For perhaps two or three seconds—maybe less—they plummeted through the air before their feet found purchase on weathered wooden planking. Orli straightened, acutely aware of the absence as Snape's steadying hand withdrew from her shoulder, leaving behind a curious sense of loss.
She turned in a slow circle, taking in their surroundings. They stood upon the deck of a massive sailing vessel, its towering masts disappearing into shadow above. Darkness pressed in from all sides—not the familiar darkness of night, but the absolute black of being deep underground. The ship rested within a colossal cavern, its walls carved from living rock that wept with moisture. Far below, obsidian waters lapped against the hull with barely a whisper. In the distance, pinpricks of light flickered through hairline cracks in the stone, like stars glimpsed through storm clouds.
If this mountain were an egg, Orli mused, we'd be floating in the yolk. She squinted through the amber glow of the ship's torches, searching for some passage that might lead to open water, some sign of other passengers or crew. But the vessel felt utterly abandoned—its railings crusted with barnacles, its deck slick with seaweed, as though it had only just been dragged up from Davy Jones's locker.
"Passengers, please enter the cabin. Departure in one minute." The voice that echoed across the deck was flat, emotionless—the sound of someone long past caring about the living. "Warning repeated—passengers, please enter the cabin. Departure in one minute."
"Come," Snape said, his black robes billowing as he strode toward a narrow doorway. "We need to get below deck."
"Who was that speaking?" Orli hurried to keep pace with his longer stride. "The captain?"
Snape's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "You could call him that." His voice dropped even lower as they descended into the ship's belly, the narrow corridor amplifying his words into something almost sepulchral. "Though I wouldn't recommend making his acquaintance. He and the Bloody Baron share certain... characteristics."
Understanding dawned with an unpleasant chill. Another ghost, then—and clearly not the friendly sort.
They ducked through a low doorway into what could generously be called a cabin. The moment Orli's foot crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut with finality. A cascade of locks—some brass, some iron, some that looked suspiciously organic—clicked into place with mechanical precision, sealing them into their floating prison.
The space was spartanly furnished: two armchairs flanking a small table, everything bolted securely to the floor. It reminded Orli uncomfortably of a railway compartment, if railway compartments were designed by someone with a morbid fear of drowning passengers.
Unease prickled along her spine just as the ship gave a violent lurch. Then, with the inexorable certainty of a sinking stone, they began to descend.
Orli's heart hammered against her ribs as she pressed her face to the porthole. The waterline crept steadily upward until black water swallowed their window entirely, plunging them into aquatic darkness.
"Professor!" Her voice pitched higher with panic. "The ship is sinking!"
The sound that escaped Snape was unmistakably amused—a low chuckle that made her cheeks burn with indignation.
"This vessel travels beneath the waves," he explained, settling into his chair with infuriating calm. "We descend, accelerate through the depths, and emerge in French waters. The journey takes approximately one hour—considerably faster than any surface crossing."
Already they had sunk deep enough that Orli couldn't gauge their depth. The water beyond the porthole was absolute black, yet she could feel the ship's forward momentum building. Gradually, impossibly, light began to filter through the darkness ahead. The water transformed by degrees—from pitch black to midnight blue to deep navy to the clearest azure she'd ever seen.
English Channel Wizarding Ferry, indeed. More like the English Channel Wizarding Submarine.
She pressed closer to the porthole, hoping to catch sight of fish or sea life, when the ship suddenly lurched to a complete stop. For one heart-stopping moment, everything was perfectly still.
Then they shot forward like a bolt from a crossbow, and the real journey began.
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