Note: Breaking the Window will be going on a brief three week hiatus while I'm off on holiday and will return end of July. Chapter 15 is posted a little early as a result

Breaking the window: Expedition to Hyperborea

Chapter 15: A past meets the present.

"There is a certain amount of blissful unawareness during an expedition of this type. Though I understand muggles ironically have less trouble with this, a wizarding ship is essentially cut off from the rest of the world this far up north. There is a certain charm to this. The ship, the cold icy wastes outside and the people on board become your entire universe. That is not to say that there was nothing happening beyond the boundaries of said universe, as the world does keep turning. We were just not able to see or experience any of it."

- Bellatrix Black, Expedition to Hyperborea, published 2006

The next two-and-half-weeks were rather uneventful to the point of monotony. Life on the ship continued unabated as the Kingfisher made good time through the Foxe Basin, through the Bellot Straite and the Gulf of Boothia. Bellatrix worked on her writing, her chronicles, while Hermione took her pictures and made her contributions to the ship's almanac, though thankfully no longer during any storms. She spent either most of her time either in the library, hanging out with her family to chat or lazying in bed with Bellatrix.

It had all been quite relaxing, to be honest. Especially since Bellatrix had become affectionate of an almost unusual degree as of late. Not that Hermione was complaining, of course. They were getting married later this year after all.

The weather had been fair, visibility had been fantastic, though the skies were mostly cloudy overcast and the weather more noticeably colder because of said fair weather. Hermione had been able to indulge her role as expedition naturalist as there was an abundance of polar bears on the mostly frozen Gulf of Boothia, and the cracks in the ice left by the Kingfisher had attracted the attention of curious beluga whales. The was a surprising abundance of life in even these frozen wastes. Colonies of seals, walrus and even the odd arctic wolf with its stark white fur. Herds of caribou could be seen often on the larger rocky islands where they could feed of the lichen on the rocks.

With the time of year and how far North they were, the night lasted only for scant a few hours. It being early March, this part of the world was well under way of months-long polar day. With the Kingfisher travelling further north yet, Hermione was to experience this event sooner rather than later. In a few more days, there would be no night, just a cycling through different types of twilight. Then, halfway through April, there would be no sunset at all until the start of September.

But, she had not reached that point yet. In fact, civil twilight was fast approaching and she would need to hurry setting things up if she still wanted to take the photographs she wanted. She literally only had once chance at this.

The Kingfisher lay anchored in the mouth of the Bellot Straite, at Fort Ross. Fort Ross, the only sign of human life and civilisation, a staggering 300 kilometers away from the nearest inhabited settlements, Resolute Bay to the far north and Taloyoak to the far south. That is to say, Fort Ross was nothing more than an abandoned trading outpost. Established in 1937 by the Hudson's Bay Company, it was intended to capitalize on the abundance of Inuit hunters wanting to trade furs. Four wooden buildings were erected on this spot with most of the Inuit living in their tents. However, Fort Ross had resupply issues from day one and the company eventually cut their losses in 1948. The Inuit moved on to found Taloyoak down south and the wooden buildings simply remained standing.

Only two of the four wooden buildings remained, weathering the elements and sticking out of the blanket of white now covering this island at the tail end of the Arctic winter. It was honestly somewhat inspiring to see these wooden buildings endure in this hostile environment and was a perfect place to shoot some pictures. Hermione was still on the lookout for a perfect cover picture of Bellatrix' book and had found just the thing.

All expedition members, Eleanor, Chandra, Tahki, Bellatrix and herself had agreed to take one of the Kingfisher's support-sloops to Fort Ross to take a picture next to the Postmaster's office with the ship anchored in the background while the Arctic sun was fast setting behind them. Hermione checked the settings on her camera once more, having it set up on a tripod in the snow. Hermione set the timer and then hurried along to join the line-up. The moment she stood next to Bellatrix, her girl swiftly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to press their cheeks together just as Zipper landed on their heads.

Not exactly the professional pose Hermione had been hoping for, but it would have to do.

With her silver hand exposed, she found it quite easy to navigate the camera menu to find the photograph and was quite pleased with the result. After folding up the tripod and retrieving her camera, she rejoined the group.

"This was a good idea," said Eleanor, making a rare appearance. Hermione was too polite to say it, but she still looked to be rather unwell. Like all the others, Chandra's usual voluptuous form was hidden underneath thick layers of clothing and a parka. The fur lining on her hood accentuating her rounded face. Here, in the outside air, it was easy to see that Chandra was a stunningly beautiful woman. It was odd that she tended to avoid crowds and people on the whole, but Hermione supposed even beautiful people like her could be staunch introverts.

Tahki looked to be at home in the cold. Hermione's understanding was that Montana winters which were her namesake could be quite harsh, with temperatures far below zero. She and Bellatrix were having a little less of a good time dealing with the cold, but it was still good to set foot on solid ground.

As Bellatrix and Hermione were looking through the pictures, she decided to tease Bellatrix by laying her now ice-cold silver hand on her bum and squeezing slightly. Immediately, Bellatrix shot up and let out an ear-piercing shriek. "Ah, do one!" Bellatrix yelled out. "That's proper cold, that is!"

"I know," Hermione said, giving her a cheeky grin.

"I'd tell you where you can stick that hand of yours, but I'm quite sure I'd like it," Bellatrix shot back with a wink.

Without warning, Bellatrix jumped against her. Hermione let out a playful giggle as the two of them tumbled into a snow bank. Before Hermione could react, Bellatrix was on top of her. Ice-cold lips pressed on hers and an impossibly warm tongue invaded her mouth. Sure, there were other people around but Hermione didn't really care much for such sensibilities anymore. Not after sharing a tight-quartered ship with all of them. She wrapped her arms around Bellatrix and kissed her back. Hugging was a bit awkward wearing thick parkas, but they managed.

Meanwhile, Zipper wearing his wasp-parka landed on top of Bellatrix' back. The wasp had a bit of an aversion of landing on the cold snow, so he had preferred to remain airborne until this warm patch of parka became available.

