A/N: Apologies for the delay! work and life is getting super crazy, but I am still persevering. I will not stop until this is finished.
Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and thanks for all my reviews! I really appreciate the feedback :) Enjoy the next chapter
Chapter VI
On the morning of January sixth, Hermione was in a tumult of emotions as she dressed; excitement, wariness, and trepidation were swirling inside her, tinged with the slightest of melancholy at the upcoming farewells. They had been here for three months now, and in that time Hermione had grown very fond of Alara – a feeling that was quite clearly mutual. But despite the almost sisterly affection she was coming to feel, she was also excited to begin the next part of their adventure; she was beginning to feel they had been frivolously idle for too long, and Hermione was ready to start making her way home. Albeit, in a very roundabout way.
Hermione's clothing was extremely plain compared to what she had become used to: She wore black pants that, although they were loose, flowed with the shape of her thighs, and bunched just below the knee. Her tailored coat was a dark tan – she had two more in her pack, one navy, the other crimson. Alara had insisted on her having something bright in her limited wardrobe, but Hermione thought they would perhaps be a bit too ostentatious for her first days on board. The shirt she wore underneath was white and was fitted to her form, over it she wore a modified corset that she, Alara, and the housemaid Sarah, had worked up together. Since being here, Hermione had gotten used to the restrictiveness of the undergarments of the time, and now found them comforting rather than burdensome. However, the standard corset, that held her from her breasts to down over her hips, was far too restricting for the activities she was intending to engage, although going without made her feel almost naked. And so, the three women had come up with an alternative corset, that would sit on top the shirt, similar to a gentleman's waistcoat. It was worn looser than normal, to allow more movement while still holding things in place, and it was also smaller: it sat around Hermione's mid-riff, cut to follow the curve the hips as opposed to covering them, and stopped just below the breasts, once again curving around and cupping around to offer support without restriction. When the style and fit had been perfected they had fashioned this new corset to better fit an outer garment, adjusting the colour and fabric so it was more reminiscent of a costume corset. Today she wore it in black, but she also had a crimson one in her pack. To finish, she wore black leather boots, that fit snug up her calf, lacing up along the back and coming to a cuff just below the knee. Her hair she magicked into a simple, tight, braid that curled over her right shoulder, keeping her curls in check and out of the way.
Finally dressed, she stowed her wand in her coat, pulled her pack over her shoulder, and descended to the breakfast room. The sense of exhilaration surged, with the knowledge that they were finally physically embarking on their journey to find a way back to their own time. But the feeling of sadness returned when she entered the breakfast room and took a seat beside Alara for what was most likely the final time.
At Hermione's entrance, Draco couldn't help but give an appreciative once-over of her attire; the look suited her greatly, and the tailoring of the clothes were a perfect fit to her body. They were dressed similarly – the only real difference being his lack of a corset – but there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione looked better in the costume than he did.
Breakfast was an almost sombre affair, though no one wanted to let that show. Soon enough, the final goodbye was upon them: Draco and Hermione made their way down the private jetty at the back of the estate, to take a boat down river to Billingsgate Dock, where Captain Morgan would be waiting. Alara came down with them, to say goodbye at the riverside.
"Give this to Harrie, when you see her," Alara instructed, placing a scroll in Hermione's hands. "I'll send her an owl of course, telling her to expect you, but this has more information I would not trust sending by owl post."
"I will make sure it is read by no one, but her," Hermione smiled, before embracing Alara. "Thank you for everything you have done for us, since we arrived."
"It has been my pleasure," Alara smiled feelingly. "Enjoy your adventure, and if you happen to return to England before you return home, there will always be a place for you here."
Alara then said her goodbyes to Draco, whispering something to him that Hermione couldn't hear but that made Draco frown in confusion for a moment. Alara simply responded with a knowing smirk, and then sent them both off down river into the unknown with only general words of farewell.
Billingsgate docs were a hive of activity as they sailed in, and the Oxford was already in early bustle of a trader preparing to depart. Hermione and Draco received a few interested glances as they made their way up the gangway, in between the barrels being rolled up onto deck, where they presented themselves to Henry who was stood by the open cargo-hold, overseeing the loading.
Henry gave Hermione a quick look up and down as she and Draco approached, and was unable to hold back a partly amused, partly exasperated, laugh.
