Breaking the window: Expedition to Hyperborea

Chapter 17: A tale is entrusted.

"There is, I think, a certain amount of mercy to being cut off from the rest of the world. When your entire universe has become a tiny ship in the middle of the white wastelands, there is a tendency to grow rather close to the people around you. We Slytherins are often accused to being selfish backstabbers. Even I am forced to admit that this is not necessarily untrue. However, we Slytherins understand like no other the need to work together for a common goal when the situation is dire enough. In a life or death situation, it often a Slytherin who becomes the voice of reason, however unexpected that might be for some. When you have to rely on others, bonds forged grow deeper. And tales that would have gone untold under different circumstances will be entrusted to each other."

- Bellatrix Black, Expedition to Hyperborea, published 2006

Bellatrix whimpered when she lay on her back, barely aware of what might be happening in her cabin, while Hermione pressed against her side. With one hand lain entangled within Hermione's brown hair and another grasping the sheets, Bellatrix could only let out a laboured mew when she felt two of Hermione's silver fingers thrusting inside of her with a steady rhythm. Back and forth. Back and forth. Mercilessly back and forth. A silver thumb had found her most sensitive spot while soft lips and gentle teeth found the side of her neck. It took considerable mental effort to keep her leg raised for Hermione's sake… feeling her girl's hot wetness sliding over her lower thigh. Delirious with pleasure, Bellatrix barely had the sense of mind to kiss Hermione back when the brown-haired girl shifted. Barely understandable declarations of love were exchanged. On a primal level, Bellatrix registered that Hermione was close. But she herself was closer.

It took all her willpower to actually hold off until Hermione was ready. But the moment she was, both girls released at the same time. Bellatrix and Hermione both arched their backs, gave voice to their pleasure, loudly and violently, after which Hermione collapsed on top of her. Both girls lay panting for a moment, drenched in sweat and unable to move. They both giggled for a moment, after the plateau of pleasure finally allowed them some coherent thought again.

Bellatrix raised a hand to Hermione cheek and kissed her gently and softly, on the forehead.

"Missed," panted Hermione, still exhausted from the effort and met her lips instead.

"Was deliberate," Bellatrix murmured back as Hermione settled next to her.

"Sure it was," smirked Hermione, her eyes closed as she tried to fold the duvet over the two of them.

"Forehead kisses are dead sexy," Bellatrix stressed.

Hermione grinned. "Aren't you glad you stayed here with me instead of going out into the cold to look at a shipwreck?" asked Hermione.

Bellatrix sighed and gently rubbed her hand over Hermione's back, where she was most ticklish. The little shudder that went through Hermione was enticing.

"It does have its advantages," Bellatrix said. "Hm, so scandalous. Having torrid sex on the middle of the day. And early in the morning. "

"This was second breakfast," Hermione chuckled. "And what elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?"

"I do believe," Bellatrix chuckled and pulled her girl closer. "We will have all those right here in our cabin."

While Bellatrix could keep herself busy with her writing during the long dull days of sea voyage, poor Hermione found herself with precious little to do. Unlike Tahki, who could spend her long days mostly reading the same magazines over and over again and sleep half the day away, Hermione's busy mind and busy hands abhorred being idle. As such, if there was one thing Bellatrix had learned, it was that whenever Hermione was on the cusp of boredom with sheer nothingness on her mind, she would have the overwhelming urge to have sex.

And the two of them had had copious amounts of sex in the past weeks. So much that it had become a bit of a friendly running gag among the crew whenever the two of them were spotted anywhere near their cabin. It had gotten to a point where it was starting to interfere with her own writing schedule. Far be it from her to deny her amorous girlfriend much needed pleasures of the flash to stave off endless boredom, but if this would continue on into the more excessive, Bellatrix would have to curb Hermione a little.

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

Bellatrix smirked. "Just thinking how much of an innocent virgin you were when we first met in the Fae Realm five years ago. I swear down, I've created a monster."

Once again, Hermione clamped her lips around her neck. Feeling her soft tongue roving over her jugular, Bellatrix closed her eyes and groaned. "Hermie, please, I'm proper powfagged!"

"How is that my problem?" Hermione cruelly chuckled as Bellatrix found a hand on her breast and her nipple being pinched between the thumb and index finger of Hermione's good hand.

"Where are you getting all this energy from?!" Bellatrix giggled. "Stop mithering my tits! Swear down, I'm proper dead! We've been at it for two hours!"

Hermione groaned in disappointment, and Bellatrix earned herself the slight sting of Hermione's good hand slightly slapping the side of her cheek. Hermione rolled onto her back and propped herself up against the headboard. "Exercise less! You'll have more energy," Hermione demanded with a pouty expression.

"Exercise also gives me those abs you like to run your tongue over and the sculpted legs you like to rub your…"

"Yes, yes," Hermione sighed. "You've made your point."

"Tell you what," said Bellatrix as she reached over to the nightstand. First order of business was to take a long sip from a cold mug of water. Second order of business was to grab her notebook. "In between working on my book, I've got another chapter ready of my horror anthology. How about we take a bit of a break, I'll read you what I have written, you tell me what you think and…"

"… I think we both know what happens after," chuckled Hermione as she took the mug for a few sips herself. "Certainly. It's a deal."

Bellatrix got comfortable, laying down her head on Hermione's lap. It was a bit awkward to curl up on the bed sideways and hold the book close enough to read from, but if she pulled in her legs she could just manage, being a small enough girl. While Hermione gently stroked her dark curly hair, Bellatrix started to read.

