A/N: Sorry for the delay, but here is the next update. The chapter started getting a little too long so it's had a few re-writes to get it to where I wanted, but I finally got there. Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and thank you for all my reviews, you guys are awesome :)
Enjoy!
xBx
Chapter V
A large feast followed the masque, consisting of so many courses that Hermione lost count, and accompanied by a seemingly endless supply of wine to compliment. How anyone could still stand at the end of it, Hermione was at a loss to understand, but stand they did. As the feasting came to an end, and the revelry from the lower tables began to teeter over into raucousness, King Charles retreated into a cosier evening parlour along with the Earl of Huntingdon and his wife, and a number of his particular favourites – Hermione and Draco included.
Their revels in the parlour were less exuberant than those in the hall, but they were still merry and loud: A singer wandered about the room, entertaining small groups here and there, although he was difficult to hear over the laughter and conversation that constantly flowed until the small hours of the morning.
As had become custom, Draco kept Hermione close, and the pair were invited to entertain Charles. Alara was naturally part of their circle, and this evening they were joined by the Earl and his son. Tonight, Charles was regaling them with anecdotes from the civil war; he began telling a story of the Battle of Worchester, in which he was defeated by Cromwell and apparently only escaped by hiding in an oak tree. While Hermione found this first-hand account of the legend captivating, Alara had apparently heard this story several times, and gently disengaged Hermione from the group to sit with her in a comfortable window seat to the side of their group. They were still close enough to catch the odd the comment from Charles and the others, but far enough away that their own quieter conversation would remain unheard.
"I have heard that story a hundred times already," Alara sighed as they took a seat.
"One of his favourites?" Hermione asked, and Alara rolled her eyes. "Is it true? Did he really hide in a tree? I've heard the legend before, but it really is something else to hear it from his own lips," Hermione mused in awe.
"Honestly? I cannot say if it is true or not," Alara laughed. "But I am not surprised the story withstands the test of time – he loves retelling it."
They sat quietly for a moment, watching the group they had just left, catching the odd word of Charles story – he had moved on now, to tales of his exile. Alara gave a sudden sigh, and Hermione looked at her questioningly.
"We shall take to the road again now, maybe even tomorrow, and I for one am not disappointed," Alara confided. "These long journeys tire me, I long for my own house again."
'So, when we get to London?" Hermione questioned. "You won't be staying at White Hall, with Charles?"
"Merlin, no!" Alara exclaimed in a whisper. "The Queen would not take kindly to my presence."
"The queen?" Hermione asked, confused for a moment and then her eyes widened in realisation. "Of course!" she breathed, clutching at memories of her early education. "Catherine, is it?"
Alara nodded. "The Princess Catherine of Braganza, from Portugal. They married last year, and it looked to be fruitful match," Alara confided, and Hermione leaned in closer. "Catherine was with child within a couple of months of taking to the marriage bed. But the child was lost, much to Charles displeasure. Of course, His Majesty didn't let it bother him for long: he revelled and found a mistress or three – one of whom he got with child very quickly."
The girls were so caught up in their conversation, they failed to realise they were soon the object of admiring observation. Draco had naturally been watching Hermione and his relation out of the corner of his eye from the moment they had removed themselves. Despite her early misgivings and anxieties, it seemed Hermione was settling into this century, and really start to enjoy the Anamaria persona. Not that she was much different here to her usual self, but she was fitting in remarkably well. Today, in particular, he had seen the sparkle return to her eyes that had been missing since their foray into the past.
This evening Hermione was dressed in the ruby gown she had worn their first night here at Malfoy Manor, and her hair was still styled as it had been for the earlier masque – left to fall down her back and still dotted with roses. Alara was dressed in a similar style of gown, though in emerald, and her hair formally pinned up. The matching masks they had been required to wear, first for the play and then the following feast, were now discarded across each lady's lap.
Whatever the two were discussing, it must have been fascinating, and possibly scandalous; Hermione and Alara had their heads bent together, secretive smiles playing on their lips and suggestive glints in their eyes. Their conversation was low, so Draco couldn't hear a single word they said, but the tableau they had formed was captivating enough without their words. So captivating in fact, that Draco wasn't the only one to be soon drawn to it.
