Once Upon A Time (A Drarry FanFiction Collection)

Chapter One - Breath Of Life

Breath Of Life

Life at sea was not for the faint at heart. Not all possessed the weathered skin or hardened soul necessary for surviving the salt-laced air or relentless struggle in the clutch of the ocean's towering waves, even on the calmest of days. On a night such as this, when blackened sky met iron grey waters in the howling, fury-whipped tempest of the Atlantic, Harry Potter feared he was not made of such stuff, and that he was doomed to a watery grave before he was to see his twenty first year.

Once more, the depths rose up to try and claim the motley crew as they scrambled across the ship like insects fleeing a disturbed nest. Harry's boots slid across the slimy deck as the boat rocked violently, salty rain biting into his skin through his clothes. The cries of his fellows rang through the air, cutting between the wail of the storm and the splatter of the deluge hitting the wood of the boat; water from above mixing with water from below, indiscriminate as to which would snatch up the men's lives first.

They needed unity if they were to pull the vessel back on course and steer her true, but these were a troop of blaggards and thieves, of murderers and rapists, given leave to run amok under the banners of the skull and cross bone. These were not men of honour. These were not Harry's men.

"Seize the rigging!" the captain bellowed as he clutched desperately to the railings, his peg leg having even less purchase on the slickened wood than the crews' worn leather shoes. Harry could not say he had much sympathy though as he began to scale the knotted ropes; Captain Dursley was a miserly, bitter old dog, whose greed was evident by his bloated belly as much as his bulging coffers. Not that greed was a frowned attribute amongst fellows with a profession such as their own, but when Harry had spent much of his voyage so far fighting hunger pangs strong enough to fend off sleep as often as he had hiding from the cat-o-nine-tails, his interests now lay more with self-preservation than any sort of loyalty to his captain.

Or any of the crew for that matter. A pirate's life had not exactly lived up to all he had hoped it would be. For sure, he felt he must argue anything was better than the merciless toil of the workhouse he had spent his early, orphaned, years in, but perhaps he had not chosen wisely when signing his life over to the unquestionable rule of Captain Vernon Dursley.

"You scurvy rats!" the old man bellowed over the raging storm, waving about his cutlass. "Useless swine! If any of you toothless knaves lag, you'll pay the pretty price; under my keelhaul!"

Harry gritted his teeth and assured himself if The Fair Petunia sank, he'd find himself in old Davey Jones' locker as much as the next man. However comradery failed him as one of his fellows, a dastardly scoundrel by the name of Flint, thrust him aside, claiming the pulley Harry had marked as his target to heave against the sail whipping back and forth in the gale.

"Out of the way Potter!" he snarled, earning several cackles from those nearest them, despite their urgent predicament. "Leave the work to the real men!"

"Aye!" called the lumbering Goyle, a man so sluggish and vast Harry felt he had to at least give him some praise for making it this high up the rigging without hanging himself. "Little girls like you should be swabbing the decks."

"Or warming my bed!" crowed Baddock, and Harry shuddered, not needing to be reminded of the other challenge that hindered any restful nights' sleep. He'd yet to be dragged from his own bunk, but he suspected it was only a matter of time before he lost that fight, and he dreaded to think of what would happen when he did.

Perhaps it was this particularly disturbing line of thought that caused his grip to slip, but the gargantuan wave that came crashing over the ship would almost certainly have taken him in any instance, as it did numerous other men judging from the screams that assailed Harry's ears. The water hit, cold, hard and merciless, stripping Harry of his senses, rocking the Petunia with unwavering ruthlessness. He fell several feet before fate took pity on him, and he found his hand snatching hold of the ropes once more, saving him from plunging into the ocean, allowing him a scant moment to catch his breath.

"Potter!" came a scream from bellow, and he looked to see Marcus Flint tangled by his foot and hanging upside-down from the rigging. "Help me!" he begged.

Flint was not a kind man, nor a generous one. In fact, there were few Harry feared more from on this boat. But the terror in his eyes as he tried to right his flailing body so as to have a chance at defending himself from the sea's next onslaught had Harry scrambling down the numerous rows between them, trying to pull Flint's boot from where it was snared in the fraying ropes.

"Hold fast!" he commanded, forcing his raw, burning fingers to attack the jumble of limb and rigging, but already the next wave was gearing up, rocking the boat at a gut-wrenching angle, and Harry gasped as he clung to the netting, but to no avail.

The waters reared like a wild animal before diving down in their attack, striking icy cold and slamming the air from Harry's lungs as he was yanked free from the ship's bosom, spiralling through the air before he found himself submerged by the roaring waters. He tumbled over and over, losing all sense of which way was up or down as gravity took hold and dragged him into the freezing depths of the ocean below.