Harry thundered into the Forbidden Forest faster than he'd ever run before, smashing through the Restriction Wards as his intent was simply that much more powerful. Once inside, he was operating on instinct alone. It was nearly a year since he'd last been in here and he hadn't paid much mind to the route then.

So how he was supposed to find what he was looking for was as much a matter of chance as design.

Just keep going deep. That was the only thought on Harry's mind. It seemed to take hours last time, but Harry felt certain that he'd simply lost track of time when they were following Hagrid and baby Norbert. He hoped it wouldn't take anything like as long to reach the heart of the Forest this time. Hermione needed Harry to be quicker, and if that meant defying the constants of space and time then that's just what he would have to do.

He may not have been sure about how he was going to manage this task, but manage it he did. After about an hour of picking his way through the dark, rutted undergrowth, and having his face whipped sharply by the damp, low-hanging branches of the Forest canopy, Harry stumbled through a poorly-placed thicket of brambles that he hadn't spotted in the gloom. Swearing like a sailor at the needle-sharp cuts to his hands and arms, Harry picked a thorn from his palm and threw it away angrily.

The light ping which echoed back caused Harry to snap his head around double-quick.

He saw then that he had somehow - quite by accident - found the clearing he'd been looking for. The ping of the thick thorn against the rock face of the cave had alerted Harry to the fact that he'd arrived at his destination. He hurried over to the cavernous entrance and took a look inside. It was as utterly dark as he remembered it.

Harry took a steadying breath, closed his eyes, and made his way inside.

He was immediately conscious of movement not far from the entrance. Again, just like before, it wasn't so much sound he was picking up on, but a sort of extra-sensory awareness. There was life here, but Harry couldn't have even begun to explain how he knew that.

Then the life spoke to him. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you again ... Harry Potter ... the Serpentborn. I am only surprised it has taken this long."

The deep, bass voice, such as it could be described, was not audible sound. It created no echo from the jagged walls of the cave, nor did it hang in Harry's ears in any way. However it was that Harry was hearing the words, the eighth cranial nerve - which connected his ears to his brain - had nothing to do with it. He had no idea how he was supposed to communicate back ... but he sort of knew all the same.

"Serpentborn?" he asked in his mind. "What does that mean?"

"It is the name we give to your kind, the ones blessed with the Gift of Tongues," came the reply. "The natural affinity to communication beyond language."

"I don't understand," Harry frowned. "Is that how I'm talking to you?"

The hulking form of the male dragon lumbered close out of the darkness. He breathed in, loud and deep, his huge skull flashing in deep indigo a moment as his ice power flared in his nostrils.

"Is it," the dragon replied. "For as long as there has been magic, there have been those who have sought to use language to control it, to manipulate it. The birds and beasts of the world have always known this, have always been able to communicate across species.

"But you human witches and wizards have forgotten the true power of nature, you've become lazy. You have entrusted your nature to tools - wands and staves, gemstones and runes - and that which was once innate now needs to be written down and studied ... in schools of magic, such as up at the castle."

"I've not come here to debate the failings of my species," Harry rebuffed, crossly. "Or to argue which is better. You said you expected me to come? Why?"

"For there is a dangerous beast roaming your castle, one that our kind have battled with for centuries," said the dragon. "A creature that only one gifted in the language of the serpents would be able to hear. One whose stare is so fatal that we have had to duel it blind in our history."

"You're talking about the basilisk," Harry breathed in surprise. "How do you know about that?"

"In the same way as you know about us, and are as equally unable to describe."

"It's attacked a lot of students," Harry went on. "Including my best friend, the one I was here with before. She's hurt and we don't know how to fix her. The Headmaster of the school suggested that you might be able to help."

"And how would we do that? We are not an antidote to the basilisk," the dragon replied.

"I know, but I was hoping you could explain how it is that I can talk to you," Harry continued. "I think the key to helping my friend is in that. I just don't know what it is."

The dragon snorted out a sigh. "What do you know about the stare of the basilisk?"

"It is lethal to look into the eyes of a basilisk," Harry recited as Hermione would. "It means instant death. But the people who have been attacked at the school have only been Petrified, so there is something else at work, isn't there?"

"A sensible deduction. One of the failings of your culture is the need to make everything so arbitrary, so focused on a singular effect. Take us dragons, for example. You see the fire we breathe as merely an offensive weapon. What you do not consider is that we use fire for heat to keep us warm, to incubate our young while still unhatched, but also for play. We only use fire in the form you know for self-defence. It is a life-giving force, one we only use to cause harm when we are left with no other choice.

