The following day marked a quarter of their journey. The mid-Atlantic, however, came with many faults: Strong and unobstructed breezes, blazing sunlight, and a maddening never-ending-ness of open-sea. Not to mention their depletion of supplies, and the people aboard The Wicked Wench were becoming increasingly weird.

Jack anxiously eyed the helm and the deck to see if anyone noticed him drifting off in thought. When the coast was clear, he stood at the wheel in distracted contemplation. He opened his compass and watched it spin. His frown deepened when the needle didn't stop.

After documenting her findings on the compass from the night before and carefully omitting the details of her intimate encounter(s) with the Captain, Hermione had run out of things to write about and books to read, and she needed to keep herself from going raving mad with cabin fever. Thus, she set about learning the workings of the ship; even contributing some. This came at a cost, however: Hermione greatly lamented the sunburn that had snuck up on her, unexpected and vicious. While

most of her body was covered in her gown, her hands, chest and face were not spared. Yet, when the redness faded, Hermione's freckles surfaced. She noticed the new freckles with a disappointed huff. She didn't like her freckles much.

"Good morning, Hermione." Billy greeted her, observing her from the nearby tackline that he was leaning on, eating an apple. He tossed an apple to her, which she barely caught, having just lifted her head to see him; drowsiness withholding her better coordination, but she managed. Hermione studied the apple for imperfections, turning it in her hands before remembering to thank him.

"Thanks, Billy."

To this he returned her greeting with a warm smile.

Feeling burdened by the heat of the sunlight, she wandered up the stairs and stopped at the helm where the sun was obstructed by the sail overhead.

"We ought to find you some more books at port."

Hermione spun in place, not realizing Jack was at the helm, even though she should not have been surprised by this. He offered her a smile. "Sorry to give you a fright, darlin'. It seems we're running low on supplies, books included, I figure."

"I do love to read." Hermione said.

"I know, love, you've read about fifty books in the last week. About everything I have, really. It's a wonder you stay sane."

"They keep me sane, it seems." She appreciated he noticed this about her even when she felt rather invisible.

Billy approached them. "Jack - Captain." He looked around after modifying his mistake. "Ever figure out who has been stealing from the supplies?"

"No… In fact," Jack narrowed his eyes, "I'm still making deliberations on the matter. I'll review for you: Imagine that you're a sad bloke stuck at sea for the last week and go baffled mad from the sun... What would you do?" Billy frowned. Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

Jack continued. "I, for one, would prefer to hide out all bloody day. Escape the work, the weather. I imagine a quart of rum would only spawn more misery for the busy blokes we keep aboard. That leaves only one…"

Jack and Billy both looked at Hermione, neither accusing nor innocently, calculating her from head to toe for signs of drunkenness or thievery.

"You can't possibly think it's me, Jack."

Jack nodded, "It would be improbable but, you see, it would only make perfect sense for it to be you, love. All things considered, no one stole from our supplies before this voyage, I can't always keep an eye on ye, and only I happen to have the key, which you could very well have access to at night…"

Hermione allowed her chin to fall, astounded. "That is a bold accusation, Jack. I don't even like rum and you know it."

"Ah, but I don't know what I don't know love, which could very well be that you farmed an incredible ploy in which the reaps of your plan rewards you a month-long booze cruise on a ship in which you can read and drink your beautiful heart away. Does that not sound like the poet's dream to you, Hermione?"

"I'm certainly spoiled here, yes, but I swear to you, I've not been stealing!" Hermione hit him once in the chest for good measure, her cordiality suddenly retreating from her oncoming ire. She wanted to slap him silly, the way he accused her of something so contrary to her character!

He smiled, amused by the rise he was getting out of her. He knew full well that she had not been stealing their resources. Yet, he loved to play games with her. Moreso, he loved the way she blushed at him. "Well, then, love, I suggest you busy yourself in finding the culprit and clear your pretty little name. Aye?"

"And how do you expect me to do that? Certainly the burden of proof is on the accuser." She crossed her arms, fuming.

"You're a brilliant girl, Hermione. You'll figure something out." He flashed her a charming smile before returning his attention to his work.

Hermione huffed away, as she often did, tossing her half-eaten apple over the side of the ship with the same frustration that caused her lack of appetite. The captain bothered her so.

He was always teasing her or playing little mind games with her and she loathed him for it. Somehow, she always managed to forgive and forget Jack's behavior; being surprised again and again by his tricky manner of play. How could she let her guard down for him so easily?

"Now that she's gone, I need your help with… something." Jack pushed a bottle into Billy's unexpecting hands where the sun did not appear behind the mainsail.

