Breaking the window: Expedition to Hyperborea

Chapter 27: A vote is tallied...

"Perhaps one of the hardest things I have ever had to do during this expedition, was to tell Hermione the truth. I had taken a unilateral decision and I had to live with the consequences of that decision. Though made out of a sincere desire to help the girl I love through the problems she had been facing for years, she would have still have all the right to blame me for it."

- Bellatrix Black, Expedition to Hyperborea, published 2006

The general mood among the gathered crew and expedition members was grim as they stood in the conference lounge amid gathered crates and barrels. Crewmembers had spent half the day hauling cargo from the cargo deck up onto the crew and passenger deck. Most of them were crates of food, hauled up to warmer areas of the compromised ship to keep it from freezing. Wasps were buzzing around, and their patterns of flight seemed to be somewhat erratic. Zipper, sat on her head, was hopping along uneasily.

Bellatrix stood with her notebook at the ready, as a good chronicler should, but even she felt anxious as Captain Kirk stood in front of them to address the crew. He seemed more grim than usual.

"I'm not going to make things seem better than they actually are," said Kirk. "We are in deep trouble. While we have enough food to last us for at least eight months with proper rationing, our ship won't survive that long."

Murmurs went through the crew, grim expressions turning grimmer. Kirk was about to confirm what we already know.

"The hull has been compromised, the Kingfisher's structural integrity has been compromised," said Kirk. "Rate the ice is packing up and moving, Beodul expects the ship to be crushed by that ice in a matter of weeks. And I tend to agree. Our food supplies will outlast our shelter, and in this weather that is a problem. Even if by some miracle, the Kingfisher survives the shifting ice floes, we do not have the resources to mend the hull in a sufficient manner to survive breaking through the ice. The expedition is over. This is now about survival first and foremost."

Kirk gave the crew a moment to consider this. Bellatrix looked over to Hermione and saw fear in those brown eyes of hers.

"We are not without options," said Kirk. "This morning I activated the ship's distress beacon. Both magical and muggle. I don't care who finds us first and we'll deal with the secrecy statue when we'll have to deal with it. Now, we are not in oft travelled waters, so it might take a while for another ship to actually find us. So we can do one of three things."

Kirk paced. "One. We wait it out at the ship, dig in and hope for the best. A point in its favour is that we'll have a proper shelter. A point against is that we might be forced to leave said shelter in a hurry when the ship collapses around us."

Kirk paused a moment. "Two. We load up all our supplies, warmth stones and food in the longboats and make a trek south until we find open seas. From there we will hit water and seek out the nearest Inuit settlement in the south. We will have survival tents to serve as shelter. Even so, we will have a trek of hundreds of miles on foot ahead of us through cold and treacherous weather, having both polar bears and a certain monstrous unicorn to contend with along the way. We will leave messages on the ship telling our would-be rescuers where we are, but our chances of being found will decrease exponentially with every mile we travel away from the ship."

Kirk paused again, allowing the crew a moment. "Three. We load up all our supplies, warmth stones and food in the longboats, and make for the lost city of Hyperborea. While there is no idea what we'll find there, it will be a twenty mile trek at the most. Dangers are involved, I won't lie. We will leave instructions for our would-be rescuers where to find us and will point them towards the lost city. While there will be risks, it's a far shorter trip and there is a good chance to find actual shelter."

Bellatrix felt a cold hand slid over hers. The fingers of Hermione's silver hand intertwined with hers and squeezed slightly. Bellatrix turned her head and found Hermione staring at her with deep concern. Though she knew there was no feeling in Hermione's hand, Bellatrix rubbed her rubbed her thumb over the back of her hand softly.

"Please," sounded the voice of Eleanor as she spoke up. "Good folk, hear me for a moment. I know I might be the last person you'd want to hear from at the moment and I admit I am partly responsible for the position we are in right now. But give me a chance. For the last thirty years, I have been researching the lost city of Hyperborea. For thirty years I've dug through resource after resource after resource. What kept me going, was faith. Faith that the lost city of Hyperborea was real. Faith that this grand structure built by our ancestors still existed after all those years. Faith that, one day, wizardkind would reclaim their birthright. Have faith with me, that the lost city will shelter us like it has sheltered our ancestors once before."

More murmurs. More doubt. More worries.

