If Fleur was like Calypso from the Odyssey but in the 14th century
Lightning arced across the sky, illuminating for a brief instant an endless expanse of a violently churning sea. Only the white-capped waves indicated the boundary between the charcoal waters and the ashen clouds, and the two planes were united by a constant deluge of rain.
This seemingly infinite seascape hosted a single anomaly; two hundred and twenty tons, two great masts, a tradeship out of Inverness that was equally equipped for war. She was Nimbus, she had not made port in over four months, and her crew was either weak, bedridden, or stowed in the cargo bay in the faint hope that they would find graves on dry land.
Only two men were on deck at the moment- the bowsprit lookout, Cormac of Glasgow, and the ship’s captain himself, Harry Potter.
“You’re relieved, Cormac. Go below and get some sleep.”
Sleep. Foolish for me to sleep now.
The lookout merely nodded, the gray seas reflected in the dull sheen of his eyes and the exhaustion in his countenance.
Harry took a deep breath, tasting the air. He glanced at the sea, searching for a hint of green seaweed. Yet again, he found himself disappointed; they were nowhere near land.
*Six days. If we don’t find land in six days we’ll all be dead. *
The gale tore at him, the winds and the heavy rocking of the ship itself threatening to topple him into the freezing depths. However, this was not his maiden voyage- indeed he had been tied to the sea since he could walk, and as long as the wood beneath his feet held he would not be meeting his maker.
Almost as if in response to his thoughts, Nimbus groaned as another wave crashed against her bow and the masts creaked in protest.
Best not tempt the gods, whomever they may be.
When Albus had gathered this crew together as a last ditch effort to find allies in the war against Lord Voldemort, Harry had known it to be a fool’s errand. Would it not be better to stand and fight? To die facing evil with honour like so many good men had before them? Curse Albus and his insistence on hope against the odds.
However, his loyalty to the man had outweighed his pride, and he along with three hundred and seventy two straggling survivors of the Province of Hogwarts had embarked while their homeland was conquered. The islands were under the dominion of the Dark Lord now, and the continent had proved itself hostile as well. So they had sailed west.
*So tired. *
A minute shift in the air, an almost imperceptible change in shapes of the waves. Raindrops froze for a moment as Harry’s weary mind bolted to action before he consciously knew what was happening. He found himself sprinting to the wheel, navigating the shifting deck with ease.
“REEEEEEEF! ALL ON DECK! ALL ON DECK! MAN THE MASTS, WE NEED ROPES!”
Shadows started piling out of the doorway to the cabins, stumbling to their stations and groggily tying the necessary knots; for many this was their first time at sea, and though they had learned much over the previous months, they had never before dealt with a situation of this ilk.
Just a hundred yards.
*Goddamn it. Too slow. *
*Still have to try. *
“ON MY MARK! STARBOARD! THREE! TWO! ONE! HEEEEAAAAVE!”
With his warcry he spun the wheel to the right as hard as he could while his men pulled at the ropes. With a screech, Nimbus strained to obey the commands of her captain. The bow dipped just as a mighty wave struck the portside, and currents of raging water tore across the deck.
Screams broke through the chaos of the storm, and half a dozen men lost their footing. Harry locked eyes with Creevey moments before the younger man was taken by the waves and flung off the side, an unholy look of terror burning itself in the captain’s gut. Still, he held firm, his body shaking at the effort of keeping the ship on its trajectory.
He could hear the voice of Neville, his first mate, “HOLD, YOU SONS OF BITCHES, HOLD!”
Fifty yards.
We may make it.
Indeed, the wave that had wreaked havoc on his men had also aided in the ship’s swinging turn. Still, his hairs stood on end, his mind raced. Something was still horribly wrong.
CRAAAACK.
Like the trunk of a great tree brought down by a lightning strike, the mast’s demise played out in slow motion; it bellowed out in mourning as it tilted on its axis and began its descent. The men wise enough to let go of the ropes were now at the mercy of a slippery ship thrown off kilter, while those unlucky souls that hung on were caught in the riggings as they were flung upward. Well. We’re fucked.
Harry was flung from the wheel, and the back of his head collided with the railing surrounding his perch. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the mast of the Nimbus crashing into the sea, and the men that he had failed to save flailing against the storm.
XXX
Sand.
The shock of the nearly-forgotten feeling of earth was enough to rouse Harry from his slumber, and he took in heaving breaths, squinting at the bright sunlight in his eyes.
I’m alive.
His mouth was dry as the sand that surrounded him, his head pounded like thunder, but he was alive. He slowly sat up, battling his exhaustion yet intent on scoping out his surroundings, but a sharp gasp of surprise captured his attention.
He could only let out a gasp of his own.
Before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; her hair emanated the essence of starlight on a clear night, her eyes blue as the most tranquil of seas. Her face was striking, avian features softened by full lips that were drawn in an expression of caution. Her angelic features extended to the great, feathery wings half-extended behind her back, as if preparing to escape should he make the wrong move.
Wait. Wings? She has wings.
His head spinning, he fell back against the sand and the sunlight began to fade again.
Where am I?