"Well, it's more practical than a dress, I'll give you that," Henry chuckled in lieu of a greeting, and Hermione frowned.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Hermione defended. "I'm dressed like a man-"
"You are not dressed like a man," Henry interrupted laughingly. "You may be wearing men's clothes, but you are not dressed like a man. My crew are a credible, and gentlemanlike, sort for the most part, but even so - Thompson!" He called out, before Hermione could argue more, or question his final remark.
A young lad, who looked to be about fifteen, came over to them. He did a bit of a double-take when he saw Hermione, realising upon closer inspection that she was a woman, but he never said anything about the oddity.
"This is Alaric Malfoy, and Anamaria Granger, they'll be joining us for the voyage. Show them to the crew's quarters, please," Henry directed the lad, before turning back to Hermione and Draco. "Grab a bed, stow your packs, then return to deck to help with the loading."
Before the others could respond Henry turned back to the barrels, a large pile now gathered on the netting, and began directing their hoisting and moving down into the cargo hold. Hermione and Draco followed young Thompson in silence, below decks and down into the crew quarters. The crew quarters took up most of the lower deck to the stern: there were a few berths along the side of room, built up against the side of the ship, but most beds appeared to be hammocks slung across the room. Hermione managed to nab one of the last remaining free bunks, and claimed it as her own by stowing her pack in the netted hold-all tacked to the wall next to the mattress. She frowned, however, when Draco crammed his own pack in with hers.
"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded. "Get your own bunk."
"No," Draco said simply and quietly. On their way below decks, while Hermione had seemed to be oblivious to the looks she received, Draco had not been. Although Henry had commented about his crew being gentlemanly, the looks in some of their eyes as they watched Hermione pass had hinted at thoughts that were anything but.
"No?" Hermione repeated, her eyebrows raised. "This is a single bed, barely big enough for one. When we first got here, you bitched about sharing a bed big enough for at least half a dozen people with room to spare. Why the sudden need to cosy up?"
"Not now," Draco said carefully and quietly, in sombre seriousness. Hermione frowned at him, slightly concerned.
"Alaric, what…?" She started, but Draco shook his head and interrupted her.
"We're betrothed, we'll share a bunk," he persisted quietly. "End of discussion."
Hermione let it drop; he had that stubborn set to his jaw and glint in his eye that meant this was something he would never be backing down from, at least not right now.
"Malfoy," Henry called out when he saw them back on deck. "There are still more barrels that need rolling up, jump down and help with that. Granger, these crates here-" he indicated to the collection gathered off to his right, "-need taking into my quarters, and putting into my private stores. Here," he tossed her a key from his belt. "I'll want that back when you're done."
Hermione nodded and turned to the pile he had pointed out. Casting a wary glance around to make sure everyone was too busy to pay her any mind, she surreptitiously took out her wand and quickly enchanted the crates to feel feather light. Ever vigilant, Henry had spotted the movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he saw Hermione lift one of the heavier ones with ease he chuckled.
"At least try to feign some exertion," he joked to her. "They are supposed to be heavy, after all."
"Relax," Hermione smirked back. "It's not like I'm carrying one under each arm."
It took another hour to finish loading and securing the cargo, and then the real work began. On the journey from Alara's, the bitter cold of an English January morning had settled into their bones, their coats doing little to keep the chills at bay, and by the time they had reached the Oxford their fingers and toes were numb. But the manual labour of the last hour had helped to bring some feeling back, their chill had begun to thaw, and the next few hours made them forget about the cold altogether.
No one was ever still for a moment; everyone had their job to do as the crew prepared the vessel for departure and they began to pull out from their dock. Captain Morgan was at the helm, keeping course, and shouting orders, which were then shouted down from man to man across the deck.
At first it was a confusing din, as their shouting and orders mingled with those of other crews along the docks, but Hermione and Draco soon managed to block out the other ships' ruckus and focus solely on the commands coming from aboard their own.
The raising of the anchor was a mammoth task, which took several crew to coordinate, while the rest climbed up the rigging to release the sails. When the anchor was secured, those on deck moved in to take up the halyards and begin hoisting the sails into position.
The tide and the wind eased the galleon into motion, and by noon they were edging along the Thames at a steady pace. They had barely got going when the entire crew seemed to slow in their movements. When Hermione looked out over to the port side, she began to understand why.
They were sailing past gallows set on the riverbank, where three hanged men, in various stages of decay, were swaying softly in the breeze. The creak of the rope, and the soft clink of the frozen corpses made when they knocked together, carried over to the ship, despite the other sounds of day-to-day life on the Thames.