"I will speak," Sunniva announced in her accented voice. "Our people have avoided these waters for generations. What you call Hyperborea, we call Alfheim. Alfheim is a terrible Hel forbidden for our people, where nothing is to be found other than death. Or, at least, that was…"

"… until the Mortal Valkyrie slew our people's greatest enemy!" Gudrun interrupted cheerfully.

"… let the Loki-spawn dökkálfar tremble before her! We will bring our axes to bear on their useless heads!" Svari grinned and pounded her chest. "Alfheim is ripe for conquest and glory! With the Mortal Valkyrie by our side, we cannot be defeated! Let us claim Alfheim for Thule!"

While Bellatrix felt pride swell within her chest and she could hear Hermione letting out a slight exasperated groan. Her girl certainly wasn't impressed by Neo-Viking culture.

Sunniva silenced her jomsvikingr with a harsh glare and continued to speak. "If we decide to follow the All-Father's footsteps, you will have our axes by your side. I have lived in these kind of cold climes for most of my life. Staying with the ship is delaying the inevitable and travelling the ice for hundreds of miles mean we risk that Loki-spawn horsemonster picking us off one by one. Making for the city is our best option, but we should be ready to fight for our lives regardless."

"I can lead us to the city," Tahki spoke up. "It's… like a beacon, pulling at the very core of my being. I… can't really explain it otherwise. It pulls me to it. It wants me to go there. It's like feel all magic flowing towards it and from it. Like standing in a river rapid. Something is happening there, out in the wastes. Something is definitely there."

"Aye," smiled Sunniva, gently laying her hands on her shoulders. "She will guide us. We will keep her safe."

"Anyone else who wants to have a word?" asked Kirk.

All of a sudden, Bellatrix found herself shoved forward. The culprit to have shoved her was Svari, looking at her with a mixture of awe and expectancy. Much to Hermione's chagrin. Bellatrix turned around and swallowed hard. "Uhm, right," said Bellatrix. "So, uhm, I suppose you want me to say something profound and epic. Well, uhm… when we left Newcastle I went into this expedition with wide-eyed innocence and your typical Slytherin confidence. We were going out there to find and conquer the lost city, victory assured. Well… victory doesn't look all that certain now, I suppose. But I learned of lot along the way, from all of you. And you are all good people from all backgrounds and all walks of life. The crew, the expedition members and all those newcomers we have picked up along the way. All of you. That's why I believe we're going to survive. And not only survive but achieve what we've set out to do and secure our names and place in history. So, uhm, I hope that's profound enough, because that's all I have for you."

Someone clapped her on the shoulder. Turning her head, she saw Copperhead smiling down at her. Another clap on the shoulder. Old Engrim. "Don't forget yourself either, luv," chuckled Copperhead.

"Right," said Kirk. "Think things through carefully. We will take a vote in the evening after dinner. Everybody on board will have a say, including our newcomers Goneril and our Neo-Viking friends."

That said, Kirk turned around and stepped into the corridor, everyone feeling the depths of unease and uncertainty.

Tahki and Sunniva lay in their cabin, under the warm blanket. Considering what might be happening soon, it was likely one of the last chances they'd have to spend some private time together. They had just made love and were in blissful afterglow when Tahki noticed a definite shifted in the Neo-Viking's demeanour.

"You seem troubled, Sunni," said Tahki, shifting to lay closer next to her and stroke the blonde woman's hair. "You have been ever since Kirk's speech."

"Sæta," Sunniva turned her head to hers, that troubled expression never leaving her despite the slight smile. "I and my two jomsvikingr have travelled deeper into the Forbidden Lands than any of my people have in over a thousand years. Unlike Svari and Gudrun, I do not believe that Bellatrix is a Winged Woman in mortal form. She is skilled and a great warrior, yes, but the epics written tell plenty of tales of a flesh-and-blood mortal defying or even slaying a god. And I fear Níðhöggr was only the vanguard of what we will find there."

"What do you expect to find there?" asked Tahki. "Svari mentioned dökkálfar. What are they?"

"Demons of air and darkness," hissed Sunniva, as if mentioning their very name would attract them. "Loki-spawn. Enemies of all mankind. They sit in their city to plot and scheme our downfall! When we go inside their domain, we must trust nothing. Nobody should ever be alone. I shall voice this to the captain. We must rely upon each other. We are a crew with diverse skills. For every warrior like me, Bellatrix and Kirk, there are those equally clever such as Hermione and you. This gives me the confidence and hope."

