The tea kettle had grown cold by the time Captain Jack Sparrow arrived. She woke when a maid- no, an enslaved woman, had approached to offer her a warm kettle. Hermione didn't even realize she was nodding off until she felt the suddenness of a wall meet the back of her head, which jolted her awake in her chair.

"Sorry to give you a fright, miss." The woman said. "Would you like your tea to be reheated?"

It was with sheer luck Hermione recognized the captain who had entered and now walked into the room behind the maid. Hermione craned her head around to see him. "No, thank you, ma'am." She offered the woman a warm smile before returning her undivided attention to the captain who was strutting about the center of the room.

He took off his hat and the floorboards creaked under his boots when he walked and the air in the room suddenly stilled for the first time since she'd arrived. He immediately stood apart from the other captains and sailors she had seen come and go throughout the day. His hair was not tied back by a ponytail but a braid, and adorned with a bead or two. Souvenirs. His face was mostly clean shaven and complemented by a red patterned neckscarf. His coat was a dark grey and a casual blouse underneath revealed tanned skin, unlike the pale and distinctly-European men who occupied the room. Hermione knew this had to be the captain she was looking for. Her heart leaped when he looked at her in passing. No, no. It was the adrenaline of the moment. That was it. She forced herself to appear attentive to the book in her lap when his bright, dark eyes scanned about the room and landed on her momentarily. She took a sip of tea and watched over the rim of the teacup as the captain made his way into Beckett's office. The door shut behind him.

Merlin. Hermione set down the cup of tea and frowned in frustration. This derailed her plan to eavesdrop through the open door. Instead, she stood from her chair and walked over to a bookcase that neighbored the office door. She put back the nautical textbook and picked up another, scanning its contents without reading a word. Instead, she stretched her attention to the voices that mumbled in the room beside her.

"Captain Sparrow, I've been expecting you for at least a day or two now." Spoke the familiar, stern voice of Cutler Beckett.

"We were delayed by the tropical storm that passed earlier this week, sir." The other man, the captain, spoke. She memorized his voice, taking into account his rather gruff but energetic sound.

"I'd figured as much." Beckett spoke with a huff, keeping his eyes on a few pages that he had begun shuffling through. He retrieved one from the middle of the stack. "In your absence, the Company has chosen to take on a new area of trade. It will be great for business and new entrepreneurs such as yourself." He set aside the chosen parchment and returned the others to a drawer. "Considering your expertise, Jack, I'd like to offer you a promotion. I imagine that importing fruits has grown old and uninteresting to you." Beckett paused but the Captain did not reply. Beckett continued. "I have a larger ship, one of my very own that has been modified for this improved purpose. The Wicked Wench. She is an older ship, but she is perhaps the fastest of her kind, sturdy, and reliable. If I contract you for delivering this new cargo, I expect you will handle her with great care."

"Aye- Of course, sir." The sound of his excitement broke through his professionalism.

"Great." Beckett seemed pleased, grabbing his feathered quill from the inkwell and carefully adding his signature to the bottom of the page. "With such speed, I imagine that your trips may be shorter in length than your last. We will provide you with month's rations."

The captain's interest shifted. "Where will she be sailing to... exactly?"

"A small port town off the west coast of Africa. The Belgian merchant there, Mr. Kurtz, will supply us with one hundred-"

"No." The Captain spoke sharply and quickly. "People aren't cargo." Hermione's attention deepened when she finally realized the task that the captain was being contracted to do. How had she overlooked this when read the file? Hermione shook away her thoughts as she resumed listening to the captain speak, "… I'll even deliver gunpowder, dangerous as that may be, but I will not deliver slaves, sir." With the shift in tone of the captain's voice, Hermione's concerns were heightened.

"Jack, you have been a good and reliable employee. However, this is the direction that the Company has chosen to take."

"I apologize, sir, but this is an offer I must decline."

There was a stern silence before Beckett continued. "If you refuse my offer, I will relinquish you of your duties and you'll find that no other privateer will hire you." There was another silence as Jack was caught in deep contemplation. "The circumstances are regrettable for you but, all the same, undeniable." Beckett's voice kept its emotionlessness; as if each syllable was devoid of any human influence.