I find myself in an odd predicament. My erstwhile companion Celeste has been staying with me for the past few days, acclimatizing to life at the manor. It is odd to me that she has not fled after the first night, but it seems that this cursed manor with its many rules and even many more dangers is preferable to her than whatever drudge of a muggle life she has left behind.

Unfortunately for her, she has become quite sickly as of late. Unfortunately for me, this has caused me significant burden.

Celeste craves something calls 'heroin'. I am not familiar with the substance, but apparently it is some sort of muggle medicine for protracted depression if Celeste is to be believed. My first thought was to find some of it in the muggle world. Carol and Charlie down the pub gave me a look as if I was from another world when I mentioned it, and the clerk at the chemist wasn't helpful at all. Aside from the odd look she gave me, she had the gall to ask me to leave the shop!

Apparently the savage muggles have very little regard for people who are clearly suffering.

Celeste herself shows signs of a harsh life, even though she is hardly forthcoming about her past. Her breasts are… augmented. While a self-conscious witch can enlarge her bust with the aid of spells, the muggles do this through a permanent altering of the body by cutting open their bodies and putting in some sort of pillows. Her blonde hair is matted, needing care and I should really find her a proper set of clothes once she feels better. If she intends to stay, she should know that winters will get very cold inside this manor, far colder than would be comfortable in her short skirt, fishnets and a shirt that is half missing.

Of course, her situation has to be dealt with first.

Aside from cleaning up the vomit Celeste leaves about, her delirious moans at night are attracting far more attention in this dangerous house than we should be comfortable with. The scratches on the door from the creatures that roam the hall were far deeper and greater in number when I inspected it this morning.. If this keeps up, it will only be a matter of time before they will tear the door down at night. Something has to be done, and quickly.

Fortunately, I know just the thing. Though I cannot help her with her depression, I can certainly help mitigate the negative physical effects of Celeste's lack of medication. Fortunately, all the ingredients I would need for the potion are readily available in the manor's yard. After Celeste makes me promise to not be away for too long, I make my way there. As I ponder why this muggle woman is so bloody clingy, I leave the manor through the front doors and round about the main building to the manor yard. I feel a chill go through my body and pull my cloak a little tighter around me; it's getting colder fast this time of year and it seems to be we are headed into a fierce winter season.

The yard itself is quite large, unkempt and chaotic. What was one a garden with nice lawns, a hedge maze and a greenhouse, now lies abandoned and foreboding. Like the manor, the yard has a very specific set of rules to follow. Avoid even looking at the greenhouse, for the reflections in its broken grass with turn your body inside out. The maze itself is a trap of time and always to be given a wide berth. The garden and lawns themselves are relatively safe and are overgrown with the weeds I need for my potion. I head into the garden shed, which is in actually more of a section of the basement built underneath the manor. A wooden door gives way to a rickety set of stairs leading into the room below, which contains a large supply of firewood to one side and a gathering of tools neatly organised and hanging from the wall above a workbench on the other. The room is, as usual, barely lit through a pair of narrow windows high up into the wall.

The garden shed is a generally benign room which has never given me any trouble. Though it is admittedly generous with its supply of firewood in winter, I try not to press my luck. All the tools I need for gathering the herbs, I will return as soon as I no longer have need of it.

It is when I return these tools that I find that the entire atmosphere of the room has changed. And, fool that I am, I set foot onto the stairs as I am eager to return the tools to their proper place. The atmosphere becomes ever more oppressive and I hurry to put the tools back in their proper place.

I almost miss it, were it not for a glint on the reflective pristine blade of one of the sickles.

I try not to turn my head too overtly, but just enough to see the skeletal claws of a creature, hiding in the dark cubby beneath the wooden staircase, jutting out just from under the first step. Inch long blades jut from its fingers. It is unlike any creature I have seen in the manor. I know not its size or its capabilities, only that is has effectively blocked my only exit from this room. I think back, retracing my steps. I must have broken an hitherto unknown rule somehow, but which one? And how? If only I had a wand, for without one, I can only cast simple spells and cantrips, nothing that can actually help me defeat an unknown magical beast. I consider running up the stairs, but it would certainly grab me and tear me to shreds.

It is yet to move and I weigh my options, while I realize I have not much time.

But then, I see it. Something I have never seen before in the many times I have entered this room. A way out, in the form of some sort of rubbish chute. A narrow square pipe leading upwards into an unknown part of the manor above, hung from the ceiling at a convenient height to enter.

It is impossible to miss such a thing. It is as if the room itself is giving me an option to escape. A reward perhaps? For never taking more firewood than I needed and always having returned the tools to their proper place? A beggar cannot be a chooser and I calmly step towards it. Sudden movements would no doubt alert the creature behind the stairs. But the moment I am close enough, I propel myself into the pipe.

It is claustrophobic and I barely fit. I do not strike a portly figure, but I still regret my hearty breakfast at Carol's pub this morning. I close my eyes, suppress my fears and will the magic in my body to flow. I glide upwards along the pipe, slower than I would have liked. Up and up I go, further and further, until I realize I am outside the pipe, in another room clouded within utter darkness.

The first thing that hits me is the overwhelming stench, worse than a mixture of stale dragon urine and rotting corpses. My eyes start to water and I start to gag. But when I realize just where I am, it takes all my willpower to actually remain silent.