Tahki frowned. "It's curious how your people's legends about Hyperborea are so radically different than other cultures within the wizarding world. My people call it The Frozen Mountain Where the Gods Dwell, mouthful, I know. It was the place from which the shamans of old left down south to find the lands promised by the gods."

"Did they find it?" asked Sunniva.

Tahki grinned, snuggling closer to Sunniva's warmth. "Just wait till you see Montana and there'll be no doubt left that it's the promised land."

"Have your people ever been back to the Frozen North?" asked Sunniva.

"Not particularly," said Tahki. "I mean… Montana gets cold enough in winter as it is."

"My people's saga is not much different from yours," said Sunniva. "After Ragnarok, our people moved east to settle on Iceland and the shores of Norway. Thousands of years later, our people returned to these lands and swiftly found ourselves beset by monsters and misery. It was obvious that the land did not want us here. The closer our people came to accursed Alfheim, the worse would befall them. Your people still speak well of Alfheim because you have never tried to return."

"I am the first of my people to ever travel… oh," Tahki muttered when she realized just what she was about to say. "Well, shit…"

Sunniva chuckled and took a moment to brush lips with her. "Sæta, I cannot fathom what we will find. But I will stand with you and the others as we will gaze into the abyss."

Tahki sighed. "Then it's probably a better idea to just run the hell away. Try to travel south, hit the ocean and get the hell out of dodge."

"I still say we brave the ice and the city," said Sunniva. "I refuse to believe Freyja led me to you only to have you die in my arms."

Tahki sighed grimly. "I wish I could have your faith."

"If you do not believe in Freyja, then believe in me," said Sunniva resolutely. "I will see us both through this challenge. This I promise."

"You I do believe," chuckled Tahki as she rolled on top of Sunniva. Though the much smaller girl would no doubt look rather comical on top of the tall Neo-Viking, Sunniva allowed her the illusion that she was pinning her down on the bed. Two strong arms wrapped around her as their lips met and their bodies pressed together. As desire for pleasure was starting overtake them both, Tahki had never expected to find love in the arms of a woman, let alone a tall Neo-Viking raider, but she wasn't about to question it. Not now as the passionate and enthusiastic lover Sunni was would soon show her every corner for the bed. As the wind howled across the hull, this moment now simply belonged to the both of them.

As expected, Bellatrix found Hermione just where she had left her: in the library. Hermione had been spending a lot of her free time here during the trip and it wouldn't surprise her if Hermione had been going through the books by alphabetical order. The book she held in her hands was about nautical disasters and Bellatrix could see her eyes roving back and forth over the words on the page with a startling speed. She flicked page after page as Bellatrix stood watching in the doorframe.

"What's on your mind?" asked Bellatrix.

Hermione closed her book and gave her an intense look. "Just brushing up on my history of maritime disasters, the Franklin expedition in particular. We're, frankly, in a very similar situation. Frozen solid in the ice in a ship that's doomed. They lasted on the ice for two years. Two years, Trix. Before madness set in. A few of the intrepid survivors tried to drag boats across the ice towards water to flee south, malnourished in biting cold, dragging a bloody sloop behind them loaded with what few supplies they had left. Everyone died. Every single one."

"Hermie," Bellatrix said, sat beside her and laid a hand in her cheek. Before rearing back and slapping her against the cheek, perhaps a bit harder than she had intended. An incredulous look crossed Hermione's features while a reddish glow started form on the struck cheek. "I've known you for a long time and… you are always expecting the worst. Well, if you're expecting the worst, the worst is always going to find you! We're here. We're together. We're all witches and wizards. We have food, we have warmth stones, we have magical and muggle distress beacons. We only have twenty miles to cross to shelter, and our sloops float! All of that works in our favour!"

Hermione's expression darkened. "You've forgotten about the monstrous unicorn stalking the wastes. You have no idea what state Hyperborea will be in! For all we know it'll be underneath a five mile layer of ice! And then we'll only have a cloth tent separating us from death of cold storm and the teeth of a unicorn out for our blood!"

Bellatrix smiled. "Hyperborea is the birthplace of all witches and wizards, Hermie. If she will not shelter us, then nothing will!"

"Maybe I'm not a bloody true witch then?!" Hermione snapped back. "Because blind faith and stark hope isn't going to magically make houses with warm fireplaces appear in the fucking snow! Just admit that it's a gamble and nothing more!"

