Disclaimer: I don't own a shark.

Claimer: I do own dishes.

=Chapter 7: Dishes at Dawn=

Harry shut the galley door behind him with a snap.

Probably it wasn't the most responsible leaving Malfoy alone, angry, and unsupervised- but Harry just wasn't interested in hearing Malfoy's latest slapdash plan for escaping the Avalon. Escaping the Avalon didn't even make sense.

Escaping this century was the real problem.

Why did I say dishes? Harry thought, frustrated with himself. I should have volunteered to help Hermione with the windows instead! Then we could have talked, and Hermione could have answered some of these loads of questions I've got-

"Oh-" Harry said, noticing a wiry man by the counter, plucking the last of the green feathers off the rooster Ginny attacked earlier. The man's jaw was unusually wide- it would have fit better on someone twice his size. He was probably bald, but it was hard to tell with the green bandanna tied over his head. "I'm- er- here to wash dishes?" Harry stated uncertainly.

"Aye, fine, fine- fresh water's in that cask, seawater's in that one," the man said in a scratchy voice, waving toward two large barrels by the opposite wall, next to some hencoops. "Pots are up here," he added, pointing at four mismatched copper pots which were hung up on hooks from the low ceiling, "The pot of seawater for dishes is nearabouts boiled, 'nother few minutes at most. In the meanwhile, could you kindly put on a second pot of freshwater to simmer? This rooster's very near ready to cook."

Cook- Right, this must be the ship's cook, Mr. Prynn, Harry thought, noticing the odd triangular apron hooked to a button on the man's vest. Obviously. "Sure," Harry said aloud, as he reached up, and unhooked a large copper stewpot off one of the ceiling hooks-

A warbled screech rang out, making Harry jump- and nearly drop the stewpot. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed three parrot cages hanging from the corner of the ceiling, behind the hencoops, in the shadows. Even through his green lenses, Harry could see the parrots had vividly blue feathers. Can't believe I didn't notice them last time I was in here, Harry thought. Then again, Ginny and Malfoy had been awfully distracting-

Ginny.

Harry's thoughts darted back to her- her zoned out eyes, the way she wrung that rooster's neck without even looking at it- What was up with her?

Harry wished Ron were here, so he could ask him whether Ginny had a history of sleepwalking. Well- maybe it's not so nice to wish Ron were here. What I really wish is that someone will come back in time and save us. But how are they to even find us? Harry wondered, as he lugged the heavy stewpot towards the barrel of freshwater.

The spigot on the barrel was a little rusty, but with a sharp twist, Harry got it open, and started filling the stewpot. "Doesn't look like freshwater," he said quietly. Harry sniffed it. It smelled mildly alcoholic. "Sure this is the right barrel?" he asked Prynn.

"Aye, that's freshwater, alright," the cook replied. "Three weeks old freshwater, granted. Gets a tad iffy-like kept in the barrels for so long. We mix in some ale to keep it from getting slimy an' brackish on the voyage." Prynn frowned suddenly. "But- surely you've already learned that, being as your own ill-fated ship was so far out at sea? Surely your ship's stores of freshwater would've spoiled too, if you hadn't added ale?"

"Oh- I mostly drink pumpkin juice, not water, so I wouldn't know," Harry said quickly, without thinking.

"Pumpkin juice?" Prynn repeated, sounding thoroughly mystified. "Sounds like that'd spoil far faster than water."

"We, uh, kept the jugs of pumpkin juice inside- barrels of ice?" Harry lied uncertainly, having no clue what 18th century refrigeration techniques really were. Except probably not 'barrels of ice' judging from Prynn's confused face.

"No offense to the dead, but sounds as if things were a tad- strange back on your ship."

"Our captain was eccentric," Harry explained. And imaginary, he silently added.

"You don't say," Prynn said, sounding a bit bewildered. "I'm Dempsey Prynn by the way."

"Harry Potter," Harry said.

"Nice meetin' you, Harry," Prynn said with a smile that was also too wide for his face. Then he picked up a knife, and went back to preparing the rooster.

Noticing the stewpot was overflowing, Harry quickly closed off the water spigot. Using both hands, and being careful not to spill even more water, he lugged the heavy pot over to the galley hearth- which was lined with bricks, had a layer of sand at the bottom, and tiles around the edges. Probably to keep stray sparks from landing on the wood floor, Harry guessed.

A low fire was already burning in the brick fire-box. Harry's tinted glasses made the flames look brilliantly green- reminding him distinctly of using Floo powder for the first time, and winding up in that creepy shop in Knockturn Alley. Wonder what Lucius Malfoy's up to now- or, well- in 1992? Harry speculated. Probably celebrating my disappearance- or getting all the teachers in Hogwarts fired for letting Draco disappear on their watch. Or both. Probably both.

There was a sturdy iron bar above the fire, with a large brass cauldron dangling from it by a chained pothook. Two empty pothooks dangled next to it. As Harry struggled to hook his heavy stewpot of freshwater up on one of these hooks, a few drops of water spilled, and hissed sharply as they touched the fire below- but luckily, the fire wasn't doused. Reflections of the greenish flames flickered off the shiny metal surfaces of the two pots, as Harry waited...

"Okay," Harry said, three awkward minutes later, once the cauldron of seawater had come to a low simmer, "so... um..."

"Washbasin's right there," Prynn directed, pointing his blood-flecked knife toward a metal bin propped up in a wooden frame to the side of the galley's single window. "Pour the hot seawater in, then get another potful of cold water from the barrel, an' pour it in till you find the temperature agreeable- mind you don't scald yourself. You can dump the dirty dishwater in that barrel there once yer done," Prynn added, pointing at another large barrel at the back of the room.