"What a charming pair they make," Charles commented to Draco, following his line of sight. "Very beautiful women, your cousin and fiancé. I could watch them all night."
"Quite," Draco agreed. There really was something quite mesmerising about the pair this evening. "They would make a captivating portrait."
"You are absolutely right!" Charles agreed, with sudden excitement. He summoned a passing servant in haste, "You there, fetch me Sir Peter at once."
Sir Peter Lely was the King's principal painter, and Charles had brought him along on his visit to Wiltshire for the purpose of taking Alara's likeness so that he could carry her miniature on his person at all times. His services were once more required, for something a little more ambitious than a simple palm-sized portrait. The servant hastened away, and Charles turned back to Draco to join him in watching the two ladies in the window.
"You are absolutely right," Charles repeated. "I want this vision captured, and immortalised, so I can look at it forever." Sometimes the man really could be quite dramatic.
They were quickly joined by Sir Peter, who had been at the other end of the room.
"You requested me, your Highness," He bowed as he approached.
"Yes," Charles spoke quietly, "I require your excellent talents, good sir. I want you to paint a scene for me."
"Of course, my King, whatever you desire. What scene do you wish me to capture?"
Charles took Sir Peter by the arm and brought him gently around to stand between him and Draco, so he could view Hermione and Alara in their alcove.
"That!" Charles announced, barely above a whisper, with a dramatic flair. "I want you to capture that – immortalise it in canvas forever. I want an exact representation: the colours, their heads together, just so, in confidence. Those smiles tugging at their lips, and that conspiring look in their eyes. Take down what you can now, but without bringing the ladies' attentions to you – I don't want such an enchanting scene disturbed. And then hasten to London in the morning. I want this masterpiece complete before the year is out."
"As you desire, your Highness," Sir Peter gave another small bow, as he pulled out a small sketchpad and pencil from inside his coat, and set to work.
There were many seats around the room, and Sir Peter moved from one to another to find the perfect angle as he sketched Hermione and Alara's current position. The women were too involved in their conversation to pay attention to what any of the men were doing, and so never noticed that they were under such scrutinies. When he had the basic outline, and a detailed likeness of their expressions, the painter then sat and wrote a full page of notes about the surrounding setting, and the colours and lighting to be captured on the full canvas. When all was done, he excused himself, no doubt to pack his things and ready himself for his early journey on the morning.
With the excitement of the Halloween revels now over, King Charles became restless once more – so restless, that the following morning he was ready to continue on the road to White Hall instantly. The morning was spent in a bustle of hasty preparations for travel, and by early afternoon they bid goodbye to Hodcott House and set off on the long progress to London.
They stayed in a few more grand houses along the way, though never for as long as their stay at Hodcott. After two or three nights in one place, they moved on to the next, until they finally reached Westminster during the third week of November. It was just coming dusk when they reached the boundary walls of White Hall Palace, and it was here that Alara, Hermione, and Draco parted ways with Charles and the others.
Instead of taking up residence at White Hall, they continued further along to Alara's Townhouse on the banks of the River Thames, just west of the City of London. They reached the gates just before dark, but the windows of the house already danced with candlelight – Alara had sent her own servants (human and house elves alike) on ahead to prepare for their arrival. The house was a well-built, brick and timber Tudor house. It was modest in comparison to Malfoy Manor, but at three-stories high, and of an expansive width, it still fell into the class of a mansion. The house was set far back from the road, behind high walls within a generous sized garden, and had its own private dock on the river.
Being close to mid-winter, the nights fell early and so the travellers had time to wash and change before dinner was ready to be served. For the first time, dining was now a very low-key affair compared to the pageantry that attended the feasts of King Charles. Tonight was a humble family affair, just the three of them at a large round table in the family dining room. The simpleness was refreshing, and the trio savoured the freedom from courtly etiquette, to talk of whatever they pleased. Currently they were discussing the house.
"Is it part of the Malfoy estate?" Draco asked. "I don't remember seeing anything about it."