Zipper couldn't land for long, considering Bellatrix got up after their impromptu make-out session. Tahki gave the both of them some finger guns while Chandra and Eleanor gave them bemused looks.

"Ah, to be young again," said Eleanor.

"Less young, more horny," Tahki winked.

"Either way," spoke Eleanor, casting her eyes upon the snow covered white wastes of Somerset island. "We are drawing ever closer to Hyperborea. I can feel it in my bones."

"Literally," said Tahki, moving to stand next to her. "You all feel it, don't you? I mean, I think you do. All that magic humming beneath our feet. We are standing on the biggest lay-line I have ever felt in my life. It's like a raging river rapid and if you follow the currents," she said pointing towards the horizon. "North-west of here. That's where it's going. If Hyperborea isn't there, I'll eat my hat."

"I feel it too," said Bellatrix. "In the tips of my toes and fingers. There's so much magic in the air."

Hermione felt nothing. Though she did not admit as such, she quite regretted not having grown up in the wizarding world. While muggle-borns weren't inherently better or worse at magic than any pure-blood, people like Bellatrix who had been around magic all her life and literally had it in her blood-line for generations tended to have a far more innate attunement to magic Hermione simply did not possess.

Chandra gave Tahki a dubious glance. "While your skills as a savant are admittedly impressive, I prefer to be more scientific about it," she said. "With precise measurements and well-constructed theorems based on evidence rather than… feelings. You assume the lay-lines lead to Hyperborea, but there's nothing to suggest this is actually the case. In fact, the sheer power running through these lay-lines might make finding the city more difficult since it will likely drown out the more subtle magical traces indicating magical creation and habitation. Imagine trying to find a gramophone playing a song next to a waterfall by ear."

"Depends on the song playing," said Hermione.

"Exactly!" Chandra pointed at her.

Tahki made a face. "There also isn't any evidence that Hyperborea is not right on top of a massive lay-line," she challenged, crossing her arms. "And don't talk to me about precision measurements. I helped you tune those machines, remember?"

Chandra was about to slap Tahki with a comeback when Eleanor stepped in. "Enough, you two," she spoke softly. "Savantic talents and machine measurements are both very valid, but don't forget what steered us on the path to Hyperborea in the first place: decades of painstaking research sifting through accounts and artifacts from numerous sources spanning a period of ten millennium. All this research led to the clear picture that Hyperborea was located on a smaller island among many small islands off the coast of a much larger island. When the city fell and wizards and witches made their arduous escape from the city, they travelled along a solid land tongue to travel further south. There's obviously more detail to it, but there is only one location in the entire Arctic where this image would fit: the east coast of Price of Wales Island, just on the other side of Gulf of Boothia. This very place might be where our desperate ancestors might have stood to try to find a way further south. Just imagine it! We are so close, gentle lady-witches."

Hermione nodded. "Prince of Wales Island is still monumentally large, even if we only have to search the east coast. It might take us months to even find a sign of the city."

Eleanor smiled. "And it will be the trifecta of research, measurements and innate senses that will bring us to our destination in, hopefully, the shortest possible time. None of these are more important than any of the other. Whatever comes our way, we will uncover the birth-right of wizardkind and do it through working together. My fellow gentle-witches, we are going to cement our names in the annals of history. Tales of this expedition will be told for generations. Thankfully, we have an excellent naturalist and chronicler to document every little detail of the voyage which brought us here. Fortune and glory awaits us."

Chandra and Tahki both nodded, both looking a bit embarrassed and at the same time inspired.

Hermione couldn't help but admire Eleanor. The old witch certainly knew how to motivate the members of her expedition and to inspire them. But Hermione's admiration stood in the shadow of that of Bellatrix. Her girlfriend literally had a starry-eyed expression looking and listening to Eleanor speak. From childhood, Eleanor had been her greatest hero. 'Eleanor Snowbell was everything a witch should be', Bellatrix had once told her. Indeed, Eleanor has had many accomplishments in her life and how the past few decades had treated her stood in stark contrast. Still, Hermione could tell she Eleanor was not looking well. She seemed thinner than when they had left, her skin even more ashen grey. This expedition would be her last chance, a capstone on her career. Though if Eleanor's health kept deteriorating, they had better hurry. It would be a shame for her to pass on before the end of the expedition.

Bellatrix was still staring, gazing upon the elder witch lovingly. To a point that Hermione pushed against her shoulder. "Hey," said Hermione, out of earshot of Eleanor. "Do I have to worry about competition?"

Bellatrix seemed startled for a moment, but then smirked. "Should you have to worry about competition from a powerful, confident and sexy silver-haired older witch who's smart as a whip and speaks with a silver tongue? I don't know… Do you?" Bellatrix giggled. "I wonder what else she could do with that tongue."

Hermione made a face. "If this is an attempt to make me jealous…" Hermione crossed her arms and then sighed. "… then you've completely succeeded."

Bellatrix giggled again. "She is impressive, isn't she? If I'd been single and she'd been interested, well… But I'm not single and I already have a wonderful girl."

"A jealous girl," said Hermione, only half-joking. "Who needs to protect her claim now, hm? But that was your real goal, wasn't it?"

Bellatrix merely winked at her.

The next leg of the journey would begin the moment they were back on board. Captain Kirk didn't want to waste any more time and wanted to take off as soon as he could. Before reaching the east coast archipelagos of Prince Wales Island, there were still possibly weeks ahead of them depending on the conditions of the ice beyond. The enchanted sloop floated as well in the air as it did on the sea, and as the witched boarded the ship and the sloop steered itself back to its mother ship, the reality hit her that, perhaps for the first time, she truly believed that they would find Hyperborea.

After returning to the ship and the sun finally going fully down now that it was close to midnight, Tahki was about ready to hit her bunk for a good night's sleep. The ship was moving again, to navigate the narrow straight into their next leg of the journey.

Chandra be damned, Tahki knew she was right and her machines would no doubt confirm it. They would find the lost city of Hyperborea straight north-west from here. Of course, she didn't know exactly how far north-west, but she was sure once they got closer she'd be able to tell with much more precision.

