If you're a fan of whisky, have a drink while reading this chapter.

Thank you Magzillasaurus for cleaning up my chapter and thank you reader Tudorwench for the whisky tasting suggestion. Take care!


Day Fifty-Seven

Hermione was in paradise.

Stretched over a sunbed, the sun heated her thighs and back, both well rubbed with sun cream, courtesy of her fiancé who took care of the job tantalisingly slowly. Her hair was shoved to the side, drying after a beneficial swim. It was curling the only way it did when it was the sun who did the job. The wavy type, as she loved the most.

Speaking of her fiancé, he was enjoying a thriller he borrowed from the library, stretched next to her. His hair had dried long ago, into the opposite of his well-kept hairstyle. Rather the look after you stood in a tornado, pointing everywhere. But Hermione was not planning on warning him about it. No, she kinda liked this unkept version of his, definitely since he hadn't shaved in days and had this light blond stubble around his jaw.

Between them was a little table with a colourful cocktail and small ditto umbrella stabbing a slice of lemon.

"Are you enjoying your book?" She raised her face from the headrest just long enough to ask her question.

"This Leonard Vole killed the old lady, all evidence points to him." His nose was buried inside Witness for the Prosecution, written by Agatha Christie.

"Are you sure? His wife says he was at home." Hermione had read the book herself and loved how the whole plot rolled out.

"His wife is lying to protect him. Don't tell me you won't protect me once we're married?" He side-eyed her for a second, before returning his attention to the book and turning the next page. "Has this Agatha woman written many books?"

"She's a master in the whodunnit genre. I love that one and Mousetrap also, I saw it in the library." She twisted in her seat, grabbing blindly after her shades.

"I'm reading that one next." Draco sipped from his fruity cocktail.

"Would I lie for you?" She reflected on his question.

"Hmm?" He was so engrossed in the plot he barely heard her talking.

"Would I lie for you?"

"Well, yes. Would you lie to save me?" He closed the book, marking the page with a finger.

"If you kill someone, no. I will not support you in any illegal activities." It went against her integrity, no matter who he was to her.

"Let us say, my mother wants to know how much I paid for the mask, and I say that I don't remember, which is a lie…" It was an innocent question.

"Oh, in that case? Yes, I'll say you're telling the truth." Who didn't lie once in a while for a good cause? "Would you do it in return?"

"Only if I get something in return, like a lifetime replenishment of chocolate. The services of a Slytherin like me require payment." He told her with a deadpan expression. Nearly immediately, a shower of sweet cocktail drops was thrown at his face. "Hey!"

"You git!"

"Tit for tat, love. That's how I operate." He stood up, put away his book and walked towards her to kiss her lips. "Let's swim some more."

"DRACO!" Nearly everyone turned their heads towards the noise.

"Is it too late to escape, Hermione?" He gritted lowly.

She whispered back, "I'm afraid Margaret found us!"

"Oh, Draco, hello stud."

The wizard deadpanned again, unused to being called that by a lady old enough to be his grandmother and especially when said lady was accompanied by her husband. Hermione giggled at his expense.

"Don't mind my wife, I forgot to give her her meds this morning." Henry extended a hand but nearly got thrown into the pool when Margaret hit him in retaliation. The men shook hands, chuckling heartily. "We were on our way to a whisky tasting workshop at the Rising Sun pub. I saw you and wondered if you would like to join us."

"Whisky tasting?" Draco often enjoyed an excellent scotch, but he also recognised that he wasn't a heavy drinker either.

"It's sample tasting with the elaboration of how they brew the drink. You won't get drunk from the low amounts they pour." Henry soothed the panicked look on the witch's face.

"I haven't forgotten the last time he indulged in the Guinness beers." They both laughed, though it did remind the young couple of what led to that precise occasion. "Well, this time, I'm coming too, to monitor his alcohol consumption."

"You mean that you want to see which of us two gets pissed first, eh?" He couldn't let her swotiness win the best of him.

"You read me perfectly." She gathered their stuff, hoisting the bag over her shoulder, "We'll meet you in ten, Margaret?"