"It isn't really, not anymore," Alara smiled. "The estate is entailed to male heirs only. Since I am an only child, Malfoy Manor now belongs to my cousin Nicolai. He is rather a restless sort, and he is currently serving in the King's Royal Navy. While he is at sea, I remain at the Manor as Lady of the house. But in a few years, he will return, he will marry, and he will settle. While I cannot inherit the Wiltshire house, my father purchased this separate to the estate, and left it to me in my name. When Nicolai takes possession of the Manor, I will move here permanently."
"Surely there's plenty of room for you at the Manor?" Hermione questioned, sounding slightly incredulous.
"Certainly," Alara agreed. "But I like being the Lady of the House – I like running things in my own way. I won't be able to do that there once he marries and takes possession. And anyway, London is far more exciting – there is always much more happening in town than in the country."
"So we'll be having quite a busy time of it while we're here then?" Draco grinned.
"There will be plenty to do to fill the time until you leave," Alara agreed.
"So we're still leaving with this Morgan guy?" Draco asked. "He's happy to take us along?"
"I haven't received a note from him – he may not have docked yet. We'll go down to the markets along Billingsgate this week and see what news there is of his ship."
Their daily routines in London – just as Alara had promised – were fairly active, and they rarely spent a day at home. Some days they spent at White Hall with Charles and his court, others they would wander into the city, usually by barge though sometimes by carriage, and every Sunday they would spend time during the morning and evening in the family chapel. Even on the rare days spent at home, they were never idle: Draco took up proper sword lessons once more, and when it was discovered that he was later teaching Hermione, they managed to convince the fencing master to teach her also, at the same time.
Henry Morgan arrived in London during their first week there; Alara and Hermione had ventured down to the dockside markets taking Draco along as their chaperone. As they walked along Billingsgate Dock, Alara stopped one of the young boys working the dock to ask if the Oxford had made port yet.
"Aye, M'am," the young lad nodded. "She docked just this morning - that's her there," he told them, pointing out to a three-masted galleon sitting at the end of a jetty. There was plenty of bustle on-board, with crates and barrels being unloaded.
Alara gave the boy a coin for his assistance, and then made her way down the pier with Hermione and Draco following close behind. As they came alongside the Oxford, Alara seemed to spot someone familiar to her; she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and called up to the man standing at to the top of gangway, checking loads before they were taken off the ship.
"Ahoy there, Captain!" She called out with a smile, and the man turned to the source of the interruption.
"Lady Alara?" He squinted down, slightly unsure of his unexpected visitor.
"The one and only. Permission to board?" She asked as she stepped onto the gangway and began to move up towards him.
"Would you even listen, if I said no?" the man frowned. A slight Welsh brogue coloured his accent, but it was clear he had been away from the country for some time.
"No," Alara said with a smile, beckoning to Hermione and Draco to follow her.
"It's bad luck to have a woman on board, sir," one of the sailors said, looking at them anxiously, as Alara stepped on deck, closely followed be Hermione and Draco. "Two is flirting with the devil – even though we are at port."
"Superstitious fool," the Captain laughed. "I'll take my chances, I'm not afraid of the devil. You brought friends," he motioned to Hermione and Draco, turning back to Alara.
"Yes," Alara smiled. "May I introduce my cousin, Alaric Malfoy, and his betrothed, the Lady Annamaria Granger. Alaric, Anna, meet Captain Henry Morgan," She introduced.
The pictures on the rum bottles that Hermione had seen back in her own time didn't quite match the man in front of her – for one thing, he wasn't as well put-together, nor as well manicured as the rum bottle would have had her believe. Henry was tall and well built; he had a few layers on today to keep the chill out of his bones, but underneath you could tell the man was muscled and athletic – no doubt captaining a ship kept him in well-conditioned shape. But many months at sea had left him looking rather dishevelled: his hair, a dark brown, was long and windswept, and worn in a leather thong tied at the nape of his neck; his beard was full and thick, though short; and his clothes were plain coloured and salt-stained, though practical to the time.
He called out to one of his shipmates to take over the inventory, and then invited the three of them to join him in his quarters for a drink.
The captain's quarters were generous sized, and well-furnished: There was a good sized table at the centre, that appeared to be used for navigation and bookkeeping, as well as for dining, around which six plush chairs were set. To the rear of the room was a mahogany writing desk, set in front of a pair of doors that opened onto the small balcony at the back of the ship. A pair of window seats were set on either side of the doors, and were invitingly furnished with plush sofa cushions. A pair of doors stood ajar at the left had side of the room, giving a glimpse of Henry's sleeping quarters - modest yet comfortable, the double bed had been left unmade this morning. To the right of the room a single door lead to the Captain's private stores.