Just follow the lay-lines. How much simpler could it be? Sometimes Chandra could be infuriating.

Bellatrix and Hermione rushed ahead of her, her family members having their hands all over each other. Oh, there'd be some fucking going on the moment the door to their cabin closed, of that Tahki had no doubt. Lucky bitches; she herself had been left stood dry ever since Kirk had banned Riggere from the passenger deck. Apparently Kirk had put the fear of god in the man so much that any illicit liaisons in the laundry room were out of the question as well.

"Hermie!" exclaimed Bellatrix as she rushed inside the cabin. "Warm that silver hand of yours first!"

A brief shriek followed, and the last thing Tahki heard before the sounds died under the silencing charm of their cabin when the door closed, were the words 'not between my thighs!' amid mad giggling. Not even as much as a single thought had been given to wishing her a good night. Ah, well, time to turn in. The silencing charm would perfectly shield her from the doubtless heavy moaning and creaking of the bed coming from next door. Tahki wondered just how poor Zipper ever got an ounce of sleep, though she supposed the wasp should be used to the noise by now.

To her surprise, she found a small cloth bag tried to the knob of her door. Curious, she picked it up. It felt light in her hand. There was a cylindrical object, about ten inches long, with a rounded tip.

"Fuck you, Nymph," Tahki groaned. Ever since Riggere had been banned from the passenger deck, Tahki had been feeling a bit... hanging dry. So apparently Nymph had 'kindly' left a dildo hanging from her door last week. A 'thoughtful' gift with a bit of a cheeky trollish wink to it. Well, waste not want not.

Well, who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth and risked a peek before going inside. However, what she found inside the bag was not a dildo at all. Instead she found a wooden carving. Tahki took it out of the bag and held it up into the light. The wood had been neatly polished and looked to be lightly lacquered. The cylinder had been carved into with amazing precision, almost machine-like. There was a well-dressed female depicted, bearing a cloak made from feathers and two animals, cats it seemed, rested at her feet.

"It is the goddess Freyja and her cats," sounded the accented voice of Sunniva. The tall blonde viking stepping into the corridor where she had apparently been stood waiting. There was an eager smile on her face while those same piercing blue eyes bore into her. Despite being dressed in her current rags, she was ever as impressive as she had been in her armour, especially since some of her old confidence had seemingly returned.

"It's beautiful," whispered Tahki.

"The result of a week's work in sparse free time," spoke Sunniva. "The ship's quartermaster was kind enough to lend me some tools and gift me some spare wood, though she needed to keep watch over me while I wielded something sharp."

Tahki nodded. That must have hurt the Viking's pride more than she was willing to admit. Sunniva continued. "When someone extends their hand in friendship, it is customary to exchange a gift. Unfortunately, in my current predicament I had no gifts to give. I hope this paltry effort pleases you nonetheless."

"Are you kidding me? This is gorgeous! But did you hang it from my door? Why didn't you just give it to me?" Tahki asked.

Sunniva frowned. "The quartermaster suggested this to me. Something to do with the shape of the idol and the 'look on your face'."

Tahki rolled her eyes. "Of course she did," she sighed. "Always remember one thing, alright? Nymphadora Black is a fucking asshole. Okay... let's not stand here talking in the hallway. Come on."

Sunniva nodded and followed her into her cabin. Immediately, Tahki is was utterly embarrassed for not having bothered to clean up for days. Dirty clothes which she had promised herself to put into a bag and deliver to the laundry for the last five days now, lay strewn across the unmade bed and the floor. Some of her hygiene products were on open display above the small sink next to the shower, while a pair of panties hung from the shower head. Worst of all, she swiftly kicked the actual dildo which had fallen to the floor underneath the bed and hoped Sunniva had not seen it.

The viking sat down on the chair next to the writing desk which itself had been covered by random trash while she hopped on the bed to sit facing her. "Uhm," she started, cheeks burning. "I, uhm, meant to clean this place. But, you know, lazy. I swear my room back home, both in Montana and Manchester, looks way cleaner. And... and I know looking cleaner is not the same as being cleaner, but... I'm babbling now am I? So. About that woodcarving."

Sunniva seemed undisturbed by the mess and seemed eager to talk about her gift. "It is Freyja and her cats," she spoke again.

Tahki raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, is that supposed to mean something? Remember, I'm a product of the US public school system. I'm lucky they taught me how to spell my own name correctly."

"Freyja is my patron goddess, one of the Vanir gods," said Sunniva. "My people give great reverence to her. The Lady is the goddess of love, beauty, passionate sex and the glory of war."

"Passionate sex, huh?" Tahki smiled. "Sounds like a fun gal. Explains the shape."

Sunniva raised an eyebrow. "Please do not use my patron goddess as a masturbatory aid," she spoke with a lower voice.

Tahki's eyebrows hit her hairline. "Fuck, here I am putting my foot in my mouth again. I meant nothing..."

Sunniva's mouth curved into a smile. "I jest. Just as you were."

"You have one hell of a poker-face," Tahki laughed in spite of herself. "Let me guess, Nymph told you how to get under my skin."

The glint in her blue eyes told Tahki all she needed to know. "Freyja is the goddess of love, but also of lusts. She understands long trips breed loneliness and a need for... distraction. Still, that is not what the woodcarving was meant for."

Yes, Sunniva was definitely more 'in' on the joke than she was letting on.

"Freyja is also the source of seiðr," said Sunniva. "Magic to tell and shape the future."

"Divination?" asked Tahki.

"No," Sunniva spoke. "Divination is a weak and diluted form of magic, unblessed by the goddess Freyja. Divination can only see, but not change. You have the seiðr."

Tahki shook her head. "I told you, I don't divine. I see magic flow around me and act upon it. That's not the same."

"But it is," said Sunniva. "Seiðr is what allowed the gods to see the coming storm of Ragnarök and survive. You see the magic, you see what magic is going to do and yet you remain in control of your own destiny. It is why I wanted to give you this carving. So Freyja will be able to give you strength on the road ahead, as she gives strength to me. You are seiðmaðr without even realizing you are."