"Prospect of Whitby execution dock," one of the crew explained to her and Draco. "Named for the public house there. Pirates, smugglers, and mutineers – that's who they hand here. Left out as a reminder to us all of what will befall us if we stray too far off-course."
There was something in his voice, and his quick glance at the captain, that made Hermione confident that Henry had already started crossing that fine line between privateer and buccaneer. Hermione never said a word, but a chill crept down her spine that had nothing to do with the winter frost; she was suddenly very aware of just how dangerous this adventure of theirs could potentially turn out to be. One misstep – one case of mistaken identity, in the wrong place at the wrong time – and that could be her body swinging in the breeze.
"You see it a lot around the ports in the Caribbean," the sailor – Hermione was yet to learn his name – was saying, oblivious to her chilling realisation. "At least here they're frozen so the smell doesn't get to you." He gave an involuntary shiver at the memory of the said aroma, before moving off to secure a rope that had come loose.
Meandering out of the Thames was a long and arduous process that took all the daylight. As dusk began to settle, lanterns were lit all around the deck, as well as below, and the Captain's cabin was illuminated by flickering candlelight. Hermione was then given the command to assist the ships cook, Billy Peterson, down in the galley to prepare tonight's supper. While this job did not particularly suit her taste, she didn't argue and went below decks without a fuss, where she was given the mundane task of peeling potatoes. She picked up the small knife slightly disgruntled – this would be so much easier and quicker with a wand but, given Henry's warning over Christmas, Hermione didn't want to risk doing magic in front of muggles despite the fact she was slowly getting used to living without the restrictions of the Statute of Secrecy.
Meanwhile, Draco remained on deck. The Thames was beginning to widen out now, as they began entering the estuary, which made manoeuvring through the traffic slightly easier. Once out to sea, Henry relinquished the helm to another member of the crew, who kept a handful of men to assist with the navigations, but the rest were now free to move below and partake in supper.
The atmosphere among the crew shifted now; the hardest part of the day was done, and people began to relax into a slower routine. As of yet, Hermione and Draco were still unknown members of the crew, and so the dinner conversation was mainly a myriad of questions directed primarily to Draco. Hermione tried her best to force herself into the conversation, but she could tell many were uncomfortable having a woman on board – being accepted into the crew was going to be an uphill battle it would seem.
There was more work to be done after supper, but it was more relaxed than before. The crew began to settle back for the night; small groups formed and the later hours passed by playing games of dice and cards, and drinking rum or hot wine to keep the chills at bay.
Hermione and Draco were the first to return below decks, both were too exhausted to talk and the chill was starting to creep back into their bones. Hermione removed her coat and hung it on the post at the head of the berth. She removed her wand from its pocket and placed it under the pillow, before removing her corset with a satisfying sigh, kicking of her boots, and climbing under the blanket to seek a respite from the cold. She was too tired to protest when Draco motioned for her to move over and make room for him to join her, his body heat a welcome addition against the winter chill. There were a few moments of awkward fidgeting, accompanied by the odd dissatisfied grunt, before Draco finally spoke with a defeated sigh.
"There really isn't room for us to sleep like this."
"Told you so," Hermione smirked. "Get your own bed."
"No," Draco remained stubborn. "We'll spoon – you be little spoon. It's the only way we're both going to get some sleep."
Hermione sighed, but acquiesced. Draco had that tone that meant he wasn't going to change his mind, and Hermione was too tired to argue, not to mention appreciative of the warmth he was providing. She rolled to her left and Draco sidled up behind her, more awkward fidgeting ensued as Draco tried to get comfy with his left arm sandwiched between them. He tentatively put his right arm over Hermione, effectively hugging her to him.
"Sorry," he mumbled awkwardly. "Is this ok?"
"It's fine," Hermione said, trying not to laugh at his sudden uneasiness, as she shuffled to fit comfortably into him. "Your ice-cold feet on mine, however, is not."
"They'll warm up in five minutes," Draco defended, sounding more normal as they quickly descended back into their usual bickering.
"Yeah, only because you will have drained my warmth," Hermione countered. "And are you going to explain now? Why you were so adamant about sharing a tiny bed?"
Draco was thoughtful for a moment, and then gave a long sigh.
"You didn't see the way the crew were looking at you all day," he started carefully. "I know Morgan said they're a gentlemanly lot, but from the looks in their eyes I can assure you the thoughts they were having about you were certainly not gentlemanly, and very far from honourable."
Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, they've just spent a month on dry land – no doubt they've spent almost every night in a brothel. I'm certain many, if not all, of their dishonourable urges have been well taken care of."
"Exactly!" Draco hissed. "Which means they've become accustomed to have those urges tended to on a regular basis, and now they are going without. They boarded this morning with the idea they would be going days, weeks, months even, without the possibility of a woman to enjoy. And then they discover there is a woman on board – a very attractive woman,"
"I can take care of myself," Hermione interrupted, ignoring the urge to tease him about finding her attractive.
"I know you can," Draco soothed. "I am well aware of just how capable you are of defending yourself – that's not the point. The point is, you shouldn't have to. I'm not doing this because I think you can't take care of yourself, I'm doing this to prevent you from needing to. And anyway, if tomorrow is going to be anything like today, then we are going to need to be fully rested. We need a good night's sleep – something neither of us will get if we're both half-awake all night making sure no one tries anything…dishonourable."
They were both quiet then; Draco had nothing more to say on the matter, and Hermione was a little uncertain on how to respond. They had become fairly protective of each other during their years as partners, but this seemed different somehow - as if there was more than simple comradery at play, like they were edging closer to crossing some sort of line that would leave friendship behind; toying with the line between the fact and fiction of their cover story of why they travelled together. And this wasn't entirely a new sensation; ever since they had begun to settle into this time, since they had been travelling to London with Alara and King Charles, there had been a sense that their dynamic had been slowly shifting.
Hermione sighed, and gently settled back against Draco as she began to relax into sleep, the last of the tension leaving her body. She moved a hand to rest on his that was wrapped around her, giving him a gentle hug.
"Thank you," She whispered, with a small smile. "Thank you for defending my honour – not that I need it, but thank you."
Draco smiled into her hair, "goodnight, Annamaria."
They were awoken next morning by the ringing of a bell, calling all crew to attention, before the sun had even risen.
Hermione made a disgruntled groan and instinctively huddled closer to the source of warmth, before she fully realised what that source was. Draco made a similar disgruntled noise, and instinctively tightened his arms around Hermione as she huddled closer. During the night, they had shifted in the sleep and were now facing each other, legs entwined and huddled close.
"It's the middle of the night," Draco grumbled.
"I think it's nearer dawn," Hermione countered.
"It's dark."
"Yes," Hermione agreed. "And cold."
There was a moment of silence, as the final vestiges of sleep left them and a sudden awareness of their current position dawned upon them. Both tensed slightly, and each felt the other's response which only heightened the sense of awkwardness. They slowly began to disentangle themselves from each other, until Draco suddenly froze.
"We're moving a lot," he realised, sounding uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with their sleeping position and Hermione looked up at him with a frown.
"We're sailing - please don't tell me you get seasick," she said warily.
"Ok," he said carefully. "I won't."
"Time to get up," Hermione said suddenly, losing any sense of lingering awkwardness and nudging Draco towards the edge of their berth, praying he wouldn't vomit all over her. She softened slightly as a sudden lurch of the ship made Draco pale even more. "You'll feel better once you get up on deck – fresh air and open space, it will help a lot."
It turned out that getting up on deck didn't make Draco feel any better; they were sailing through the heart of the English Channel, and progress was being hampered by the onset of a winter storm. They had slept through the beginnings of it, but now that they were awake the not so gentle rolling of the ship as it was tossed about on the waves was starting to take its toll on some of the newer sailors.
Draco rallied for a while when the first hit of cold wind and rainy mist cooled and refreshed him. He responded to the shouts from the crew, and assisted with the tightening and releasing of various lines as they tried to keep a steady course amidst the tempest. Not long after dawn, however, he made his way toward the stern where one of the youngest boys, on his first sail, was also feeling the effects of the storm and was currently experiencing lasts night's meal in reverse.
Hermione watched him go with a mixture of sympathy and amusement, but didn't follow; the winds were picking up, the rain becoming a torrent, and the swells were steadily worsening, tossing the ship with a ferocity that even made some of the more experienced sailors pale for a moment. Most all hands were needed on deck, but she was soon sent below decks to assist with re-securing the cargo loads, a task she wasn't overly-overjoyed with as going back below would make the seasickness, she had begun to feel, a whole lot worse. But she was in no position to argue; as a new crew member, not to mention a woman, she had a lot to prove and was determined to do everything she was asked to do.