I am in the attic. I am inside the Merlin-be-damned fucking attic!

Mortal dread fills me. I have never been inside the attic, for obvious reasons, for I know what dwells here. I listen and I hear heavy footsteps on the far side of the room. It has, thankfully, not detected me. Drawn to sounds as it is, I use magic to muffle my movements. The stench is so heinous, I breathe through my mouth. Even the taste of the air is foul. I suddenly wonder if the room has rewarded me at all. I need to find a way out.

Another rule of the manor: always keep track of where you are and learn the layout. A rule which I have taken to heart and where my diligence now benefits me.

I quickly do some math in my head, trying to gauge my position inside the attic relative to the manor in the completely dark room that is potentially cluttered with… anything. Alright, I know where the garden shed is underneath the manor. I would be directly above it, meaning I am at the far side of the east wing. That would mean…

I almost chuckle when I realize where the creature in the attic must be. Attracted to sound, it is patrolling near the library tower door. It hears the delirious moans of Celeste coming from the library. To think that a muggle woman is the reason why I am still alive…

There are three exits to the attic. Two are doors leading into other rooms which I have secured with chains from the outside, so no salvation is to be found there. The other is a hatch leading down onto the mezzanine.

With the relative position of myself and the location of the library tower, I think I have a fair idea where the attic hatch is. Still, getting to it in complete darkness while trying to remain utterly silent will be… challenging. I slowly creep forwards, keeping to the walls of the attic. Carefully, step by muffled step, hoping to Merlin I don't bump into anything along the way. I make slow progress, but as long as I keep this up and the creature remains distracted by Celeste's delirious moans, I should find my way out.

I listen again and the creature is still circling around near the library. I hear odd sloshing sounds with every step, accompanied by a slow guttural rattle. The creature, whatever it is, must be huge. From the steps, I had always gathered it to be bipedal and inside this attic, it can be as tall as ten feet. Drawn to sound as it is, it is safe to assume it to be blind. I hear more, however, A strange ticking noise.

Behind me.

Too late do I realize that the creature from the shed below has followed my up the pipe.

In the distance, the heavy footfalls stop while the clicking of claws on metal from the pipe continued. I freeze, press my back against the slanted roof of the attic as I hear the heavy footfalls again, headed in my direction. As it gets closer, so does the stench. My eyes start to water, it becomes harder to breathe. I fight to control my own gagging reflex as the creature approaches. It is large, larger than I suspected. It moves with that sloshing sound, as if its skin is a bag holding its innards together. I wince as I feel disgusting fur brush my cheek, hoping against hope that it does not notice me.

It does not.

And I breathe again.

My peace if short-lived as a second unknown creature finally enters the attic, far too close to me for my liking. I hear its claws scraping into the wood. And, as it turns out, makes a fatal mistake. The second creature, now onto the attic floor, lets out a shrill shriek, announcing its presence. Almost immediately, a second bellow follows. Much deeper, much more guttural. The heavy footsteps turn into a bull rush. And pandemonium breaks out.

Shrieks and bellows mix. The entire world shakes as the two creatures wage war in the dark. One has the bulk, the other the claws. The creatures slam into each other, again and again, throwing each other around. Two apex predators fighting for dominance, with me caught in the middle.

It will only be a matter of time before one throws the other right into me and I do not think I will survive that impact. Throwing all caution in the wind, I pull into a sprint and stumble through the dark. I bump into things, old furniture and whatever rubbish had been left on the attic, no doubt. After more tripping and picking myself up, I finally come upon the end of the attic where the hatch is. I fall to knees and hands for frantic searching, to find elation when I find it. Sparing not a moment, I will the magic in my body to serve my purpose, fuelled by pure desperation. The power impacts the hatch and it flies open.

I am blinded by the light, but do not hesitate and let myself fall through.

My landing is certainly not gentle, as the wind is pushed out of me. I swiftly make a motion with my hand and the hatch flies closed. A second turning motion locks it.

For a moment, I dare not move or breathe as the war rages on above me. The manor shakes and groans with every impact, every move, every assault. Plaster falls down the ceiling and falls, some paintings have fallen off their hooks, some cupboards have fallen over. I will have to replace them in their proper place later or the house might decide to blame me for it.

The war comes to an end when the ceiling above the entrance hall is met with a succession of rapid impact, combined with a series of pained whimpers. It doesn't take long for the white plastered ceiling to coat red with the stain of blood. Drops fall out onto the floor below as the ceiling is rapidly soaked. Something else I would have to clean up. Judging from the heavy footfalls, the creature in the attic is the undisputed victor.

I smile. I laugh.

Once more, I have survived and continue to survive despite all odds. And best thing yet, I still have my pouch containing all my freshly cut herbs.

I pick myself up and return to the library, where I find Celeste still moaning deliriously, bathing in her own sweat. She looks to be in a worse state than before. Pale. Sickly.

I quickly set up a cooking pot over the fireplace and get to work. The potion is done quick enough and, after a moment of putting it on the windowsill to cool next to the open window, it is fit to use. I gently lift her head, my hand feeling the softness of her matted hair and put the bottle to her lips. I force her to drink and swallow the undoubtedly foul tasting liquid. Almost immediately, her pain eases, her moans stop and her breathing becomes easier. Celeste falls into a silent sleep.