"A savant," sighed Tahki. "It's a power unique to my family. Nobody knows quite why. Apparently my great-great grandfather and great-great grandmother had a fantastic pair of genes. You know, one of those one in a million shots."

"Will you tell me something about your people?" asked Sunniva.

Tahki frowned. Honestly, this wasn't a question she was asked often. Being an exotic traveller from another land, she guessed the Brits were simply too polite to ask or some such. Brits were weird people like that. "Certainly," said Tahki. "Where to start? Well, I'm Blackfoot. And, no, I don't actually have black feet, don't bother checking. We're the Niitsitapi in our own language, which means 'the real people'. Kinda arrogant when you think about it. Technically, we're three people. Two of which live up in Canada. My people are the Piikani and most of us live on the Blackfoot Indian Reservation in Montana. It's gorgeous. We've got endless grass lands, forests, mountains, lakes… just, uhm, try to ignore the cities and the scenic meth-heads who live there."

Sunniva looked at her intently, waiting for her to continue. Tahki did so. "Back in the day, we owned the Plains. Lived a semi-nomadic lifestyle hunting the bison, all that shit. Until we got our hands on horses, now that was a literal game-changer. Our hunting grounds went all the way down to Colorado and we were very good at kicking out all the other tribes. Even moreso when the Europeans came… with their guns. We knew a good deal when we saw one, so we started trading for rifles and kicked the other tribes around even harder. Didn't last long, though. Europeans brought other less nice things. Things like smallpox. And cholera. That hit us so hard that, around the turn of the 19th century, we no longer had the numbers to protect our territory and were left with only the northern regions."

Tahki sighed. Sunniva's blue orbs gazed into her, and it prompted her to continue. "Been downhill from there as 'the real people' kept making wrong decision after wrong decision. We kept out of the Great Plains Indian Wars, we kept out of the North-West Rebellion, we even made peace with the fucking Cree. Oh yeah, we a regular Indian Switzerland. Meanwhile, the Europeans kept hunting the bison right from under own asses so we'd be more dependant on outside food sources. What little bison were left were in our lands so the other plains tribes made war with us over them. These things chipped away at our power base little by little. To make matters worse, they starting putting tribal children into Christian boarding schools and tearing down our tribal government system. So yeah, if you were expecting a grand tale of proud and grand expansionism, well, hate to disappoint you with a tale of stark decline."

"On the contrary," said Sunniva. "Your people have endured much, but despite their many hardships, the Blackfoot people have persevered and stand tall and proud."

Tahki considered this. "I doubt you'd say that when you see all the meth-heads in Browning, but I suppose you have a point. The reservation is beautiful, we run our own government, get plenty of tourists and are lucky to have a lot of oil wells on our land. As for my own family specifically, well, we have European roots, which we proudly hail. In 1858, my great-great grandfather Delphinus Black came over from Manchester to study our shamanistic rites and met Blackfoot witch Hurit Running Rabbit, my great-great grandmother. Well, they hit if off and, well, liked each other so much they had five kids. We proudly took the last name Black and though we're not the only magical family on the reservation, we are by far the largest, wealthiest and most celebrated. We are over a hundred strong and, I'm proud to say, we're at the forefront of magical innovation along with magical families from the Gros Ventres and the Sarcee. Of course, magical innovation doesn't often pay the bills, even though we do have some patents. Our family's wealth is mostly because of horses."

"Horses?" asked Sunniva.

Tahki nodded with a grin. "You'll see it when you get there," she said. "But me and my brother grew up on my grandfather's horse ranch on the eastern border of the reservation, near Cut Bank. The Blacks sell thoroughbred horses to no-maj all over the States and we own dozens or ranches. My uncle's gone into the tourist trade, even, calling his ranch a 'cowboy school' for yuppie city-slickers. It's really quite funny. Seriously, they can't ride for shit. I've seen one trying to steer a horse by pulling on its ears."

"You speak so fondly of your home," said Sunniva. "And yet you left."

Tahki snorted. "We Blacks are very proud of our English roots, to a point that a lot of my kinfolk can get rather tired of hearing it. But for all our pride, few of us have ever set foot there. There's a lot of talk among the Blackfoot about our cultural heritage, respect for our ancestors and preserving the past. Well, my ancestors were as much English as they were Blackfoot. My roots lie on both sides of the Atlantic. The ancient lands of Britannia are as much my heritage as the lands of Montana. And I for one would actually set foot on them before I die. I'm glad I did. The United Kingdom is a land of beauty and I feel it being a part of me. Look, I'm not one of those cliche Indians who cries 'THE LAND, THE LAND, THE LAND' all day long, far from it, but going there felt like coming home, in a way."

Sunniva gave her an intense look. "That is certainly respectable. To know your own history is to know yourself."

"Well," said Tahki. "Enough about my people's glorious fall from grace. What about yours, hm? Come one, share."

Sunniva sat up a little straighter, already radiating pride. A smile played on her lips as her thoughts seemed far away, likely to home. "My people have many names, oft given to us by our enemies. Neo-vikings, Thulians, Scourge of the Ice Seas, to name a few. But we call ourselves Herskaprarsynir, Children of War. When the drengr of old, be they Norse or Dane, raided coasts of Europe, men and women of magic… our shamans… rode in their longboats to bring the fury of Odin down upon our enemies. When the insidious curse of Christianity invaded our lands and corrupted us from within, it was our shamans who stood against the tide. To preserve our culture and heritage, they led the last of our clans out onto the seas. For centuries, our clans lived apart, along the coasts of Iceland, Greenland or Vinland. There have been many attempts to unite the clans, but such unions never lasted long. My people's yearning for independence saw to that."

Tahki listened when Sunniva smiled for a moment. "We worship the old gods, follow the old ways, speak the old language and perform the old storm-magics. We go where we please, do what we want. We honour the heroes of old as shining examples. Ragnar Lothbrok, Cnut the Great, Freydis Eiriksdottir. We will suffer no Christian demands to denounce our own gods. We will suffer no wizarding busybodies to keep us from performing our magics. We will suffer no attempts to give up on our way of life," said Sunniva with obvious passion on her voice.

