"What is that?"

"Black tea."

"Eh. I hate black tea."

"Hey, careful!" Hermione stashed away her book on ancient runes after Ron had set his pumpkin juice on top of it.

"Sorry. Why do you have to go off to school anyway? You realize we'll never get to see you." Ron was wearing his family's garish holiday sweater and the striped pajama pants that were always far too wrinkled.

"Cambridge offered me a scholarship. I'd be a fool not to accept it." She opened her book by the common room fireplace where she warmed herself with a sip of her tea. "Besides, my family always wanted me to continue."

Ron looked to Harry with concern. "But, Hermione, aren't your parents… you know... gone?"

"You think I don't realize that already?" She slammed her book closed with such an echo that all of Griffyndor house was now briefly attentive to their exchange. She looked around before hushing her tone."I'm sorry... I'm still not accustomed to it."

Harry scooted forward on the sofa where he sat. "I think what you're doing is great, Hermione. Cambridge will be lucky to have you."

"Thank you, Harry." She reopened her book, studying the fire for a moment before returning her attention to the text and back to Ron again. There was never an exchange between them that was as passionate as the kiss they shared in the Chamber only a few months ago. "Ron," she looked up from her book, her eyes reflective with tears unshed, "I don't understand what's happened. What did I do?" She turned to view him. "First you were with Lavender and then you were with me, what- Ron, I don't understand."

He breathed in, rubbing his fingers together nervously. "Ah well, you see, Lavender was gone that night -and it was good at the time to be with you Hermione, you're my best friend- and what we shared was great but since Lavender's healed after the battle-"

"You mean to tell me you sought comfort in me as a mere alternative? Ron, I - I thought you cared about me. What about the deluminator and the kiss and, and you called me your girlfriend when Goyle tried to…" Her emotion changed from one of anguish to one of fury, "What did I do wrong? Why was I never good enough?" She leaped up from her seat.

She sat up with a jolt and the mattress shook in protesting her violent transition from sleep- emerging not only from a dream but a memory. She brought her knees to her chest as she sat up in bed and rested her head in palms when she realized that her forehead was covered in a sheen of perspiration. A tear slipped from her left eye and she wiped it away to maintain her composure.

To her right the captain was fast asleep, and she could tell by the blue-grey hue of the room that it was nearly sunrise. She willed herself calm and laid back down, careful not to disturb him. It was the first time she'd awakened next to him and, to her utter surprise, she didn't mind it. Although, as she observed him, her heart raced for reasons she would not yet allow herself to acknowledge.

When she woke for the second time she was alone and was pestered that the ship never ceased it's rocking. Of course she knew it couldn't be helped, but it, too, seemed to contribute to her downward spiral toward certain madness. It kept her on her toes, making sure she never set rolling-capable objects on most surfaces, including herself. Her eyes set on the side-table candle, watching as the flame alone seemed to tilt from side to side, as if herself and everything else had finally become entirely one with the ship.

She breathed out heavily and returned her attention to the novel that she had sat in her lap, opening it to find her place had been lost. She felt so unlike herself: clumsy and lost as though cursed by a confundus charm. All of her emotions, her concentration, her self-control had dissolved into a manner of chaos she'd never before dealt with.

With a quick flick of her eyes up to the door handle to the cabin, her eyes locked there, viewing, waiting, hoping he would soon enter. Dare she admit she missed him? Dare she accept that she enjoyed him more than her books? Instead, she accepted herself decidedly mad.

Hermione smiled bashfully to herself and bit her lip as she sunk deeper into the pillows at the thought of him. She cringed at the memory of him seeing under her skirt that one night but overjoyed at the memory of the way he'd caressed the scar on her arm just after. Hermione traced over her forearm with shut and sensing eyes, recalling the way he felt there.