Harry followed Prynn's instructions, taking care not to get splashed with the simmering water as he poured it into the washbasin, and taking care not to spill the second cauldronful of cold water. Then he piled all the dirty dishes that would fit into the washbasin. He stood there a moment, looking down at the metal bin of dirty dishes and medium-hot saltwater, completely lost. There was no scrubber or sponge in sight, no dish soap, and no drain. "What now?" Harry asked, feeling stupid.

"Don't tell me you don't know how to wash dishes!" Prynn exclaimed.

"No, I do, I..." Harry spotted a rag draped over the side of the basin, and promptly picked it up. "I use this rag, right?"

Prynn nodded. "Aye. Brick dust is over there," he added, pointing to a small clay jar beside the washbasin.

"Brick dust?" Harry echoed in surprise.

"Aye, for scrubbin'?" Prynn said, like this should've been obvious. "Brick dust an' sugar sand. How else do you expect to scour off the crusty, day-old food?"

"Sorry, I'm just not used to this time- zone," Harry stammered, only just avoiding saying 'time period'.

"Time zone?" Prynn echoed in confusion.

Oh great, are time zones not discovered yet either? Harry thought anxiously. Just another thing Hermione would criticize me about. "Never mind," he said quickly. "Right. So I- I just-"

"Dip the rag in the dust, scrape the dishes with it till they're smooth. Try not to chip them."

"Right," Harry said again. He rolled up his striped sleeves, picked up the rag, dipped it in the brick dust, and started scrubbing the first bowl.

It's weird doing overnight dishes with hardened-on food on them, Harry thought reflectively, as the hot saltwater and brick grit slid over his hands. Aunt Petunia NEVER let dirty dishes sit overnight in the Dursley's house. Harry was expected to get all the dishes done, every night, and heaven forbid a single sticky fork was left till morning.

Last summer break, Dudley had gotten into the habit of having elaborate midnight snacks, using just as many dishes as he could, specifically to get Harry in trouble for leaving dishes till morning. Harry had tried staying up and listening for this, and then creeping into the kitchen after Dudley left, to quietly wash, dry, and put away Dudley's dirty dishes, and then creep back to bed. That had worked the first two times- until Uncle Vernon caught Harry creeping down the hallway one night. Vernon had nearly exploded with rage, convinced that Harry could only have malicious motives for sneaking around so late at night, and was clearly intending to murder the Dursleys in their sleep with his, 'vile, vile tricks from that- that so-called school.'

Harry couldn't stifle a small smile, as he envisioned how Aunt Petunia would react if he tried scrubbing her porcelain dishes with brick dust. He quickly ducked his head out of habit, since these sorts of small smiles usually earned him a thwack on the head with a rolled newspaper- but then Harry blinked, and remembered he was on a merchant ship, in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, miles and centuries away from Uncle Vernon.

There was a sudden splash as Mr. Prynn plunked the headless, footless rooster carcass into the pot of nearly-simmering freshwater. "I'm off to grab some spices from the storeroom, I'll be back in a blink," Prynn said, as he tipped his rooster-gut covered plate and knife onto the counter next to Harry's dishwater. And then he was off, leaving Harry alone in the galley.

Harry wasn't looking forward to the rooster gut dishes. They were bloody, and greasy, and feathery, and gross. He decided he'd save them for last. No hurry.

The next few minutes were strangely... peaceful. Harry suspected Captain Wentmark was just trying to make Will feel better when he'd said the Hogwarts kids could use their chores as a distraction on the voyage, but Harry actually did feel calmer doing chores.

The pots and utensils overhead clinked like windchimes. The chickens clucked softly. The parrots fluffed their wings. The air smelled fresh and salty, the wood floor felt cool and rough beneath Harry's toes, and everything was slightly swaying...

It was... nice.

It was... dizzying.

It was-

Just. Too. Real.

A sudden twinge of panic shot through Harry, catching him off guard. He couldn't explain it... but- somehow- the realness of this place was making him feel less real. He was an outsider in this time. He didn't belong. He wasn't even supposed to exist yet.

The steam from the washbasin was fogging up Harry's glasses, so he swiped his sleeve over the lenses- then paused, staring up-close at his striped sleeve, and the uneven stitchwork at the seams. Someone made this shirt from hand, probably with a loom or something, Harry realized. Mechanized factories don't exist yet either. So many things don't exist yet. The world is so... different back now. I mean, it would be one thing if this was just another part of the Wizarding World- everything's quaint and old-fashioned there anyway- but it's hard to believe this is the real world.

'Real world'.

Harry was surprised to realize that was how he still thought of it. Not the 'Muggle World', the 'Real World'. As if Hogwarts was just some fantasy made-up place. In many ways, it still felt like it was- just the delirious product of some impossible daydreaming wish fulfillment. Not a real place. Not a thing which could actually happen to him.

Not to the boy under the stairs.

Harry was jolted out of his restless thoughts by the sudden word-

"UP!"

It sounded like Malfoy. Confused, Harry leaned over sideways, and peered out the galley window to the side of the sink.

Out on deck, Malfoy was holding his hand over his dropped mop, and staring down at it with a deadly determined look on his face, while saying, "Up. UP!"

Harry rolled his eyes, and went back to scrubbing dishes. Whatever, he thought, the sailors will just think Malfoy's crazy. No real harm. It's not like Malfoy's knifing anyone, Harry reasoned, while fishing a dirty paring knife out of the opaque dishwater. And it's not as if a mop can fly... right? After about the eleventh frustrated "UP!", Harry decided- yeah, probably mops can't fly.

