A/N: Sorry to the people who've already read this. Fanfiction has been a bit weird lately, but I think it's all sorted now :)

Chapter Four: Stuck in the middle of nowhere

She was blanketed in darkness. Hermione didn't know which way was up or down. Only that she was not meant to be here and something was horrifically wrong.

As if the dark was aware she was awake; a light from the heavens broke through, causing Hermione to shield her eyes in pain. By the time she had lowered her hands, her mind was in total array. Her mother. Chained to a chair, her head bowed whilst a white spotlight pinned her to her seat.

"Mother?"

Her short gasp echoed through the blankness, and then there was another brighter spotlight glaring upon her. Eveline looked up with vindication; her sunken cheeks accentuating her narrow cheekbones. Her wild, crazy eyes searched wildly through the darkness, until they vengefully found her fixed to the spot, mouth agape and tears streaming down her face.

"You!" she spat. "You killed me!"

Hermione could feel her bones trembling in fear. She had never seen her mother look so caged; angry and hostile towards her. " I..I..."

"You killed her!"

The furious voice sent Hermione spinning around in panic, and she gulped as her father stepped forward out of nothingness, his normally sharp brown eyes a distant blur. And then hundreds of voices were crowding in; fighting over each other to be heard but yet no-one dared to step into the light. Almost as if they preferred the dark, where they could lurk for the rest of eternity.

"You might as well as put the noose around her neck-"

"Or slid a dagger deep into her guts-"

"Let a bloodletter gouge out her eyes-"

"Such pain-"

"Misery-"

"She should have let you die instead of letting you suckle-"

"Weakened her-"

"Such hatred everytime she saw you-"

"STOP!"

By the time Hermione had let her eyes snap open from her nightmare, it was too late. She could feel her lower eyelashes coated with teary droplets as she rubbed her eyes furiously.

For a while, she lay in the darkness so uncannily like the one in the dream. Logically, Hermione knew her mother hadn't been ill because she had given birth to her daughter but rather the weakened immune system after it. Just three short years after Hermione's birth, her mother had caught scarlet fever and although it had passed soon after, the side effects had left her body vulnerable to violent aftershocks.

Sometimes she had been strong enough to go out- but on others she had been barely strong enough to go to the lavatory pot.

Hermione sniffled as she tucked her hands under her right cheek. They had all known. Eveline Granger's cards were marked as soon as she started vomiting blood. But somehow she had hung on- even if just to welcome Hermione home when she crept into her room past sunset. Or to kiss Hermione's muddied forehead when she lent over the bed, so Eveline didn't have to lean up.

It was just her dreams. All her insecurities and doubts playing havoc on her mind. She knew all those voices were not true, but yet every single one had been a blow to her system.

Hermione stiffened when she heard the creak of a door, and the heavy clods of boots. Was her father and Jack still out there? What time was it? Shambles, she hadn't meant to fall asleep! The whole purpose of hiding in the cargo box was to hide from her father (and Jack) until the coast was clear.

Hermione settled down again, as she tucked her head into the hollow of her bent elbow. Now all she had to do was wait for the door to close....

She sat up so abruptly that her head banged against the lid of the box, having forgotten it was low in the first place. She cursed, whilst her frantic thoughts threatened to keel her over in shock. The cargo box had been outside when she climbed in, without a hint of a door for miles around. So why was a door creaking open when theoretically there was no door to speak off?

"What was that?!"

The sudden hiss made Hermione clutch to her high horses, rubbing her head from the swollen bruise no-doubtedly itching to break through her skull.

The other voice, however, was definitely not a hiss."What was what? Lighten up Blaise my boy, and come have a bottle of rum with me!" Instead it boomed and galloped around the room in such heartiness and good cheer that Hermione almost felt like breaking out a bottle of wine. Not that she knew how it tasted like.

"Sssh! I definitely heard something!"

For a while, tense silence filled the room before another hearty cheer broke the peace. "Blaise! I know you take the responsibilities of a quartermaster very seriously- but lighten up, my dear boy! Have a bottle of rum!"

Hermione's ear was practically plastered to the wall, when a short bark of pain followed the offer of good-will.

"You will not, Crabbe," the voice identified as Blaise hissed, " Offer a bottle of rum to the quartermaster! To anybody in fact... including yourself. Everything in this ship is to be shared, you hear? And if I catch you sneaking of for some shut-eye or brandy during your hours of duty, the next punishment will be much worse than cutting of a lock of hair-"

Hermione gulped. Apparently only Blaise knew the secret to cutting off a lock of hair in the most painful manner possible. Either that or "Crabbe" had the sensitivity of an elephant's foot.

"Do. You. Understand?"

Crabbe's voice no longer sounded jovial or pleasant. Instead he sounded down-right scared and quivering to his boots. "No sir, I mean, yes sir, I understand my next punishment will be more worse than cutting my hair although," he hastily backtracked. "I'm not in any rush to find out what it is-"

"Good."

Uh-oh. If Hermione's ears serviced her correctly, then she was on a SHIP!! With loud, obnoxious, possibly sweaty men...This was not good. This was as far away from the country one could get. She had to get out of the ship before it left the dock! England was her home and country. Somehow the idea of being suspended on thick, ravaging rapids with no land underneath to keep her rooted, made Hermione panic more than it should of. The earlier nightmare, now firmly and surely pushed to the back of her mind.

A new one had just rather unfortunately, replaced it.