A weight fell heavy on Hermione's shoulders as she realized the intensity of the situation she had found herself in. There was no way she could tolerate being on a slave ship. Yet, Hermione reminded herself, she could not meddle with time: she couldn't change the events that will occur without altering time; and she certainly could not abandon her case. Hermione forced herself to accept the fact that she was only an observer.

"Jack," Hermione heard Beckett say as the men drew closer to the door where she stood listening. She backed away quickly, fearing they'd run into her. Just as she stepped aside, the door opened. "Jack, you cannot walk away from this. I'll see that you never sail again. My father is the director of these affairs for all the colonies and will be sure that you are the most unhirable man in the West Indies."

The captain stopped at the door, looking down at his boots in surrender before turning his gaze back to Beckett. "There's more to life than profit, mate." The captain seemed to lose his formality in his distress.

"I have a long line of captains waiting eagerly to take your ship, Sparrow. Is this really what you want?" Beckett was nearly whispering at this point, leaning in rather close as he spoke.

Sparrow returned Beckett's gaze with a somber one before giving up. "Alright."

Beckett held up the papers for the captain to view. "All I need is your signature, Jack." Beckett's voice was smooth and taunting. Jack finally signed them and made to leave. "Oh, and Jack," Jack spun around, his expression dark and impatient, "the young lady, there, will be joining you. Do give her fine quarter."

Hermione was not at all sure what to expect from the distraught captain, but was left disappointed when he paid her no attention at all and walked right past her. Hermione jogged to catch up with him on his way out, noting the way his anger loomed in an unmeasured darkness about his eyes.

"Captain Sparrow!" She exclaimed, chasing him outside of the building. He shut the door in her face on her way out, paying her no mind. Hermione fumbled to open the door before jogging up to him from behind, cursing the humidity as she placed her hand on his shoulder in desperation. This was her only opportunity to join him and she couldn't falter.

He quickly turned to face her, his expression gelid, causing her to step back in surprise.

"Truly a pity to part with you so soon, darling, but I'm in need of a tall drink. And, you see, The Admiral's Inn is no place for a fine gentlewoman such as yourself." He spoke quickly, looking her up and down, as if to point out her delicateness. The captain turned on his heel, continuing toward town. He didn't expect her to follow after his shrewd gesture but, even to her own surprise, she did.

"Captain," Hermione struggled to keep up with him. He eventually deflated and turned to meet her patiently. "I must insist that I join you-"

"Miss, you're a fine woman, but I often prefer to get to know a lass as beautiful as you before I take her to a tavern." He paused, the muscles on his face faltering in recognizing an object that was tied at her side. "Where in Sam Hill did you get that?"

Hermione grabbed at the compass before he could take it. A flaw in an otherwise perfect plan. "I… found it." Hermione lied, stumbling around her mental repertoire for a quick and soluble story.

"Where?" His gaze was concentrated on her like beacons searching for a ship in a storm. His eyes were dark, abysmal pools that might have pulled her deep within.

"By the docks." Hermione looked in that direction so as to avoid his piercing gaze. She wasn't always a convincing liar, but today seemed to be an exception. He bought it, his shoulders settling down again, but his stance was still an uneasy one. Hermione could tell that he was very attached to this compass. How had he lost his? She assumed that the compass could only exist in a single plane of time and space, something she reminded herself to note in her first report. Her thoughts were disrupted when the Captain was speaking to her, his arms waving in flamboyant gestures.

"Regardless... that there is mine love, if you'll be so kind as to hand it over..." He reached toward it with determination but she spun away from him just as quickly.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you must oblige me something first." She bit her lip cleverly. "A patient conversation with me at the Inn would suffice." While this wasn't at all according to plan, but Hermione decided that this worked in her favour.

He frowned, bested. "Alright then, miss. But, I don't owe you a pint. Do we have an accord?"

They arrived at the Admiral's Inn as the sun began its initial descent from the late-day sky. Hermione, again, was the only woman present. Most of the men were dressed extravagantly or appeared to be decorated Captains, but acted like drunken sailors- yelling over one another about politics or dull gossip.

"Master Gibbs," Captain Jack called to his first mate, "this is- erm…"

"Hermione Granger." Hermione introduced herself, extending her hand to the gentleman in front of her. The man held a pint in one hand while the other met hers without much hesitation. Mr. Gibbs seemed friendly enough. His face was round and aging, his skin tan and freckled from years of sunlight. The man's beard was greying and straight, touching the collar of his navy blue shirt.