"Hah!" chuckled Tahki. "You'll fit right in in Montana with that attitude! Uh, sorry for interrupting, continue please."

Sunniva nodded with a grin. "We were always strong warriors, but we were divided. Until Queen Ealdwynn of the Serpent Clan rose to power and united the clans. She took firm control and made us a force to be reckoned with, a force to be feared. All of Europe trembled before us! It took the combined might of armies from five different countries combined to halt our march to glory! And even then it was a stale-mate. Some other nations might still not recognize Thule as an independent territory, but they still fear treading our lands regardless."

"You mentioned Iceland," said Tahki. "You obvious miss the place."

"I am Serpent clan," Sunniva said proudly.

"Really? Queen Ealdwynn's clan?" asked Tahki.

Sunniva remained silent for a moment. "Yes," she spoke with a slightly hesitant tone. "Serpent clan is the largest of the Herskaprarsynir clans and the most influential. Iceland has been our home for over a thousand years. Not even Grindelwald dared to challenge us in our home."

"Oh, he dared," laughed Tahki. "It just didn't end well for him. Gramps kinda loved that Grindelfart got his ass handed to him in Iceland, even though you didn't join the war afterwards."

"Your grandfather fought Grindelwald and his foul armies?" asked Sunniva. "He must be a great warrior."

"The best," said Tahki. "And he won't stop talking about the war. You two'd probably get along fine. And you will, if you still want to come to Montana. Anyway, tell me more about Serpent clan."

"Everyone in Serpent clan is a warrior," said Sunniva. "I have been training with the axe, both physical and magical, since I was four years old. Our city is called Vatnafjordur, in a fjord of Hornstrandir and is hidden from non-magical eyes. All buildings are traditionally built out of wood, made to be exactly as they would be during the days of the great Ragnar Lothbrok. It is there where our longboats are crafted, our mead is brewed and our armour is forged."

Tahki blinked. "Really? Thousand year old designs? I mean… I often say Britbong wizards live in the past, but that's next level. Don't you want something, you know, more modern?"

"We have no need for modernity," Sunniva replied dismissively. "The old ways have always served us best."

"I dunno," said Tahki. "Horses are nice, but they can't beat my old rustbucket of a pick-up truck. '88 Chevy. Not much, but it's mine. I swear if my brother wrecks it, I'll wreck him!"

Sunniva looked her in the eye, obvious that she had no idea what Tahki had just said.

Tahki sighed. "Here you gave me a really nice gift and I... wait, hold on," she said and hopped to the end of her bed and leaned over it to rummage through the massive backpack she had parked in front of it. Now, where was it? Goddammit, why was everything a mess in this room? She pressed her stomach against the edge and dug deeper. Then, she found it, in a small case near the bottom of the bag. Rather that walking around to the other side, she reached for it and almost toppled into the bag. It only the swift motion of Sunniva who grabbed her by the belt which kept her for falling onto the floor.

Tahki muttered an embarrassed 'thanks' and opened the case. Inside was a small and old necklace. It had a fine red copper chain with a coloured leather patch. To this patch was attached a beautiful brown shiny cowrie shell.

"Back in the day, these shells used to be treasures to the Blackfoot," said Tahki and held it out for Sunniva. "The plains were about as far from the ocean as could be, so we used to trade with tribes who lived closer to the ocean to get them. Hell, even I didn't see the ocean for the first time until I went to the UK. This one isn't really old. My aunt brought it home for me from a vacation to Florida ten years ago. I made this necklace to make it look like the one my great-great-grandmother had in her portrait and, well... Probably not special to you and not nearly as nice at what you've given me, but... I... I'm babbling now, am I? Yeah, pretty sure I'm babbling."

Sunniva reached out, gently raising the necklace from her hand. Tahki became acutely aware that her hand was being cupped while strong and surprisingly soft thumb softly stroked back and forth between the head and heart lines of her palm. Her heart started pounding faster and she swallowed hard while watching the motion. Back and forth, back and forth. Daring to look up at Sunniva, Tahki saw that the tall blonde was appraising the necklace with almost childlike wonderment, not even focused on stroking her palm.

Fuck, she never wanted it to end. But end it did.

"I shall treasure it," Sunniva spoke with a grateful tone.

Sunniva released her hand, though her heart still pounded. The entire room felt warmer.

With a smile, Sunniva took her leave and exited the room, leaving Tahki to throw let herself fall backwards onto the bed and wonder what the hell had just happened.

She stared at the ceiling, breath still quickened and heart still showing no signs of slowing down. She let a hand slide over her stomach for a moment, finding the hem of her trousers.

She turned her head towards the wooden idol, now proudly stood on her nightstand. "Yo, girl," she muttered to Freyja. "You tryin' to tell me something?"

No direct answer, but the pregnant silence was clear. Tahki closed her eyes and sighed before she rolled to her side and eventually her stomach to reach under the bed.

Right, so where did that fucking dildo roll off to?

Cygnus was sat in his study sorting the many papers delivered to him. Most of them contained newspaper items on earlier expeditions to find Hyperborea. Having promised to help Bellatrix, he had spend the past couple of weeks putting together a scrapbook on these earlier expeditions, all chronologically organized with many notes taken about some key members of all expeditions, their routes taken, their successes and their failures. Though he admittedly wasn't much of a writer outside of academic texts, he was certain his talented little girl would transform his dull notes into a gripping work of prose.

In fact, he decided he would go the extra mile. Not many people knew that The Daily Prophet kept an archive of photographs which were taken but never used in the final articles, which were usually donated to the British Museum of Magic. After calling in a few favours, he had been given a variable treasure-trove of photographs from all expeditions, along with a few from the museum's own archive. These were photographs never available or seen by the public before and would be a wonderful addition to Bellatrix' book. He had already made a selection of the best ones and had gathered them in envelopes, from which Bellatrix and Hermione could freely pick once more. In addition to Hermione's photographs, it would give the book some undoubtedly compelling visuals.

The pictures Cygnus was currently sorting were those taken from the Heimdall expedition, the one lost with all hands.