By the time she returned to the deck, she was considerably paler than before but had so far managed not to be physically sick, and the cold wind helped revitalise her a little. The winds had eased and the rain had reduced from a torrent to gentle patter, but the sea was still rough.
Hermione looked about for Draco, and found him still leaning over the side of the ship, his complexion greener and sallower than it had been at dawn. She came to stand beside him and leaned back nonchalantly against the railing, as he took a series of deep breaths.
"You do not look good."
"You don't need to sound so amused," Draco croaked.
"I'm sorry, you're right, it's not funny," She consoled him, while trying to stop from smiling. "You just need to find your sea legs; and this is quite rough weather – you're not the only one feeling squeamish."
"How are you not squeamish?"
"My uncle has a tall ship – nothing compared to this of course, much smaller. But I spent almost every summer out on the water growing up. I missed a few trips during Hogwarts when I started spending the holidays with Harry and Ron, but I got back out there over the last few years. I'm used to it. But days like this still makes my stomach churn sometimes," she informed him.
The ship gave a sudden lurch as they hit a particularly big swell, causing Draco to groan and lean further over the side. Hermione patted his arm sympathetically, waiting for her own wave of nausea to pass before speaking.
"Is there a spell to help with this? Please tell me you know a spell," Draco begged, and Hermione tried not to laugh.
"There is no spell, but I'm certain there is a potion. When we next make port, I'll find an apothecary and I will get you the potion. And the ingredients, so we can make more if we need it," She added as an afterthought.
"You don't even know where we're going to dock, how are you going to find the magical quarter?" Draco argued. It seemed illness made him petulant.
Hermione thought for a second, and then smirked when her eyes alighted upon the compass hanging at his waist.
"With this," she declared, snatching up the compass, and swinging it teasingly in front of him. "It will point me in the right direction. I'll take it now, and keep it with me - It seems I'll have more use for it."
"Why do you get it? Who says you'll use it more than me?" Draco sulked.
"Because the only direction you need to be concerned with right now, is the best one in which to vomit," Hermione said bluntly. "And that's pretty much self-explanatory."
Draco looked at her with as much as a deadpan expression as he could while trying to swallow down the urge to vomit. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," Hermione laughed, and pushed herself off from the railing. "The worst is over now, you'll feel better in no time," she called over her shoulder as she moved off to offer her services wherever they might be needed.
The storm abated by the middle of the afternoon, and although the waves were still a little higher than normal, it was relatively smooth sailing for the rest of the day. Come sundown, Hermione was once more sent below to assist Peterson with dinner preparations, something she hoped was not going to become a regularity.
Once out into the Celtic Sea, they steered a course down into the Bay of Biscay towards their first port of call. It took another full day and night before they laid anchor down in Bilbao, in the early dawn.
They only spent a day here, and so almost all remained on board throughout the night so that they could be ready to depart at first light. The day at port was as much of a bustle as that first morning back in London, with cargo to be unloaded for sale and trade, and further cargo to be loaded as well as their provisions to be topped up. This was to be their shortest voyage, from here on out they would be at sea for weeks, potentially months at a time, as they made their way further south before heading out across the Atlantic and into the Caribbean.
The further south they travelled, the milder and longer the days became. Draco was no longer seasick – he was slowly becoming accustomed to the rolling of the deck, and on those slightly rougher days he cured his nausea with the promised potion Hermine had managed to track down in Bilbao. Once they were out in open water, keeping course was relatively easy, which resulted in much more down time for the crew; Hermione was slowly getting to know her companions, and the more they saw her work, they began to respect her more and distrust her less.
Captain Morgan, however, was a little harder to win over. So far, he had had her down in the galley every day – morning and evening – assisting with preparing breakfast and supper. If she had an affinity for cooking, Hermione wouldn't have minded, but she took little enjoyment form the pastime, and couldn't help but be annoyed as every other crew member seemed to rotate through kitchen duties.
"Granger!" Henry called her over from where she had been hoisting up buckets of water. Hermione pulled the bucket up over the rail and handed it off to Thompson. She moved off to see what the Captain needed of her.
"We haven't had much conversation since London," Henry noted.
"No sir," Hermione agreed. Henry usually ate in his cabin, and spent most of his evenings in there with his first-mate, William Shaw, going over the headings, or going over the accounts and stores with Jack Cotter, the ship's purser. As such, he didn't often drink and gamble with the crew.
