Hello and welcome to the proper sequel to Breaking the Window! It's been a long time in the writing, and I apologize for the many delays. However, it's now done and fully written out from start to finish. Though the later chapters still need a bit of tweaking, I am confident that this will not get in the way of the usual weekly posting schedule. It'll be another long-form story, with 31 chapters, though the chapters are generally longer on average than the original Breaking the Window chapters were.

Expedition to Hyperborea is a direct sequel to the original Breaking the Window story, and it picked up the story mostly where it left off. As such, there are load of references to the first story (as well as the Into the Hive interlude one-shot) so I cannot promise that you will be able follow everything if you haven't read that story first.

This story was a labour of love and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Breaking the window: Expedition to Hyperborea

Chapter 1: A letter arrives...

"Adventure is a curious beast. The thing about adventure is that is has tendency of finding you when you least expect it. You could be lazying about in bed all day when a letter arrives. And, even though you won't know it yet at the time, that letter could completely turn your life upside down. So, the question of finding adventure is less one of you seeking it out and more one of being able to recognize it when it happens to cross your path."

- Bellatrix Black, Expedition to Hyperborea, published 2006

The cloaked figure ran through the labyrinthine network of ice-caves, almost slipping ever so often. Their heavy clothing did little to keep out the biting cold. The lone survivor of their group, thanks to that infernal beast they hadn't expected to encounter, they were determined to see this through to the end.

Left. Right. Forward. All these tunnels looked the same. Cold, slippery and dark. A torch in their hand was a blessed relief, but the refracting light from the walls of ice was more detrimental than helpful. Where was that damn entrance?

A muffled road sounded far above and the entire tunnel system shook once more. The damn beast knew they were there and was trying to dig through the ice to get at them. By the sounds and tremors, it was fast succeeding. If only they could make it through before then…

Finally, the tunnels widened, giving way to a large and dark cistern. Their heart pounded in their chest with elation. This was it! This was the place! This is where they would find all the answers the order had been looking for! And it was all within their grasp.

Elation transformed into dread and disappointment when they slammed into a invisible wall, sending them falling backwards onto the icy floor and skidding along the tunnel until they came to a stop at the wall with a resounding thunk.

No.

NO!

They got up and slowly approached the invisible wall. Magic crackled through the air from their hand. A purplish barrier was revealed and they studied it for a while. The sheer amount of power this barrier had was unfathomable. They didn't even recognize the runes woven into the magic. Their heart sank even further as they realized it wasn't just one barrier, no, no, no, it was… one… two… three… even more? A multitude of barriers all interwoven into each other. They were likely looking at one if not the most secure magical barrier on this planet. They had suspected the place would be defended, but… this?! It would take them at least a week to even start to make a dent into one of those barriers, let alone the entire thing.

The tunnels shook again, more wildly this time. The roars sounded louder. The beast was getting closer.

Way things were, they wouldn't have an hour, let alone a week or longer. Cursing loudly, kicking against the ice while letting out a shout from the depths of their lungs to let out their frustration. To be so close, so very close, and then have to give up: it was beyond infuriating. They'd have to retreat. Avoid the beast during her flight and abandon the expedition. But they had to survive and try again. Bring their knowledge back to the order so they could all try again.

The tunnels shook once more. The scraping of claws on ice became far more apparent now. It was only a matter of time before the beast would be breaking through the very ceiling. They had to hurry.

The presence in the back of her head, always so demanding, was silent now. Almost as if it had suspected them to fail from the very start. They had no doubt that harsh punishments would be forthcoming.

But as they ran for dear life back to the entrance of the tunnels, they swore they would come back here to finish what they started. Even if it would be the last thing they would do.

Try and try again. Until it was done.

Hermione was making her daily rounds through her greenhouse at Catterborough Woodhouse. Unlike her Bellatrix, Hermione was much more of an early riser these days. And, why not? She loved the work she did, after all. She stopped for a moment and counted the number of orchids in the tropical section. Hm, six more had bloomed since yesterday morning. If this kept up, she could harvest the flower petals a few days earlier than expected. Hermione took note of this on her clipboard: that would be a fine job for her assistant Chris to handle.