"So it is with the basilisk. It has a stare that kills wizards, so you stop at that definition. Arbitrary. Though it is that nature which kept you alive."

"Me? How?" Harry asked.

"We dragons - like all sentient beasts - do not require sticks and talismans to connect to magic, to the Akashic Record - the repository of all knowledge in the universe," the dragon explained. "We simply do. It has helped us know when to fight and when to flee, when to breed and when to find homes anew. We know of your Dark Lord, and what he attempted to do. But he fell into the trap of your species, the need to be arbitrary.

"He had to be the one to kill you, no-one else. He focused solely on the belief in his own importance and not the end goal. He could have sent any of his footsoldiers to do the job. But no, he had to do it, arrogantly ignoring the words of a prophecy he helped fulfil, simply by getting involved and choosing you to be his equal. He could not look beyond the most basic definition of that with which he was dealing."

"And how is this the same as with the basilisk?"

"In your culture, there is a saying ... a look could mean a thousand words. Never is this more true than with the basilisk. You know the Stare kills, but you do not know how it works, because your kind have never bothered to find out. And due to that ignorance, you have failed to understand that the Stare can do so much more, so long as the basilisk wants it to."

Harry blinked in surprise. "So, what ... are you saying the Stare is like ... a language?"

"You show great insight for one so young," said the dragon. "Yes, you are right. And within this language is inherently bound the power to order, to instruct, to hurt ... and to heal."

"You're saying the Stare is like a spell," Harry mused breathlessly. "And if I could learn the language, I might be able to perform the counter-spell! But how? I don't have the time to learn a new language. My friend needs my help now. Please? Is there no quicker way?"

"You are a wizard, so of course there is a quicker way," the dragon replied somewhat sarcastically. "Remember, I said the natural ways are long and arduous, can take a lifetime and even then mastery is not guaranteed. The first of your kind, who came to understand our language and other arcane arts, wrote down what they had learned, so they could refer to it again when they forgot that knowledge. If you find those writings, you will have your answer."

Harry frowned. "Why do I get the feeling this isn't a book I'll find in the Hogwarts library?"

"For you will not. It is a single tome of untold power, kept at the place where magic and consciousness first entered the world. We beasts of nature have always known of it, but humans have contrived elaborate ways to make themselves forget."

"Where is it?" Harry demanded. He was ready to head there right now, but he was to be disappointed.

"This we no longer know," the dragon replied ruefully. "The exact location has been newly hidden even from us, and we can only assume for nefarious means. We still remember the name of the place, however ... High Brasil."

"High Brasil," Harry parroted. "And you have no idea where this place might be?"

"None. But if you locate it, and find the Book of Dust protected there, then you will able to help your friend."

Dust? Harry considered in awestruck shock. It couldn't be, could it? There was only one way to find out ... and he couldn't do this alone. He needed help. Specifically, he needed -

"Lyra! Take me to Lyra!"

James Potter was still getting over the shock of seeing his son tumble out of the fireplace at their London flat, when the demand reached his ears. He wasn't sure what to do first, reprimand Harry or answer his question. But Harry's restless imperative made up his mind for him.

"Come on, Dad! Get up!" Harry implored passionately. "You need to take me to Lyra, right now!"

Harry went as far as taking a fistful of James' jumper and tugging him to his feet. James finally screwed his head on as he stood upright.

"Harry, wait! What's this all about?"

"I have to help Hermione!" Harry yelped desperately. "I have to find Lyra, and the Book of Dust. I have to get to High Brasil. And we have to go now."

James stopped and gripped Harry, turning him bodily to look seriously into his face.

"Who told you about High Brasil?"

Harry blinked in surprise at his father's fierce expression, but he held firm. "A dragon told me. What do you know about it?"

"Not much, but I agree that we should go to see Lyra," James replied.

"Why?"

"Because, that's why Malcolm left this world," James explained. "Their Magisterium had found a special site in the Antarctica of their world ... and they called that place High Brasil. I cant imagine that they aren't connected. Come on."

"Wait? Where's Mum?" Harry asked.

"Sleeping, and far too pregnant for potentially risky field missions," James grinned, his eyes flashing bright with the spark of adventure. "Are you ready for a bit of Apparition?"

