CHAPTER ONE

Ominous dark clouds rolled over the white, billowing flags as the ship rocked back and forth. Waves surged and swelled and crashed and broke against the wooden hull in a steady rhythm as the Slytherin pulled through the dark water. Tom stared at the fierce waves far, far beneath the flimsy wooden plank he was standing on and contemplated, once again, what would happen if he jumped.

When he jumped.

He was all too aware of the cool metal pressed against his back, of the jeers and laughter of the crew of pirates behind him, of the cruel anticipation of his former first mate as he prodded Tom slowly along the dreaded plank with his pistol...

"Go on, my Lord," the treacherous blond murmured mockingly in his ear. His heavy breath stank of alcohol and excitement and Tom could almost imagine his toothy grin as he waited for him to break, to beg, to plead for mercy.

"Fuck you," he said calmly, seething silently. Malfoy would pay, one day. Malfoy and Black and all the rest of his traitorous crew would pay.

Malfoy's smirk morphed into an angry snarl, and within in seconds the gun was loaded with a loud click. "You filthy bastard," he spat. "No more games, Lord Voldemort. It's time to pay the price for the secrets you keep from us, for the people you took from us. Walk," he growled.

Tom stayed perfectly still.

Malfoy tightened his hold on the trigger and made a threatening noise not unlike that of a feral wolf. "Walk! Walk or I'll shoot, you know I will!"

An abrupt, high, chilling laugh. Malfoy started in surprise. Tom turned around, knowing smirk playing around the corners of his lips. "Go on, then. Shoot, little Malfoy. Shoot me like I shot your father."

The boy snarled, animalistic, but he hesitated at Tom's sudden confidence. Confusion flickered across his sharp features, but then, to Tom's disbelief, Malfoy began to laugh.

"So arrogant even to the end. Well, my Lord, I have news for you. I know what you've done. I know all about your six little secrets, and believe me; I'll do everything in my power to destroy them."

What?

"You lie," Tom hissed. "You have no idea what you're talking about." But a heavy weight had dropped in his stomach and he could feel adrenaline rushing through his pulsing veins. No one could possibly know. He had kept it a secret from everyone but his most trusted followers, his most loyal –

Oh.

He glared at the pale yet stoic figure of Regulus Black. Rebellious dark eyes stared back silently.

"Regulus kindly informed me of the matter," Draco told him, smiling horrendously like a cat that had got the cream. Both he and Tom were well aware that he had the upper hand now. "But don't worry," he continued. "I'll make sure to take care of them all. I don't believe in second chances or eternal life, you see."

His grip on the pistol tightened, knuckles glowing white even in the dim sunlight. "Now, walk."

Tom tensed at the order, but what choice did he have? Already, he could see the rest of the crew exchanging curious looks – if Draco exposed the existence of his Horcruxes to them all, he'd have no chance at all…

A step forwards. Tom edged along the plank, treading carefully. Only days ago, he - Lord Voldemort - had been the one holding the pistol, forcing friends and foes alike off the ship. Draco Malfoy will be the next one to go, he seethed silently. When I get revenge, he'll be the first to walk. Then Regulus Black and the rest of the Black family. Then the rest of the Slytherin crew.

When I get back, the time will be ripe for a purging.

He took another step forwards.

The unforgiving sea swirled beneath him and now he could smell the fresh, salty spray of the ocean. The coarse ropes binding his wrists together chafed his skin and he snarled under his breath. Of all the people to betray him, he had never expected Draco bloody Malfoy. Tom should have killed the arrogant 'aristocrats' along with Draco's worthless father Lucius. He should have known the blond would have wanted revenge for his father's death, should have remembered that the Malfoys had held power over these seas for far longer than he had, should have known that his crew would have turned on him, one by one, spurred on by young Draco's poisonous whispers and what ifs...

Another step.

And Regulus Black. The boy had been young when Tom had first recruited him, but he had been so eager and willing. So obedient. He had an odd sense of morality – rare for a pirate, especially for one that worked on the Slytherin. That alone should have been enough to tip him off. Entrusting the Cup to the Black family and hinting at its true nature had definitely been a mistake…

But, no matter. When he came back, the Blacks would tremble under the might of Lord Voldemort's wrath.

A strange calm settled across Tom, stilling his trembling fingers and smoothing his features into impassiveness. He ignored Malfoy's jeers in the background and Black's silent condemning gaze. Fine. Lord Voldemort would walk the plank, but unlike those who had walked before him, he would survive.