Today would be a busy day. She'd have reports to write, seeds to catalogue, experiments to set up and herbology components to dry for pressing.

Hermione smiled as she walked through the greenhouse with her clipboard in hand, passing the many magically flowers and plants she had lovingly cultivated. Most from the Fae Realm. These days, at age twenty-four, Hermione had become an independent researcher in the field of herbology. She had published dozens of articles in international journals, contributed to a few field guides and her research had augmented the effectiveness of many a healing potion.

Hermione was respected. Celebrated, even. A far cry from the outcast she had been a mere… five years ago.

God, had it really been almost five years? Though she had not and would never forgive the Ministry for smearing her good name and belittling her role in one of the most terrible conflicts in wizarding history, her anger had faded over the years. After all, the best revenge was living well and, here at Catterborough Woodhouse, Hermione certainly did that every single day. Living in the lap of luxury with her beautiful girlfriend and soon-to-be wife was a better way of living that seething in anger over slights from the past.

After the monumental win in court finding the Ministry guilty of grand negligence, Hermione decided to strike while the iron was hot and launched a second lawsuit of her own for defamation due to the Ministry's year long smear campaign. This resulted in another monumental win. Though the money was nice to kickstart a few of her research projects, the huge court-ordered public apology both in the papers and on the wireless had been infinitely more satisfying. She'd even gone on InfoWizards with Bellatrix to boast about it, just to rub it into the Ministry's face even more.

As such, she had little to do with the Ministry these days, and that suited her fine.

Hermione always had a few research projects running and paced through the lower floor with a clipboard in hand. The stench-flowers were coming in very nicely and the charm she had put on the railings surrounding the patch did much to nullify the worst of the smell. If her theory was correct, ground up leaves from the stench-flowers could be used as part of an ointment to help deal with deadly poisonous bites from any creature.

A darkened patch near the end of the greenhouse's lower floor marked the location of her most recent success: she had been the first witch in the world to grow glowcaps in an artificial location. It had been a painstaking endurance run to find just the right levels of darkness, temperature and moisture to convince the glowcaps to grow, but she finally succeeded. The article she had written was currently being peer-reviewed by colleagues of Castelobruxo Wizarding School in Brazil. So far, they had managed to replicate her results by using her methods.

Of course, it helped that Hermione had a centrally regulated muggle watering system installed in the greenhouse. This had gone a long way in making maintaining the greenhouse much easier. Unfortunately, there was that one patch which had been claimed by Nymphadora, as the small sign which read 'KEEP OUT!' underneath a cartoonishly drawn skull and bones indicated. At the time when she first occupied the greenhouse, Hermione had no problems with Nymphadora claiming a small patch, but now it was irking Hermione to no end that a patch of prime real-estate that could be using growing rare Fae Realm plants was now being used to grow cannabis. Still, a promise was a promise.

A slight gust of a breeze brushed by her cheek as a tiny woman with butterfly wings brushed by her. She stopped writing, smiling as she watched the little woman go for a moment before flying up to the second floor.

Fairies. Oh god, Hermione loved fairies so much. And now they were right here, living in her very own greenhouse.

Some two years ago, there had been a particularly harsh winter and a colony of fairies had left the nearby forest to seek the warmth and safety of the greenhouse. In fact, they enjoyed it so much that they had decided to stay and had been here ever since. They lived in a small village they constructed out of twigs, dried leaves and assorted goods they found around the greenhouse. The village was located on the branches of the greenhouse's lone juniper tree. The colony of thirty-two fairies themselves required very little other than fresh clean water, cleaned up after themselves and were a lot better at pollinating her plants than any insects were. For one, the fairies could be instructed to pollinate certain plants at certain times and did so eagerly to earn their keep.

Hermione resumed her writing. At it turned out, there was no need to learn how to write with her left-hand: these days, she had gotten the hang of using her silver prosthetic with such finesse that it was almost as good as her missing hand. She did, however, have a tendency to wear a black velvet glove over it to avoid annoying questions. Still, 'getting the hang of it' was not the same as 'getting used to it'. Hermione put down her clipboard and removed her glove, revealing her glistening silver hand. She held it in front of her and studied it.

