Hermione petted Crookshanks while sipping wine at her London flat, files spread across her lap, on the couch cushion beside her and the table in front of her. She furrowed her brow attempting to make out the centuries-old handwriting on centuries-old parchment that provided her with understanding of the legends of this compass and it's known owners. The most prominent was Captain Jack Sparrow. He had the most stories and they were incredible, though, Hermione shrugged them off as muggle folklore. There was a drawing included in the documents- a wanted poster, really. Hermione noted the slim face, tanned skin, facial hair and dreads.
Sifting through more pages, she sought anything with a date; something that she could pinpoint, maybe a time and location where she could find him. Space and time can be difficult and hazardous to navigate, even with the help of magic. She found something that stood out to her: A page with the markings of the familiar and famous logo of the East India Trading Company. She read over the papers that appeared to be a contract for the Captain, Jack Sparrow, an employed privateer. Hermione was elated to find that the documents were dated and signed by a man named Cutler Beckett. She now had her time, destination, and names to search for. The markings dated the contract October 13th, 1716, Kingston, Jamaica.
That night, with eager energy, Hermione contemplated what awaited while packing her beaded bag. She included the necessities: her wand, polyjuice, dittany, a few books of leisure, fizzing whizbees, and other essentials, of course. She set down her beaded bag momentarily when a photo of her family caught her eye. Hermione made her way over to the photo and liberated the frame from its spot on the shelf. She studied her parents' faces glowing sunkissed from their Caribbean vacation. Hermione stifled a laugh at her younger self who was holding her beach towel overhead to block the sunlight, her ten-year old face twisted in disapproval. Her attention was drawn to a drop of liquid that shimmered silver against the glass, and she wiped it off quickly with her sleeve. She missed her parents often. Maybe after this project she would try to find them.
Time was reduced to abstraction as the midnight chime echoed from her mother's old clock while Hermione stayed up late pacing her room and reading aloud to Crookshanks the documented stories of the life of Captain Jack Sparrow. She couldn't sleep with all of the curiosities that plagued her. Would her study be great? Would it be dangerous? She wasn't entirely sure what to expect. Hermione sat heavily on her bed and stared at the Time Turner that waited on her night stand, overwhelmed with possibilities. If things became dangerous, she couldn't abandon her mission. But, in truth, she was thankful to have adventures of her own; a welcome challenge. Hermione turned her gaze to come face to face with Crookshanks before petting her cat thoughtfully. It arched it's back as her hand traveled from between its ears to the base of its tail.
The stories about the captain seemed exaggerated to her. He was a muggle, after all, and it seemed improbable that a muggle could possibly redeem himself from curses, slay the kraken, defeat the legendary Davy Jones, discover the Fountain of Youth and the Trident of Poseidon. If the stories were true, she should certainly have learned of him in Muggle Studies or even during her muggle summer schooling. Her thoughts became long and pensive, drifting away from her task and toward darkness as Crookshanks snuggled close and purred the both of them to sleep.
The metaphysical and physical were discombobulated, twisted, and reunited as Hermione stumbled gracelessly onto an empty beach after having travelled centuries through time and apparated halfway across the world in a single morning. Her head was reeling and her stomach threatened to expel all that she'd eaten, which wasn't much. She wobbled dizzily before landing in the sand with a resounding thud. In truth, this felt like a terrible hangover. She grabbed her head as if to stop it from spinning.
She sat in the sand for a moment to regain her strength, taking this time to tuck her time turner safely into the bosom of her dress. She patted her hidden pockets for her beaded bag and the compass, and secured her wand up her sleeve. After locating each, Hermione squinted out at the bright ocean in front of her with curiosity. It was beautiful: an unruly blue blanket that lay outstretched at her feet, decorated with the image of the big, bright sky overhead.
A pair of seagulls squawked by, drawing her attention to the landscape behind her: A vast jungle with palm trees up high and vibrant ferns exceeding her own height, and behind that were towering mountains over which wisps of fog crept down toward her. It was so still, so peaceful. Hermione relished the feeling of the sea breeze against her hair and the tamed sun that stirred behind that morning fog. A bell chimed in the distance, alerting her to the harbour that rested at the end of the beach; perhaps a thirty or forty minute walk away where tall ships waded close to Kingston's shore.
Hermione mustered some extra energy to dust the sand off of her dress before making her way toward Kingston, Jamaica. According to the files she read, Captain Sparrow should make port that November day and meet with Cutler Beckett, Director of West African Imports and Exports of the East India Company. Of course, she had triple checked that she had the date right before she set her time turner.
