, the castle of Hogwarts was closer than it had been before. While they had been talking, for every step Tom took forward, Harry would take at least two back.

Without the comforting presence of his family at his side, he needed to once more conquer his fear. But, it seemed his choice was made for him, as the lake which contained the giant squid would keep him from retreating back much further.

"Nowhere else to run," Voldemort hissed unpleasantly, raising his wand.

Harry turned back to face Voldemort, a shaky grin on his face. "It would seem so. Let's get this over with then, shall we? Ready whenever you are."

The dark lord's eyes narrowed, but his wand didn't waver in the slightest. "It seems as if I'll finally be able to silence your cheek. Once and for all."

Before Harry could once more give a smarmy response, Voldemort said the incantation for the killing curse. This time, instead of cowering, Harry watched the green beam of light, his heart hammering inside his chest.

He was afraid but accepting.

The light slammed into him, and just like that… Harry Potter was killed.

Voldemort stared down at Harry's lifeless body, a cruel smile slowly working its way across his face. He had done it! After years of foiled attempts… the blasted boy was finally dead and out of his way!

Gradually, Voldemort began to laugh, a low unpleasant sound that soon escalated. The dark lord reveled in his victory, his insane cackling seeming to chill the very air around him.

Calming, he looked at the body of his supposed equal, his smile falling away.

"With this, there is nothing to stand in my way."

Voldemort turned and began heading toward Hogwarts.

If he had stayed only a minute longer, he may have seen a giant tentacle reach out of the lake to pull Harry's stationary form into the murky depths below.

Consciousness returned to Harry slowly.

Heavy droplets of water were crashing onto him, and a gentle swaying underneath him did nothing to help his disorientation. His eyes flickered behind closed lids before opening, the world blurry from a mix of his awakening and the unrelenting storm that was currently brewing. It probably didn't help that his glasses seemed to have vanished as well.

Squinting, Harry sat up, leaning heavily against whatever was behind him. Was he… dead? Was this the afterlife…? A blurry world that was constantly in motion and battered by the rain?

A dull sound reached his ears and Harry looked in that direction instinctively. What might have been a pair of boots were thumping ominously over the sound of the rain, and Harry's eyes followed them as they trekked closer. When they finally came to stand before him, Harry noticed that they had only one boot and what appeared to be a peg leg.

Still peering at the world through narrowed eyes, Harry's vision swept upward, past a pair a dark pair of trousers and blazer, and up into what he assumed was the face of his… something. The man…woman…creature looked like—well, Harry honestly couldn't say. His eyesight made it appear as though some sort of appendages were growing out of the person's face, but it was more likely a beard.

Startling him, they spoke. "Do ye fear deathah?"

Harry rubbed his eyes futilely, wishing he still had his glasses. They sounded like a man, and it would make sense for a man to have a beard. "Uh—what?"

The man crouched down, and it took all of Harry's effort not to release an embarrassing high pitched sound. Apparently, someone had never warned this man about the hazardous effects of mixing random potion ingredients! What Harry had suspected of being a stringy beard were instead some sort of tentacles, and Harry watched in mild fascination as they moved with a life of their own.

"I said, boy," the man began, snorting lightly, "do ye fear the inevitable fate of dying?"

Harry could only stare in confusion. "Er… aren't I already dead? This is the afterlife, right? Sirius could have at least told me to bring an umbrella…"

"Aye, you are on the border between, neither dead nor alive."

Harry reared back in shock as one of the green-tinged tentacles stretched forward and began to lightly touch his face. He made a displeased sound and pressed his lips together tightly when the appendage passed over them.

"Your soul," the man whispered, his monstrous face taking on a weird appearance. "It… sings to me."

Even though Harry didn't know what the man was talking about, he did know that he didn't like being touched by gross tentacle beards! Frowning angrily, Harry swatted it away from his face, causing the man to suddenly come back to himself.

"I have no bloody idea what you're talking about," Harry hissed. He didn't expect death to be like this—so wet and dreary. He expected it to be sunny and bright, and to have his family and friends surrounding him once again.

Instead, what he got was molestation by tentacles.

But, the man had said he was in between worlds. On his way to death.

Huffing, Harry asked, "So, what? Am I like… in a coma?"

The man gave a watery laugh. "No. My pet brought ye to me. Your soul—" he began again before stopping short, that odd look on his face. Harry watched warily, dreading another tentacle attack and breathing a silent sigh of relief when the man suddenly continued, "I am Davy Jonesah, and ye are aboard me vessel, the Flying Dutchman."

As if on cue, Harry heard more approaching footsteps and looked around in shock when people seemed to melt from the very ship itself to gather around them. They were too far away for him to see clearly, but even with the blurry outlines his vision allowed, Harry could tell that some of them were also transfiguration experiments gone wrong. Or right, depending on whom you asked.