It was a tragic tale, really. A story of a crew and a ship ill-prepared for the perils of the Arctic, commanded by an expedition leader who had dreams but no grasp on what he was doing. This was clear to him from the initial records of the journey. Like the Black Expedition, the Heimdall Expedition left with a lot of fanfare which was all over the front pages. Unfortunately, their tragic loss was relegated to page ten for the most part. Some token attempts to search for them had been made, but had led to nothing and eventually the expedition members' graves contained nothing but empty caskets underneath a small monument in Dorset.

If he hadn't been convinced by Eleanor Snowbell's skill and preparation and a captain's experience with sailing Arctic waters, he never would have let his daughters set foot on the Kingfisher.

Cygnus took a few moments sorting the photographs, mostly from the days around expedition launch. He lingered on one in which the crew was gathered in front of the ship in the loading dock, smiles, hope and enthusiasm on their faces, belying the tragedy which would be ahead of them. In fact, he was so focused on their expressions that he almost missed it.

That was, until he saw it from the corner of his eye.

It took Cygnus a few moments to process just what he was seeing. He quickly put down the photograph and took out a small magnifying glass. With his nose almost pressed to the paper of the photograph, he stared at it for a few seconds. If only to make sure.

Unmistakable.

On one of the supply crates behind one of the sailors bore a symbol he had seen before. Two cubes against each other, angled 90 degrees with two open triangles flanking either side, in a blood red colour. It was small, faded next to the shipping label. Easy to miss and plain enough to overlook unless you had seen it before.

And seen it before he had. Cygnus sat back, his heart pounding in his chest.

The cold winds blowing over the snowy Minnesota plains, bit into Cygnus' face as he lay prone next to his compatriots, eyes roving over the white lands ahead. It was the middle of the day, but the way this snow-storm was going, it might as well be the dead of the night as far as sight was concerned.

"I can't see a fucking thing!" Alphard shouted over the howling winds.

His brother, always a man of few words. And what words he did speak were usually foul. Clad in the same magically protected coat as he was, Alphard hissed through his teeth as he pulled his ushanka down over his ears. Indeed, Alphard seemed to be as cold as Cygnus was, even with magical protection.

With them were Megedagik and Etchemin, two braves from the Montana-Blacks, family and vast comrades in this war against Grindelwald's lunacy. Megedagik was a tall and muscular native, a simple man who was always game for a laugh and supremely dedicated to his family and friends. And Etchemin, son of a tribal leader, thin of frame but quick of wit. He carried himself as the leader, even though this small group of four magical commandos officially had no leader.

Years he had fought this war alongside them and others, some of which no longer lived to tell the tale. Truth be told, his side was almost as loosely organised as Grindelwald's forces were, but regardless they were the winning side. After years of fighting, they had almost succeeded at pushing Grindewald's forces out of the USA. Grindelwald had precious few holdings left in the States and their side was going hit all of them at once in a massive push.

Though Grindelwald himself had fled to Europe to link up with his followers there, losing the USA as his power base would still deal a massive blow. All Grindelwald had left were New Orleans, Miami and, for some reason, this Merlin-forsaken pisshole in the ground called Fargo in Minnesota. To start the operation, small teams such as his were tasked to take out the forward listening outposts around the cities quietly before they could alert the main strongholds. After that, they would meet up in Fargo for the final push while other groups did the same in New Orleans and Miami.

The liberation of Fargo would hardly be glamorous, certainly, but as the smallest stronghold, it would be less of a slaughterhouse. Now if only it wasn't so bloody cold.

"Farmhouse," said Etchemin, gazing through his omniculars. "Can barely see it from here."

"Wonder what they did to the poor no-maj bastard who owns the place," replied Megedagik.

Alphard shook his head. "They're Grindelfart's lot. What do you think they did?"

Cygnus nodded grimly. It wouldn't be the first time they'd find a farm or a small town utterly devoid of life after being hit by Grindelwald's Alliance. He held no particular love for muggles, but the way these Alliance members disposed of them reeked of nothing more than petty spitefulness and cruelty for cruelty's sake. Grindelwald attracted those types, the cruel dregs of wizarding society, and let them go wild to further his bidding. Well, he and his compatriots had disposed of plenty of them and in a way that was far more quick and merciful than they deserved. Today would be no different.

Not that his own side was necessarily better. 'No prisoners' had been the unspoken order handed down through the ranks. They simply didn't know where to put them. After the previous push to get the Alliance out of Boston, New York and Chicago, the prisons were simply overflowing.

Well. No sense to dwell on it.

"What are you thinking about, Cyg?" asked Alphard.

Cygnus offered him a grim look. "That this won't be over after we've kicked the Alliance out of the USA, Alf."

"You're damn right," chuckled Megedagik. "After we're done here, we're straight off to Europe to kick Grindelfart in the nutsack some more."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," said Etchemin. "We still have a battle to win on our own soil first."

And so the assault began. With a touch of a wand, their clothes turned white and started to shimmer against the white background. Using the snowstorm as cover, they were effectively invisible. The plan was simple: surround the farmhouse and approach it from both sides in pairs of two. He and Megedagik would assault the farmhouse from the south side, while Alphard and Etchemin would approach from the north side where the barn was.

Cygnus threw himself into the snow once the farmhouse came in sight. He grimaced as the cold enveloped his body: the snow was deeper here than he had expected. He and Megedagik crawled their way to the farmhouse as the storm whipped around them. The two-story farmhouse stood creaking in the wind with one of the shutters flapping in the wind. He shared a look with Megedagik: the two of them had been around in the war long enough to realize that there was something wrong here. Not a light was on, no movement could be seen or heard, the fireplace was not burning. Certainly, the Alliance wizards could be hiding, but there was not a single hint of magic in the air.

And so, he and Megedagik snuck into the building with wand in hand and found the first floor dark and empty. The dark cellar was their first port of call and the only sign of life was the occasional rat. The first floor only revealed some empty bedrooms.

"Fuck, where are they?" Megedagik muttered under his breath.

"Not here," said Cygnus. "Nobody's been here for some time. Nobody was around to close the shutters or the windows. Look at all the snow inside."