Five minutes later, Harry realized he hadn't heard 'Up!' for a while. With a sinking feeling, he glanced out the galley window again, to make sure Malfoy wasn't- well- 'up' to something-

The deck was empty. Malfoy was missing- and so was the mop.

"Up!" yapped a snobby voice abruptly. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere... up.

Harry craned his neck to see past the window-frame, looked up- way up- and saw Malfoy, halfway up the ratlines, climbing high into the sails. "Malfoy, get down from there!" Harry shouted.

Ignoring him completely, Malfoy just straddled the mop like it were a broomstick, turned toward the ocean- and jumped-

-and fell-

Luckily, that exact instant, a remarkably agile sailor swung down from a loose rigging-rope, and caught Malfoy in midair. Harry didn't know this sailor's name yet, but he recognized the man's wavy hair and striped cloth hat- he was the ship's lookout. And right now, he looked like some sort of cool action film hero.

"Tha's not how you swab a deck, mate," the lookout scolded Malfoy in a teasing, but clearly rattled voice, as he slid down the rope, and set the Slytherin down safely on the deck.

"Get off me!" Malfoy snarled.

Keeping a firm grip on Malfoy's shoulder, the lookout called out across the deck, "Thimbles! Get over here!"

The mantis-like sailor ambled into view of the galley window, and Harry ducked his head again nervously, for entirely non-Vernon-related reasons. Now what? he thought anxiously. Should I go out there and say something? I sort of want to cringe and hide in here and pretend that didn't just happen.

Thimbles and the lookout were exchanging words now, but Harry could hardly hear them. He could hardly hear anything. He was too busy being amazed at Malfoy's incredible stupidity.

Half a minute later, Thimbles raced into the galley, yanked open a drawer, and grabbed all the knives Harry just cleaned. Then Thimbles spotted the slimy rooster-guts-coated knife that was still on the counter, and grabbed that too- which annoyed Harry slightly, because now it was getting gunk and germs on all the clean knives. Quick as blinking, Thimbles raced back out, leaving the galley knifeless.

That's weird... Harry thought-

Moments later, the lookout sailor shove-tossed a very ruffled Draco Malfoy in through the galley door.

...Oh. Well, that explains the knives thing.

"Hey, you there!" the lookout exclaimed, looking sharply at Harry, "This mop-jumping lunatic is to help you scrub dishes. See that he stays outta the rigging!"

"Uh- sure-" Harry began, "Thanks for-"

-saving Malfoy, I guess, Harry finished saying in his head, since the lookout had already left, just as suddenly as he'd arrived. I'll just thank him at breakfast, Harry figured.

The door snapped shut again as the ocean breeze outside sped up to almost a gust- Harry could feel the temperamental wind rustling the side of his hair through the galley window. For one, lovely, second, the only sound was the rippling of the sails outside...

"That lousy Muggle stole my mop!" Malfoy yapped, pulverizing Harry's peaceful second into frazzled dust.

"First off-" Harry said, "the mop wasn't yours, next off- are you ABSOLUTELY mental? If the mop wouldn't levitate on the deck, why would you jump off the sails and expect it to fly?"

Malfoy gave a careless shrug. "Thought maybe it needed some altitude."

"You are such an idiot."

There was a violent flicker of movement, and Harry reflexively grabbed the whatever-it-was hurtling toward his face.

"Left this in your Muggle rope-and-rags bed," Malfoy drawled. "Now who's the idiot?"

"Still you," Harry shot back, realizing that the thing Malfoy just tossed at him so sharply was Harry's own holly wood wand, "-and it's a hammock."

"What?" Malfoy asked snippily.

"That's what it's called," Harry clarified, as he slipped his wand into one of the inner pockets of his fancy vest. "A hammock. Not a 'rope-and-rags bed'."

"I don't care!"

"Oh come on-" Harry scoffed, "I lived under a staircase most my life and even I know what a hammock is."

Malfoy fixed Harry with one of his impossibly snide looks, and said primly, "Knowing about Muggle things isn't commendable, it's uncouth. We Malfoys pride ourselves on knowing as little about Muggles as possible." Malfoy paused for a moment. "And- did you say you lived under a staircase?"

Harry had been about to inform Malfoy that hammocks also existed in the Wizarding World, but Malfoy's sudden question distracted him. "Never mind," he muttered darkly.

"Nobody 'lives under a staircase'."

"Well I did, alright?"

"Why?" Malfoy asked in baffled bewilderment. "What kind of staircase? What does that even mean?"

"It means none of your business."

"Fine by me," Malfoy retorted with instant disinterest, crossing his arms and leaning back against the narrow wall beside the door. "Less I know about your lousy Muggle upbringing the better. Keep better track of that wand, Potter," he added crisply. "We'll need it, no doubt. And what if the Muggles had found it? You don't ever think, do you?"

A sudden thought hit Harry, proving that he did, in fact, think. "Hold on- earlier this morning- you didn't petrify anyone, did you?"

"No, I didn't," Malfoy snipped back, "since your stupid wand only stunned him a second, and then he started chasing me."

"You mean you tried?" Harry exclaimed incredulously.

"Course I did! I told you that was the plan!"

"Malfoy!"

"What? If it weren't for you and your stupid inability to steal Granger's wand, we'd be sailing away from here right now!"

"And that's a good thing?" Harry retorted sarcastically. "And what do you mean 'sailing', it was a rowboat. We'd be rowing. And we'd have no idea where we were going. How is that a good thing?"