"Don't ever say that," said Bellatrix quickly. "You're as true a witch as I am. And, you're right, it is a gamble. But us being sat here at the ship just waiting for it to be crushed by the ice and then dying in the cold is a certainty."

Hermione sighed. "We might be found long before that," she muttered, unconvinced by her own words.

"And that is not a gamble?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, a sod escaping her lips. "I just don't know anymore!" she exclaimed. "Everyone's always been looking at me for answers, ever since I was a bloody First Year! Well, I don't have all the answers! I never did! And just for once I want someone to tell me that it's going to be all alright! Just for once I want some comforting!"

"Come here," said Bellatrix, gently taking the crying Hermione in her arms and held her tightly. She let Hermione shed her tears, stroking her brown hair as they sat together. "We have to keep going. You have to keep going. I'm… sorry I got you into this, Hermie. But… you have to keep fighting. We have to survive. Because… Hermie, I… I'm pregnant."

There. It was out. It was out before Bellatrix has even fully realized she had said it. Curious; she always had been so good at keeping secrets during her Slytherin days, not so long ago. Bellatrix felt her jaw clenched and prepared for the inevitable. She felt Hermione freeze in her arms, making it feel as if she was hugging a statue. That… was never a good sign with Hermione.

"W-what?" Hermione blinked, withdrawing from the embrace and looking at her with incredulous eyes wide as saucers. Her gaze shifted from her face to her belly and back again.

"I'm pregnant," Bellatrix repeated. No reason to hold back. It was out in the open now.

"I heard you," Hermione said, a sharp edge on her admittedly confused voice. "I… How? When?"

"Couple of weeks ago, after you were washed overboard," Bellatrix swallowed hard. "Potion. I… I thought it would be romantic if our first child would be conceived on an expedition that would change the wizarding world forever. What a story that would make to tell her, hm? Rather foolish when you think about it. I wanted to surprise you when we stood triumphant in the lost city of Hyperborea."

Hermione sighed heavily, tears still in her eyes and looking as if she had woken up from a dream. She shifted in her seat to gently lay her head against Bellatrix' belly, as if trying to feel or hear her child inside of her for any sort of confirmation. "Our child. Your child. Isn't that worth taking a chance for?" Bellatrix whispered. "You're going to be a mum. And it's going to make everything better, you'll see. It did for my mum. It did for my nan. Hell, it did for your mum."

"I can't believe you did this," Hermione sighed, looking a mix of defeated and incredulous. "It's foolish and stupid. And yet so you."

"You're not angry?" Bellatrix asked carefully.

"Part of me is livid," Hermione replied. "A bigger part of me is afraid. God, Bellatrix, I'm a wreck. What kind of mum am I even going to be?"

"A smart, loving, courageous mum," said Bellatrix. "Who puts others first to her own detriment. A mum who deserves a far better hand than life has given her. A mum who deserves the people around her who love her and help her cope with the trauma and hurt of the past. A mum who deserves happiness."

"I am happy," Hermione sniffed. "God knows, I work hard at maintaining my balance. Few setbacks aside, I… god, I have gathered enough new trauma to talk about to last me for another ten years of therapy sessions, no?"

"Hah," chuckled Bellatrix. "I love you, Hermie."

"I love you too, Trix," Hermione smiled. "Even if I think you're a bloody fool for taking a pregnancy potion on an Arctic expedition."

Bellatrix chuckled. "I have never claimed to be among the very wisest of witches. Smartest of witches, though? Yes, obviously."

"I'm happy you're in my life, you sweet, wonderful fool."

"I wouldn't be alive without you," Bellatrix embraced her again. "So I'll be spending the rest of it with you."

Hermione closed her eyes and chuckled. "It's all so clear now. All those times you were nauseous in the morning, your strange eating patterns, you always feeling your belly when you think no one is looking. How did I miss the signs?"

"Well, nobody's perfect all the time," replied Bellatrix with a grin. "Unless you're me, of course."

"Shut it!" Hermione laughed.

In that moment, Bellatrix could see that Hermione was indeed different. As if, for just a moment, she forgot all her troubles, all the mess they were in and all the worries she had felt. That moment simply belonged to the both of them, as brief as it was.

Stood on the deck, clad in parkas and mittens, were Nymphadora and Goneril, cuddled against each other as they leaned on the gunwhale.

"It's good to be able to move about freely," said Goneril, her arm hooked around Nymphadora's. "After all the time cooped up below decks, even the cold feels good for a chance."