I simply sit next to her, my hand finding her soft hair. "I should be furious with you," I tell her. "You almost cost me my life! And for what?! You're useless! You eat my food and contribute nothing! You take my cot and have me sleep on a carpet! You're nothing but a muggle slug!"

My own words ring hollow. I have been alone for years in this manor, and this muggle is my only companion whom has lasted more than two days in this house.

If only my Dark Lord could see me now.

I chuckle wryly, and resign myself to my fate.

"That was…" said Hermione, her lips and teeth once again firmly locked on the flesh of Bellatrix' neck. "Really rather nice. Our ex-death eater has a heart after all!"

Bellatrix swooned a little, putting away her notebook while Hermione pressed her body against hers, her good hand cupping one of her breasts, kneading gently. Hermione was still in the mood. But by now, Bellatrix had recovered somewhat to pull off some moves of her arm. With the aid of some magic, the strength in her body increased and she rolled on top of Hermione, pushing her to her back and pinning her against the bed by straddling her. Hermione let out a throaty giggle, her wrists now held by a grinning Bellatrix.

"My, my, my," Hermione mocked slightly. "Now longer 'powfagged', are you?"

"My turn to make you powfagged," Bellatrix grinned wickedly. "Time for elevenses!"

"Ooooh," Hermione winked just as she was about to be ravaged most expertly.

Tahki was left sat on the sofa in the crew lounge alone, staring out the windows at the snow being blasted along by the icy winds just as she did in the harsh Montana winters. Though she supposed the winds were even colder outside and the snow even more plentiful. The crew of the Kingfisher seemed to be more on edge than usual, but she supposed the idea of coming across the wreck of another ship in these harsh waters would be a bit of a confrontation with their own mortality. Her thoughts drifted back to Montana, to gramps and her little brother Ahanu, and wondered what they'd be doing right now. It was funny, really… faced with the expectations of her direct family she had been eager to leave to the point of never wanting to return. Travelling the UK had been wondrous and had found her English family to be welcoming and enriching. But now that she was here, alone with her thoughts, it surprised her just how much she missed Montana.

"Ah, here you are," sounded a familiar accented voice. Tahki found herself smiling without thinking about it when the tall blonde Neo-Viking Sunniva entered the crew lounge. Her long blonde hair was still tied in braids, cascading over those unbecoming old clothes she was still wearing. A little too old and a little too small, apparently borrowed from one of the larger male crewmembers. Still, Sunniva bore them… as she bore everything… with stoic regality. Also, Tahki was still happy to see that her Neo-Viking friend bore her shell-necklace around her neck, to a point that she wondered if the Neo-Viking ever even took it off anymore.

"Come to keep me company?" asked Tahki. And she was glad for it. She and Sunniva didn't have much of a chance to talk the past couple of days and she found she missed their chats.

Sunniva sat down on the sofa on the other side of the table. "There is not much for me to do currently."

"Welcome to the mind-numbing monotony of ship life on an Arctic expedition," Tahki chuckled. "Nymph's off into the cold. Hermione and Bellatrix are off fucking like horny jackrabbits in their cabin, I bet. Lucky bitches. So you have me all to yourself."

"You seemed lost in thought when I entered the lounge," said she, looking at Tahki intently.

"Noticed that, huh?" Tahki snorted. "I was just thinking of gramps and Ahanu back home. I worry about my little brother. His friends are from the wrong side of the tracks if you get what I mean. He's a good boy, but… not always very wise about things. Almost twenty years old and doing fuck all with his life. Hell, even Steve had a hobby or two."

"You care about your brother."

"I take it you don't care much for yours?"

"Ragnar and I have been rivals ever since we were in the womb. It is said that when our mother gave birth to us, we even raced to be the first one out. We have tried to outdo each other ever since. It is said among the Herskaprarsynir that twins have a special bond, but there is nothing but hatred between us. Ragnar is an honourless cur too occupied with slaking whatever lust he has in the moment and his crew isn't a hair better. If he wasn't my mother's son, he would have been a lowly karl responsible for nothing more than unloading our drakkar after a raid. There is no glory in combat in the way he conducts himself."

"Don't get me wrong, I think my brother's an asshole, but I don't hate him. I don't ever think I could. I wish gramps would be a bit stricter…. For the both of us, I suppose," Tahki shrugged.

"You have never mentioned your parents," said Sunniva. "You have regaled me with tales of your aunts and uncles, passionately told me about your grandfather. But never your parents."

Fuck. Sunniva was goddamn perceptive. Too perceptive for her own good. Tahki sighed and looked out the window again. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but… I suppose I need to tell someone. Fuck, I haven't even told Bella and Nymph this," she said and turned to look into those stunning blue eyes of her new Neo-Viking friend.

"We have these creatures that live all over north America called wendigo and, yes, they're dangerous, but they're also just big and stupid animals. Like a really dumb stinky bear with sharper teeth that's always hungry," said Tahki. "They'll take your head off with one swipe if you're not careful, but there are easy ways of dealing with them. And then, there's skin-walkers."

A very chill went down her spine when she said the word and already regretted saying it. A cold went through her body icier than the winds outside. "You see, the skin-walkers are a curse inflicted upon us all by Navajo dark shamans. And… we're not even sure that is even true to begin with. They're not people, not anymore. They're… eldritch abominations. More than that is not fully safe to know or spread around. These skin-walkers, they're what's called a cognitohazard. A memetic threat. The more you know about them, the more you will attract them. It's like they're stumbling through the dark and suddenly see a big bright lighthouse in the distance. Well, if you know too much, you become the lighthouse. And they will find you, no matter where you run to."