"We'd chart our course using the stars, not that you'd be anything but rubbish at that, seeing as how you had to take remedial astronomy class-"

"So did you!"

"No, I was there on accident because my agenda got mixed up by a mental case newsie," Malfoy corrected superiorly.

"So was I!"

"Anyway, I can chart a course from the stars just fine," Malfoy declared confidently. "Also I had stolen the Muggles' maps and all their navigation equipment," he added, putting a sour emphasis on the word 'had'.

"Do you even know how to use those?" Harry asked dryly.

"Didn't you just hear me say I was in remedial astronomy by mistake? Course I can use a telescope and star chart! What am I, a first year?"

"Sure, wizard telescopes and star charts," Harry retorted scathingly. "But do you know how to use non-enchanted ones? Or any of the other navigation gadgets?"

"No, but primitive Muggles can figure them out, so they can't be that hard. Right then," Malfoy said, stepping away from the wall with crisp determination, and starting to pace the room. "We need a new plan, now you've botched the last one-"

"A plan like jumping off the ship with a mop?"

"Oh, shut up. Honestly, if only our stupid school taught Apparate to second years, instead of 'turning beetles into buttons' and 'catching Cornish Pixies', and every other rubbish lesson in that poncy Lockhart's class, we could just- Oh would you stop doing that?" Malfoy snapped, interrupting himself.

"What?" Harry asked, jolted out of his thoughts of what a very, very bad idea teaching Apparate to second-years would be.

"That!" Malfoy retorted with a revolted look, waving a hand toward the basin of dirty dishes Harry's hands were plunged into. "It's disgusting!"

Harry was so used to dishes-doing that he hardly even noticed he was doing them. "Oh come on-" he said, almost jokingly, "this is nothing. I do worse chores for the Dursleys all the time."

"The who?" Malfoy asked flatly, still pacing.

"The Dursleys? My Muggle relatives?" What with Harry being such a celebrity and all, he was surprised Malfoy didn't know about this. "Who I live with?" Harry went on wonderingly. "Who I've lived with for the past eleven years? You've really never heard of them?"

Malfoy paused. "You do chores, for Muggles?" he stated blankly.

"So?"

"You do, chores, for Muggles," Malfoy repeated again, his voice slowly growing more aghast.

"You can stop saying that."

"The Harry Potter, does chores for Muggles?!" Malfoy choked out. "All. The. Time? Wh- why?"

"Because it's just so, much, fun."

"It is not!"

"Brilliant, Malfoy," Harry said, as sarcastically as possible.

"No, seriously, why in hell would you do chores for Muggles?"

"They make me, alright?" Harry snapped.

"And you just let them make you?"

Harry rolled his eyes toward the splintery ceiling. "Yeah, I let them make me. For fun. That's just exactly it."

"But-"

"I have things to do," Harry retorted, trying to brush past Malfoy in a 'this conversation is over' sort of way- but Malfoy grabbed his arm sharply, stopping him in his tracks.

"Dead right you do," Malfoy hissed. "Things like helping me get us off this boat! Not things like drudging away for mangy Muggles!"

Harry wordlessly shoved him aside, and put the mug he'd just cleaned up in one of the latching cabinets, then went right back to the sink, and right back to scrubbing dishes.

"You're just going to keep on scrubbing their filthy plates, with no gloves on, in that horrid slimy wash-bin, aren't you?" Malfoy said, sounding even more aghast and whiny than before.

"Yep."

"Honestly! I'm embarrassed for you."

"Oh, you're embarrassed for me?" Harry countered, dropping the wet plate he was scrubbing back in the bin with a splash, and sharply turning around. "What about you, jumping off sails with a mop, and acting like an absolute git to the people who rescued us?"

"Muggles not people, and it was really only the one, and only so he could foist off his chores on us," Malfoy drawled.

"That wasn't it at all!" Harry retorted in disbelief. "Will rescued us because he's a good person."

"Muggle."

"Person."

"Muggle. And the only 'good' Muggle is a dead Muggle," Malfoy declared with a sickening little smirk. "And even those are a waste of space."

Harry's patience snapped. He snatched his wand out of his vest pocket; violence on his mind-

-but at that same moment, the galley door creaked open, so Harry reluctantly shoved the wand back into his vest.

"Finally found the cinnamon!" Mr. Prynn said as he walked in, triumphantly holding up a foggy glass spice jar. "Must've fallen out its crate somehow, and rolled clear 'cross the storeroom to the other wall, behind the chests of silks." Prynn set a small wooden bucket containing 5 more jars down on the floor, and stuck the cinnamon jar in it too, to keep it from rolling off again. "So you're here to help as well then?" he asked Malfoy.

"As if," Harry replied with a dry snicker. "No, I'm just babysitting him so he doesn't jump off things and crack his skull."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes maliciously at Harry, but said nothing.

"Baby-whatting?" Prynn asked.

"You know- uh- nannying?" Harry said, trying out an older-sounding word for it.

"Nannying?" Prynn asked, sounding even more confused.

"Watching him closely, as if he were an infant," Harry explained, giving up on trying to find an 18th century word for it. "A tantrum-throwing infant with no survival instinct."

Malfoy glowered harder, and crossed his arms indignantly.

"Ah. So... just us two making breakfast, then?" Prynn asked Harry, still clearly confused by Malfoy and this whole awkward situation.

"Pretty much, yeah," Harry replied with a shrug.

"Well- alright then," Prynn said. He grabbed a large corked jar labeled 'CURRANTS' from off the back ledge of one of the counters, and tried to pry the cork loose. It wouldn't budge. He tried again, but it was no use. Not to be defeated, Prynn pulled open the knife drawer- "Now where did all the knives get off to?" he wondered in surprise.