Harry's vision once more snapped back to the man who stood before him. Davy Jones.

"What do you want from me?"

Instead of answering his question directly, Davy Jones said instead, "I'll give ye a choice: either join me crew… or die."

A brow lifting, Harry once more looked around, wondering if maybe he were dreaming. But no, everything was too real to be a dream. The feel of rain, the smell of the sea mixed in which a stench of death… Harry just knew that this was really happening to him.

"What type of crew is this?" he asked, understanding too little to make a deal, even if the other option was death. Voldemort had asked him that very question enough times that Harry was instantly wary.

Jones looked around at his 'crew' and they began to laugh—a low malicious sound that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

"Never ye mind, boy. The choices are simple: live, or die?"

Harry knew there was a catch; there was always a catch. But Jones wasn't answering any of his questions, and when Harry tried to stand up, he found that he just didn't have the energy. What was worse, when he felt his body for his wand, he found that it too was missing.

Suddenly, a voice whispered in his ear, "He has finally found us…"

"What?" Harry looked around, wondering who had spoken in his ear. The only one even remotely near him was Jones, and he was staring down at Harry, once more that odd look on his face.

"No time for explanation now, child, but you cannot die!"

"So what do I do?" Harry asked loudly, causing the crew and Davey Jones to look at each other in confusion, all of them wondering if he was bonkers. Right now, Harry didn't care about them in the slightest, instead focusing on the heavily accented voice inside his head which seemed to have a plan.

"Accept de offer," the voice suggested.

Harry blinked, wondering if the voice inside his head was crazy. And that was just weird, since he would be the one who was crazy for hearing voices in the first place. Luckily, Harry had going to Hogwarts for six years, and by now, nothing would surprise him. Well, besides octopus-headed men, but Harry was even adjusting to that.

"Um not crazy, child, and as long as you t'ink what you wan' ta say, no one will t'ink you are either."

'Oh,' Harry thought, feeling a little foolish. 'But why should I accept his offer? I'm not afraid to die, I've already accepted it.'

"No, child! Your destiny is only half fulfilled!"

'Half?!' Harry wondered incredulously. 'No thank you, but I think I've had enough with destiny for several lifetimes. Now… now I just want to rest.'

The voice was silent for a moment before speaking again, this time softened in understanding, "I know, child. I've seen the life you've led—but it's still not ov'er. D'ere is still Voldemort…"

Harry sighed tiredly, knowing the voice was right. Technically, he had not yet defeated Voldemort, but he had a feeling that even after that was done his destiny would not be fulfilled.

'So, how do I get out of this?'

"Da only way possible. By bargaining with him."

'That's it? Just bargain with him?'

"Jones is a man of his word if nothing else. He will accept what you ask of him."

'…If you say so.'

Opening his eyes, Harry was unsurprised to find that Jones was still staring at him. He seemed to have been waiting on him to come out of his little internal debate.

"Have you come to a decisionah?"

Inhaling through his nose, Harry spoke, "Yes."

In his short seventeen years, he had sat back and simply allowed the choices in his life to be made for him. Not only that, the people making the decisions were hiding things from him, and it seemed as if the situation he found himself in now was no different. The voice inside his head seemed pretty knowledgeable about what was going on, and once he was out of whatever it was he was in, he would make sure he was told everything.

"I'll join your crew," Harry started. Davey Jones snorted and moved, but froze when Harry continued, "but, only on one condition."

"And what condition is that, boy?"

Glaring, Harry snapped, "My name isn't boy. It's, Harry. Just… Harry." Jones looked startled, but Harry pressed on. "As for my condition… I wish to return to my home. To settle unfinished business."

Jones' head titled and he held up a clawed hand to rub his chin. Harry stared at the large lobster-like claw, wondering what sort of magical accident occurred to create Davy. Because, surely, no one could choose to look like that.

After several long moments, Jones finally spoke, "Aye, I accept your offer. Butah, once you've sworn an oath to the Dutchman, there's no turning back, not until your debt is paid."

"My debt?" Harry muttered, already knowing he wouldn't like where this was going.

"For one year, I'll allow ye to return to your homeland," Jones said agreeably, "but in exchange… you must offer onto me one-hundredah years of service."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "No!"

"Too late!" Jones declared, a low laugh escaping him. "The terms have already been decided."

All around him the crew members joined in on Jones' cruel laughter, and Harry could only stare ahead in dazed shock, his mind utterly blank.

Behind him, there was a thunderous sound that had nothing to do with the storm steadily raging above them. Harry turned his head, but it was futile. He couldn't see anything.

But he could feel himself being lifted, something strong and very big having wrapped itself around his waist. Harry screamed helplessly, but it was drowned out by the crashing sound of the sea and the members of the Flying Dutchman's laughter.

Whatever the thing was that held Harry released an inhuman noise before dragging him into the dark depths of the water.