Billy frowned in surprise, noticing the captain was drinking rather early, but had no complaints. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Jack?" Amused, he uncorked the bottle and took a casual sip.

"I have a…" Jack leaned in close, looking around for listeners and found none, "a female dilemma." Jack's eyes widened and squinted with emphasis.

"I'm listening..." Billy sat against the desk beside the helm.

Jack winced. "It seems, there is some sort of… misunderstanding between… no. Erm," He struggled to find words and resorted to a great swig from the bottle in his hand for help. "...Usually when I find a woman attractive, I need only pay for her services and part ways after…"

"...But Hermione is not like those women."

Jack nodded. "Precisely."

Billy gave a sigh before speaking. "You know what to do, then?"

"I haven't the slightest."

"Don't treat her like one of them." Billy took another sip.

A sailor called Brassteeth butted in to their conversation from nearby, "This works every time, Capt'n: Put her with a sailor like me who can do everything wrong so that you might be the better option, yeh? What I'd do, if I was that person, is I'd-"

"I'll stop you right there, Brassteeth, no. That is a terrible idea." Billy impeded him from saying anything more. He looked to Jack for a reaction to find that Jack appeared disturbed.

Jack shook off Brassteeth's suggestion and turned back to Billy, guiding him away. "Listen, Billy, my manners of seduction are foolproof."

"Why are you asking for advice from me, then?" Billy smiled just barely as Jack was taken aback by his point.

Jack cleared his throat to create more time to think. "She… is different from those women."

"I know." Billy turned to him, his expression serious. "Invest in her."

"Give her things?" Jack was perplexed.

"Give her your time. Okay? What do you like about her?"

Jack frowned and stumbled, taken aback by the overwhelming images that suddenly flooded his thoughts. "Well," Jack raised his hand so that he could count on his fingers, "She's incredibly smart, she smells like vanilla -have you ever smelled vanilla before, Billy? and those whiskey-colored eyes, the way her nose crinkles when she smiles… her curly tresses of hair, she has those freckles, I always like those. Have you seen how strangely perfect her teeth are? Oh, and when she's embarrassed you should see the way she-"

"Alright, Jack," Billy chuckled. "Have you ever been in love with someone before?"

The captain ceased all movement, his wide eyes frozen stiff in their sockets; globes that envisioned every moment with her, every great detail. His dark irises were all that moved when Jack returned his attention to Billy. "No," he waved Billy off, "and that's not it, I'm certain of it."

Billy moved closer, serious. "I've seen the way you look at her. I felt that way when I met my wife." The man moved to rest his elbows on the banister and studied his bottle longingly.

Jack deflated, coming to rest by his side after a moment of contemplation. "Well, how do you propose I get the girl?"

"She likes to read? Talk to her about books. She likes to write. Ask her about her writing. Show her you care. Women love that honesty."

"Honesty, eh?" Jack pressed his tongue into his cheek.

Billy's eyes widened before mending his statement with haste. "Not too much honesty, though, Jack. You don't want to get slapped."

Jack turned to meet him, surprised. "Well, how do I avoid that?"

"Don't be honest."

Jack shook his head and, exasperated, went for another long sip of rum. "You're no help at all, old friend." Jack patted the sailor on the back and went on his way.

"Wait…" Billy followed him. "There's still a few things you can do."

The captain spun around melodramatically, listening with a thoughtful frown.

"Here's a few ideas to woo her, Jack, okay? Listen to her. If you touch her, let it be light and in passing, like this." Billy traced his hand on his own sleeve. "Do it light enough for her to notice and short enough for her to miss it. Hold her hands. Tell her stories at night or something. Figure out what she likes and do that."

Jack smiled, pleased. "I knew you'd come through, mate... Do you think she's, you know, into me?"

"Not in the slightest, Jack." Billy thanked him for the beverage by raising his drink, leaving Jack pensive and wide-eyed.

Jack looked out at the turbulent ocean for a moment, relating to it more than ever. The whitecaps rolled into the bright blue abyss captured by each wave, reminding him how mysterious Hermione was to him. After a big, long sigh, Jack retrieved his compass from his belt and held his breath. He opened it. Watched it spin.

The red dial came to a firm stop in the direction of his cabin. Doubting himself, he shook his head and pocketed the compass. It was impossible for the compass to point toward a human, right?

After having finished yet another book, Hermione found herself returned to the bottom of the wooden staircase with a huff, holding her head in her hands; distracting herself from boredom with thoughts of birds and how much she missed them.