"Oh, um- Thimbles took them," Harry explained.

"He did?" Prynn asked. "Why?"

"No reason," Harry said, glancing at Malfoy.

Prynn gave a small, resigned sigh, and set the currant jar back on the counter ledge. "Well, be back in another minute then," he said, and trudged off once again.

As soon as they were alone, Malfoy paced up beside Harry again, slid the knifeless knife drawer shut with a sharp 'thunk', and absently tapped a few fingers on the countertop. "Now, where were we before that Muggle interrupted- oh right," Malfoy said lightly, "you lost your temper as usual, drew your wand, and were just about to- do WHAT, exactly? Turn me into a snuffbox?"

"No, I was thinking of making you hurl slugs."

"No, you weren't thinking at all!" Malfoy snapped.

Harry shrugged. "Would've made you shut up, though."

"What would your new Muggle sailor friends think if you hexed me?" Malfoy shot back. "Or Miss Mudblood know-it-all?"

"Don't think I won't still hex you," Harry warned.

"Go on then! Haven't got my wand, have I? Should be a fair fight for you!"

"Yeah? Well-" Realizing Malfoy had a point, Harry mumbled, "...Sorry."

"I don't want your apology, I want your wand!" Malfoy snarled. Then, in a forced, composed voice, he added, "Regrettably, it doesn't work for me, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Not having this conversation is fine by me," Harry said. And promptly went back to washing dishes.

Somewhere in the background, a bell started clanging, 3, 4, 5 times. Will had tried to explain the ship's bell yesterday, but Harry didn't quite get it yet. Something about turning an hourglass, and ringing the bell eight different times over a four-hour period- or something.

"What is even the point?" Malfoy scoffed, snatching the plate Harry had just finished cleaning from his hand, and inspecting it critically. "I mean, the glaze was flawed to start with, but all these scratches, and stains, and crud between the scratches that will never come out- just face it- washing these is a lost cause. So drop the pottery, Potter-" Malfoy joked, dropping the plate on the ground to illustrate, "I have plans, and you're part of them."

"You can't just order me around!" Harry growled, sidestepping the shattered, tumbling pieces of porcelain.

Malfoy smirked nastily. "Why not? Muggles do. So it's not like you've got high standards."

"I'm not one of your cronies," Harry shot back, glancing around for a broom, and trying to remember the Repairing Charm.

"Really? Because your stupid inability to grasp a concept is reminding me distinctly of Crabbe and Goyle!" Malfoy snapped, dropping the smirk. "Haven't you ever paid attention in History of Magic? What do you think these sailors will do to us once they figure out what we are? You'll wish they threw us overboard."

"And what are ya, now, exactly?" Prynn asked quizzically, as he stepped through the doorway, knife in hand.

Harry and Malfoy both jumped.

Oh, dang it- did he just hear what Malfoy said about History of Magic? He did, didn't he? What do I say- what do I say- I have to say something- "We're- uh... clumsy!" Harry yapped. "We, er- have a history of tragically dropping plates- and things," he added lamely, staring again at the porcelain shards.

"Well- er- no one's throwin' ya overboard for that, so don't you fret none," Prynn said, awkwardly attempting his too-wide smile again.

"Oh. Er, thanks," Harry said.

"'Cept maybe Norman," Prynn added as an afterthought, as he pried the cork out of the currant jar with his newly-acquired knife. "Watch out for Norman. Throwin' people overboard's his specialty. I myself have been thrown overboard twice since we left port."

"So- breakfast?" Harry said, hopeful to change the subject as soon as humanly possible.

"Aye! Let's make breakfast!" Prynn agreed quickly.

Breakfast took ages to make with the old-fashioned kitchen tools. Especially the johnnycakes- which were basically bits of boiled corn mush made into crisp, buttery little pancakes; cooked in a flat frypan directly over the coals. That was Harry's job, while Prynn prepared the rest of the meal.

Meanwhile Malfoy just lurked in a corner, being absolutely no help at all- and oddly silent.

Probably planning something awful again, Harry guessed.

Eventually, after much effort, everything was cooked and ready to serve. The finished breakfast menu was simmered chicken spiced with chives, lemon and clove; an egg scramble, the johnnycakes, a pan of sauteed apples with redcurrants, a kettle of coffee, a jug of light ale, and a jar of spiced honey butter. The butter was slightly rancid, so Prynn had mixed in some cinnamon, nutmeg, and honey to mask the off flavor.

"So- is there a dining room somewhere?" Harry asked Prynn.

"Of a nature," Prynn answered, while setting the apple pan, coffee kettle, honey butter, and Harry's heaping plate of johnnycakes on a wide tray. "Follow me."

With an armful of clean plates, mugs, and cutlery, Harry stepped out the galley door, then down the hatch just outside the door, and then down a short set of stairs, into a roomy area belowdeck.

Malfoy followed silently, still looking worryingly schemey.

Harry blinked. He'd expected it to be dark down here, but all of the open hatches on the side walls made the place almost brighter than the galley. On one side of the room, two sailors were lazily playing a game of cards below a greenish lantern. It was Mr. Greer and- Norman, Harry noted uneasily.

Prynn pulled a long, hinged table down from the ship's wall with one hand, and set his tray down. Harry set out 8 clean plates, mugs, forks and knives. Then he followed Prynn back up to the galley to help fetch the egg scramble and ale, while Prynn brought about half of the spiced chicken, leaving the rest in the pot to keep simmering. Prynn started humming an upbeat tune while divvying the finished breakfast out onto the plates- and suddenly, Malfoy just couldn't help being a food critic.