"Joshamee Gibbs. First mate."

Another man approached them in order to introduce himself. "Billy. Billy Turner."

He was very personable. "It's good to meet you, Billy."

She watched with some weariness as the captain spoke in a hushed tone and pulled Billy aside.

"Billy," Jack put his arm around his old friend. "If I buy you a beverage, would you mind so terribly to entertain… our guest… while I converse with dear Mr. Gibbs?"

"Alright, Jack, but what should we talk about?"

"Oh, no worries there... That one never stops talking."

Gibbs and Jack approached a table by the roaring fireplace that would muffle their discourse and took their seats.

"Who is she? A supervisor?"

"Worse, I'm afraid." Jack scratched his chin, observing her from a distance with a pensive grimace. "An auditor, or something. She said she was a writer, but I rather doubt it."

"Who would be sending an auditor? For fruit shipments for that matter?" Gibbs raised his eyebrows dramatically. "Ye don't suppose he's on to us about our extra day in London?"

"Beckett, surely, and on the note of bad news and notions, we've been recontracted."

"Recontracted?" Gibbs was flabbergasted. "To do what, pray tell?"

Jack raised his hands to count the developments on his fingers. "First, we've been reassigned to crew one of Beckett's own ships, the Wicked Wench. We're expected to manage the same number of hands on this much larger ship. Second, we've been involuntarily contracted to use said larger ship to deliver slaves out of Africa. And third, we leave tomorrow."

Gibbs' eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hairline. He was as silent as the grave, chewing on his lip in aggravated thought before blurting out. "Ye can't be serious, Cap'n! This is madness."

Jack signaled with a quick gesture for the bartender to bring beer to their table.

"I assure you, Gibbs, I'm quite serious."

"What do you suppose the girl has to do with that? What does Beckett have in mind, putting us through such rot? I say this'll be a grave mistake, through and through."

"Beckett intends for us to suffer through, and I say we do. And, the way I figure it, if we can pass some audit this once then my credibility will never be in question again."

"S'long as you do right by us, cap'n." Gibbs raised his glass in a toast to his captain. "To the Wicked Wench, then."

"Ahem." Hermione interrupted their exchange. "Captain, per our agreement, I believe you owe me a conversation."

Jack rolled his eyes with expert precision and shooed off his first mate, then gestured for her to take a seat in Gibbs' chair. "What can I do you for? What is this all about, really?" Jack sat back carelessly, putting his booted feet on the table to express to her his genuine disinterest. "With your interest in my compass, I gather that you're here to investigate my unconventional methods. I promise you, however, whatever kind of audit you are performing will be fruitless."

Hermione raised a quizzical brow at his accusation. "Excuse me, you think I'm here to audit you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you're a 'writer'." He raised and bent two fingers in the air mockingly. "Writing reports on my every move as captain. Listen, Beckett doesn't need to send spies to figure out how I'm fast and efficient. If my methods are under your examination then you ought to save yourself the trouble and simply quiz me now. I'm an open book." He challenged, taking a sip of his beer with darkened eyes.

"Captain," She shook her head in disbelief, completely bewildered by his behavior. "By writer, I meant that I'm a novelist."

"Fat chance, mi'lady." He sat forward on the table now, intimidating. "You are working for Beckett, posing as a writer. What I need from you now, if you are to be sailing with me and my crew for the next month or two, is honesty. So, tell me, love. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Alright, then. I'll tell you the truth." She asserted herself. "I met Beckett for the first time this morning. I paid him fairly to join a merchant crew- which only happens to be yours. I'm looking for inspiration as a novelist, you see, and with the bustling markets of the caribbean, there is much of the subject to be told in England."

Jack's lip twitched, not seeing any falsehoods in her well-versed narrative for him to argue around.

"Alright, miss. But no funny business. Aye? And, do practice diligence. I can't have any liabilities aboard that might afford me any future audits." He finished his pint and got up from the table for another. The drinks that followed each served a threefold purpose: the first was to calm him from anger of his new assignment, the second was to diffuse about the new responsibility of having a woman aboard, and the third was to forget how much he liked her already.