Not even Ron had given her such excitement. It was as if she was bursting at the seams with butterflies! Defeated by these lingering thoughts she finally shut her book and held it to her chest, fighting her inner logic that now bargained for reason. You can't love him, Hermione. It was simply forbidden. She knew she must comply with the agreement she'd made with the Ministry. This was abuse of her duties, misuse of magic, tampering with the course of history, among many other crimes she could very well be guilty of!

A tear slipped from her left eye that shone gold in the candlelight and trailed down her cheek. Her thoughts were brought away when a rather large wave rocked the ship, causing her to grip the bed and then reach for the candle before it slid off of the table beside her. "Merlin!" She yelped in pain as the hot candle wax burned her hand with the sudden movement; causing her to drop the candle on the floor where the spilled wax soon suffocated the flame. Simultaneously, lightning struck in the distance, lighting up the room like the flash of a spell. In the moment, her hair had fallen loosely from its bun and she was too distracted by the new and sudden storm to care. She leapt from her place to rush to the nearest window; watching the horizon that faded into deep grey, churning waters: a storm was brewing. Fast.

Where had this come from?

Her heart raced at the idea of a large swell capsizing the ship and their possible imminent, premature deaths - or worse - failing her project as a result of the former.

She felt her heartbeat in her ears and she began to feel dizzy as the ship rocked more dramatically from side to side, and heavy footsteps were heard from the frantic sailors above her. She urged herself to calm down, taking deep breaths.

Miraculously, the waves also seemed to calm.

A tingle in her fingertips alerted her to a sobering fact: SHE had summoned the storm. She recognized that it was a completely accidental but totally convenient outlet for her emotions and she hadn't even realized she had done it. Hermione hugged a pillow to herself, deep in thought, having the cabin to herself what with all hands on deck battling the storm that now built outside at her command. Lightning struck the far horizon as a tear fell from her cheek and a new set of tormented waves crashed into the ship.

Even though he was away captaining the Wicked Wench during Hermione's emotional tyranny, Jack was at the forefront of her thoughts. He was like a book: intellectually stimulating, mysterious and unpredictable, adventurous and wholly unique. And then there was the forbidden element - necessary for every good love story, that was the difference in their circumstances, her magical ability, time, and even her career that demanded their divide. How could it end but in disappointment? She wished she could put a bookmark in the story while she sorted out her emotions. The storm served as her bookmark.

Agonized by her cluelessness, Hermione wondered how in Merlin's beard Jack could possibly have fallen for her. How could he, really? She was so often quiet, poised and observing, always asking questions and nose-deep in a book at all times- his total opposite, it seemed. No one else had fallen for her, save for Cormac Mclaggen, who thought more with his lower half than with his brain.

Not to mention, everything she felt for Jack went against her better judgement because of course it would be destructive to love a man when she knew she would have to leave him. And, furthermore, her emotions could taint the product of her studies! She berated herself, fighting off her unintelligible, unnegotiable emotions that were totally and completely sustained despite her every attempt at undoing them.

After the raging storm subsided and all that was left of it were puddles arranged along the deck, Jack was sitting about another evening dinner with his crew when he realized Hermione still hadn't joined them. Concerned, he decided to check on her. Jack rose from his spot beside the fire and made his way to the cabin, inching the door forward with a creaking sound. His eyes scanned the room, but he saw no Hermione.

He did notice, however, that the door to his liquor cabinet was left ajar. Surely, he wasn't drunk enough to do that (and yet, here Hermione claimed to not be their rum thief). He decided by the way the candles hadn't been tended despite sundown, that Hermione and that bottle of rum had been gone for quite some time. His heart pitted in his stomach as fear gripped him and he recalled the crew who shared their perverted ideations only the night before- a potential danger that he had neglected to make her aware of.

"Bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger."

He was grim when he left the cabin, his eyes glaring and lethal orbs. He passed the crew with scathing eyes, examining them all thoroughly before turning to the weather deck, where he suspected she might be. His boots sounded heavily when he walked. Looking over the ledge, he was relieved to see her seated on a crate, looking out. He appreciated that her brown curls were unruly in the wind and she didn't seem to mind.