"That is the most bizarre, confused breakfast I've ever seen," the Slytherin declared, eyeing the lot of it distastefully.

Harry had to admit it was a bit odd, but he'd definitely eaten odder things at Hogwarts. Besides, he was hungry. "So this is the- dining deck?" he guessed.

"Nah, this is the mess," said Prynn, dropping the tune.

"Certainly is," Malfoy muttered snidely, staring around the admittedly messy sailor's quarters.

"'Mess' isn't the name of the deck, though," Prynn went on. "Matter of fact, this deck is called the gundeck- not that we carry those. Last owner of the Avalon had some cannons, but sold 'em all. We do have a swivel gun up top, but that's about the lot of it. The mess is just this part of the gundeck here, with the hammocks, where the sailors dine and sleep."

"Where the sailors try to sleep," a soft, familiar voice growled from one of the hammocks. The ruffled black hair and glaring brown eyes belonged to Mr. Lore.

"Sorry," Harry said quietly, as he helped Prynn pull some low crates up next to the table to use as chairs. They were heavy and uneven, and scritched against the floor loudly. Harry winced. "Sorry," he repeated.

Lore rolled his eyes, then rolled over in his hammock.

"Now, don't be a slugabed, Lore," Prynn teased.

"Slugabed yourself," Lore mumbled.

Suddenly the ship's bell rang again, loudly, 4, 5, 6 times.

Lore groaned, and wrapped his arms around his ears. "Scupper it all!" he muttered groggily.

"So six bells means six o'clock, right?" Harry asked Prynn quietly, trying not to bother Lore.

"Nah, seven o'clock," Prynn corrected.

"Right," Harry said, confused.

"First watch starts at four in the mornin', an' the bell is struck each half hour after," Prynn explained patiently. "Once at four-thirty, twice at five, three times at five-thirty, an so on till it's been four hours, an' eight bells. Then ya switch off with the next watch, an' it starts all over, back to one bell- understand?"

"Sort of," Harry said.

"Guess you're not the only one who doesn't know what clocks are," Malfoy taunted Harry under his breath.

Harry shot him a quick scowl over his shoulder, then asked Prynn- "So do watches- watch for things?"

"Watches are work shifts," Prynn corrected. "Only the lookout actually 'watches for things'. Rest of the watch mostly trim the sails, navigate, man the helm, try not to go mad from the monotony- all the usual ship-sailing particulars. Mornin' watch will be ending soon for Phillip, Thomas, Ollie, and Dagge, then it'll be time for these three slackards and Thimbles to start their shift."

"Oh, okay," Harry said. "So-"

"YES!" a voice hollered from across the deck. "I win AGAIN!" Cards flew as Norman tossed his hand of cards in the air victoriously, adding to the mess in the mess.

"Oy!" Greer snapped, catching one of the fluttering cards and giving Norman a scowl. "Pick up my lucky cards right now, ya lumberin' loggerhead!"

"Sore loser!" Norman shouted back with a grin.

"Fine!" Lore yapped, stumbling out of his hammock, his black hair sticking out crazily. "I am awake, by no wish of my own!" He trudged blearily over to the table, and gave it a long look. "It does look bizarre."

"Bizarrely nice, you mean," Greer said, as he wandered over too, and took a seat at the table. "All of them, hear?" he called over to Norman. "There's one by that bucket, see?"

"Oh, don't get too used to the fancyness," Prynn warned, "you'll be back to the same old hardtack, salt pork, and pease porridge for lunch."

"Can't wait," Lore said sourly, slouching down on one of the corner crates nearest the wall, and turning his attention to his breakfast.

Harry took a seat across from Prynn, and tugged Malfoy down onto the crate next to him.

"Stop it!" Malfoy hissed, yanking his arm out of Harry's grip.

Harry glanced around the cluttered deck again. "Where's Will Turner?" he asked casually, but what he meant was, 'where's Hermione?'

"Oh, still busy with chores I expect," Greer said offhandedly. "Another two atop the sea chest!" he called over to Norman.

"Is Will part of the first watch, then?" Harry guessed.

"Nah, cabin boys aren't assigned watches, Will just likes pitchin' in," Prynn said. "Technically the captain and I aren't part of the watches either, but we pitch in anyhow since The Avalon's scant on crew, an' besides- Tallowick and Thimbles are nigh useless at hard labor."

"Hey!" Thimbles said in a mock-wounded tone, as he descended the stairs into the low-roofed deck. "See how well the Avalon sails with holes in the sails, why don't you! I'm a vitally important crewmember. Ginny too, now that she's my official sail-stitching lieutenant," he added, nodding toward Ginny, who was coming down the steps behind him. "She was lying about being a poor mender, you know. She's a commendable mender!"

Ginny blushed, and muttered what sounded like a feeble, "So are you."

"And I would highly recommend her!" Thimbles added cheerily.

"Are you quite done?" Lore grumbled.

"Not an early bird today, are we, Lore?" Thimbles teased as he tousled Lore's messy hair with his cloth-wrapped hand.

Lore shoved Thimbles over, but Thimbles just rolled spryly back up onto his feet, and took a seat between Harry and Lore like nothing happened.

"Oy, speakin' of birds, thanks for the chicken, lass!" Greer told Ginny kindly. "And don't mind Lore, he got the dog watch last night."

"Hi Ginny," Harry said, giving her an encouraging smile.