"Are you settling into the crew well? – you seem to be adapting to life on board fairly well."
"Would you say I'm exceeding your expectations?" Hermione grinned, remembering their wager. Henry narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but the corners of his mouth were tugging up into a reluctant smile that he tried desperately to hide. Hermione laughed.
"This is not my first time on a ship," Hermione admitted to him.
"So it would seem," Henry agreed. "It will be coming close to sunset soon, in an hour you will need to go below to give Peterson your assistance-"
"No," Hermione said before she could stop herself. "I mean no disrespect, Captain, but I am the only other member of the crew who is given this duty every damn day. I don't mind rotating in and doing my share, but please don't send me back down there again for at least a week! Just because I'm a woman, you think I should be in the kitchen? I hate the kitchen, I despise cooking. I am much more capable of any other task you could give me."
There was a moment of silence; those closest to her looked on warily, wondering how the Captain would take this act of insubordination. Hermione swallowed nervously, realising she may have overstepped the mark greatly, and suddenly remembered Henry's warning of what should happen if she proved to be more trouble than she was worth.
"Please?" she added sweetly, hoping to make her rant seem less obstinate.
"You want something else to do? Fine," Henry spoke calmly after a while. "Why don't you go and relieve Anderson."
"I would be happy to," Hermione said with a relieved smile. She started to turn, and then stopped. "Just one question, where will I find Anderson?"
Henry gave a tiny, almost playful smile. "The crow's nest."
"Excellent," Hermione continued to smile, masking her sudden nerves.
She turned away and strode purposefully towards the tallest mast, where she lithely bounded onto the rigging and clambered up towards the crow's nest. She had watched in awe a few times, when she had seen others of the crew taking up their lookout position, and she prayed she was making her ascent look just as effortless.
"You didn't think she'd do it, did you?" Shaw said to Henry as they watched her climb steadily to the top, never looking down.
"I wasn't sure," Henry admitted. "But I thought she might have at least protested. Or fainted halfway up. She's surprisingly more cable than I anticipated. And stubborn. I'll admit, I'm surprised and impressed. She has exceeded my expectations," he muttered. "Damn."
Hermione didn't look down the entire climb, and while the dizzying height was causing her stomach to churn ever so slightly, the views from up on high made any discomfort more than worth it.
"What are you doing up here?" Jon Anderson asked, clearly perplexed. He was one of the younger ones, around Hermione's age, and had been one of the first to accept Hermione as another crew member. He had begun spending a fair amount of their down time with Hermione and Draco, and they were on the way to becoming very good friends.
"I'm here to relieve you."
Jon looked at her shrewdly for a moment, and then his face cracked into a wide grin.
"What did you do?" he teased her, as he helped her into the nest.
"Nothing!" Hermione defended. "What makes you think I did anything?"
"I'm on lookout until dusk, when Charlie was supposed to relieve me. Henry wouldn't have sent you up here, unless he was trying to make a point."
"I may have refused to do something," Hermione admitted, causing Jon to give a bark of laughter.
"No one tells the Captain 'no'."
"Well, I just did," Hermione countered. "Very respectfully of course. But I refused to spend another night cooking – I hate cooking. I think he sent me up here with the idea I wouldn't even make it a third of the way up."
"Well, you proved him wrong."
"Yes, I did. I don't know when I'll be allowed down though. Or how to get down, come to think it," Hermione frowned.
"Watch and learn," Jon grinned, handing her a spyglass before swinging over into the rigging. "Enjoy the view!"
Hermione watched carefully, taking notes as he swung himself down using the ropes knowing she would have to attempt a similar feat in a few hours' time. She then sighed and settled in for the long haul.
The sounds of a working ship were a relaxing hum from up here, and the view was beyond anything she had ever experienced: the ocean stretched out before her to the ends of the earth in every direction. She had never felt so small, but it was in the best way possible. They were currently sailing west and so she had a spectacular view of the sunset they were sailing into; Hermione had seen a fair few beautiful sunsets on the voyage so far, but viewing from up high was certainly the best way to view it. She smiled watching the sun sink lower, bathing the horizon in a fiery golden glow, that slowly burned redder as the sky behind her blackened and the stars began to shine. Light began to flicker from below as the ship's lanterns were lit, and a serene sense of contentment settled over her; she was determined to find her way home, but if in the end they didn't succeed, she could think of many worse places to live out the rest of her life.