"We only docked this morning," Henry explained as he pulled out a bottle and some glasses from a sideboard. "We have yet to replenish our supplies, so I hope you like rum."
He poured a generous measure into each glass and passed them around.
"It's not as coarse as most rum," he mentioned, sounding almost apologetic. "I add spices to it, that tends to soften it a little – makes it a little easier on the tongue."
Hermione turned away under the pretence of examining her surroundings, to hide a smile. But she struggled to contain a laugh at Alara's response:
"That does go down rather nicely. You should put your name to that and sell it - you could make a fortune."
"She's right you know," Hermione grinned slyly, finally taking a seat at the table. "It's the kind of drink that will stand the test of time, I'm sure."
Draco looked across at her with a deadpan expression, to which she responded with a bigger grin and a half-shrug causing Draco to roll his eyes and give a slight shake of his head.
"How long will you be docked?" Alara asked, keeping the conversation flowing.
"Why?" Henry asked shrewdly.
Alara gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. "It's called polite conversation, it's what we do here on land. Engage in it, please."
"I see you haven't lost your charm over the years," Henry grumbled, but there was a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth that told them he was amused. "TWe'll stay through Twelfth Night, and we'll leave the next morning. Some of my crew have family in the city – I've given them leave to spend some time with them. We very rarely come to the homeland, and it will be a few years until we return again."
Some general conversation ensued; Alara asked about his trading routes, and about their mutual acquaintance in Port Royal where Alara had spent eighteen months a few years ago.
"Have you seen anything of Harriette Peverell recently?" Alara asked eventually, when they were halfway through their rum.
"Yes actually," Henry nodded. "I saw her not six months back. She's in Tortuga, and seems quite settled there for the time being. In no rush to come back north, at any rate."
"Tortuga," Alara repeated thoughtfully. "Not too far from Port Royal, if my memory serves. And you'll be returning to Port Royal when you leave here I imagine."
Henry looked at her shrewdly across the top of his glass, silently contemplating her for a moment. "What do you want?" He asked bluntly.
"She doesn't want anything," Hermione answered, equalling his frankness. "She's just clarifying that we won't be an imposition when we sail with you."
Henry transferred his attention to Hermione, and looked at her with a deadpan expression. "I'm sorry, when who does what now?"
"They're looking for Harrie," Alara explained patiently. "If she's in Tortuga – I know you stop there every now and then, unofficially."
"This isn't a passenger ship," Henry grumbled. "There are no other cabins on board furnished for sleeping; the rest of the sleeping space is the crew quarters below deck."
"That's not a problem; of course we'll sleep with the rest of the crew," Hermione said simply, as though this was obvious.
"With the rest…" Henry started in mild disbelief, his eyebrows raised. He then turned his eyes upon Alara and Alaric. "She expects to sail as part of the crew?"
"She has a name," Hermione reminded him with a frown. "And can speak for herself, thank you very much. Yes, I expect to sail as part of your crew; neither Alaric, nor myself, expect you take us for free – we will do our fair share of the work, in exchange for passage. I can assure you, I will be equal to any task you set me."
Henry looked her up and down, taking in the gown she was wearing. It was another beautiful creation, in a soft periwinkle blue, but it was far from practical if one wished to engage in any form of strenuous manual labour.
"You'll never work a ship wearing that," Henry told her bluntly.
"I quite agree," Hermione assured him. "I'll wear men's clothing the entire time on board. Before long, the rest of your crew will forget I'm even a lady."
"I doubt that very much," Henry scoffed.
"I am not like most women," Hermione reiterated, in all serious now. "I can work a ship; I can be a valuable crew member. I will be just as good as any other man on board – better than some. I'll make a better sailor than him, at any rate – I'd bet money on it," Hermione nodded towards Draco with a smirk.
"Not likely," Draco snorted.
"Five shillings says I'm right," Hermione challenged them. "Against both of you: Five shillings says I exceed your expectations, and make a better crew member than Alaric," She said directly to Henry now.