She blushed harder, and looked away from him."Sorry for screaming earlier... and waking everyone," she mumbled in embarrassment, as she sank quietly onto the corner crate across from Lore, looking like she wanted to disappear into the woodwork.

"Hah! That, a scream?" Norman scoffed, as he clunked down on the empty crate directly across from Malfoy, and tossed the pack of cards across the table to Greer. "Barely a squeak, I'd say!" Glancing at Malfoy's untouched plate, he added, "You gonna eat or what, Music Boy?"

Malfoy leaned close to Harry. "Tell the Muggle I'm not talking to him," he whispered haughtily.

"Tell him yourself," Harry retorted.

"That defeats, the point," Malfoy whisper-growled.

Harry paused mid-forkful of scrambled eggs. "Wait- why aren't you eating?" he whispered sharply to Malfoy. "Did you-" he lowered his voice even further- "-did you poison anything?" Is THAT why Malfoy's been looking so schemey? Harry wondered in alarm.

"If I did, would I let you eat it?" Malfoy whispered back sleekly.

"Would you?" Harry looked accusingly at Malfoy's fancy green coat, half-expecting to see vials of poisons stuffed in the pockets.

"Course not. Need you for my plan, remember?"

"He says he's too seasick to eat right now," Harry announced loudly to the table, trying to give some excuse for all the suspicious whispering.

"Well, we can save ya some some johnnycakes an' honey butter for later," Prynn offered, "but the chicken an' eggs won't keep."

Malfoy leaned close to Harry again, and whispered, "Tell him his so-called 'cooking' is rubbish- and I'd rather eat a bowl of live scorpions."

"He says thanks," Harry said.

By 7 bells (which Harry was now fairly sure meant 7:30), most everyone had finished breakfast. Except Malfoy, who still hadn't touched his food, and Ginny, who was still nervously nibbling on the last of her johnnycakes.

The sailors were now chatting about all sorts of stuff- the pesky fog outside, the oddness of the Caribbean climate, what sort of price the Avalon's cargo would fetch in Jamaica, what they planned to buy or do once they got to Jamaica, what their favorite hobbies were, and so on.

Harry had stopped paying much attention to the chatter, really. Mostly he was feeling glad no one had keeled over from poisoning yet. As Harry reflected on the craziness of yesterday, and downed the last few sips of his ale-flavored water, Norman suddenly barked out,

"Did I ever tell you about the time I wrestled a SHARK?" His hefty elbows were leaned on the table, his grin was intense, and he was looking right at Harry.

"Since we've never met before yesterday, I'd say- no?" Harry replied cautiously.

"Ugh, Norman, not again!"

"Not the shark story!"

"Anythin' but that!"

"They haven' heard it yet!" Norman argued. "Now, see, it all started thirteen summers ago off the briny coast of Barbados, when I got thrown overboard-"

"Do you get eaten in it?" Malfoy cut in drably.

"...No?"

"Then it doesn't have a happy ending. So I'm not interested."

"Jus' keep listenin', an you will be!" Norman promised. "Where was I then? Right! Thirteen summers ago, an' I was a blithe an' cheery lad of exactly yer age- nine years old and not a worry in my head-"

"I'm twelve," Harry interrupted.

"Aye?" Norman blinked skeptically. "Lemme start over then! I was a blithe young lad three years yer junior, an' three times yer size, on a secret voyage to the far shores of Madagascar! We'd been sailin' a fortnight! Sailed through six storms, the likes of which tore our sails to shreds!"

"An' you failed to bring an expert tailor, so you were of course completely doomed," Thimbles added in brightly.

"Aye!" Norman agreed. "No sails! No hope! Battered and bashed, an' caught in the doldrums! No sign nor sight of land in any direction! The doldrums stretched on an eternity! Slowly, the crew went madder, and madder, as the ship drifted farther, an farther, an' no man knew to where! Then, four days of thirst, an' horror, an' insanity later- I spot it! Green! I spot a spot of green on the horizon! Green as yer glasses! Greener, even! 'I SEE LAND!' I yells. 'LAND DON'T EXIST!', the Cap'n yells back- an' jus' like that- he lobs me overboard! I plunge through the waves- I sink, and I sink, and I sink, and I sink, and I THWUNK! Hit the ocean floor!" Norman shouted, slamming his hand down on the table for emphasis, and making everyone's plates rattle. "Great plumes of silt flooded my eyes! Not a breath left in my lungs, nor a hope in my heart! Then, floatin' up outta' the clouds of sand like a foul, grey nightmare- I see it! As wide around as an elephant! Mouth wide as a washtub! Teeth like Turkish scimitars! Seventeen rows of 'em!"

"Gets more rows of teeth each time," Thimbles whispered to Harry.

"Tha's when I see its eyes!" Norman went on, his own eyes looking rather crazy just now. "Red, dead, and huge- like demonic, glaring coconuts! But I don't jus' see its eyes... IT SEES MINE!"

Norman's storytelling style seemed to consist of 7 parts exclamation marks, 2 parts wild hand movements, and 1 part actual story.

Still, Harry nodded intently, and said "Wow," and, "Really?", and, "So what happened next?" at all the appropriate places, since every minute Norman was talking about sharks was a minute he wasn't throwing Malfoy overboard.

Norman's wild tale got sillier and sillier the longer it lasted. It was bad enough when nine-year-old story-Norman tore out one of the shark's teeth and used it as a dagger, but when a school of flying fish lifted him up in the air to narrowly escape the shark's chomping jaws, it was all Harry could do to keep from laughing.

If Ginny still thought she was dreaming, this story probably wasn't helping to convince her she wasn't.

