The ship would be leaving in a matter of hours and this entirely surreal year will have passed.  It seemed to have lasted much more than that, but in a few brisk weeks, June had come, the flowers were blooming and the ship was being rigged to submerge.

She'd gotten more settled than she thought she would, Ylva Maras, and had made a friend - exactly one more than she'd expected.  One by one, she levitated the books from the shelf and they danced into a bottomless carpet bag.    Her grimoires, texts, notebooks, and summer reading, all to the bottom of the enchanted carry-all.

Her robes were next, her garments waltzing from the wardrobe and folding themselves neatly for the journey.  Her wand conducted the task, her silver eye patch glinting in the candle-light.  A private, silent opera. 

The inscriptionist had a solid plan for the rest of the year, indeed the next couple years.  Return to Sweden, then to Durmstrang and continue there until she became the head of her whole department.  She was certainly on the right path.  It was certainly what was expected.

But a grin came to her darkly painted lips.  Where was the fun in that?

Ylva would return to Scandinavia aboard the ship.  She'd mete out her praise sparingly, but it had been well earned.  All of Durmstrang had performed with honor and hopefully had redeemed themselves from their last showing.  The wrong side of history, that... And once the castle there had emptied and thoughts turned to the short northern summer, Ylva would have some decisions to make.   Not all pretty paths were prosperous.