"There should be three of them," said Megedagik. "Where the hell are they? Don't tell me intel dropped the ball again."

Both men were startled to hear the voice of Alphard calling them over from the yard. They made their way downstairs and out of the backdoor. There, nestled between the barn, the farmhouse and the granary, the yard had been relatively sheltered from the storm. Etchemin and Alphard stood over what looked to be the naked body of man lying facedown in the muddy snow, clearly very dead. A few feet away lay another body, feminine by the look of things, with a rusty scythe sticking out of her back. Most striking about the woman was her bright purple cloak.

"What the bloody hell?" muttered Cygnus as he sheathed his wand. "What happened here?"

"Area secure," said Etchemin, ever the professional.

"Someone did our job for us," spoke Alphard with a bemused tone.

Cygnus stepped over to the body and knelt down beside it. The wizard was covered in cuts and bruises and was missing part of his arm, it having been cut off just at the elbow. The cuts were deep and long, exposing tissue underneath the skin. At places, it was deep enough to expose bone.

"Wendigo do this?" asked Alphard.

"No," said Etchemin. "Wrong time of year. They're hibernating right now and won't come out of their caves unless disturbed. Not a cave around for miles either. Besides, look at those cuts. Those don't look like claw marks. They're too precise. These look like cuts from a blade or a surgical tool, even."

"What about the lass in purple?" asked Alphard. "Not exactly Alliance colours. Not exactly inconspicuous either, especially out in the snow."

"My guess is," said Cygnus as he suppressed a shiver from the cold snowy wind. "The poor lad over there put that scythe in her back."

"Very observant. As for what happened… snow's been covering most of the signs," Cygnus watched Etchemin perform his magic. With wand out, he studied the surroundings to make a reconstruction of events. "One person approached from the north side, light in step. The witch in purple," he said and pointed to scorch-marks to the side of the building as well as the granary. "She took on the wizards guarding the farmhouse, all three of them."

"All three?!' Alphard blinked. "Girl her size? Bold."

"Don't underestimate angry witches, Alf," Cygnus chuckled.

Etchemin rubbed his chin. "She gathered the bodies, used magic to drag them towards the barn… They struggled."

The four of them approached the barn and the moment they got close, they stopped just near the double doors leading into the creaking wooden structure. Across both doors, about a meter across, a symbol had been clad. Two cubes against each other, angled 90 degrees with two open triangles flanking either side. It was dark red, with rivulets of frozen red liquid running down.

"What is that?" asked Megedagik.

Cygnus held up his hand, the magic glowing brightly as he roved over it. "Warding magic," he said. "It's very, very faint but it's certainly there. Meant to placate whatever or whomever is inside. It makes the wooden barn act like a massive contained for… something."

"Ain't never seen that symbol before," Megedagik shrugged. "Ward is in the symbol?"

"No, not this type of ward. Could be bound to anything, really. And if your ward can be bound to anything…"

"… then this rune is more of a calling card, then," concluded Alphard. "Some sort of message?"

Etchemin, in the meantime, had finished a round around the barn and rejoined the group. "There's a plank missing near the back. The naked wizard crawled out through there, scythe in hand. He then took the witch in purple by surprise and planted a scythe in her back. My best guess is that the man was fatigued from cold and blood loss and died of exposure soon after."

"Partisan, you think?" asked Megedagik. "This feels like a retaliation sort of deal. Revenge thing."

"Could be," said Etchemin. "Grindelwald's Alliance isn't exactly popular in the Midwest. Loads of Midwestern Americans have no-maj family-members."

Alphard stepped up to the doors, raising his hand to the symbol. "Is this blood?" he said, his fingers touching the symbol before Cygnus could stop him.

"ALF, STOP!" Cygnus shouted. Too late, of course. With the symbol broken, the entire yard fell silent just as the howling wind picked up. Until the barn doors exploded into a hail of shredded splinters. A massive thing rushed outside, slapping Alphard aside until it emerged out in the open in its full, horrifying glory. The creature had once been a person. Or rather, two persons. What it had become was a lumbering amalgamation of a witch and a wizard, crudely stitched together and later having its flesh fused with magic. The lower torso was an unrecognisable ball of flesh with four legs awkwardly sticking out of it. Two halves of a torso were held together with wire and metal rods while both heads rolled uselessly to either side while blackened eyes darted across the yard. The creature's flesh was covered with strategic cuts and incisions, with more runes cut in their foreheads and what remained of the chest. The two arms on either side were far too long, broad and muscular for humans their original size and Cygnus could only conclude that the flesh of their four arms had been fused into two massive ones.

The creature didn't give them much time to think as it let out a strained double-howl through both mouths and rushed towards Megedagik. The only thing which saved him from being crushed was that the creature didn't know how to move properly on its four legs so its rush was more of a lumber.

"FOCUS!" shouted Etchemin. "LAY DOWN LIGHTNING!"

Etchemin's voice, as always, brought the four battle-hardened soldiers back to their senses. With wands in hand, the four men took up positions and assaulted the monster at once. Magic crackled in the air as lightning from all wands slammed into the creature from four sides. The monster let out another garbled double-mouthed howl.

"He's just shrugging it off!" Cygnus shouted. "Fire spells!"

The yard was soon brightened by a stream of fire coming from four directions, setting the creature ablaze. It screamed… but in annoyance instead of agony. Much like the lightning, it had shrugged off yet another magical attack. With some horror, Cygnus realized the creature was protected from magic.

Wizards were, for the most part, notoriously bad at physical combat for obvious reasons. But the creature hadn't countered on combat with this particular group of wizards. A tomahawk cleft through the air, thrown by Etchemin, and hit the head of the once-witch right in the side. It cleft through flesh and bone just fine, proving that the creature was not protected from physical attacks.

By now, the monster was upon Cygnus and with a single meaty hand, grabbed the front of his clothes and hoisted him up into the air. The storm had turned now, blowing more snow into the yard and making it much harder to see. A cry came from the blur of snow: Alf came rushing and slammed the rusty scythe he had liberated from the purple-robed witch's back to hack it down on the creature where the two torsos were connected. He brought it down again and again, until the rusty scythe broke off at the handle and remained lodged in between the two torsos.