-oOo-

The piano bar on the promenade deck felt like an authentic British pub with a picture of Winston Churchill and several vintage mirror frames on the light wood walls and wooden furniture, plus old-fashioned desk lamps with fabric shades adding a low, warm glow to the interior. It looked like the pubs she hadn't been allowed to enter due to her age but wished she could, if only to breathe in the true British pub culture.

The round tables were set up in a circle, already ready to welcome the guests. At each spot, a collection of five whisky glasses, shaped like elongated sherry glasses with a stubby stem so you could swirl with ease. Each drink was numbered and contained a bottom of caramel brown coloured liquid.

Margaret was already waving widely from her seat, commanding Henry to add a second table to their group. "Alright, Margaret, they are here. Sit down." Despite the effort, everyone and their cat knew where they sat. In other words, the usual display. The older man raised the table next to theirs with the help of his comrades carefully. They moved at baby-steps pace to avoid spilling the valuable drink.

"Are we here for another margarita event?" Hermione had such deja vu to an earlier activity. She sat next to the woman, Draco to her left, disrupting the man and woman sequence. He didn't trust the woman near him, especially if she had a little too much to drink.

"Unfortunately, we're not learning the jive today, nor the quickstep," Louise smirked at Margaret's despondent tone, "Maybe for our husbands, perhaps it's the best."

"Welcome, I'm Henry and will be your host to introduce you to the world of whisky tasting." The barman kicked off the activity with charm.

"Henry, he's also a Henry." Said husband wished he could sink into the ground out of embarrassment. The rest simply sighed, already familiar with their loud friend.

"My hearing aid is working just fine, darling. No need to parrot things." Draco shared a knowing look with the man and hid his smirk behind a hand. Margaret huffed, crossed her arms at the chest and sulked.

The barman continued, "The whisky term derives originally from the Gaelic word uisge beatha, meaning 'water of life'. Scottish call it whisky, Irishmen call it Whiskey and use a different process to make and distil their water of life. Today we're focusing on the Scottish whisky."

"Those Irish are always a pain in the arse, love to be adverse." Draco didn't need to look to know who spoke for the entire room. He had sniffed one of the glasses while sitting and was eager to let it swirl in his mouth. Typically, you were expected to spit them out, but he was going to swallow every sample. They had enough sober-up potions in the room, replenished during their Australia visit.

The barman Peter, proceeded undisturbed, "The earliest distilled whisky known to date was extracted in the fifteen century by the monks, but it could have been long before that too. The origins got lost in the mists of antiquity, unfortunately." It was silent around the room, Margaret pouting again. "The process starts at the malting, where you must use barley of the best quality, steep the grain in water and spread it out on malting floors to germinate."

Hermione noticed how Draco was paying close attention. Yet, already foreseeing this to be a satisfying future hobby for him, she faked a search in her bag and whispered the cast to set a self-writing quill at work.

"...The dried malt is ground into a coarse flour or grist, which is mixed with hot water…" She traded glances with Louise and Helen, grinning at Margaret's pouting face, which was hilarious to watch. The barman didn't faulter, "The water is added in three stages and hotter at each stage. ...after about two days, the fermentation dies down, and the wash contains six to eight per cent of alcohol… after that, the wash is distilled twice and the distillate from the wash still, known as low wines, and containing about 20% alcohol by volume, then goes to the spirit still for the second distillation."

Hermione covered a yawn behind a hand, Draco side-eyeing the apparent lack of interest. Luckily for the witch, the tedious part was finally finished. Peter, the barman, placed a bottle of whisky behind each corresponding number. "Now we will learn how to taste and nose a whisky."

Draco perked at the prospect, sitting straighter on his chair.

"The first glass contains a sample of Aberfeldy, a Highland Single Malt whisky,16 years old, finished in sherry casks." The man grabbed glass number one, "Give your glass a swirl to release the aromas into the air. Then, bring your nose to the glass and sniff."

The entire group sniffed loudly, Helen coughed. "Ah, this madam has been affected by alcoholic strength. I suggest you don't insert your nose deep inside the glass but sniff from a slight distance." The barman looked around and continued, "Do you smell the fruitcake and the dark chocolate notes in our whisky?"

Hermione sniffed again and looked at Draco, scrunching her face, "Can't you smell it, Hermione?" She shook her head, and he grinned at her softness all over his features, "Ah, my lovely swot, I beat you for once at something. I do smell the chocolate."