It didn't feel 'hers'.

In fact, it had no feeling at all. It moved just like a real hand, the liquid metal holding its shape. It looked just like her old hand had looked, down to the veins running along the back. It just… had no feeling. It was a cold, dead thing and she had never considered it a part of her. Even the phantom pain had gone. She supposed she should be grateful to have a hand at all, but she would never see it as nothing more than a magical prosthetic. Though Keeva, her therapist, had cautioned her against dwelling on the past, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if losing her hand had been the price of her hubris: when she had seen what Lestrange was about to do to her girlfriend, she had just lost it. In that moment, she was hyper-focused on revenge. For Bellatrix, yes, but moreso for herself and all she had suffered at his hands. Perhaps, if she hadn't been so distracted by her lust for revenge, she might have seen the unicorn coming somehow… and would still have her real hand.

"Hello?" sounded an American accent from the entrance of the greenhouse, to which Hermione quickly pulled the black glove over her hand. She had recognized that voice and smiled as she headed towards the entrance.

"Tahki, is that you?" Hermione asked. "I thought you were still at the Orkney islands."

"Came back yesterday," said Tahki. "Very late, though, so I didn't want to wake anyone."

"Druella will want to host another welcoming feast," laughed Hermione.

"As long as the food is spicy," said Tahki.

Tahki Black was a Native-American woman, a year or two older than her, and from the Montana-Black branch of the family. She originally came to the UK to study the magical ley-lines of the land as well as her own familial roots. Originally she had intended to stay a month, but had been here for over a year, sometimes staying at Catterborough Woodhouse for weeks before leaving on a trip to different part of the British Isles.

Tahki had eased into the the family quite quickly. Perhaps it was her own prejudice flaring up, but when Hermione was informed that Tahki would be staying with them, she half-expected her to turn up in 'medicine woman' garb and feathers tied in her hair. As it was, Tahki was a modern woman who wore jeans, a denim coat and definitely no feathers in her long, black hair. From a distance, she could be easily mistaken for an Asian girl. With her jet-black hair, her olive skin and her distinct Montanan twang, Tahki certainly stood out among the Britons. Not that Tahki minded all that much.

Aside from the diminutive stature the Black women were known for, there was a certain air of arrogance about her. Which was also a common trait of the Black women. As such, she fit right in at Catterborough Woodhouse.

"This land is amazing," said Tahki. "It is ancient and is full of ancient power. There's so much yet to see and document."

When Hermione first heard that Tahki was a 'savant', her first instinct had been to scoff. Until she learned that Tahki followed the scientific method far more than Trelawney ever did. Tahki studied the flow of magic in the land, something which ebbed and moved much like jet-streams or ocean current patterns. Through this study, Tahki could make very accurate predictions of where and when certain magical occurrences would take place or find places or objects strong with magical power.

"Will you be staying with us for a while or are you heading out again?" asked Hermione.

"After three weeks of hiking, I need to get my feet up for a bit," smiled Tahki. "But then I'm off to… somewhere…. Snowdonia maybe. And don't forget: I want to show you, Bella and Nymphadora Montana in Autumn. You won't believe your eyes when you see the Absaroka Range. There's nothing like it in the UK, as amazing as the UK is."

"I look forward to it," said Hermione, picking up her camera from her work station. "Oh, could you help me out for a bit? I want to keep track of this Dragon Palm's growth patterns and I need a visual reference. It'll only take a moment."

Tahki was instantly appalled, gasping. "You can't take my photograph! Are you trying to turn me into a Wendigo?! Because this is how you turn me into a Wendigo!"

Hermione quickly put away her camera and sputtered a little. "Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to be culturally insensitive. I…"

"Relax!" Tahki laughed. "I swear, you're such an easy target, Hermione. I'm only joking. Hell, if I really was that sensitive, I wouldn't have survived Scotland. Or Nymphadora. Fact is, the real reason you can't take my picture is because you still have lens cap on."

Now severely embarrassed, Hermione uttered a single 'oh' before snapping a picture of Tahki next to the palm. "You Blacks are all the same. All rotters," Hermione chuckled.