"Oi! You've got a right fine idea, if I don't say so myself, Granger." The captain's telltale voice rang out from above.

She turned to see he leaned coolly against the railing, regarding her with careful ease.

"Mind if I join you, love?"

She inhaled heavily and exhaled disdain, but accepted that she didn't have much option to deny him. "Alright."

Pleased, Jack hopped down from the ledge with a "oop" and wavered over to her. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought him equally drunk. But, no, this was only his personality. "I've got to hand it to you, love." He uncorked his own bottle and waved dust off of the rim. "You've got an eye for booze. That's one of my finest bottles of rum ye got there." He pointed to the bottle she was hiding from him, not because he'd seen it in her hand, but because he hadn't seen it in his cabinet.

"I'm sorry, Jack." She visibly sunk, revealing the bottle. "I've been in such a fog today. I only hoped it would help."

"No, no, you should know that I'm proud of you." He gave her a grand smile, impressed by the fact that she had snuck into his liquor cabinet, chose his best bottle, and downed half of it in a single sitting. He truly admired her newly-revealed deviancy.

She looked up at him incredulously. "What makes you say that?"

"Seeing as great writers and poets are drunken sops, you're well on your way to becoming one."

She turned red, but did not shy away from him. By this gesture alone, he could tell that she was drunk, and he smiled with incredible amusement when she took yet another sip from the bottle and almost fell backwards. Suddenly, his amusement turned weary.

"Oh, fancy that. You're bloody besotted," He remarked sardonically and took her bottle from her hand, then moved to hold her by the arm. "I think it best we get you some water, love." He pulled her up and she cooperated, but standing had an adverse effect, and all of the alcohol seemed to hit her at once. She felt a distinct buzz between her ears and her body seemed to lose its balance because she stumbled toward Jack and she would have knocked them both over if he hadn't caught her first. "Woah, love, take it easy." She was in worse condition than he thought.

She giggled against his chest as he held her upright and he felt anew. Normally, he would take any drunk person, wench or friend or enemy or otherwise, and stash them away somewhere until they recovered on their own, but he had no inclination to do this to Hermione whatsoever. In fact, he dreaded that thought and, instead, wanted to care for her.

He was torn away from his self-reflection when her vanilla scent pierced him and he was brought back to reality where he held her in his arms and he realized his nose was nuzzled in her curly brown hair and she was pressed against him- no. He shook away the thoughts that had taken the forefront of his mind. He needed to take care of her. "Alright, then," he encouraged the both of them, "upsy daisy."

He brought her to his cabin and set her limply on the sofa where she leaned on the arm and studied him through half-lidded eyes as he then brought her bread. "Have a go at this," he said. "You'll thank me later."

She didn't reach out for it as he held it in front of her. Instead, her eyes were fixed on only him. She blinked once, slowly, before reflecting aloud. "I never thought a pirate captain would be so kind to me…" She furrowed her eyebrows. "Why do you become a pirate?"

Pirate? He frowned. He was thankful she was only drunk. Usually having a response to everything, Jack only opened her hand and placed the bread in it. He grabbed himself another bottle and took a swig from it.

"I'm sorry, Jack." She shook her head in an incredibly delayed realization, tracing the embroidery on a pillow with a delicate finger after taking a bite of bread. She needed to keep a more sober lid on her thoughts. "You're not a pirate. I didn't mean that."

"Quite alright, love." Jack sat on the sofa beside her and kicked up his booted feet. "Has its effect on the lot of us."

She then adjusted herself on the couch in order to remove her cloak- the cabin warmed her and so did the alcohol. When she set it aside, she sat up with her legs curled beneath her, leaning into the sofa to face him. Jack averted his eyes at the sight of her sitting in her fitted gown, smelling like vanilla, cheeks rosey from the alcohol. He felt himself pale and sweat, and took another swig to cool his nerves.