Finally, after what seemed like an excessive amount of shark-punching and underwater screaming later, the story-shark finally swam off in defeat, and story-Norman made it safely to the green island he'd spotted at the start.

"Now what do you think about THAT?" Norman finished dramatically.

"Uh... ...mazing?" Harry said.

"An' what do YOU think about that?" Norman asked Malfoy.

Luckily, the ship's bell started ringing just then.

"Eight bells already?" Prynn said. "Enough stories, then! I need these lads back in the galley to help ready the next round of breakfast. Mornin' watch will be here any minute!"

"An' what do YOU think about that, lass?" Harry heard as he followed Prynn back upstairs.

By the time Harry, Malfoy, and Prynn returned below deck with fresh trays of reheated food and a clean set of dishes, the mess looked a lot emptier. Greer and Norman had already left, and Lore was just leaving. Thimbles and Ginny were still there, but they got up too once Harry started setting the table.

"Farewell sleep, I'll miss you forever," Lore mumbled to himself as he tied his hair back into a messy ponytail, and trudged up the stairs.

"So, Ginny..." Harry began- but Thimbles was staring right at him. "Er- how was your breakfast?" Harry stammered instead. He was starting to feel oddly like a waiter at a nautical-themed restaurant. A waiter with a scowly, useless, silver-blond shadow.

"Nice, thanks?" Ginny said awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and looking like she'd expected Harry to say something more helpful.

"Do you know what time it is, Lieutenant?" Thimbles asked Ginny mysteriously, as he walked backwards up the stairs.

"Er- no?" she said, tagging after the spindly tailor.

"It is time for me to teach you the fine and forgotten art of mending a fishnet, the secret of which you must guard with your life and take to your grave-" "-Hi Will!" Thimbles greeted suddenly, as his narrow back collided with the cabin boy, who was just now coming down the stairs. "Hi Will's new friend!"

"Hi Thimbles- Miss Weasley," Will said with a nod, as he dashed down the last few steps. He grabbed one of the new plates of food, and a flagon of ale, and handed them up to Hermione, who was still on the stairs. "Here, you take these to the Captain, and I'll fetch our plates and join you two in a minute."

"Aye, aye!" Hermione answered enthusiastically. She gave Harry and Malfoy a brief glance, bit the corner of her lip, and then reluctantly hurried back up the stairs.

Thomas, Phillip, and Mr. Dagge arrived for breakfast next- Harry didn't see the heroic lookout, but assumed he'd be here soon.

"Have these two been behaving themselves?" Phillip asked Prynn.

"Have they stolen anything else vital to our survival asea?" Thomas added in a miffed tone, giving Malfoy a withering look.

"Oh, nah," Prynn said, adjusting his bandanna. "They've been nary a bother. Harry in particular has a knack for cookery. Thimbles, on the other hand, stole all my knives, the bird-wit. Still won't tell me where he hid the sharp ones. I had to cut the chicken with a butterknife," he added, as he dished the shredded-looking meat onto the plates.

"Aye, which reminds me-" Dagge said, "you owe me a new pocketknife, cabin boy!"

"I'll buy you one in a blink at Kingston!" Will promised, as he ran up the stairs with two plates of food.

"Sure ya will, ya penniless liar!" Dagge called up after him.

Will popped back down into view. "Then I'll make you one," he said. "How'd you like a pocketknife carved out of a seashell?"

Dagge gave Will a long look. "How d'ya plan to carve a knife without a knife?"

"Good point," Will said, in slight defeat. Perking up, he added, "I could borrow someone else's knife-"

"An' then lose it in the sea, and owe two people new knives?"

"Uh-" Will said.

Dagge's crabby face softened into an amused smirk. "Oh, scurry off already," he said, waving Will away.

"I will get you one!" Will called back as he left. "Not necessarily shell, but I'll figure it out!"

"Bye, Will!" Harry called after him.

"A seashell knife, what a notion..." Dagge said, shaking his head. "Lad gets dafter by the day."

"Yes, I can't imagine what could have put him in such a frivolous mood," Phillip added, glancing up the stairs with a small, knowing smile.

A stack of dirty dishes clunked into Harry's arms. "Come on then, Harry, dishes await!" Mr. Prynn said brightly. He almost handed Malfoy a tray of dirty mugs too- then thought better of it, and just took those upstairs himself.

Once they got back up to the galley, Harry started refilling the washbin with more hot saltwater, while Prynn opened a burlap sack of dried peas, then used a mug to scoop some out into another large pot.

As the dry peas clinked loudly, Malfoy leaned in near Harry's shoulder, and whispered, "The shark-wrestling one might be a problem. You should petrify him first."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked wryly. "I actually think you two are getting on much better. You were in the same room for a whole hour, and he didn't try to throw you overboard once."

"Shut up."

Harry hurried to finish up the breakfast dishes as fast as he could. Since they were fresh, they were much easier than the dishes from last night, but they still took longer to wash, since this morning's fancy breakfast had used twice as many dishes as last night's simple stew and flatbread. Once Harry had finished the first round of dishes, Prynn brought in the rest, and Harry washed those too, while Malfoy looked on in silent disgust.

"So- anything else you need help with?" Harry asked Prynn, once the last clean mug was safely stashed up in the latching cabinet.

"Nah, yer mornin' chores are done- yeh've earned yerself some free time." Prynn smiled his too-wide smile again, and added, "Run along now."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, then tilted his head toward the door.

Malfoy shot one last icy look over his shoulder at Prynn, then wordlessly followed Harry out the galley door, across the deck, and back up the stairs to the captain's cabin.