2 Chapter 2: You’re Dead.

( Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter. If I did, expect a remaster where Harry acts like a proper abused child who was too tough to lose it. Dumbledore like the wizard that he is. Snape getting in Jail. Malfoy getting in Jail. Lucius getting killed by Dobby. And you'll never hear much of Ron, and not nearly as much of Hermione. Also, Cursed Child wouldn't exist. You're welcome.)

My tendency to lean too much on the strength of my ego proved itself to be a boon, it makes it easier to just cast aside all worries and trouble in order to focus on the essential: The safekeeping of my life, or failing that, the sanctity of my arse.

I now had great power which, albeit weakened, would allow lesser men to prevail over greater challenges. Questioning my ability to push forward is no different from questioning my intellect, and no one can accept such an insult. Especially from themselves.

[Observe Lvl 1:

Your ability to perceive, assess and gather information about a person, area or item. You are skilled enough to recognise basic traits, such as the gender of the target. Which is better than most of modern society.]

'Alright, sass aside, I need to understand more about the nature of this pseudo-system.' I dismissed the panel with a thought, calling forth the 'Inventory' for further investigation. 'Knowing the specs and limits of my tool is vital to any successful usage and planning, ignorance is the enemy.'

A quick look brought its share of disappointment, the inventory space was limited to five miserable slots. Thankfully, my clothes weren't considered items, otherwise a good part of my plans would be made obsolete.

'Is 5 slots the final limit, or is it dependent on one of my stats? Is there any weight limit? It would be funny if I could just store the whole ship in it, even if I'd end up drowning.' I stored away that last idea, such destructive potential couldn't simply be ignored.

I have something of a knack for coming up with these rather…inspired possibilities. In mere seconds, my mind was filled with thoughts of disappearing body parts, storage of the entire earth crux or a small lake for later use. Taking a couple pounds of flesh, or erasing extra body parts would make some fine intimidation tactics.

Some would call me twisted, others a genius. Most would be worried about their hopefully not so little brothers who might or might not end up in my inventory if they start questioning me.

Taking a chip of wood from the floor, I thought about it going inside the Inventory. Instantly, it disappeared from my hands and an inventory slot was filled. Summoning it back, I threw it a few inches away and repeated the operation. Once satisfied, I turned his attention to the closest slave, a man nearly three meters away. Careful not to be seen, I didn't know about the social norms of the world I was in. But seeing that it involved slavery, human sacrifices and all kind of messed ups, I didn't dare think that children were that well-treated.

[New skill acquired: Stealth Lvl1]

[Stealth Lvl 1:

Your ability to escape detection. You are stealthy enough to not wake up the entire neighborhood when you get a late night snack. When active, you might fool inexperienced and inattentive guards but still not good enough to escape the eyes of your math teacher when you don't know the answer. Cost: 5 MP/second ]

In a few minutes, my experiments provided a satisfying amount of data for the near future. Further tests would be required, but I did not have the luxury of time.

'Maximum Storage Range is one and half a meter. Enemy possessions can be stored. Items which qualify as my own possession have an apparent limit of four meters, possibly higher.' I couldn't help but smile. 'It's not ideal, but boy can I work with that.'

I shifted position, careful not to make too much noise. It would be easier without shackles, but beggars can't be choosers. I took a look at each of my new companions, this time careful to count and assess them with greater details. Normally, I'd be hard pressed to measure these people in such an unfavorable setting, but luckily I had just the tool to make this task easier.

'Observe'

And observe I did.

Forty seven people, thirty six men and eleven women. Most of them aged between nineteen and fifty years, all more or less healthy and able bodied. Our captors likely got rid of the weak beforehand, either by transporting them elsewhere or simple elimination.

Many of them seem to share kinsmanship, with only a few outliers who are clearly foreigners. From their clothes and dialect, it seems very likely that Darth Stupidus and his flock somehow attacked a British village stuck in the medieval era. Captured these nice folk for free labor, and for some reason got hold of my transmigrated arse which seemed just juicy enough to be used in a ritual.

'Talk about killing the spare, huh.'

Why stuck in the medieval era? How does your truly know that he isn't, in fact, in the medieval era of the Potterverse or some such?

The answer is as boring as it is practical, the ship.

The ship we're being transported in is simply too advanced for the time period, that much is obvious from our nice little common room. It is most certainly a frigate, from the early seventeenth century at least.

That and the fact that those two nerds up in the captain's cabin spoke in perfect, albeit creepy, modern english.

No Thou or thy, no purple prose nor non-ironic french. Just plain ol' english.

This simplifies everything massively, as a measure of understanding between me and the masses is key to proper communication which in turn would ensure the freedom and survival of the highest number.

Am I getting ahead of myself? Obviously.