The barman suggested, "Sip a little from your glass, let the brown liquid swirl inside your mouth. Tell me what your senses are telling you."

Terry started, "I taste a spicy flavour."

"Perfect," the barman rubbed his hands, "What else do you taste? Anybody?"

Draco added, "Its sweet, I taste dried fruits."

"And your lovely lady?" The man looked at Hermione.

To her, the liquid burned on her tongue. Beyond a sweet taste, she couldn't detect any distinctive flavours. "I agree with Draco, dried fruits and sweet."

Absolutely not fooled by her opinion, he smirked again, the corner of his mouth rising into a knowing smile.

"Perfect, now I suggest you add a little water to your whisky. By diluting your drink, you can open the taste further and discover more about its constituent parts."

Draco added barely anything, while Hermione poured a healthy amount. He hummed appraisingly, "Henry, this one is lavishly sweet."

"I agree, son. I like this one." The older man drank the last bit of his glass, taking a sip of water soon after to rinse the aftertaste.

The barman paused briefly before moving on to the second, "Please note how the aftertaste of your first sample lingers. Do you discover a new taste or is the finish short-lived? A perfect whisky's finish lingers for a long time and is smooth. Now rinse your mouth and repeat every motion for the second taste."

This time Peter offered no guidance but simply watched everyone swirl his glass, sniff carefully and taste the sample. "You're savouring a twelve-year-old AnCnoc, also a Highland Single Malt, though this whisky is light and complex at the same time. The experts say this is one of the must-haves within any self-respecting collection." He looked around his audience for dramatic purposes.

Donald spoke, "He smells sweet, aromatic maybe with a hint of lemon? Possibly even a touch of honey?"

The barman nodded happily. Draco concurred with the assessment with a nod. Once again, Hermione sniffed and smelled, rose an eyebrow and shrugged in defeat. Her nose wasn't her best friend for tastings.

"Sip it, love. This one tastes soft." Draco whispered.

"Let me guess, you're also savouring sweetness?" Margaret grinned at Hermione's cheeky comeback.

"Darling, these men are tasting floral in this drink," Margaret flexed her fingers as parenthesis, "And I'm wondering since when do they know the taste of flowers?" Draco nodded in agreement, a little against his will.

"I do taste fresh fruits, Margaret." The wizard retributed. Imitating the barman's posture, Draco diluted his sample with a minimal amount of water. He looked at Peter and concluded, "The finish is long and smooth. I'll be buying one of these bottles for my collection."

"Do you have a whisky collection?" Hermione threw him a glare, openly questioning if he owned anything else beyond Ogden's finest.

"I'm starting one after this cruise." He gave her a quick once-over, old Draco Malfoy-style. Knowing that Blaise and Theo were his usual drinking mates, he foresaw converting the two Slytherin wizards easily into degustating muggle whisky. Perhaps even his father, who enjoyed a good glass of champagne. Hermione huffed at the high and mighty display.

"The third sample is a Lowland single malt whisky this time, Auchentoshan. It's triple distilled then matured for over twelve years. I wonder what you discover of the aromas."

Hermione pretended to sniff, by now used to not registering any particular scent and waited until someone else started to sip. The burning feeling on her tongue didn't affect her any longer. At the same time, she accepted her inability to distinguish any special flavours like Draco. Instead, she started to enjoy the sweetness on the tongue.

While Louisa and Helen tasted and debated whatever their opinion was with their significant other, Hermione listened to Draco's description. Margaret was the only other person in her closest vicinity that drank for fun, perhaps a tad faster than was advised. By now, the witch felt her cheeks warming up, and it was evident that it wasn't because of the sunlight.

"This one tastes like toffee." Draco decided not to distil this one but enjoy the sweetness, "Like toffee apples." The way his tongue licked his lips caught the attention of his witch.

Her interest spiked suddenly, and she rolled the drink a bit longer inside her mouth. Unexpectedly, the lavishly sweet taste evoked a far-away happy memory of Christmas at Harry's place and Molly's toffee apples. Hermione cheered loudly, "Finally, I can taste it too." She threw a fist in the air.

The barman glared, and she amended her statement quickly, "I mean that I finally can taste it well. It's like Christmas sweets, toffee apples and toasted almonds?" She suggested with a pleading tone. The man appraised brightly.