"Are you okay, Jack?"

He shivered when she said his name.

"Peachy…"

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to take away your evening. You ought to leave me here and be with your crew. You can trust me to-"

He shook his head and interrupted her. "No, Hermione." He looked into her eyes more seriously than ever. "It's them I don't trust."

"Jack, I hardly believe anyone would-"

He raised his eyebrows. "I appreciate your optimism but understand, love, you've caught the attention of the entire crew, and I will lop their limbs off if they ever lay a hand on you."

"Why?"

He studied her for a long and pensive moment, his eyes piercing and his lips pursed in contemplation of his next words and how much they mattered to him, as though this truth was simultaneously being revealed to himself. "Because I care about you, Hermione."

She gazed at him in realization of the passion in his words and barely recognized her actions before she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his and she felt as though she could melt into the sofa when her efforts were returned.

Jack never could predict her- and never was she more unpredictable than when she leaned in and kissed him in a way that struck him at his core. He kissed her back, his hand moving up to hold her in fear she would pull away but instead, she moved to wrap her arms around him. He was delighted that she also tasted like vanilla and all of the nerves at the surface of his skin were hypersensitive to her touch and it was as though nothing in the world mattered more to him than her in that moment.

To his delight, she broke their kiss only to smile joyously against his lips and resumed the kiss that led him to a feeling of absolute bliss that he'd never before shared with a woman he cared for. His hands shaped into fists and he pulled away from her with labored breath and dark, lust filled eyes before picking her up again to remove her from him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," his voice was undone, his skin paled. "I - I can't."

"What did I do wrong?" She felt a pang of rejection in her gut that was dizzying.

His heart dropped to see her pained expression. "You are perfect, Hermoine." He emphasised these words before continuing, "But-"

"But what?" She sat back.

"You've been drinking. I'd be a downright bastard like the lot of them..." He spoke quickly and heavily, and appeared much more upset with himself than he was with her.

"Oh. I'm sorry." She sat up, though she grew more timid in her embarrassment.

He stood to leave but she jumped forward and grabbed his hand, and he turned to view her smaller fingers wrapped around his and frowned.

"Please don't go." She shook her head unabashedly. "Not yet. You're the only person I truly feel comfortable with and, goodness," she turned red, "I'm terribly sorry for having kissed you… but please, Jack, don't go."

He sat back with his frown still in place, eyes locked on their joined hands and sighed before his gaze narrowed on her eyes. "Love, what you need now is rest." He retracted his hand carefully and motioned toward the bed. "I promise you - you'll thank me later." He stood and brushed himself off, looking about the room awkwardly before finally rolling his eyes and extending his hand to her.

She took his hand and stood, although she fell back at first, and allowed him to move her toward the bed. She could tell he was uneasy by the way his eyes shifted to look at anything but her.

"Jack." She turned against his arm to face him, "What's the matter?" Hermione knew him well enough to know when he was troubled, and she had never seen him more troubled than this.

His nose twitched in reluctance and he opened his mouth to reply with something witty but instead stopped himself. "You... Hermione." There was a vulnerability in his voice that was revealed when he said her name. "You've vexed me, dear."

"This troubles you." Hermione observed as she sat back on the bed. "Why?" She was still to intoxicated to reasonable filter her thoughts.

Jack frowned again and shut his eyes as if searching inside himself for the answer. When he reopened them, he spoke with some reluctance. "Hermione. I needn't explain meself, but I'll entertain you, love." He let out a heavy sigh. "After this grand voyage, what is it you have mapped out for yourself? The way I figure it - and what I'd do if i were you - you'll return to London to publish your manuscript and avoid the life of a lonely spinster by marrying, and a woman of your beauty and fortune must marry well, aye? Not some bloke like me..." He avoided her eyes. "Not some bloke like me."