"You're right there, mum," said Nymphadora. "Might be freezing me arse off, me, but at least enjoying the view together is worth it, no?"

"Dori?" asked Goneril. "You know what I just thought about?"

"Hm?"

"I've not seen you hit a spliff in over a week or two," said Goneril. "Didn't even talk about it."

Nymphadora thought a moment. "You know what, you're right," she bit her lip. "I thought I'd miss it, but… I suppose I didn't. It's that a kick in the knackers, hm?"

"My Dori," Goneril winked. "Such a responsible woman she has become."

"Oh, shut it," snorted Nymphadora, her expression met with giggles. She thought a moment and then turned to her wife with a grin. "Rilly, I don't think I'm the same person I was when I left on this voyage. And… I'm not sure if I like that or not."

"You're still my Dori," Goneril replied. "Just… with an added layer on top."

Nymphadora chuckled as Rilly rubbed her cold nose against hers, causing a shiver to run down her spine. Their lips brushed together for a chaste kiss, considering they were surrounded by crew members running around the deck. It was still a bit awkward to kiss in public after having hidden their relationship for so long. But the rings were on their fingers, rings neither of them would ever remove,

"I never would have the bloody courage to actually marry you if I'd stayed at home," she said. "And that's the honest fucking truth. I'm glad we've gone on this little excursion of ours, aren't you? Good things have happened, yeah?"

Goneril raised an eyebrow. "Does that include you getting your throat slit, me being dragged into the brass monkeys outside half-naked by a monster horse and the entire ship getting stuck in the ice? And you agonising for weeks for having lied to captain Kirk and the rest of the crew?"

"I admit!" Nymphadora laughed. "Some bits were better than others. Still went through all that personal growth and all that shite. Things landed on their feet."

"What will happen when we get back home?" asked Goneril.

"What it is, right?" Nymphadora raised a hand to hover in the air in front of them. "Imma stride right into my mum's office, right? And I'll say 'MATE! Right, I married the maid, right though mate though! Cause I love her, mate! And I don't care she's a maid, mate. She's my little Rilly, you know what, mate? Look here, ring and everything, mate! Now, I don't give a fuck what you want to say or do, mate, tho! I'm staying married to my little Rilly, mate tho!'. Yeah, that's what I'll say."

Goneril gave her a sideways glance while smirking. "Is that really what you're going to say? Because I don't believe madam Black will even let you get a word in after the first 'mate'."

"Yeeeahhhhh…" Nymphadora bit her lip. "Me not trying to shit myself while my mum explodes will probably be a tad closer to the truth, yeah? But I still won't relent or back down. You're my wife, Rilly."

"And you're mine," Goneril replied. "I just hope my sisters understand."

"If Bellatrix is to be believed, any number of sisters greater than two have an unbreakable bond," said Nymphadora, before thinking for a moment. "Bit of a pisser if there's only two siblings, though."

"They're going to be angry that they weren't invited," Rilly bit her lip.

"We're in the middle of the bloody Arctic!" Nymphadora winked. "They should cut us some slack. Besides, there's no reason we can't have a big celebration at the mansion. And if I get disowned, we'll just find a nice pub."

Rilly seemed stricken. "Do you really think madame Black will disown you?"

"Nah," said Nymphadora. "She'll be pissed for a while, but disowning died with uncle Orion. It's not in her nature. Granddad and nan won't either. I think nan will be doting on you for some time to come."

"It's good."

"What is."

"Talking about the future."

Nymphadora gave her a brief look. "We're going to get out of this snowy shithole, Rilly. I promise you that."

"You can't be sure of that, Dori," replied Rilly, as she cuddled up against her wife. "But I'm glad you're optimistic."

"Of course we will," said Nymphadora. "We're going to get out of here, patch up the ship and have many more voyages. I think I'll be taking up Kirk's offer of signing on after this expedition is done. I've gotten a taste for the sea. And there'll be a place for you too here. You always said you wanted to to travel more."

"A sea-fearing spouse duo," Rilly smiled. "I do like the sound of that. And I daresay you really needed my help to keep things tidy below decks."

Nymphadora made a face. "Do you really need to dust the rum barrels?"

"Absolutely!"

"You're mad."

"I'm mad about you."

"Oh, good comeback."

Together, the newly-weds enjoyed each other's company on deck a while longer.

When Hermione started awake, she found her cheek pressed against something soft and warm. Her body lay prone on a bench in the library, knees pressing against her stomach. She stretched and felt a little stiff. When the light hit her eyes, she squinted and groaned.