Because above all else, above being Lord Voldemort, master of the most ruthless pirate crew on the seven seas, above being the only pirate captain to achieve true immortality, he was, at heart, a survivor.

"Any last words?" One last step. Tom breathed in deeply. He was at the end now. The toes of his boots peeked out over the edge of the plank and he could see the individual crests of each wave as the sea reached up for him hungrily. There was nothing left to do but jump. The air seemed to still around him and the crew quieted in anticipation.

"Nothing left to say?" Malfoy grinned, and what a triumphant, arrogant grin that was. He despised it.

"Fuck you," he said again, and let out a last chilling bark of laughter as he leaped into the water. A gunshot and a hissed curse sounded over Tom's head just as he hit the surface of the water.

Cold.

All encompassing, unforgiving, bitter cold. Tom sank into the dark water, bubbles trailing from his lips, as the freezing winter ocean swallowed him. The icy shock flooded him with a brief yet paralysing fear, and for a moment, he thrashed about, bound hands and legs trailing through the water, searching for something to hold on to, before he forced his body and mind into rigid composure.

The churning water calmed for a moment and he broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. Dimly, Tom was aware of the body of the ship slowly fading as the waves swept him away, and a glimpse of a familiar green flag emblazoned with a skull and a serpent was the last he saw of the Slytherin before the waves pulled him back under into its icy embrace.

Had he ever felt so cold before? He recalled, briefly, a treacherous hike through snow capped mountains long ago, back when he had still been young and naive and desperate to hide his Horcruxes. The cold then was nothing compared to the freezing water now. How long, Tom wondered, before he collapsed and gave in?

But cold was good, he told himself. Cold meant that he could still feel, that he was alive.

Alive. What a wonderful thought, to be alive. To feel, to touch, to see; to freeze and burn and laugh and cry - he would welcome the cold as long as it reminded him that he would survive. Because Lord Voldemort did not give into death, and if Tom could help it, if he could get to his seven Horcruxes before Malfoy did, he would not die. Ever.

He let the waves wash over him, let the currents carry him along, let the cold take him away and douse his limbs with an icy numbness. Revenge could wait. Tom was alive, and that was all that mattered.

But, he silently wondered, how long would that last? Tales of men swept away at sea and killed by the treacherous cold sea consumed his mind. Above him, he could see faint rays of light amongst the deep ocean blue. He tried to reach out, but he could grasp at nothing and his fingers were curling into desperate fists against his firm bindings, and his legs were growing numb as they kicked weakly against the lure of the ocean void...

Tom gritted his teeth, his lungs straining and pleading for air. He would not go like this. He could not. But the weight of water seemed to press down, heavier than ever, and he could feel desperation creeping up upon him. I'm alive, he told himself. I'm alive and I can feel and I will live...

But now, to his growing terror, the cold had permeated his body completely, and coldness was fast turning into numbness. He could feel nothing, touch nothing... the chill seeped into his bones and then he could hold his breath no longer...

Tom screamed into the silent void that was the sea as water rushed into his mouth and up his nose. Choking, he flailed around. Black spots danced around his vision. Was this what drowning felt like? No, he yelled, no no no no no... I will live, he screamed – but was he truly screaming if there was no one there to hear him? And then there was nothing but the cold currents dragging him down down down into oblivion, into the depths of certain death, as he screamed at nothing and felt nothing and heard nothing...

His fingers brushed against cool, hard, solid steel and closed down on the chains of interlinked, rusty metal.

Tom clamped down with an iron grip, ignoring the burn of the rope as he strained his arms awkwardly over his head and kept his bound hands glued on to the steel lifeline. The worn metal chain moved and swayed as he painstakingly wove his numb fingers in between the links. Slowly, he could feel himself moving upwards, and through the dizzying haze that plagued his oxygen-deprived mind, he registered a foothold in the form of a barnacle-crusted anchor.

A ship, he realised, and he would have whooped in joy if he had not been a dignified, half-drowned, pirate Lord.

The anchor chain steadily rose, and then, just before he completely blacked out, Tom reached the surface. He heaved in a deep gasp and tasted sweet, fresh air and gulped it down greedily. The icy salt water stung at him again and he started chuckling as he clung onto the retracting anchor chain. Euphoric, he laughed helplessly, as he registered the fact that he had survived. He was alive.

Tom was still laughing when a confused black haired, green eyed man pulled the rest of the chain and its sopping wet, bound up and seemingly insane passenger onboard his ship.

"Um," said a suspicious Harry Potter. "Who are you and what are you doing on my anchor?"