Hero waded through the preparations for the journey as if the air around her had been replaced by syrup. Everything seemed simultaneously more fatiguing than it had any right to be and less important.

Seraph tried to engage her, drawing her attention to various sights in this inhospitable world, trying to tempt her with its wonders. He also acted as a bulwark between her and its trials, immovable and constant. If a shop assistant pressed her to make choices, he seemed to know without being told the point at which she itched to yell at them that she didn't care, that they could take their coats or their Symington Side Lacers and stick them where the sun didn't shine. He would bark out his orders, cut short any further transactions and sweep her back to the familiarity of Grimmauld Place and to Sylvie's care.

By the time Phineas Nigellus arrived, no doubt to supervise the decontamination of the house and to check the family silver was intact, she had acquired two large steamer trunks worth of clothing and other necessities to Seraph's one.

Hero had adjourned to her cramped little room as soon as decency allowed, claiming last minute preparations. She had been there for over two hours by the time Sylvie had come to tell her they were leaving. The elf led the way downstairs, to the hallway where their trunks and the two Slytherins waited.

With a muffled snap of his fingers, Sylvie and the trunks disappeared.

Seraph held out his elbow and Hero took it with both hands. An instant later Sylvie reappeared and Seraph took his hand, allowing him to guide the Apparition that took them away from Grimmauld Place for the last time.

---

They appeared in the darkness of a back lane. The elf pointed toward a larger street the lane opened into and then used a finger to indicate off to one side. "The inn is down there. Not far."

Hero crouched down and pulled the elf into her arms. "I'm going to miss you, Sylvie. I know you'll join us once we get to Halifax, but..." She sniffed.

"I'll miss you, too, Miss Hero. Take care of Master Seraph for me."

Hero smiled weakly, wondering how she could take care of someone else when it seemed like so much effort just to do an absolute minimum for herself. "I'll try."

The elf pulled free and when he looked up at Seraph, the wizard stretched out a bandaged hand. The elf took it in a brief handshake.

"Halifax," Seraph confirmed.

The elf nodded and then gave another muffled snap of his fingers, with which he disappeared.

---

The Bosun's Locker was a half-timbered building, the wood far too straight and perpendicular for it to truly date to the Tudor period to which it seemed to aspire. Seraph had cast a Levitation spell on the three stacked trunks before he took the handle at one end of the bottom one, giving a fair impression of dragging the boxes into the larger street and to the front of the inn. A young boy came running out from the stables at the back of the building, and Seraph let the spell lapse.

Soon their luggage had been taken to the last two vacant rooms, and the landlady was serving them a light supper in the inn's private parlour.

Hero ate the food mechanically, and when the landlady left them alone, Seraph set down his cutlery to address her. "You know that if you want we could postpone the trip and travel with Sylvie and his family?"

Hero's gaze lifted from her plate. "No, it's fine. I'm sure I'll brighten up on the crossing. I'll try not to be a killjoy."

"Miss Grayson, perhaps you do not recollect to whom you are speaking. You need not pretend to a heartiness you do not feel for my benefit. However, when you walk past a sign saying that your present accommodation has been built on the site of the house where Jane Austen lived for two years and you fail to even notice, I can't help but be concerned for your wellbeing."

"Really?" Hero asked, her eyes showing the first hint of real interest Seraph had noticed in over a week.

"Would I tease you on the subject of books? Now eat," he insisted. "I'm sure the landlady will be willing to satisfy your curiosity later."

---

They arrived at the wharf early the next morning, their tickets being checked and the tender transporting them out to the Mauretania. When it had been built, the four-funnelled liner was the largest moving structure in the world, and only a few months had passed since it had been repainted in the Cunard colours and refitted following its service as an armed troopship. It dominated the entire harbour. Their baggage was stowed in their cabin within minutes, and Hero looked around the room in awe. The two narrow bunks took up one side of the room, the footboard of one against the headboard of the other, but the room had a small dressing table and decorative panels on the walls and narrow doors led off to a parlour and a bathroom with an actual bath.

 

"Seraph, this isn't steerage. It can't be steerage."

Seraph quickly gave the steward, who had brought their luggage, the expected gratuity and waited for him to leave before he replied.

"Of course this isn't steerage. Steerage is where those poor wretches still waiting on the docks are going. This is first class. Even in second class you might have four to a room, not two."

"Oh, but..."

"But nothing. Minerva may not be born yet, but I'm sure she would make it her business to somehow haunt me if I took less than proper care of her star pupil. While sharing a room is not ideal, it means I can at least watch over you, rather than you being in single ladies' quarters and I with the single men. Even if you were in the best frame of mind, I would not be keen on that sort of separation, though I'm sure in first class any actual danger would be minimal."

Hero gently shook her head, not in the least convinced by his excuses for pampering her, and gave a rueful smile. "Thank you... again."

"No thanks are needed. After all, you don't believe that I would have enjoyed the trip in steerage, do you? Besides, if I must share a room, I am becoming accustomed to your particular brand of torment."