"Now that is culturally insensitive," laughed Tahki. "Seriously, don't say that in the States where it might be easily misinterpreted. The USA is a country of extremes, really. We used to be really draconian when it came to adherence of the Secrecy Statutes, but after that was lifted we went too far in the other direction. There's not a day that goes by when some no-maj is made wise to the existence of magic."

"No-maj," said Hermione. "I'll never get used to that term."

"As if muggle is any better," Tahki said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, here is where being a native was actually a good thing. Due to the old treaties, natives were and are actually exempt from the Secrecy Statutes. I could go stand in the middle of Times Square and literally pull a rabbit out of my ass and all the aurors could do about it is giving me a dirty look. Though, honestly, I doubt New Yorkers would even notice. They're used to seeing all kinds of weird shit."

Tahki wasn't wrong, Hermione knew. Native-American tribes were leading the charge when it came to magical innovation, rooted in a strong magical tradition. Case in point where the many tattoos on Tahki's arms, sleeves made up from numerous smaller tattoos, all carrying permanent enchantments. Or the fact that Tahki's Ponderosa Pine wand had a core made from fibreglass.

Seriously, fibreglass? Olivander would have a fit if he knew.

Tahki grinned and started to remove her denim coat. "Come, take a look," she said. "You're the first to see."

What Tahki showed her was a tattoo on her upper right arm, just below the shoulder and nestled among other tattoos of runes and birds. It was the Black family crest, three ravens, a gauntleted hand raising a wand underneath a skull and the words 'toujours pur' written underneath. Before Hermione could say anything, Tahki spoke. "Had this done in Glasgow on the way up to the Orkneys. Muggle tattoo artist. It's not enchanted, of course, but not all tattoos have to be."

"Tell me, honestly," Hermione said, somewhat apprehensively. "Are you thinking about permanent residence in the UK?"

Tahki thought for a moment. "I… don't know, really. I'd miss Montana and my family, sure, but at the same time… I feel like I belong here. This is the place where my roots lie, despite not having been born here. I'm as much English as I am Blackfoot. I mean, my parents make a big deal out of being part of the Black dynasty for some reason, yeah?"

Hermione sighed inwardly, but forced a smile. "Well, Andromeda will have to worry about a new contender to her throne, then."

"Hah!" Tahki laughed. "Andromeda'd wipe the fucking floor with me, Hermione. I'm just happy for the hospitality. But really, I quite enjoy everyone's dark auras in this branch of the family. It's refreshing. Back home, everyone is always trying to keep their aura light."

"Dark auras?" Hermione frowned. "Is that so special?"

"Relax," grinned Tahki. "Despite what some of the elderly shamans believe, a dark aura doesn't mean a person is dark. It just means the person is more likely to commit dark acts under certain circumstances. The colour of your aura doesn't mean you're good or evil. But, I will say that, there is one individual in this house whose aura is darker than everyone else combined, almost blindingly so."

Hermione didn't like the way Tahki was smirking at her at that moment. No. She didn't like that at all.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" said Tahki just as she was about to walk back into the house. "My brother sent over some 'home-grown'. Nymph and I will be partaking this evening. You and Bella are welcome to join."

"I'll keep it in mind," said Hermione, almost certain that she would pass but being too polite to say it. Apparently 'home-grown' was rather hallucinogenic and she'd prefer not to hear buzzing in her ears for days to come.

Buzzing of a very different kind sounded when Zipper came flying into the greenhouse, making a beeline for Hermione. These days, Zipper was the beloved pet of the entire Black family. A fact which Zipper exploited to no end.

"Hi Zipper," greeted Hermione as the wasp hovered in front of her and reached over to scratch him in between the antennae. Zipper did a bit of a hovering barrel roll and treated Hermione to a few cheerful playbites to the wrist. "Is Trix still in bed?"

Mournful buzzing followed.

"Yeah, I thought so," chuckled Hermione.

These days, Bellatrix had become a celebrated author with three bestsellers under her belt. At age Twenty-two, no less. The first book she had written had been titled 'Girl Out Of Time', and Newt Scamander had been kind enough to write the foreword. It told their incredible tale in full detail, which was a story just about everyone in the wizarding world had wanted to hear and made her even more of a household name than before.