"You don't have to give us your answer now," Draco offered. "Alara came here to offer an invitation to dinner. Dine with us, get to know us a little better, and then make your decision."
Henry nodded with a sigh. "Alright, I will keep an open mind until we meet again. And when might that be?" He asked Alara.
"How does Tuesday next, suit you?"
"Well," Henry accepted. "I shall wait on you then."
Nothing occurred over the following days to postpone the dining engagement; Henry made good time, and Alara had extended an invitation to a select few of the wealthier merchant families in the area, so they were quite a party when the night came. Henry was in much better spirits this evening, compared to when they had first met. A few days enjoying those comforts that can only be found on land had been enough to eradicate all the taciturn, and Henry was in fine spirits the entire night.
Over dinner, they learnt more about Alara and Henry's acquaintance: they had met briefly many years ago, when Henry was barely eighteen and planning his departure on his grand adventure.
"I was always a restless soul; I'd be damned if I was staying in Wales my whole life, digging roots and taking over the family farm. Not that there's anything wrong with farming," he added hastily. "My family has been farming forever, handing it down father to son for generations. It just wasn't for me – I was the black sheep of the family."
"So he hopped on a ship, broke my heart, and never looked back," Alara joked, and everyone laughed.
"Now now, let's not stretch the truth too far," Henry countered with a grin. "To my memory, you were the one intending to break my heart. Were you not rebelling against your family at that time?"
"Perhaps," Alara admitted coyly. "But I never intended to break your heart – I knew from the start your intentions for adventure were too strong to be thwarted by affections. You had no intention of staying, not for anyone. And besides, we became good friends from it, so all is well."
They hadn't seen each other after Henry's departure until a few years ago, when Alara had taken time away from England after the death of her father. She had sailed to the British colonies in the West Indies, and had spent a fair amount of time in Port Royal, where a mutual acquaintance had brought them together once more. There they frequently met, and renewed their friendship, that had continued to this day.
The fine wines which Alara served throughout the evening helped to loosen Henry's initial reserve; he became much more receptive to Hermione and Draco's conversation over the course of the night, and unbeknownst to them was begin to open up to the consideration of allowing them passage when he returned south. He was one of the last to leave, and the four of them remained in genial conversation into the early hours of the morning.
"Do you have magic too, then?" Henry asked of Draco. "You are Alara's cousin; is it something that runs in the family?"
Draco nodded, but it was Hermione who answered.
"Not always," she countered. "I'm the first in my family to have magic. At least I think I am – the first in many generations at any rate."
It was strange to them, being able to talk openly about magic in front of a Muggle, but it had been stranger when Alara had whipped her wand out an hour earlier to refill their glasses. With the Statute of Secrecy not having been brought into being yet, it was not uncommon for Witches and Wizards to use magic in front of Muggles. However, since Cromwell's attempted reform and the rise of the Puritans, there had been an increase in fear and persecution of witchcraft and those found guilty of it. As such, many Witches and Wizards were now cautious with whom they exposed their magic too. Henry, however, seemed to be worthy of their trust.
"And you all went to the same school in Scotland?"
"The only school for witchcraft worth going to," Alara said proudly. "The Malfoys have been going for generations, stoic Slytherins all of us."
"Slytherins? Is that the name of the school?" Henry asked, looking unsure at the name.
"One of the founders of the school," Alara explained. "Students are sorted into one of four houses upon starting, the houses are named after the founders of the school – the Malfoys are always sorted into Slytherin."
"I, myself, am a Gryffindor," Hermione smiled.
"Hmmm, should have known," Alara commented, sounding vaguely insulting, but good natured all the same.
Hermione frowned at her, but smiled also.
Henry was thoughtful for a moment, and then sighed before draining his glass and setting in on the low table. He rose to take his leave, and the others followed suit.
"Not everyone is as accepting of Magic as I am," Henry said carefully. "There are some of my crew who are a little more Puritan than the rest, shall we say. So you might want to be careful with what magic you do on ship."
"What?" Hermione said warily.
"I'm taking you up on your bet," He told her with a grin.
"My bet?" Hermione repeated, a small smile starting to form.