Harry ground his teeth. "I hate Apparition!"

"Lyra's flat isn't on the Floo Network," James explained. "But we could always take the bus ..."

"Just get it over with," Harry scowled.

James smirked at his boy, took his arm firmly and whipped him away in a swirl of wind and colour. A moment later they were standing in Lyra's flat. She jumped and cried out in shock at their sudden arrival, drawing Sirius from the bathroom with his wand drawn.

"James, you moron! What the hell are you doing?" Sirius shrieked.

"What are you doing?" James smirked. He pointed at Sirius, who was dressed only in a fluffy pink towel. With kittens on. He was naked to the waist and had fluffy slippers to match his towel. Harry had to bite back a laugh at the sight.

"I was just getting out of the shower," Sirius returned, unabashed. "Now what's your excuse? We were just about to leave."

"Leave? To go where?" James asked.

"Hogwarts," Lyra cut in. "Dumbledore came to tell us about Hermione. Harry ... tell me she's alright."

"No, she's not," Harry volleyed back dramatically. "She was hit with the partial stare of a Basilisk, and if we don't hurry it will rot her mind! We have to stop it!"

Lyra collapsed into a chair, clutching at her heart. Sirius growled and moved to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Tell us how, Harry," Sirius encouraged.

"By getting to High Brasil," Harry announced quietly. He waited for the stunned expressions from Lyra and Sirius to subside before continuing. "There's something I have to find there ... a Book of Dust. It has to be the sort of Dust that Hermione always talks about. Lyra ... what is it? Hermione said you were an expert on the stuff."

"Try not to think of it as stuff," Lyra replied. "Dust is a conscious form of energy, one that infuses all things that live and anything crafted by living hands. As long as humans have been sentient and blessed with consciousness, there has been Dust. I discovered, long ago, that it is the root power of magic in my world ... and I'd be amazed if it wasn't the same for your magic in this world, too."

"And what about High Brasil? What did Malcolm say about that?" James pressed.

"Not much. Only that the Magisterium had found a place in the Southern Arctic - our version of your Antarctica - where Dust was flowing through a portal to another place."

"Like the one in the North?" Sirius asked.

Lyra shook her head. "No. Try to understand, all of you ... when I was a girl there were literally hundreds - thousands, even - of these portals around the world. They had been cut using an instrument called The Subtle Knife - made by a Guild of Philosophers in a transient world. They had been made with good intentions - to bring knowledge and enlightenment to other worlds.

"But, as with the nature of man, there were those who abused it. They stole knowledge, lined their pockets with wealth and trinkets. And they were punished for their greed and avarice."

"How?" Harry pushed.

"Because they didn't close the windows they made into other worlds," Lyra explained. "And Dust flowed right out of them. Unbound, it lost its light and beauty, becoming dark and malevolent. It returned to punish humanity ... in the form of evil and sin, repression and bondage, most often using religion and the ensuing social systems that were born from it. But it also took a physical form that consumed all those things that make us human ... essentially, The Spectres - as we called them - ate the souls of man.

"My first great adventure in life was to find The Subtle Knife with my friend, Will, and together we closed those windows. We had to, we had no choice ... even though it meant separating forever just when we'd found love with each other. We also went into the World of the Dead and brought an end to Destiny itself ... but I don't want to brag about my achievements!"

"But that portal in the North?" James queried. "Isn't that allowing Dust to flow out still?"

"No," Lyra corrected. "Remember, The Subtle Knife was simply a piece of esoteric technology, and a fairly base one at that. Apply modern science to it and advancements can be made. The Magisterium used human sacrifice that placated the Dark Forces of our world, and Dust could not pass through. The portal Mal built used a willing human Separation ... but Sirius will know more about it than I do ... as he was the one that they used."

Sirius looked down at her in amusement. "I never knew that you knew!"

"I was the Head of Experimental Theology at Jordan College!" Lyra scoffed. "Nothing of that nature which happened in my world could have escaped my attention. Not only that, but Charlotte Dubios told me all about it. I never did bite you for taking her as your lover, did I?"

Lyra made a playful attempt to take a chunk out of Sirius' thigh with her mouth, where he had sat on the arm of her chair, but Sirius just barked out a laugh. "I wouldn't be jealous. Charlie wasn't a patch on you. But I'm weak against those sexy French accents."

"Can we stay on topic here!" Harry cried. "Enough about your love life!"