Blaise left shortly after and after counting to a hundred and twenty-nine, Crabbe had got up and lumbered off to. Now Hermione was left to her lonesome in a turmoil of thoughts.

"Alright," she spoke loudly to herself, confident that nobody outside would be able to hear. "Think the best route of plan, Hermione. Imagine you're six again and you want to escape enemy terrority. What would I do to win the game?"

Hermione thought for a while, before clicking her fingers abruptly. " Map out the frontlines of my foe!" she muttered, before banging her forehead against her palm. "If only this were a child's game!"

After finally plucking enough courage to peek out of her bedding place, Hermione slowly raised the lid of the box upward an inch, to leave enough room for her eyes to pick out the musky semi-darkness of her prison. There was barrels. Dozens and dozens of them. All packed neatly together in a civilised fashion. There were three coils of thick rope, thicker than her wrist even thrown uphazardly on the wooden planks that were nailed to the floor.

Although the room seemed in heavy usuage, with mutilpe foot tracks stretching the entire gridlock like a massive spider web, the dust on the untarnished parts of the floor proved how unclean the entire room was. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if there was a dead rat or two in all this medlam.

That thought was enough to make Hermione to jump out of the crate and high-tail it to the exit of the room. From there the sound was obvious. She could hear crew members bustling about and in the loud din, could just make out raised voices. There was a set of navy blue clothes folded up neatly on the floor, looking like it were placed there yesterday, but the thin coating of dust proved otherwise.

She kicked it angrily, wondering how on earth she could have slept through the process of the cargo box being transported from the bay onto ship. She was normally such a light-sleeper! This situation was definitely queer.

" I think I'm going to be sea-sick!" the startled voice of a particular person sent Hermione into a flurry of motion. She jumped back from the closed wooden door with such speed and agility that she nearly tripped over a coil of rope. The voice had been closer than to her position then she would've liked, somewhere on the otherside of the door.

She plastered herself against the wall beside the door and shut her eyes in nausea.

"Theo, you vex my nerves. Why become a man of the sea if you hate it so much?!"

Theo, whoever he was, must have been extremely paranoid because he immediately retorted with, "Hush, he might hear! He'll not hesistate in killing and throwing me aboard if he doubted my sea-worthiness. We're headed to France! The last thing I want is to die a lonely death in the British Chanel- The British are so hostile to where we can die..."

Hermione would have laughed, if she hadn't felt a bout of dizziness overwhelm her. France? British Chanel? God forbid...they weren't actually adrift, were they?

" Theo, stop with your skulduggery. We're both British. If you die in the British Chanel, then I'll give you my blessing. Now where the hell is that minion of a cook? And to think we share our loot with him!"

The friendly banter between the faceless pair was enough to stop the queasiness churning through her stomach. But even their playful jokes could not stop the feeling of dread enveloping her brain. So she was in a merchandising ship, headed to France. And there was a very good chance that below the sturdy floor, lay galleons and galleons of sea water.

The thought was enough to bring her to her knees.

The one called Theo exclaimed, " I have not seen him since we set voyage yesterday morning! That greedy bastard. He's probably holed in his cabin, enjoying his eggs whilst we starve out here like homing pigeons."

Homing pigeons? Hermione's mouth hung in a small O. Where did the Lord have the patience to make such idiotic men? Homing pigeons? Were they not well-fed and used as message carriers? It seemed even she knew more knowledge than men designated to work on a merchandising ship! The prospect of stepping outside and facing the unknown pair, was enough to make Hermione pause for thought.

Perhaps it was not a wise idea to announce her presence and demand to turn this ship around at once....She should stay put for a while and listen...

Yes, listen...

"Food. Mmpgh, what I wouldn't give for a pot roast." she could almost imagine the man biting his knuckles in sexual need. "And do you know the perfect person to feed me it?"

Hermione was curious, despite herself, for the answer. The answer however was enough to clap a hand around her mouth.

"Your mamma?" Theo supplied.

"NO! You scrawny thing! I mean a harlot! One who would let me lift up her dress and spank her buttocks the night away..." He started laughing, and repulsively Theo joined in as Hermione's eyes hardened in disgust. Men. They were all the same. Down to every single last one on the planet.

"Yes!" Theo snorted, as Hermione backed away from the door. But however far she went; the words still seemed to follow her, like poison. "What I wouldn't give for a woman--any woman--to while the night away...For me to lie there as she takes me whole into her throat--" The excitement faded away, much to Hermione's relief, to only replaced by an almost regretful tone.

"Shame about captain rules though...No women aboard, hey? Why he must have been a depraved, depraved child to not let us transgress one measly little rule--"

This time, it was the other one besides Theo who was doing the shushing. " If he hears you, you will die! Blaise, that little muppet of his, will only too happily hand us over to the devil..."

The idea of exiting the cabin seemed all but a distant possibility now. And by listening to the conversation of two sexually depraved crew-members, it was obvious to why, in Hermione's mind.

A/N: A HUGE thanks to Saige and .Poisoned Scarlet. You both brought up the same issue that made me nod in agreement.

My issue with semi-colons.

First of all, I'm aware I seem to be having some type of love affair with semi-colons. Sorry about that. I just find them so addicting to put in *looks contrite*

I've been strict with myself for this chapter (in using sc's). PLEASE comment back and tell me if it's a job well-done or if some finetuning is needed. If the response is postive, I'll go ahead and re-edit the earlier chapters. If not, then I guess I need a beta- pronto (ish). much love ~ ink-wells