"Good evening, sleepy-head," greeted Bellatrix, on whose lap Hermione had parked her head. "No, no, stay where you are, it's fine."

Hermione turned to lay on her back, staring upward and finding Bellatrix scribbling into her notepad. She felt truly comfortable in that moment, despite her stiffness. She closed her eyes and almost drifted off to sleep again. "What are you writing?" asked Hermione, her voice tired.

"I've finished the story," smiled Bellatrix. "Want to hear?"

"Absolutely."

Bellatrix settled in and started to read.

"Spring has reached Woodchester Manor finally, after a particularly cold and harsh winter. A winter the manor has suffered through. The first two months of the year, a day hasn't gone by where Celeste and I weren't required to do repair work. It took some effect to get proper supplies and those cut into our already meagre budget. Still, oddly enough the manor seemed to appreciate our efforts and provided us with more firewood and some leeway on the rules. Don't ask me how I know, I somehow just do.

The repair-work isn't entirely selfless, however. Parts of the house in disrepair are parts of the house creatures can exploit to get the jump on us. Or the more mundane threats such as seeping cold or debris falling on our heads.

Living on the edge has strengthened the bond between me and Celeste. The muggle-woman quite enjoying her new existence here and… I suppose I do too. There is a simplicity to this life. There are no politics, no factions, no blood-related nonsense. It's just us, this quiet life and Woodchester Manor which occasionally tries to murder us. It is a solid, honest life. A life in which I feel more alive than ever before.

I suppose the constant threat of death looming over your head the moment you slip up helps.

Celeste feels quite the same, having no kicked the habit of heroin and looking back on her old life with no small measure of shame. I have never outright told her, but I am glad she is by my side.

The days starts as any other. We wake up, we wash ourselves and get ready for the day. The routine is simple: small breakfast followed by our morning rounds around the manor floors and grounds to check for damage or other anomalies and clean up any gore of hapless walkers or creatures that foolishly wandered too close to the manor at night. Between the two of us, we can do this task more quickly. Another boon to having Celeste around.

Today, she will cover the grounds outside while I make my rounds inside. So imagine my surprise when I hear her slightly panicked voice coming from the foyer, telling me she cannot open the front doors. At first I am not surprised: the doors have been constant problem in the winter months, whether it be through freezing shut or through the warping of the ancient door frame. Celeste is a slight woman and lacks the strength to force the door open, a feat which sometimes takes all the effort of both of us, even with the aid of magic.

Imagine my surprise again when Celeste shows me that the problem is not that the door is stuck, but that he hands phase through the handle. As do mine.

A thousand thoughts pass through my head: have we broken a new rules? Is the manor acting up? Or is this a new phenomenon altogether. But quickly enough, I come to the rather disturbing realizing that not all of those thousand thoughts are my own. They manifest mostly as emotions and sensations, akin to low-level empathic legilimency at first. Fear, contentment, hunger, anger, joy, resentment… it all flows through me like water through a river. I don't have to look at Celeste to know what she feels, for I can hear her thoughts as clearly as she can hear mine.

The manor. Woodchester Manor. I had always assumed it was an otherworldly entity beyond my understanding, but it is far worse than I ever could have imagined. Finally, I can see. My mind is now opened to it.

Within the rooms dwell the apparitions once-people. I can see that now. From the children's playroom, a place always friendly and welcoming, dwells the soul of the daughter of the house. Forever a little girl of eight, she loves to play and peek around the corner of her door. From the kitchen, I sense the spirit of a mad chef, one dedicated to his art but rather… particular about the meat he uses for ingredients. He continues this practise in whatever unlife he now lives and the room has become a reflection of this.

I look above to hear the thing in the Attic, stomping about as usual. Its thoughts brush mine. Once, this was a brave and loyal Bassett hound, now warped and confused after being mistreated and locked in the Attic left to die. The flooded basement and its tentacled inhabitant, once a fisherman down on his luck. He drowned himself after the bank took his boat from him, but the manor refused to let him go that easily.

I almost don't dare to look at the upstairs bathroom and it's ever yawning darkness beyond the portal. The silhouette of a man is stood there, though calling it that is generous. This man, once a prolific murderer for pleasure, murders still. Whatever twisted flesh forms his body is made up from the souls of his victims, still screaming as they are being consumed. I can barely make out the faces of the chav and the Adidas it had lured into its clutches. Newer additions to the twisted menagerie.