Then came two bundles of short horror stories which were quite popular and also got published in the muggle world, after some muggle editors 'in the know' had helped hide the more obvious details of Bellatrix' wizarding nature. Currently, she was working on a third bundle of short stories as well as a final edition of her grandfather's landmark textbook.

Of course, being a writer meant she had gotten used to the bohemian lifestyle and usually couldn't bothered to get out of bed before 10AM most of the time. And Nymphadora was definitely not being a good influence here.

Hermione followed Zipper back to their living area, which was the same living area the Black sisters had grown up in. Nymphadora had been kind enough to switch rooms so that Hermione could make an office there after airing all the tobacco and cannabis smells out. Bellatrix preferred to write in her own room, so Narcissa's old room was used mostly for storage. Right now, however, her target was the bedroom she shared with Bellatrix… which was honestly just Bellatrix' old room where she had moved into along with her personal affects.

Zipper had landed next to his hutch, looking mournfully at an empty plastic bowl.

As predicted, Bellatrix was just the way Hermione had left her: still sleeping and head smushed against her pillow. Only difference was it appeared that Zipper had dragged the duvet off of her nude body with his mandibles in a futile attempt to wake her up.

"Let's get you fed," said Hermione. Zipper buzzed eagerly when Hermione took out a bag of sugar lumps and quickly filled his feeding dish. The grateful wasp immediately dug in and started to devour the sugar.

Seriously, that wasp could eat without end.

"Trix," Hermione whispered, causing her to stir. "Time to wake up, darling."

"Hmmm," Bellatrix groaned, a grin crossing her features.

A sultry grin.

"Why are you still dressed?" Bellatrix muttered.

"Why are you still in bed?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you not?"

As it turned out, Hermione had gotten used to a decadent lifestyle. Her clothes came off quickly.

Sex was the most efficient way to wake Bellatrix up. And Hermione loved to wake Bellatrix up. The two lay naked under the duvet, hugging each other tightly while wearing only their necklaces. A silver hand moved to brush a curly lock from her girlfriend's face, taking a moment to gently caress her cheek. Bellatrix took a moment to kiss her silver fingers before kissing her lips. Truth be told. Hermione didn't like touching Bellatrix with her silver hand, but it was her own fault for approaching Bellatrix from the wrong side of the bed.

"Hm, only 245 more days until our wedding," Bellatrix laughed. "So close!"

Ah, yes, Trix was literally counting the days until their wedding. Though promised to each other, they still had her father's stipulation to deal with: Hermione had to be twenty-five before they could marry. So the wedding date was set on Hermione's twenty-fifth birthday, now a mere nine months away. And neither of them could wait.

Another thing Bellatrix couldn't wait for was to start a family. She was a traditional witch in a sense, and had her heart set on a baby before next summer. She wanted three children. Three girls. Three sisters with an unbreakable bond. Though Hermione still felt she was a little too young to have children, talking Bellatrix into waiting a bit longer would take some… tact.

"We're going to have so much sex when we're married!" Bellatrix raved sleepily.

"We already have plenty of sex now," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"More!" Bellatrix' eyes lit up. "Twice, no, at least three times every night!"

"Three times?!" Hermione blinked. "We won't be able to walk!"

"More time in bed. Suits me just fine," Bellatrix grinned.

Hermione chuckled. "You're silly and I love you."

"But I love you more."

"No I love you more."

"I love you more plus one!"

"Oh? I love you more plus two!"

"Hah! I love you more plus infinity!"

"You think you've got me beaten?! I love you more plus infinity plus one!"

And then the pillows started flying.

When they were tired again, they lay down in bed. Being the efficient worker she was, Hermione could spend a little more time here as she had done most of the things she wanted to document at the greenhouse this morning while Bellatrix was still asleep. And yet, it was now close to noon. If it was up to Bellatrix, they'd be right here until dinner.

"Trix, time to get up."

"Hmph, no."

"You have to write."

"Tomorrow…"

"I have plants to catalogue."

"Do that tomorrow!"