But when failure equates to death, it's much better to pretend that victory is certain.

Even when you are literal child, at least on paper, being forced to take control of a ship with only a couple dozen of combat ready slaves with worse morale than an eighteen years old in Vietnam but none of the equipment.

'At least I have the system on my side.' I smiled 'Yeah, no. It's still gonna be a logistical nightmare.'

"Kid…" I heard a hoarse voice call out. No it was more like a whisper, barely able to reach my ears. "Yer alive? We thought the Wizard got ye soul."

Shits and Fucks.

In an instant, a good forty pairs of eyes turned toward me. Granted, the fact that most of them were red and moisty with a generous amount of snot decorating their faces did reduce the intimidation factor by a good 40%. And yes, I do indeed give a very limited amount of fucks. But there is just something about a bunch of dirty, scared adults zeroing in on what looks like a seven years old with a mix of surprise, curiosity and suspicion. Something very troublesome, and dare I say, fucked up.

"Unfortunately, he didn't." I scrunch my nose at a particularly nasty looking pile of crap. I didn't mean social media.

Beside a snort from a man-bear who looked just ready to go and rush-b, my answer was met with whispers, incomprehension from some and varying degrees of pity. Understandable, a white kid in a slave ship…sounds like a joke Dave Chappelle would absolutely rock.

That's bad. Pity, that is. I don't do pity, not at all. I put it in the same box as drinking, whoring and overeating; The not-getting-caught-dead-doing-it box. Just above the No-way-in-hell-Bitch box, not saying what's inside, but anything sharing space with Boku-no-pico and the last season of Game of Thrones (Which doesn't exist, I'll fight you.) is bound to be deep down the Ocean of Nasty.

In any case, we ought to fix that. Nobody listens to children, even when they should. Nobody listens to pitiful things either, they enjoy spitting on it usually. A pitiful child? Man, that's a recipe for total loss of authority.

Unfortunately, I need their compliance to save their lives, freedom and possibly the sanctity of their arseholes.

What? The embargo is surprisingly hard to enforce.

Moreover, Kicking arses is infinitely more enjoyable than saving it.

But I digress, it would be wise to start searching for a viable plan to put out a little bit of this dumpster fire. It would need to be swift, simple and effective.

"Kid, Yer alright there?"

Yet I must also do my best to keep the intimidation on an all-time high. The people trapped with me might be cock-biting cannibals for all I know, they need to know my bits are off limits.

"Kid! Kid!"

Even IF they weren't, in fact, genitalia consuming maniacs. It would be preferable to scare the wits out of them, it keeps them nice, docile and most importantly; obedient.

"I think da Kid is sick, must be da magick doin' somethin."

Hmmm, yes I think I could do that. It has a good chance of working and if I do pull it off, I'd be getting a healthy amount of fear… I meant respect! Yes, it would get me lots of respect from my future minions…Comrades! my future comrades.

"Gilbrat! Aren't ye good with remedies? Can't ye do somethin 'bout da boy, I think he's dying."

"Yes, I can deal with cuts, headaches and infections. What in Hel do you want me to do about this? Looks like he lost his soul, must be the damn wizard."

'Alright, let's do this' I nod, ignoring the bewildered looks the people gave me. I had to focus on the task at hand, observing our jailer who was munching some dark green tobacco like substance with a hand in his pants. He sat a good five meters away from the cells, but it should be feasible…it also kind of had to be.

"Could you please stop talking for a moment? I am busy trying to save our lives, freedom and dignity here." And more importantly, my arse.

"Watcha mean kid?" Was it frustration I heard amids their utter cluelessness? How cute.

Putting on my best poker face, I did the one reasonable thing someone with my…talents, should do when captured.

I turned my gaze to my shackles, two iron rings closed by vice-like parts. It was bound by a sturdy looking chain to limit the area we can reach, in addition to hindering our movement and making us louder than any captive man is comfortable being.

Of course, it would all fall apart if the vices were somehow removed. Fortunately for the slavers, it is impossible without the proper equipment.

It's not as if someone here could just store away objects in a pocket dimension, right?

'Inventory'

I was pleased to see the two pairs of vices absent from my shackles occupying a couple slots in my inventory. I removed them before the flabbergasted masses, putting them gently on the ground as I stood up for the first time in my new life.

"It's nice being free." I joked, stretching up. I expected more discomfort from my new body, but muscle memory did it's thing and I managed to retain a level of grace through it all.

I had to. It wouldn't be funny if I fell headfirst, losing all dignity after this stunt, humiliating myself while also alerting my jailer and possibly ruining my plans.

Okay, it would be pretty funny.