I look at Celeste. We should be afraid. We should be driven mad by the cacophony. And yet we are not. An odd sense of peace comes over me, and Celeste as well. And it dawns on me that I cannot remember how long ago it was that I last went outside.

We belong to Woodchester Manor now. And Woodchester Manor belongs to us. Our home. Our fate. Our punishment. Our salvation.

Our thoughts are added to the chorus and we are complete. I grab her hand, solid and warm. She smiles. I smile. And we return to the library. The place where we belong. The place we shall remain. Our anchor to forever.

So, if you ever find yourself near Woodchester Manor and are brave or foolish enough to enter, stop by the library. Celeste and I will watch over you and keep you safe. But, remember to adhere to all the rules Woodchester Manor sets for you on pain of death or worse.

And you'd do well to remember the most important rule of all: never stay longer than you have to. Or the manor will claim you as its own."

"The end," said Bellatrix.

"I like that ending," smiled Hermione, eyes still closed and suppressing a yawn. "Bittersweet, but not tragic. I like to think our Death Eater protagonist found some peace. I also noticed that you never mentioned any gender or characteristics for them."

"I want the reader to feel closely connected to him or her," said Bellatrix. "To live the story through their eyes. To put themselves in that position."

"Our Death Eater is definitely a lesbian who has the hots for a muggle girl," said Hermione. "They healed each other in the end and will spend eternity together in that house. Like I said, bittersweet."

Hermione glanced over to see a collection of both their notebooks lying on the table. Oddly enough it was in two sets. Bellatrix followed her gaze and smiled. "I've duplicated all of both our notebooks. Captain came in some time ago. He said he'll allowed us to put all the ship's logs and our books inside a big magically protected chest right next to the distress beacons. Crew's going to be writing messages to family or just the world and putting them in there too. I'll also put a duplicate of my story inside of it. The chest'll be magically protected so even if the ship is destroyed, it will remain intact. If… if the worst happens in Hyperborea or on the way there, at least people will know our story."

Hermione was about to open her mouth when Bellatrix put her finger to her lips and shushed her. "I'm not saying the worst will actually happen," said Bellatrix. "What it is, right, us Slytherins love our contingency plans and that's exactly what this is. I'll be bringing all our original journals with us and keep chronicling whatever happens to us, because I fully believe I will finish my book about this expedition in Hyperborea itself."

Hermione's eyes moved to a pile of unrecognisable refuse, a mixture of plastic, steel and… was that a bit of a PCB with microchips on them? Apparently Bellatrix noticed her questioning gaze, to which she gave a bit of an embarrassed look. "I, uhm, tried to duplicate your lappytoppy as well. To put in the chest, you see? But, uhm, I fear duplicating a complex muggle machine is beyond my capabilities. That thing is not as easy to crack as that clock was back at Hogwarts. Don't worry, the original one is untouched."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "It's a good idea in either case," said Hermione. "I'll burn a DVD with all the photographs and put it in the chest with your duplicate books."

"It's almost time for dinner, Hermie," Bellatrix smiled, stroking brown hair.

"I don't want to move," muttered Hermione. "Your lap is too nice."

Hermione shifted to lay on her side, placing more weight on Bellatrix' legs and pressing her face right against her stomach. Bellatrix simply chuckled and continued stroking her brown hair. Alas, all good things had to come to an end and the point that they had to move to the mess hall became unavoidable. Haema had made good food despite pushing against the limitations of rationing. The mess hall, usually alive with chatter and boisterous laughter, was now only host to the sound of cutlery on plates. Nobody was talking. The mood was one of quiet contemplation.

When Kirk came up to the mess hall with a large glass jar, pieces of paper were distributed and, one by one, the gathered crew, expedition members and guests dropped their votes into the jar. Kirk himself was the last to vote and tossed his paper into the jar.

From her seat, Hermione noticed that the entire mess hall had gone silent. Bellatrix, Nymphadora and Tahki, with whole Hermione had shared a table, had been quiet as the grave. As did Goneril and Sunniva. All of them watched as Kirk waved his hand and all the papers morphed into tiny paper cranes. As if a flock of real birds, they sped up into the air and moved in unison as they unfolded themselves into a single neat pile.

Kirk nodded. "It is unanimous," he spoke softly. "We will abandon the Kingfisher… and make for the lost city of Hyperborea first thing in the morning."