"Trix…"

"Hermy, no!" Bellatrix huffed and smushed her head into the pillow while Hermione gently caressed her sides.

Hermione sighed. "You're going to stay in bed all day, hm?" she said. "Well, Tahki's back at the house."

That got Bellatrix' attention. Her girlfriend raised her head. "For deffo?" she asked. "I thought Tahki wouldn't be back until the 17th."

"For deffo. Guess what day it is today," said Hermione, barely keeping the sarcasm from her voice.

"Oh, shit," Bellatrix raised herself off the bed with remarkable speed and started gathering up articles of clothing from the floor. Of course. Of course, Tahki's return caught her lazy girlfriend's attention enough to get her out of bed immediately. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. "Does Dora know?" asked Bellatrix, her arms full with clothing.

Hermione rolled her eyes and checked the clock. "It's still still before noon, so doubtful."

"Don't worry, I'll tell her," said Bellatrix while sorting through fallen underwear. "Wait, are these your knickers or mine? Ah, I suppose it doesn't matter."

The young witch shook her head. "I'm going to lose you to those two for the entirety of the week, am I?" she muttered under her breath. And the fact that Tahki had hallucinogenics on her wouldn't make it any better. Tahki and Dora were not a very good influence on Trix, that was for sure.

"What was that?" called out Bellatrix as stuck her head out of the bathroom.

"Nothing!" Hermione called over, forcing a smile.

"Hermy," grinned Bellatrix. "Come take a shower with me…"

Now that did get Hermione's attention.

Bellatrix rushed through the hallways of Catterborough Woodhouse, curly hair still slightly damp from the shower. Hermione had gone back to her greenhouse, being the work-aholic that she was. Truth be told, Bellatrix was still quite worried that her Hermione was falling back into old habits though she also understood that it could merely a passion for herbology and research which drove her. She could quite understand that: writing was her passion and she was constantly working on scenes, ideas and stories at the oddest of times. Her notebook always saw a lot of use, after all.

But now, there were other things on her mind, such as finding Tahki and grilling her for her adventures and exploits. Maybe she was already at Dora's. It was close to noon right now, so there was a good chance her niece was already awake. These days, Dora kept quarters in the old sunroom conservatory, near her machines. Bellatrix rounded about the corner and rushed right through the door, to find the room bright and well lit.

"Hey, Dora! Tahki's back! Is she here with you?" Bellatrix yelled out as she burst inside.

Instantly, she took note of Dora's bed next to the wall, duvet messy. At first she thought that Dora was still sleeping underneath said duvet. Until she saw some odd movements. A flash of raven hair rose from the pillow, a stricken expression on a familiar face. Yet a face that was not Dora's. Two bare legs were sticking out from under the duvet, placement and angle making it rather obvious that the legs didn't belong to the raven-haired woman.

Wait. Was that Dora? Two people. In Dora's bed. Well, that was a new one.

"Wait, is that…" Bellatrix started to say as she finally managed to put a name to the face of the raven-haired woman. With the speed of a striking panther, Nymphadora jumped out of bed, made a grab for a robe, threw it around her body, rushed Bellatrix and pushed her out of the door by the shoulders, all in the span of about a second.

As the door slammed shut behind her, Nymphadora took a deep breath and looked her in the eye.

"Was that…"

"Look, Bella, I know you're on the level, right?" Nymphadora pressed, her voice her usual mellow but with a slight hint of urgency. "You can't say anything to anyone! Not even Hermione, yeah?"

"You and… Goneril?" Bellatrix blinked, still trying to make sense of what she had seen and giving it more thought it was hard to deny the end conclusion: she had just caught Nymphadora having it off with one of the maids in her bed. Goneril, the eldest of the three sisters serving at the manor.

"Look," Nymphadora sighed. "Rilly and I… we're in love, yeah? Simple as that. But we have to keep it a secret."

Bellatrix nodded. "I'm not unfamiliar with secret relationships," she said. "How long…"

Nymphadora grinned. "Two years. Nobody knows. Not my family, nor hers. Not even Tahki. You're the first."

"Two years?!" Bellatrix blinked. "You managed to keep this a secret for two years?!"