"I see," said Sunniva, looking rather pensive.

Tahki shook her head. "No," she said nervously. "You don't, you really don't. You see, the more people who learn about the truth about skin-walkers, the more powerful they get. That's what makes them truly dangerous. Skin-walkers were a lot easier to keep hidden in the old days, but that's getting to be harder and harder now that everybody's got internet. So, the native tribes changed their tactics. There's a lot of misinformation spread about them through-out the entire world, and this is by our design. Instead of trying to keep our shame a secret, we started spreading a lot of tales and rumours, all different, to basically hide the truth among a deluge of lies to protect both us and the no-maj from these abominations. Because they don't care who they kill. You know too much, you are prey, no matter who you are. So all those crap horror films Hollywood makes about skin-walkers, or those crap stories on the internet? All lies and all help to protect everyone from the ugly, dangerous truth."

Sunniva rubbed her chin. "So the more people know about these creatures, the more dangerous they become. So you hide the trees of truth among a forest of planted lies. Devious and clever."

Tahki nodded. "It's a tactic that seems to work very well. For now, at least. Even among the native peoples, knowledge of the truth is spread around. Nobody has a full picture of what they are, how they think and how to deal with them. Nobody really knows what they look like either. So all those depictions out in popular culture? All fake. Because if you see one. Actually see one, even if it's just a flash… then holy hell, your fate is sealed. No, that's an understatement. You'll be fucked up the ass with a sideways sequoia log. Nobody who has ever actually seen one has lived to tell the tale. Terrible as that may be, it does help to contain the truth about them. Still, because we know more than most, we often become targets. Nobody exactly know what the safe threshold of knowledge is. My mother… flew too close to the sun."

Tahki sat up a little straighter. "My parents were magizoologists. Scientific professionals, all that shit. Doing everything by the book and thinking they could avoid danger by taking proper precautions. Well, my mom was wrong. And she became one of those lighthouses. I was very young when it happened, my brother had just been born. All I remember is that my father stormed into our room in the middle of the night, tossed me and my baby brother into the closet and looked me in the eye. 'Take care of your brother, and whatever you do, whatever you hear do not open this door' were the last words he spoke to me before he closed the door and put a silencing charm on the closet. I was just four years old. It's the quiet, utter silence, that was the worst part. To this day I can't stand the quiet. The next morning, gramps opened the closet and I just screamed and screamed and screamed. Our parents were both gone. House wasn't trashed or anything, no blood, no signs of a struggle. It's like they just… stopped existing. Gramps took us in after that."

Tahki shook her head. "I'm sorry for telling you this," she said. "Nymph tends to make fun of the whole concept of skin-walkers, but she has no idea. The less she knows the better. I fear I might have even put you in danger. Natives tend to be a tad more in the know, so we might find ourselves randomly targeted no matter how much we know when we're out in the wild."

"You were targeted again? Later in life?" Sunniva replied, her expression grim.

"Goddamn, you are fucking perceptive, alright," said Tahki, chuckling in spite of herself. "One thing you do need to know, for when you come to my gramps' ranch in Montana. If you ever find yourself on the road at night, inside your car… driving or riding shotgun… while you're in the middle of nowhere going fifty miles an hour and you hear tapping against the window… Well, whatever you do, don't fucking look at it. No matter how hard it tries to get your attention. Eyes on the road, straight ahead. So considering you're going to be living on gramps' ranch, well, it's probably good you know what I just told you."

Sunniva frowned, looking at her with those intense blue eyes. "You speak as if from experience," said the blonde woman.

Tahki bit her lip for a moment, hesitating for a moment before letting out a sigh. "I, uhm, must have been sixteen years old at the time. Spent an evening at Steve's house on the Playstation and talking shit, you know? It was a fun Montana winter night, so biting cold, blanket of snow all over the roads, whole shebang. So I drive my old non air-conditioned rust bucket pick-up onto the reservation freezing my ass off. Our ranch is right at the edge so I have maybe a mile or three to go. And then, suddenly…"

"Tap on your vehicle's window?" asked Sunniva.

"Right you are," said Tahki. "As if it wasn't cold enough, I literally feel all the blood in my body freeze. I know what's outside the moment it taps the glass and that makes me even more delicious to it. It happened to gramps and my aunties so often, but never to me. But I know what to do, so I keep my eyes straight on the road and pretend it's not there, right? And then it comes again. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Slow. Rhythmical. And then, suddenly. TAP TAP TAP. So I flinch. Goddammit, I flinched. That was enough acknowledgement for it."

"You were young," said Sunniva.

"I was stupid," said Tahki. "I almost yelled at it to fuck off, but that level of acknowledgement could have really meant my end. But then, suddenly, I feel the whole goddamn truck shake… and I realize the thing is sitting right in the bed of my truck. The whole car groaned in protest… god, how big and heavy that thing must have been. And I hear tapping again. Right at the back of my head. Again. And again. God, I have never been so afraid in my entire fucking life. It took every bit of willpower I had not to look into the rear-view mirror."

Reliving the memory made Tahki shudder. She didn't even notice that Sunniva had reached over to grab her hand.