In the early gray light flies began to land on her- they touched her face and she brushed them away and away they flew toward the jungle brush or the mudwalled homes made of reeds and clay where chickens stepped about and clucked and scratched. The flies rose and settled back on a hanging slaughtered pig in a butcher's window. Her attention was then drawn away by a cart that passed, drawn by a horse but driven by a slave boy who was owned by the man inside the cart. Here she stopped and averted her eyes at the sight that roiled her. Of course she knew this part of history but she never could prepare herself enough for its reality.
She moved on towards daylight. She followed the cobblestone road of Harbour Street toward the wharf where masts towered over red-tiled rooftops and palm trees and smoke that rose from the tropical architecture buildings that led her way through town. The docks were lined with stacked limestone rock, discolored grey with sea wear, that lead her way through the greenery and toward a harbour office marked with the unmistakable logo of the East India Company. She entered after taking a deep, preparatory breath. Inside the building, she stuck out like a sore thumb: there were no women, save for an occasional maid. In fact, it was mostly sailors and captains by the looks of it, some adorned in navy blue or red suits with large and atrocious hats. Some were carrying trunks, some barrels, or cartons of various fruits to be traded.
"Are you lost?" One of the men eyed her quizzically, turning his head like a bird.
"I'm looking for Cutler Beckett's office." Hermione responded simply. Maybe the man could help her.
"Actually, the maid's room is off the parlor." The man mocked while gesturing toward a nearby room, meriting a laugh from his company.
Hermione shrugged him off and continued her search on her own. She hadn't looked far when she heard a man greet "Mr. Beckett" in a nearby room, marked by set of open doors that signified the head office. Once the greeter left, Hermione saw her opportunity to enter. At the end of the room, a man sat quaint and undisturbed at his desk, surrounded by maps, parchment, and ornate furniture. Like the mahogany, his hair was brown and tied back with a bow. He seemed important, scribing onto some loose paper with a great big quill, undistracted by the woman who welcomed herself into his room. He stretched out his hand to meet the ink well when he finally noticed Hermione in his peripheral vision. The man paid little attention to her before looking up to meet her eyes with quizzical patience. "Miss…?"
"Miss Granger, sir... You must be Mister Beckett." Hermione nodded, taking the liberty to approach his desk now that she had been acknowledged.
"How may I assist you, Miss Granger?" His eyes were attentive and searching, reading her for any familiarity. He didn't know of any Grangers in town or otherwise.
She folded her arms over her lap, momentarily second-guessing her plans before returning to her normal, bright and confident visage. "I'm looking for passage, sir. I'm a writer. I would like to offer you payment for passage on board a ship." Hermione bit her lip. The plan didn't seem so clever, once she heard it executed. It sounded great in her head, but now her head was overwhelmed by the sound of her immeasurable heartbeat.
The man eyed her for a long moment, bewildered by the extraordinary request. A woman? A writer? Who wants passage? A folly, surely. He concentrated, chewing on his lip this before regarding her patiently. "Miss Granger, I'm not certain any of my merchant trading vessels will be welcoming of a woman- erm- writer. I guarantee you, mi'lady, a month at sea will grant you little literary reward… You're not working for an abolitionist paper, are you?"
"Um, no, sir."
"Good." He resumed scribing. Another agonizingly long minute passed in which she shared sympathy with the anxious, squeaking gulls outside.
"Sir," Hermione was persistent, "I'm willing to offer you one hundred shillings for my safe passage."
He paused, appreciating her diligence, before refusing her again, his eyes not leaving his work. "I admire your interest, however, even if I approved of your passage the lodgings aboard a merchant vessel offers very little comfort for a woman. What gentleman can I be if I permit a woman to endure such conditions? I must decline."
"One hundred and fifty shillings, then." Hermione dropped a satchel of coins onto the man's desk, at which the man leaned back in amusement at her perseverance. She reminded him of himself as a kid. He smiled at the memories this brought him as he drummed on his desk, calculating.
"I have a captain visiting me this afternoon. I'll discuss this arrangement with him." Beckett sat up and retrieved a bushel of papers from atop a cabinet, tossing them promptly onto his desk with a beat. "I have a proposition for him: a larger ship that should have accommodation for you. I expect you can wait here until he and I have deliberated your request. I make no guarantees."
Hermione agreed to Beckett's proposal, opting to wait in the nearby parlor with a kettle of tea and a navigational textbook she had found on a nearby dresser. She had a short opportunity to find the captain and she could not allow it to slip by her.