"Five shillings, wasn't it? That you would surprise me? You will come on as part of the crew, and I will expect you to work for your passage. If you sail with me, you will do as I say, but if you don't pull your weight – the moment you start becoming more trouble than you're worth – I will drop you at the first port we come to and never look back. And you will owe me five shillings," he added as an afterthought.
"That sounds fair to me," Draco grinned, and held out his hand to shake on a deal.
"I accept those terms, Captain," Hermione seconded, and also held out her hand.
Their month in town was passing quickly, and soon Christmas Eve was upon them. They spent the day at White Hall, where Charles was celebrating in his usual exuberant style. They feasted and revelled from luncheon into the night. A hired troupe of performers entertained the courtiers with the tale of the Holly King and the Oak King and their battle for dominance. It was a fantastical piece, full of fairies and imps, and the battle between night and day. Just as it seemed that the Holly King reigned supreme, and the longest night overpowered day, the Oak King fought back from the brink of defeat, and the curtain closed on the dawning of a new day.
Alara, Draco, and Hermione left the celebrations early into the night, returning along the Thames to Alara's house. Although it had been full dark for hours now, it was not yet so late that it was a new day. They made it home in time for a late supper, and to warm themselves by the fire in the drawing room, before the clock had even struck eleven.
Not long after supper, Alara retired for the night leaving the others reposed by the fire with their books. Draco was ensconced in a winged armchair, looking thoroughly relaxed with his left ankle resting on his right knee and using his bent left leg as a perch for his book. Hermione was reclined on the love seat opposite him, leaning against pillows to her side, with her legs tucked up underneath her. Her own book laid open in front of her. The room was peaceful at this time, the house quiet as most of the inhabitants had turned in for the night; only the logs crackling on the fire, and the occasional rustle of a gently turned page, disturbed the silence.
Hermione had ceased reading some minutes ago and was now staring thoughtfully into the flames. She unwittingly gave a heavy sigh, which caused Draco to look up quietly from his page. He watched her for a moment, and a crease formed on his brow – there was a sadness about her as she gazed unseeingly into the fire.
"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In the hopes that St Nicolas soon would be there," Hermione recited quietly.
"What's that?" Draco asked, unable to keep his curiosity quiet. Hermione looked up at him, slightly surprised as though she had forgotten about his presence.
"A poem," she smiled, though she still looked melancholy. "On my first Christmas, my parents bought me a book, it was an illustrated version of that poem. It had little windows and flaps to open and reveal little pictures that went with the poem, and it had these clever little tabs that when you moved them it would change the illustration to reflect the next verse," Hermione reminisced. "We would read it every year, it became a tradition: Every Christmas Eve we sit in front of the fire, with cups of tea, under a blanket, and read that book together. The only years we didn't were the ones where I spent Christmas at Hogwarts. And now this one," she added in a whisper as she turned back to the fire.
"It's an old poem," Hermione continued after a second. "Yet it hasn't even been written yet. My parents haven't been born yet; no one we know has. Everyone we know and love – they don't exist. We are all alone."
Silence settled over them, only broken when the clock began to chime the first stokes of midnight. Hermione closed her book with a heavy sigh, and rose from her seat.
"I think it's time to call it a night."
Draco shifted his seat; he planted both feet back on the floor and leaned forward from his chair. He gently caught up Hermione's hand as she moved past him.
"Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern.
"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly. "I mean, what good does it do if I'm not? There is nothing more we can be doing that we haven't already done to find our way home. And if it doesn't work…"
"It will work," Draco soothed, unconsciously rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in a comforting way.
"You can't know that," Hermione reasoned. "But if it doesn't work – if we are stuck here, there is no point to wallowing. We will just have to make peace with the fact that this is our new home."
"Well enjoy it while it lasts," Draco countered with a smile. "Because we will find our way home; we will be back to our own time soon enough, I'm sure."
Hermione smiled gratefully at his reassurance. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. I'll be better in the morning, I promise."
"No apology necessary. Goodnight then," he smiled and lightly pressed a brief kiss on the back of her hand. "Sleep well, Anna."
"Goodnight Alaric," Hermione smiled back, her hand slipping from his as she walked away.
They had been calling each other by their aliases for long enough now that their pseudonyms rolled effortlessly off their tongues, as if they had used these names since birth.