"So there I was, praying to any god that would listen for my piece of shit truck not to break down in the middle of the road or get stuck in a fucking snowbank. And then… it growls. It just fucking growls! The sound… it wasn't like any sound a creature of this world could ever make. I started shaking and struggled to keep my hands on the wheel. And so I start to think about anything else but the thing in my truck. And then, I see it, the lights coming from gramps' ranch. And then I feel the thing… it couldn't have jumped off, it simply disappeared. The truck felt lighter all of a sudden and the thing is gone. So I drive onto the ranch grounds, run inside and cry my eyes out in my grandfather's arms for the rest of the night…"

"You have endured much in your young life already, but you bear it strongly and with pride," said Sunniva. It was only now that she noticed that the Neo-Viking was gently rubbing the back of her hand, almost unknowingly it seemed. Though part of her wanted to withdraw, another part of her simply enjoyed the very nice sensations. And really, after sharing such intimate details of her life, why withdraw.

"Yeah," muttered Tahki, somewhat embarrassed. "We of the native peoples, we are known for pushing the boundaries of magic and thus inadvertently unleashed an existential magical threat upon humanity that's neigh unstoppable. And, well, nobody really wants to admit it, but we're starting to lose our grip on the situation. More and more people of all race and creed go missing every year despite our disinformation tactics and god knows what those things are doing to those poor people."

Sunniva gave her an intense look. "Sounds like Loki-spawn of the worst kind. We have plenty of Loki-spawn on Thule, though not as intangible as yours. The man-eating jötnar have been a plague upon our people for generations. They believe eating our flesh with grant them our powers, so they constantly prowl the countryside looking for prey. They are evil, misshapen creatures, wretched and vile. There are not many of them, but death does not stop them. Their souls simply respawn in the flesh-caverns of their lair where they grow into a new body. As such, we are constantly fighting these creatures. An axe in their skull works good enough and I know this from experience."

"Just how big are we talking here?" asked Tahki.

"A jötnar stands twice as tall as the tallest drengr, well over five meters," said Sunniva, pride creeping into her voice. "I have personally slain jötnar on twelve different occasions. The ground shakes as they walk, the power in their swings is immense. Fighting them is exhilarating, a battle of the ages which powers a strong warrior's heart."

"That's… Jesus, over sixteen feet in freedom units!" Tahki blinked. Mental images of the stalwart Sunniva in full armour standing on the snowy rocks of Iceland crying to the heavens while bombarding one of those giants with a hail of lightning before jumping into the air and ramming her axe into their skulls with pride and passion in equal measure were… oddly enticing.

Sunniva nodded enthusiastically. "Unlike your Loki-spawn, one can definitely look them in the eye before slaying them and sending them back to their lair. To see the fear in their eyes when they know you are the one who has defeated them before… A year or two ago, I attempted to woo a woman taken from Norwegian coasts as a thrall. Fire-hair, passionate, even defiant. Never acted like a slave. I pined for her, but alas, she wanted nothing to do with me."

"Wait… Woo a woman?" Tahki raised an eyebrow. "You're into girls?"

Sunniva didn't miss a beat. "I enjoy the company of men and women equally. Why do you ask? Life is short, violent and glorious for my people. We do not concern ourselves with silly hang-ups."

Tahki groaned inwardly. If Nymph ever caught wind of this, she'd never hear the fucking end of it. She closed her eyes ans sighed. "Sorry. Nothing, just… continue, alright?"

Sunniva gave her an odd look for a moment, but didn't seem to be offended. Instead, the Neo-Viking continued her tale. "One day the village where she was being held was raided by the jötnar. Even though they had been driven off, they had managed to capture a number of thralls, Britta among them. My brethren had no intention to rescue them, as the general sentiment towards thralls is that they can always get more of them. So, I set out on my own. jötnar are not subtle and it was easy enough to follow the tracks back to their lair. And just like they were not subtle, neither was I. I fell upon them with steel and magic the moment I invaded their home and slew there where I stood. Fortunately, I was not too late and Britta had not yet been put into the cooking pot. I still remember the look she gave me when I undid her bonds and told her that I loved her."

"I take it she was happy to be turned into stew?" Tahki asked.

"At first," said Sunniva. "And then she spat in my face and tried to kill me with my own axe. Fortunately, she had overestimated her own strength and it ended up spraining her wrist instead when she tried to hold it. And yet she told me in no uncertain terms that she would not be going back."

"HAH!" Tahki chuckled. "I think I'd like that girl."

Sunniva seemed a bit melancholic for a moment. "To this day I do not know what possessed me, but rather than to return her to the village I brought her to the outskirts of Reykjavik instead. From the muggle world, she could escape and return to Norway. I remember watching Britta walk off towards the city, with regret and longing in my heart. She turned around once more and, for the first time ever, I saw her smile."

"That was a nice thing you did," replied Tahki. "Kinda sucks you couldn't run off together, but I suppose that only happens in the movies."

"I don't know what that is," said Sunniva, her brow furrowing.

"I'll, uhm, explain it to you sometimes," said Tahki.

Sunniva closed her eyes for a moment. "My mother knew what I had done. She is a great shaman and I could never keep secrets from her. But… that day, she didn't scold or yell, but she simply told me that Britta simply wasn't meant for me. That true love lay yet ahead of me. That Freyja would cross my path with a woman who would love me as much as I would love her and that I would know her when I would meet her."

Woman?

Her?

It was only know that she noticed that Sunniva was still holding her hand. Surprisingly gently, in fact, with her unexpectedly soft fingers gently rubbing the back of her hand. There was an odd feeling in Tahki's stomach with was also quite pleasant and… god, was it hot in here? Time to turn down the warming stone a little, she supposed.