A proud grin appeared. "I'm no idiot. I know mum thinks I'm a useless sponge. But I still have accomplishments of my own. Rilly's my biggest one, see?"

Bellatrix smiled. "Look, I'm happy for you and all, just a tad annoyed that I wasn't in on the secret."

Nymphadora smirked. "Don't take it personally. It all started when I ran into Rilly when she had a few days off and went clubbing at inner Manchester. We happened to be in same club, recognized each other, had a bit of a dance and a chat and we really hit it off. So we started hanging around more, took her for a ride on my motorbike. Ended up with a shit-hot shag, yeah? You know birds dig motorbikes, right? Thing is, it wasn't just a casual shag. We were well chuffed to keep seeing each other. Actually buzzin' to keep seeing each other."

The door opened again and out shuffled Goneril, now dressed in her maid uniform. Her hair was still dishevelled and her uniform had been so hastily put on that it was crooked on all sides. Goneril looked nervous and twittery, adjusting her bands. There was a panicked, stricken look on her face. "M-mistress Bellatrix, I… I'm so sorry. I t-tripped and fell into mistress Nymphadora's bed! I… I… I was dusting while mistress Nymphadora was sleeping and…. I must have… have… tripped over a wrench…."

"Hey, hey," said Nymphadora, her voice soothing and soft. She wrapped one arm around Goneril's waist and lay another on her cheek. "Don't worry, Rilly, it's okay. Sshh, nothing to worry about it. Look, Bella's dead sound. Won't say a thing. Just as big a rebel as I am, yeah?"

Goneril sniffed briefly. "Please, mistress Bellatrix. Don't say anything. Madame Black will fire me and my sisters. We won't have anywhere to go! My parents… oh, god, my parents will..."

Overwhelmed a little, Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder to see the halls empty. "You'd, um, better get back inside the room before anyone sees you out," said Bellatrix. "But Dora's right. I won't say a thing. I'll keep the secret."

"See?" Dora grinned and gently kissed Goneril on the lips. "Dead sound. Remember, Bella, don't tell anyone. Not even Hermione."

Bellatrix shifted uncomfortable. "I… promised Hermione there'd be no more secrets between us."

Nymphadora gave her an intense look. "You are dead… sound…"

Bellatrix sighed. "Right. I'm dead sound. Not even Hermione."

A brief smile later and a nervous Goneril was quickly pushed back inside the room, no doubt to be comforted. Meanwhile. Bellatrix was stood there staring at the door trying to make sense of what she had just witnessed. Her mind was still reeling as she made her way through the corridors of Catterborough Woodhouse back to the private section she shared with Hermione. When she arrived, Hermione was not there. A quick look to the clock and Bellatrix hazarded a guess that she had already left for her therapy session. This was likely a good thing as Hermione would have likely noticed something was right with her. She still needed some time to regain her composure.

So, some writing. Rather that going to her desk, she grabbed her papers from the desktop and propped herself up on the bed. The quill started to flow over the paper: the past two weeks, she'd been working on a short horror story. Its first half was disguised as a cutesy children's story about a cute animal in the woods looking for something yummy to eat and it would transition into the second half in which terrified campers were running away from a horrific monster hunting them down and eating them one by one. It was a sound idea, but she was struggling with the right tone at the point of transition. So far the story had done through five re-writes.

Today wasn't going any better. Thoughts of Nymphadora clouded her creativity. The idea of Nymphadora and Goneril together was… mind-boggling. She had known Nymphadora for five years; the woman was simply incapable of lying. Every word out of her mouth was genuine and unfiltered. If she said she loved Goneril, she meant it. Besides, she was not someone to randomly sleep around… that was more Tahki's thing. Someone of the Black family shagging one of the hired help was a scandalous affair regardless. And they'd managed to keep it a secret for two years? Still, how would both of them see their future? How would this relationship develop? How would they tell Andromeda… if Andromeda indeed wasn't already aware of the whole affair. That was a thought.

Bellatrix snorted. If indeed Nymphadora would ever consider the future. Her niece rarely looked further than next week, after all. She might be fine with having the clandestine meetings with Goneril go on like this forever. And now Bellatrix had unwittingly become part of the conspiracy, asked to keep secrets from her own fiancee. It was infuriating in a way and went against promises made to Hermione.