Draco studied Hermione's face. She sported visibly red cheeks and a slight glaze on her eyes, haha, my little swot will need a potion. Henry exchanged a knowing look with the blond, silently pointing out the state of his own wife. Both men shook their heads. The man was clearly concluding the same about his wife, laughing louder than all the rest.

The Glen Scotia that followed, a fifteen-year-old Campbeltown Malt Whisky was a fourth taste that delighted Draco's palate. The spicy taste of this sample, which also carried an oaky aftertaste, was the type of drink the blond might enjoy during one of those late summer nights, watching the sunset after a good flight on his Firebolt. At his left, his witch simply drank the sample in two sips.

"Love, you have to taste, not drink it like water." He wondered if he could sneakily lower the amount of the last glass. His Hermione was everything but a heavy drinker, the lack of anything to eat in between, one of the most significant faults of today's workshop.

He received help from an unexpected ally. Helen held the attention of Hermione long enough for Draco to pour a considerable portion of the fifth sample onto his glass. After, he diluted the remaining fluid with an even larger amount of water. He nodded in gratitude. Alas, when Henry tried to copy Draco's move, Margaret caught him red-handed, reclaimed her glass and finished the whisky in one go. "Oops, I shouldn't have done it." She ran to the ladies room with Louise in her tail, making it barely to the toilet going by the sounds.

Terry assessed, "Next time, if there's alcohol involved, don't bring your wife, Henry."

"As if I can make that woman stay anywhere against her will." The older husband rose his shoulders in defeat.

"Spoil her at a spa treatment, strategically booked at the same time, mate," Donald suggested.

"What did you do three days ago, while I was at the spa courtesy of my other half?" Helen looked sternly at her husband. He had offered her the treatment at an odd moment but didn't ask for any reason. The guilty look on her husband's face raised her suspicion immediately.

"Nothing." He faltered.

Draco followed the interlude with much interest, seeing how the grandpas didn't get away so quickly. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who couldn't talk his way out of everything.

"Donald Hemsforth, where were you three days ago while I was getting a massage?" Helen never noticed how the entire group followed the exchange silently. But Draco did see that a few men looked compassionately at Donald. Birds do flock together.

"The casino?" The husband blinked, scrunching his blushing cheeks. After four samples of whisky and the booze he and his buddy's had already consumed beforehand, he didn't know how to lie his arse off.

Draco was having a silent blast, lips pursed into a smirk behind his hand. Yet, he was learning how not to lie to his witch. Donald's biggest luck was Helen's lack of wizarding powers. In Hermione's case, his behind would probably be burned after a barrage of jinxes.

Helen might not know how to handle a wand, but her hand swatted Donald's head in retaliation, "How much money did you gamble away this time?"

-oOo-

Draco never bothered closing the draperies after stretching out next to his witch. The night sky was bright, and the twinkling stars danced a magical dance. The whisky workshop had ended long ago, with a red Donald admitting to his wife that he lost a thousand pounds in the space of two hours.

It had taken quite a lot of persuasion before his drunk witch emptied a vial of pepper-up potion. She was more interested in undressing him quickly - Salazar knew how many times he had to evade her probing hands. But his efforts paid off, and soon she fell asleep snoring loudly.

He drank a vial to be on the safe side. That last double sample, a BenRiach twenty-two years aged in a bourbon whisky barrel increased his lightly inebriated state, the smokey and fruity taste lingering on the tongue longer than all others.

Before stretching out next to his witch, he took care of his hardness. Escaping Hermione's hands didn't mean that he was immune to her intentions.

He went through the notes her self-writing quill took. Here and there, he added some of his own thoughts for a future whisky collection. Something he aspired to create in the home he planned to have with Hermione.

For a moment, he wished the cruise to end soon, eager to start somewhere new with her. But for now, he rubbed his naked belly with his free hand while remembering the entire day. The other arm was circled around his witch, a finger drawing circled on her bare shoulder.

Tasting whisky with his woman was fun, but he would watch over the amount she consumed like a hawk. Clearly, she was a lightweight in this drinking matter.


A.N:

link for the whisky store: scotchwhiskyexperience co uk

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