Me and Ugly the jailer both did a fantastic job ignoring the pleading, bumbling and all around shocked masses. As I got ever closer, the smell took on a new form of horrible. The poor sod kept his sword hand in his pants, doubtlessly training his wrist for advanced forms of fencing. He munched the green paste in his mouth with fervor, his face contorting into that of an especially disgusting stoner.

One of us had a plan, the other a boner.

I stood by the cells, a mere five steps away from him. The tension was palpable, every slave quieted down from begging for help or questioning my achievment. Seconds passed, and for a moment there was only the sound of distant sailors doing their duty, the crashing of waves against wood, the incessant fapping of distant relatives of Nurgle.

It was oddly peaceful, but we knew it wouldn't last.

"Excuse me?" I called out, at last gaining his attention. He was slow to grasp the situation, which for some reason didn't surprise. "I lost my shackles, could you help me find them?"

"Of course." Now that surprised me, he stepped forward, hand still in his trousers but visibly slower, thank god for that.

One step, two steps.

It was at this moment that he knew, he fucked up.

"Wait!" Stinking, greenish spittle flew out in volley as he almost shouted. Eyes wide, mouth opened displaying a smile worthy of hardcore dental care compaigns. "Ye shouldn't be here!?"

"Damn right, I shouldn't!" I snapped, looking every bit as reviled as I was by this…this…"I should be having a good time on a beach eating chocolate flavoured ice-cream with a fucking model. Not being stuck in this literal shithole being talked down by a decadent, disgusting, dismal looking, dunderheaded, degrading, deservingly destitute damn of a dickmongering fuck up."

…

"You Dick!" I added, for good measure.

Silence again permeated the room. The relief and pleasure of a good bashing, the calming sound of the waves, the distraught face of my enemy and awe of my subordinates…life was good.

'Now, if only it didn't smell so bad...'

A few seconds later, Ugly the Brute finally recovered enough sense from his medieval-munching-weed slowed mind to get past the harsh truth of the proverbial dressing-down I so graciously administered and remembered he was in a position of power. Strutting forward, he began removing his hand from its resting place doubtlessly intending to strike me down from the perceived slight on his non-existent honor.

In short, the butthurt stoner remembered he was bigger than a literal child and decided to stop fapping and start hitting.

Maybe he'll head to the gym afterward, start working on himself and all that? Hah, as if.

Three steps, Four steps.

The slaves behind me lost hope, I was gonna die, they thought. Some of them might've seen that it was part of the plan, and those were surely watching with trepidation, waiting for the impossible to happen.

Five steps, even the believers started doubting.

"You're dead pipsqueak." He whispered slowly, grazing the bars of the cell, I could feel his putrid breath and started wishing he was right.

"And you need a mint." I shot back.

Gritting his teeth in anger, and not finding any comeback. He reached for his sword, intent on making me shut up once and for all.

He didn't wonder how I got out, didn't think much of my lack of fear, didn't even consider me a threat. I was nothing in his eyes, and it was obvious.

I smiled, taunting him, he wouldn't feel bad about my death. Killing a child was no big deal, he's done worse, hasn't he? He'll do worse, to helpless people. He killed innocent sons and brothers, raped sisters and daughters. All without care in the world, he enslaved people without as much as an afterthought, as long as he got paid for it.

There's no need to feel bad about killing him, right?

He gripped his sword on instinct, raised it up high in Hollywoodian fashion. Twelve historical fencing enthusiasts just had a stroke and fucking died.

He brought it down on me, only then noticing that…it wasn't there.

Nor was his keyring for that matter, he stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. His superiors would kill him for this, he thought, he would be the laughing stock of the whole crew.

He felt a lump in his throat, a feeling of dread washing over him. His eyes went hazy, as weakness overwhelmed him.

"Gotcha." He heard someone say, he could just imagine the teasing smile on a child's face, it excited him.

'What's this kid doing with my sword?' He thought, looking at me holding his Falchion with both hands, tip firmly stuck in his throat.

I pulled back, the momentum making me take a few steps back.

There was blood, and the jailer fell on his knees, hand clasping his throat as if it could keep him alive. He tried speaking but couldn't. He tried getting me, but couldn't.

He was dying, struck down by his own sword, his killer protected by the cell he imposed on him. Feeling merciful, I offered him one last smile, and one last goodbye.

"You're dead, dickstain." I whispered, pushing him down with the flat of his sword.

Ugly the Brute died on the ground, choking on his blood.

All I could hear was the sound of the waves crashing against the wood, the shouts of distant sailors.

it was peaceful.

"Tell me." I smiled at the slaves, watching them flinch when I stepped forward. I stored away the sword, and watched as fear turned into awe, all of them forgetting the corpse behind for an instant.

"Do you want to be free?"

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Ladies, Gentlemen, Billy.

Here is the second chapter of my story, please enjoy yourselves.