Dead sound. Bellatrix was dead sound, Nymphadora had said.

Well, if she was so dead sound, shouldn't she be dead sound to Hermione too?

"Oh, bugger this!" Bellatrix exclaimed and threw the quill and her book to the side of her bed, rolled onto her stomach and smushed her head into the pillow to release an angry shriek, followed by a few punches. Divided loyalties to people she loved always had a tendency to break her brain.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Go away!" sounded a pillow-muffled shout.

Apparently, it was muffled enough not to be heard.

"Miss Bellatrix?" sounded from the other side of the door, the voice of the butler Sebastian. "Are you decent?"

"Never!" shouted Bellatrix, followed with a chuckle. "Come in, Sebastian."

The diligent butler came in, dressed immaculately in his long black jacket. Bellatrix considered that Sebastian was getting close to retirement age. While his retirement would be well-deserved and he'd be well taken care of by the Black family by being gifted a house and a sizable stipend, it would be strange to see him go: she'd known him her entire life after all and, in a way, he was part of the family.

"Miss Bellatrix," said Sebastian. "A letter has arrived for you."

"Eh, put it with the rest of the fanmail. I'll read it this weekend," Bellatrix chuckled. Ever since her writing career had taken off, she'd become a public figure. And public figures got fanmail. Praise and criticism from fans, both of her personally and her horrors stories, the odd offers of marriage which still kept pouring in, the odd creepy letters from fans who took it all a bit too far. And, of course, reactions to the various columns and op'eds she had written for various papers and magazines. Her semi-regular appearances on InfoWizards drew some attention in particular. "I'm so sorry you have to sort through all my mail every day, Sebastian."

Sebastian nodded emphatically. "I'm afraid the fine gentleman who's delivering the letter is quite insistent on only handing it over to you personally."

"Oh?" Bellatrix frowned.

Sebastian motioned to the door which magically opened. A few moments later, a wasp came buzzing inside. The wasp was clad in a small blue jacket with a leather quiver attached to it from straps which hung between its six legs. On its head was a small blue cap with his antennae sticking out of it. It was the uniform of a Buzzpost post-wasp, a business courier to be precise. A small name-tag on the jacket read 'Hello, my name is Scooter'.

As it stood now, Buzzpost mostly catered to a more upscale clientele looking for fast and secure deliveries of letters and parcels, but Buzzpost was looking out to branch out in the more budget oriented market. Faster and smarter than owls, while leaving far less waste, it was speculated that wasps might take over the owl-post industry in less than ten years, especially when it came to parcel delivery. Which was fine as long as Bellatrix was concerned, as long as the wasps were properly paid for their labour.

The post-wasp hovered in front of her and apparently magically confirmed her identity. The post-wasp then opened the quiver with his mandibles and fished out a scroll for her to take.

"Thank you, Scooter." said Bellatrix, patting the post-wasp over the back. Knowing post-wasps were always appreciative of tips, she reached over to a dish and put a few sugar cubes on it before putting it down in front of the post-wasp. "Here. I'm sure Zipper won't mind you eating from his dish."

The grateful post-wasp landed on her bed and dug in, eagerly crunching up the sugar after a long flight. Bellatrix spent another moment giving the wasp some scratches in between the wings while he finished his tip. Sebastian stood at the ready and opened the window for the wasp, who buzzed up into the air and out the window towards his next delivery client.

Now that Scooter had left, Bellatrix focused her attention on the scroll she'd been given. But one look at the wax seal was enough to make her gasp and tear open the scroll with gusto. For the writer of the message was nobody less than Eleanor Snowbell.

She took moment to look at the framed poster still hung on the wall: Eleanor Snowbell in her younger years, bearing a leather bomber-jacket, jodhpurs and a pointed witch's hat. Eager eyes roved over the message written to her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"She… she wants to meet me!" Bellatrix exclaimed excitedly. "Sebastian, Eleanor Snowbell wants to meet me! TODAY!"

A childhood dream was about to become reality,