Suddenly, the thud of a fallen, rogue pulley landing on the deck alerted her to the group of men that scuffled after it, running across the deck as though chasing a squirrel across a yard. In the midst of the madness, a figure eased by. If it weren't for Hermione's boredom, she may not have noticed. The figure moved deliberately, watching only as they occupied themselves with the fallen pulley he passed Hermione and slunk below deck. Hermione found his behavior to be highly suspect. Opportune, even. She waited a moment or two before she decided to pursue her gut feeling that something was off. She stood up and wandered near the door to the lower deck, eyeing it curiously.

She had never been below deck before. Hermione eyed the dark space below hesitantly, where a measly set of stairs descended from the sunlight into a darkness that seemed ominous, cool and damp, lit only by the sun that shone in through the iron grates that lined the main deck. She wandered down, slow and alert, holding on to the makeshift rope rail as the ship fell from one side to the other. In truth, the below had an enjoyable climate- other than the fact that it smelled almost entirely like feet.

She saw out of the corner of her eye as the silhouette snuck around the far corner. Hermione crept down to the base of the stairs and followed him, paying attention to the sounds of the boards creaking against her feet and attempted to stand only on the quieter ones. She held her breath, not only to keep quiet, but because the air tasted as foul as it smelled. Rounding that same corner, she watched in secrecy as the boy stood in front of an iron gate that enclosed the ship's more precious resources. Some crates were marked as rum barrels, while others were marked as surplus biscuits and whatnot. Either way, the contents of these barrels and crates were intentionally off limits to the crew. Was this their thief?

The person looked around once, twice, before deciding he was alone and gestured toward the lock on the gate. Like magic, the lock fell open. So did Hermione's now gaping mouth. He's magical. Hermione blinked away her disbelief and pursued him with her eyes, watching intently as he opened the rum barrel and withdrew a bottle and set it in his awaiting satchel; then a handful of biscuits. He was about to raid the plantains when Hermione stepped into the open.

"What are you doing?" She addressed him, alert but guarded.

"Oh, Miss Hermione, I-" The sailor she recognized as 'Donavan' searched within himself for reasonable answers and found none. He seemed to shrink. "I was getting lunch. Well, second lunch, really."

"Is rum a necessity for lunch?" Hermione realized she sounded like McGonagall for a moment.

"Uh, no, ma'am." He seemed remorseful, but still held on to the satchel as though it contained his most prized possessions.

"Donavan. How did you manage to open that lock?"

His eyes were wide and urgent. "It was already opened, miss."

"No, it wasn't. How did you open it?"

The young man seemed to move through all different stages of emotions before finally spitting out his answer. "You wouldn't understand! You'd think me mad! Like everyone else did!"

"What wouldn't I understand?" Hermione came to stand in front of him, feeling only sympathy.

"I can't trust you. If they find out they'll have me killed. I'm sorry, Hermione," he held up a pistol that he'd concealed in his bag, "I have to kill you. You know too much." His eyes were wet with tears and Hermione had to think quickly.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion when Donavan held his hand on the trigger and Hermione lifted her hands to merit his patience. "Donavan, I'm not like the others. I know what you are-"

"And what am I, then?" He shook in his boots, the gun wavering as unsteadily as he did. "An abomination? A freak of nature?"

Hermione moved back slowly as she came to sit on a barrel, attempting to coax him toward conversation and away from hostilities with her cordiality. It seemed to work, because he lowered the pistol, a little. She reduced her voice to a whisper.

"You can do special things, can't you? You've always been able to these things that no one else can," she motioned toward the open lock. "I can, too."

He eyed her nervously and quickly, and with such movements his eyes loosened a tear but he maintained his hostile posture. "Do it, then." He demanded with a

shaky voice. She couldn't tell if he was scared or angry. Through clenched teeth he said to "Show me."

Without batting an eye, Hermione cast out her patronus: A blue light that assembled from the dusty air and came into the form of an otter, twirling around them as if in a river of speckled stardust where the light shone in from the spaces of the wooden deck above. Donavan jerked around, following the otter with his eyes, then his head, when it circled about him once and disappeared as quickly as it came. Another tear fell.

"Donavan," Hermione said his name to regain his attention. "I can help you."

He looked pensive, staring at her for a long moment before realizing he still had his pistol out. He stashed it back into his satchel before tapping the seconds by with the toe of his boots against the wooden floorboards. "I don't need your help." He said, his voice breaking with emotion; biting his bottom lip as though it would help him hold back a tear. It didn't, and he took off upstairs, brushing roughly past her shoulder as he went.

She didn't follow him. Instead, she sat back against the crate behind her, thinking thoroughly of the events that had just unfolded, how it could have gone wrong, and how it could still go wrong.