"Unhand my brother, you fleshy fiend!" shouted Alphard.

The fleshy fiend did just that. As it turned its two backs on Cygnus, he saw an opportunity provided by a nearby piece of metal pipe. He grabbed the pipe with both hands and brought it down on one of the creature's skulls. Again. And Again. And again. He cried out in exertion while being showered with blood and viscera. By the time the pipe was too bent to be properly swung, the second torso of the once witch hung loosely to the creature's side.

More horror came when the second half of the creature, now enraged at the betrayal of its own fused body, used a massive arm to grab the second managed torso and roughly ripped it off its own body. It was thrown into the mud and the creature looked to be ready for another round.

"Oh, bugger me!" Alphard grunted, weaponless and in the creature's sights.

A mechanical roar came from the barn as a running muggle tractor appeared with a startling speed. "BEEP BEEP!" shouted Megedagik from the top of it just as he jumped off. Cygnus snorted: the man had always been a maniac in the best possible way. The tractor swiftly collided with the creature and effectively pinned it against the granary when it came to a crashing stop.

"Cygnus!" shouted Etchemin as he used his wand to raise a few heavy logs into the air. Cygnus nodded and followed his example. As the creature was already struggling to free itself, both men sent the logs flying into the monster with bone-grinding kinetic force. Impact after impact turned the creature's second torso into a pulp. It gurgled one last time and then never moved again.

The four man panted as they tried to wrap their heads around what had just happened.

"I think we found the other two Alliance wizards," said Cygnus. "And what the wards were trying to keep placated."

"War weapon?" Etchemin wondered. "It was certainly effective."

"Doubtful," said Cygnus. "Alliance is not that desperate yet. And they would have used muggles for this, no their own men. This…"

"A third party," Etchemin nodded grimly.

It was then that Alphard called them over to the barn. Inside they found nothing less than a complete horror show. A hastily set up field lab with equipment none of the men could identify. An operating table had served as the birthplace of that double-bodied creature. Fluids and potions, knives and scalpels, racks and hatchets. The barn had been turned into a medieval torture dungeon with a hint of magical science on the side.

"Our witch in purple dragged the Alliance wizards in here," said Megedagik, his brow furrowed. "And then went to town on them. Fuck, the smell alone…"

"Poor buggers," said Alphard. "Sure, we came here to kill them, but we would have made it a lot quicker than this."

"What was the purpose of all this?" Cygnus wondered.

Etchemin shook his head. "No time to bother with this now."

"Are you serious, mate?" snorted Alphard.

"Dead serious," said Etchemin. "The assault on Fargo will start in scant a few hours and we have no time to waste on this any more. We will report this mission a success to command and then join up with the main group for the final push. There's a war on, remember?"

Alphard sighed. "I suppose," he said. "But we're coming back here afterwards to get some answers."

Mission successful, with some complications. It wasn't the first time Cygnus had a debriefing like that. He nodded grimly and clapped Alphard on the shoulder. "Come on," he said. "We have a war to win."

And win the war they did. Or the battle, at least. The assault on the Fargo stronghold went relatively smoothly with surprisingly little casualties. Of course, the Alliance being outnumbered, surrounded on all sides and cut off from any sort of reinforcements with all the other strongholds being under assault too might have been deciding factors to their unconditional surrender. Lots of prisoners taken that day, against orders.

Of course, when Cygnus and the others had returned to the farm, they found it completely cleaned out. No sign of the creature, the horror show in the barn or the blood and bodies. Hell, even the tractor had been parked back inside the barn in the exact spot where Megedagik had found it.

Cygnus had tried doing some research. Asking around led to many stories from others during the war. Stories about monsters in the night, people disappearing, but it was hard to tell the truth from fiction with these kind of accounts. The symbol itself was a clue, but he'd been hard-pressed to find anything tangible about it, oddly enough showing up mostly during times of conflict. One thing was certain: if this group was real, they had been acting like vultures during war times, using any war's inherent cruelty as a cover to whatever they were up to.

But then the war shifted to Europe where he spent another few gruelling years with Alphard, Megedagik and Etchemin to kick Grindelwald out of Europe too. Then came the obligations to his family, getting married, taking over the Manchester-Black's businesses and being a father to three young girls. He simply had no time to look into it further and, really, it didn't matter much anymore at the time.

Yet here it was. That same symbol. Etched in a crate. A crate which had been loaded onto a ship which had disappeared without a trace.

His heart was still pounding in his chest when he tossed the pictures of the Heimdall expedition aside and made a grab for the envelop containing the pictures of the launch of the Black Expedition. Journalists had been around for a few days, snapping pictures of the preparations, pictures which were never used but still filed. Hoping against hope, he roved his magnifying glass over the pictures, focusing on the crates.

If this group had taken an interest in one expedition to Hyperborea, after all, it stood to reason that they'd take interest in another.

In the first six pictures he found nothing. For a moment, he was overcome with relief. Relief that swiftly turned to horror when he studied the seventh picture. There it was, small but clearly etched in one of the crates. Two cubes against each other, angled 90 degrees with two open triangles flanking either side. Blood red. It was innocuous enough to be mistaken for the logo of a shipping company unless one knew what one was looking for. And it was made all the more worse that his family was in the pictures: scant a few feet away stood Bellatrix, Hermione, Nymphadora and Tahki, seemingly arguing about the many trunks Bellatrix had brought to load on board the ship.

A few feet away from that crate and whatever was inside of it.

His heart sank to his stomach.

His girls were in danger and they didn't even realize it.

He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the fireplace. He had to know. He had to be sure. Even though it was late in the evening, he summoned Sebastian to his side swiftly.

"Sebastian. Apologies for the lateness of my request," said Cygnus as soon as his loyal butler stepped into the room a few minutes later. "I will need your help in the library. It's going to take same digging through my old papers."

With increasing trepidation, both men moved to the library. Cygnus still hoped against hope that he was wrong somehow.