The silence was becoming deafening now and, holy hell, why was her heart beating so fast?

"So, uhm… your mom sounds nice," said Tahki. "Surely you'll be able to see her again?"

Sunniva looked to see if the room and nearby corridor was empty before leaning forward and gazing into her again with those piercing blue eyes. "Tahki," she started. "You have shown me a great deal of trust and I shall repay you in kind, but you must promise me you will not share what I am about to tell you with anyone."

"Sounds serious."

"Promise me."

"Alright, I promise, I promise," said Tahki. "Scout's honour."

Sunniva sighed for a moment. "My full name. My true name. Is Sunniva… Ealdwynnsdottir."

It took Tahki a moment to put two and two together while the blonde viking looked at her expectingly. "Holy shit!" Tahki hissed. "You're a princess?!"

Sunniva looked over her shoulder again, fearing the outburst might have alerted someone. Luckily, no one came running into the crew lounge.

"But, that means…" Tahki said. "Queen Ealdwynn… Your own mother banished you? Damn, that's harsh."

Sunniva gave her a pained look. "My mother does nothing without reason. She sees past, present and future equally. I… I have never known her to make a wrong decision. She must have had a reason for doing what she did. As much as it pains me to consider this."

Neo-Vikings don't cry, apparently, but the Native-American Black could see that Sunniva very much wanted to. Her life had fallen apart and she had lost everything. That could be a crushing blow to anyone, regardless of how strong and brave someone could be. "Hey," said Tahki, offering the Neo-Viking a smile. "Don't worry about it, okay? You have us now. I mean, me and Bella and Hermione and Nymph. And if you don't like Montana, you can always come to England. I'll be happy to put on a good word for you. Just wait till you meet uncle Achille. He does amazing artwork. And you'll probably like aunt Andromeda, but be warned she's probably even more intimidating than your mom is. Oh, and you'll love uncle Cygnus. He fought in the war against Grindelwald with my gramps and both of them are great warriors!"

Tahki still felt the warmth of Sunniva's hand gently clasped around hers, to a point that it was starting to feel familiar.

Even nice.

Yes.

This was nice.

A friend holding another friend's hand.

Just gals being pals.

No reason for it to stop. Just enjoy it. Enjoy the moment of friendship between friends. Friends forever.

Funny. Steve had been her absolute best friend and they had never gazed into each other's eyes like she and Sunniva did.

"Sunni… I…" Tahki started to say, a blush creeping to her cheeks when their blissful moment was roughly disturbed by commotion in the hallway. Both of them turned their heads and saw Riggere and Copperhead running down the stairs carrying a stretcher while the doctor rushed ahead towards sickbay. On the stretcher lay…

"Jesus, NYMPH!" Tahki exclaimed, every semblance of friendship and handholding forgotten as the two of them stood up and rushed towards sickbay. When they arrived, they had just moved Nymphadora from the stretcher to an examination table and, fucking hell, she looked like a mess. Her parka was covered with red ice: frozen blood. And what little skin was exposed was pale as the snow. Her eyes were closed and she didn't seem to be moving at all.

By now, Kirk had joined them inside the sickbay and found himself immediately accosted. "Holy shit, is she dead?! She can't be dead?! What the fuck happened?!" Tahki exclaimed, panic on her voice when she stood near the stretcher only to find herself being dragged away by Kirk. Outside in the hall, he put two hands on her shoulders and squeezed slightly.

"She's alive. She's going to survive," he said while looking her in the eye. "But please let the doctor do his work!"

Relief washed over her when doctor Big-Mouth took a pair of medical scissors and started to cut open the parka to peel it off Nymphadora. "It's not nearly as bad as it looks," said the vampire doctor. "She managed to heal herself enough before losing consciousness to stabilise herself. The wounds are closed, but she's hypothetic. We'll need to warm her up a little before we can give her some blood-replenishing potion. Trust me, miss Black, she'll be up and about in no time."

"Shit, shit, I have to tell Bellatrix and Hermione!" said Tahki before she ran off into the corridor.

As she ran up the stairs, she couldn't help but wonder if this trip was cursed as all hell.

Cygnus had to admit, with no small sense of frustration, that he was out of his depths.

After his encounter with the strange cultist on that farm just outside of Fargo, he had indulged in his family's vice of obsession. The event haunted him. The creature he had seen haunted him. The symbol… haunted him. So he had set out to find out more and… never really got very far. There was, of course, the war to consider. After liberating the United States, he and his American friends and family moved straight on to Europe to fight there for several years, including helping to purge his own country from the Grindelwald loyalist scourge.

It had, however, never been more than a side-project. After the war, there was rebuilding to contend with. He became head of the Manchester-Blacks and had its vast fortune to manage and expend. Then came the marriage to Ella and after Bellatrix had been born, lack of time and mounting frustration with lack of progress meant that this little side-project had been entirely shelved.

And then, suddenly, the symbol was there again, sixty years later. Right front and center. On a crate. Which was on board the same ship carrying his precious family.

He knew next to nothing still, even the fact that the mysterious witch in the purple robe was even some sort of cultist was in dispute. The state of his notes, now over fifty years untouched, only added to the anger. Just like the rest of his family archive, they were a mess of poorly organized scraps filed completely out of date and context. He had hoped that by organising everything, he would start to see a pattern. But all it got him was weeks wasted without progress. Notes were outdated, leads were false or went nowhere, findings were conflicting or simply the nonsensical ramblings of a much younger man convinced he knew everything.