Christmas day was a quiet family affair for the most part: Alara, Hermione, and Draco rose early to attend a Christmas service in the family chapel before breakfast. Although neither Hermione nor Draco were particularly religious, they willingly submitted to the tradition of the times. They spent the morning in the drawing room adding decorations to the Christmas tree, including enchanted baubles and setting loose a number of fairies to flutter through the branches. They didn't eat lunch, instead they had a magnificent Christmas feast later in the afternoon. The centrepiece to the feast was a boar's head, cooked and decorated with a lemon in his mouth. Hermione couldn't quite see the appeal, but apparently it was a festive tradition that the richer members of society tended to follow.
Christmas celebrations continued all the way through to Twelfth Night. Every day included a feast and a party; some days they joined Charles and his court at White Hall, and on others Alara entertained various members of society in her own home. At every party which Alara hosted Henry Morgan was always invited, he attended most of them and before long Hermione and Draco were well on their way to being good friends with the Captain.
Another part of the custom that differed to what Hermione and Draco were familiar with was the giving of gifts at New Year, as opposed to on Christmas Day. The first day of January was therefore another family affair, and spent at home. The three of them breakfasted at their usual time, and then spent the morning in the family drawing room, exchanging gifts on the rug by the hearth, basking in the warmth of the fire.
Alara's gifts to them were of a practical sort: She presented Hermione with her clothing more suitable for her upcoming adventures. It was a full outfit of men's breeches and coat, with a white shirt, that had all been tailored to fit a woman's curves.
"Henry did say you would need an alternative wardrobe for on board, I thought these would be a good start," Alara smiled.
"They're perfect, thank you,"
"After luncheon we can try them on, make sure they fit properly, and perhaps create some duplicates," Alara suggested, to which Hermione nodded with a grin.
Alara's gift to Draco was a luxurious leather bound journal, along with a handsome eagle feather quill and a pot of refillable ink.
"I thought this little adventure of yours, that you've stumbled into, might be something you would like to document, in the Malfoy way," She smiled, before expanding her explanation a little for Hermione's benefit. "Journaling is a bit of a Malfoy pastime, that has apparently survived the generations. They're all enchanted to withstand the test of time, and of course they're impervious to water," she added, turning back to Draco. I have one more gift for you, for both of you, which I think will be useful in your journeys from here."
Alara handed them a palm sized, sturdy, mahogany box, which hung from a think leather cord. Draco lifted the lid, as Hermione peered over his shoulder, to reveal a compass whose needle was spinning madly as though North was nowhere to be found. The face of the compass was also off kilter, and unfixed unlike a regular compass; instead of sitting square at the top, North was currently positioned at the bottom left hand corner, and when Draco moved the box North continued to re-position itself so that it was pointing to Draco's left side.
"I enchanted it myself," Alara explained. "The needle doesn't point North, like an ordinary compass. The dial will always position itself to show the correct directions – North will always point to North, South will always point to South – but the needle will always point to wherever, or whatever, you want to find. You just have to think of it, ask the compass with your mind, and it will direct the holder to what they seek."
"This is amazing," Hermione breathed, taking the compass from Draco. She began to think of random things and places, watching in fascination as the compass pointed in various directions – White Hall was somewhere West North West of her current position, but the best wine in the house was stored somewhere to the South East.
"Well, if one of us ever gets captured, or lost, at least we know the other can find and rescue us," Hermione joked.
"What if the person who gets captured is the one with the compass?" Draco smirked.
"Then you'll be able to find the way to escape," Hermione grinned back at him.
"Wait, 'you'?" Draco repeated back to her with a frown. "Why am I the one being taken?"
"Because you're more hot-headed, and more likely to get into that kind of situation than I am."
"Henry has one like it," Alara continued, to stop the playful banter before it escalated as she had seen it do on occasion. "But I thought it would be beneficial for you to have one of your own, as I don't imagine you will continue to sail with him once you find Harriette."
A/N: Thanks for reading! It's been a little bit of a slow burner so far, but we're now getting to the real adventures of the story and I'm really excited to start properly writing, and fleshing out, the next parts of the story :)
I'll hopefully post again soon, thanks again for reading
xBx