Time inside the golden bubble was irrelevant; it ebbed and flowed much like the tide, never touching its damaging fingers to those within the bubble. It could have been weeks, months, years, Harry didn't know, but eventually, he stopped caring. Boredom had driven him to learn everyone's stories, then when he learned those, he was driven to practicing magic, then dueling the crew, then learning their trades. Or at least, the ones he could learn, what with no potions ingredients to be found and no way to test out things like arithmancy or creatures to care for.
By the time he mastered wandless control over his own magic, after what must have been decades or centuries spent amongst the Voldemort and his crew, he finally turned to attacking the make up of the bubble. With no need to eat, and little wish to sleep as it would only have him reliving his nightmares, Harry was able to devote nearly one hundred percent of his time to attempting to decipher the complex web of magic that made up their prison. The only times he was interrupted were when crew members had questions, or wanted to duel him to relieve tension, and since he could now best even Tom roughly half the time, he was interrupted more often than he liked.
Later, much later, when he'd been awake and staring at the weave of the bubble long enough to make his eyes burn, Harry felt hands gently pull him away by the shoulders and guide him back to the ship. The sight of the main mast, unfurled for once and fluttering in an artificial breeze, caused something inside him to snap, and like a building storm, his magic exploded out of his body. Ozone and the acrid tang of unspent magic spread out around him, thick as treacle and bitter like too many almonds on his tongue, and with a hoarse shout, he unleashed a blast of raw magic at the air. All of his pent up emotion went with it; bitter despair, loneliness, the ache of loss, the sheer, unbridled need to escape.
Like a struck gong, the bubble rippled, faltered for a moment, then as Harry's vision went dark, I should really stop fainting so much, the bubble fell. It collapsed inward on itself with the pressure of the water, and the crew had barely enough time to cast bubblehead charms on themselves before the sea crashed in.
Lungs burning, Harry coughed and spluttered, throat raw from salt water and eyes equally as raw when he tried to open them. There was a hushed murmur to his side, a cool, damp cloth against his forehead, then something foul cascading down his throat and sending him back into the void as he was too weak to fight it off.
Several more times Harry awoke, each time aching and feverish with cool cloths against his skin and a soft voice soothing his anxiety, and every time, the same foul potion would stream down his throat and leave him drifting in the void. This time, however, Harry awoke to the gentle scratch of sheets against his skin, pleasantly warm instead of feverish, and someone slowly spoon feeding him broth, each mouthful followed by a gentle touch to his throat to help him swallow. It was delicious, especially after what felt like centuries without, and he waited until there were no more spoonfuls and no more gentle touches to his throat before opening his eyes.
Fire light and dancing shadows, the dark green of a bed canopy, the scent of potions ingredients he was positive they didn't have, and the smell of broth, thick with spices. There was also the heat of a body next to his own on one side, the heat from the fire on the other, and a brush of air against his torso.
"Wh'hap'n?" He slurred, every nerve ending flaring in his body at even the thought of moving his head. A warm chuckle answered him, sounding far too amused and pleased, then red eyes entered his vision and he blinked and the fondness gleaming there.
"You exploded, and the prison crashed from the force of your fury. It drained you, dangerously so, and I have spent the last week and a half tending to you to keep you from expiring due to your 'Gryffindor tendencies', as Severus put it." Tom smiled, the cruel edge missing, and brushed gentle fingers over Harry's face, pushing hair off his forehead and tutting at the sight of the angry red flesh. "On top of core depletion, your stunt with the prison caused a backlash that injured you."
Nothing much made sense, not with his head swimming and his stomach clenching weirdly, but his thoughts focused on something and his brows furrowed. "P'tion?"
"Ah, yes... Once the crew was past the initial shock of being free, we made our way to the nearest port, made contact with the wizarding community there, and parted with a few baubles to have the money for potions ingredients and supplies. Severus, bound to my service, began immediately making potions for the injured crew which includes yourself."
Tom watched as Harry's eyes glazed, smiled, and ran a soothing, magic laced finger over the inflamed mark on the young man's forehead. "Sleep, Harry. When you're feeling better I will explain more. For now, you need rest."
He wanted to fight, wanted to demand answers, but his head was beginning to swim, and the shadows on the walls were distorting into weird shapes, so he gave in. The last thing he was conscious of was the gentle, soothing touch running over his forehead in a jagged pattern, magic tingling and easing the stinging pain.
Red eyes gleamed with triumph as Tom stared out the window, the sight of the blue waters which had been his prison causing his lip to curl in a sneer. "I'm free, now. I'm free and you'll never trap me again. Your magics shall not hold me in their suffocating embrace ever again, you foul spectre. I reject your claim and shall never again set foot in your domain."
He sneered at the water which flashed golden in his vision, then turned back to Harry; Harry who had freed him, Harry who had conquered Death, Harry who had been marked by the victory forever more. Harry, who had such power within him and didn't even realize it. Tom would endeavor to be worthy of such a gift as Harry, would bring the world to its knees for the young man who had quite unintentionally and unknowingly captured his black heart. If he just so happened to steal Harry, and maybe the world in the process, then who would complain?
Brushing gentle fingers once more down the jagged, bolt shaped mark gouged into the young man's forehead, he smiled. "Sleep, my Harry. When you wake, destiny awaits."