Sat by the cozy fire warming is old bones, Cygnus was very close to simply grabbing the useless notes and tossing them into the fire in a fit of frustration. Of course, he didn't. That wouldn't help anyone.

The sad part was that he might even be making himself insane with worry without cause. Squares and triangles were common enough symbols, after all. A shipping company or a factory might have simply made up a logo which looked like that symbol he had seen. And it would make sense that a company making specialist equipment or supplies would deliver those to expeditions to the same area of the world.

Still, there was no way to be sure. And it drove him mad with worry. He had lost Bellatrix once, and if he were to lose her again… not to mention his soon to be daughter-in-law, his granddaughter and his distant grand-niece… he wouldn't be sure if his heart could even bear it. He needed help. He needed experts in ferreting out those secrets meant to be hidden. He needed people who knew where and how to look.

His eyes, almost instinctively, were drawn to the silent radio on the table next to the fireplace. And he finally got an idea. Sometimes, experts were right around the corner if you just knew were to look.

"… so while the Ministry sits on their collective asses and does nothing," Antonin Dolohov ranted in his microphone. "People go missing. More and more every single year. Wizard. Muggle. Man. Beast. Cause it's not just us, folks! Muggle farmers near the region have been claiming their cows either disappearing in the night completely, or are found with pieces of their bodies missing! Clean cuts, cauterized wounds with the razor-head precision of a splince! That is no coincidence, folks. Fine magical gentlefolks like you and I, good honest people in the street, tell us stories about horned deer-men smelling of corpses, prowling the nights STEALING YOUR CHILDREN! This is no different from those stories about the tall faceless man in the spiffy suit that was spotted in the forests of Dartmoor last week."

Being on a roll, Antonin took a deep breath before he continued. "And what does the Ministry do? Nothing. Less than nothing. No, WORSE THAN NOTHING! They put out statement on top of statement that the 'public has nothing to worry about', that it's 'all a big coincidence' and 'there's no reason to panic'. THEY ARE IN LEAGUE WITH THESE TRANS-DIMENSIONAL VAMPIRES, I TELL YOU!"

He slammed his fists on the table. "Because I tell you, folks," said Antonin. "The Native-Americans know more than they're letting on. Oh, the tribes over there are all about progressing and innovating magic to improve the wizarding world. But when on the subject of these TRANS-DIMENSIONAL VAMPIRES it's all 'oh, no, can't talk about that. It's a cultural cultural taboo!' and all that modern progressive stance on the magical world goes flying straight out the sodding window! WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?! WHO ARE YOU PROTECTING?! WHAT DIRT DO THEY HAVE ON YOU?! THE TRUTH WILL COME OUT EVENTUALLY!"

Antonin Dolohov was in his element. This is the very secret studio from which he had broadcast ever since the 80s when he started his subversive shows. He'd been railing against the Ministry ever since, condemning their secrets, their lies and their unquenchable hunger for control. During the war he had railed against Voldemort and his followers, as he had effectively become the Ministry and after the war, he kept at it, his message carrying that the Ministry had been no different before, during and after Voldemort. Only his friend Newt who sat with him and his assistant Charley who helped with the behind-the-scenes technical aspects knew where this studio was hidden. Paranoia? Perhaps, but when going against the ruling order a certain level of precaution would be needed. Especially considering just how popular his show had been for over two decades with the wizard in the street.

"Hard to say what these creatures actually are, looking at it from a magizoologist standpoint," said Newt, rubbing his chin. Though Newt Scamander was considerably older than Antonin, the man had drive and sharp wit to him. With Antonin's boundless energy and Newt's soft-spoken logic, the two men played off each other quite well and often made for a good show. "There's a lot inconsistencies and downright contradictions going on. No study, no data seems to be reliable. That makes it even harder to uncover the truth behind these matters."

It was then that Charley raised her hand, looking rather perturbed for a moment. A red light started flashing, indicating a caller on the line. Which was odd, because the call-in section of the show was yet to start. Among other things, Charley was responsible for screening the calls just to make sure to filter out the not unsubstantial amount of crackpots or Ministry spies trying to call in to cause trouble. But the fact that Charley turned on the light meant whatever was on the phone must have something important to say.

"Folks, we caller on the line," said Antonin, causing Newt to frown. "Welcome to the show, you're live on the air. I take it you have something to add to this strange mystery of sudden disappearances all over the world which the Ministry REFUSES to acknowledge."

The voice through the phone was that of an older wizard, seeming a bit flustered. "Uhm, yes, uhm, hello… live on the air, you say? Uhm. Yes, uhm, I'll, uhm, keep this short and excuse me for taking up your valuable time."

"Not a problem, good sir," said Antonin. "We've already given you more time than the Ministry ever will."

"Uhm, yes, uhm," said the man. "My daughter is a huge fan of your show and speaks very highly of you. She has been on your show semi-regularly too. Oh, do forgive me, I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Cygnus Black."

"Good lord," Newt said. "Bellatrix' father! Oh, you must be so proud and excited that she is part of such a fantastic expedition."

"That is…" said Cygnus Black. "What I wanted to speak to you about. I need to discuss something with you both in private. It is… Look, for my family's sake, I have need of your expertise and unique… insights."

Antonin had to admit he was intrigued.