"No, let's focus on yours," Sirius teased. Harry reddened but stared resolutely back. "So, can we assume that this High Brasil that Mal is looking for in your world is the same place that Dust is flowing to here?"

"What even is it?" James asked, as Lyra nodded her agreement.

"The source of all magic and consciousness in the world," Harry announced expertly. "It flows from there to all natural things, but witches and wizards can only use it by crafting wands and other tools, and Muggles have forgotten it completely. Or been made to forget by some malevolent force. Like your Magisterium and Spectres, Miss Lyra."

"How do you know all that?" Lyra quirked, impressed.

"A dragon told me," Harry returned breezily, as if talking to wild magical creatures was standard for them all. "They just don't know how to find it."

"Spectres sound a lot like Dementors, don't they, James?" Sirius suggested worryingly. "If we're going after them, perhaps we need to arm your little wizard, there, before we set off."

Sirius nodded down at Harry, who opened his mouth in surprise.

"There's a spell to use against Dementors?" Harry breathed. He had always been a little afraid of these wraith-like demons ever since his mother had first mentioned them to him. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because it's extremely advanced magic," James explained. "And many wizards are never able to use it. They just aren't powerful enough. I doubt you'll be able to for a few years yet."

"What's the spell?" Harry demanded.

"The incantation is Expecto Patronum," Sirius took over. "And to power it, you need to pull up the strongest image of happiness and goodness you can, to counteract the darkness of the Dementors. You pick a happy memory and try to project it through your wand using the spell words. If it works, a silvery Patronus will emerge and drive off the Dementors."

"Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum ..." Harry repeated. He did it seven times so that he wouldn't forget, a habit he'd inherited from his mother when he was a small boy.

"This is all very well, but how are we even going to find High Brasil?" James asked fairly. "If it's being hidden, how do we uncover it?"

"You leave that to me," Lyra replied resolutely. "If there is something from my world being hidden here, you can bet the Magisterium has their hand behind it somehow."

"So, how will you force their hand, so to speak?"

"I'll find Will ... and make him show me the way," Lyra growled fiercely. At her side, Pantalaimon bristled in agreement.

"And if he doesn't?" Sirius asked.

Lyra ground her jaw. "Oh, he will. If I find that his treachery has in any way contributed to my Hermione getting hurt, I'll make his life and his eternal after life a living hell! Trust me, he'll do exactly what I tell him, if he knows what's good for him."

Capturing Will Parry was the work of barely a moment. With Albus Dumbledore recruited, abducting a Muggle from under the noses of his armed protectorate was easy. Dumbledore was comfortably loose with his morality in the kidnapping, delivering Will to the waiting party and offering little explanation as to how he did it, or any collateral casualties. His benign smile was all he would give them in response to their questions.

"Leave me with him," Lyra ordered, as they looked at Will through a darkened window.

"No, he could be dangerous," Sirius argued. "I'm coming in with you."

"That's sweet, but I can take care of myself," Lyra quirked. "Will is tied up by magic, so I'm quite safe. Besides, he was the first boy to fall under my power ... and he fell the furthest and hardest. I can handle this alone."

And then she stepped into the makeshift interrogation room without brooking another word of protest.

Will looked up in shock as he saw her. "Lyra? What are you doing here? What's going on?"

"I'll ask the questions, my dear Will," Lyra began smoothly. "And your answers will determine how nice I am to you, and whether or not I'll let you join us, once we purge you of this darkness that you carry."

Behind the glass, Sirius turned to Dumbledore. "What's she doing?"

"Recruiting us a powerful ally, by the looks of things," Dumbledore smiled back. "I suggest we let her work."

"Join you?" Will was asking, incredulously. "Why would I -"

"Because you have crossed the line, Will!" Lyra yelled, gripping the arms of his chair and thrusting her face close to his. "You've threatened my daughter! And if you don't help me save her, you wont leave this room alive! Do you understand that? A part of me will always love you, Will, but don't think I wont hurt you for what you've done."

"D-daughter?" Will stuttered. "What? I ... I never ... when?"

Lyra stepped away and took a series of heaving breaths. "Never you mind. Just know that you've threatened the most important person in my life. You know me well enough to know how stupid that was of you. I know one day I'll kill for that girl ... I'd just rather that day not be this day."

"Are you talking about that girl you travel with? She cant be your daughter. We know her parents."

"She is mine in everything but blood," Lyra stabbed acridly. "I could never wish for a better daughter or love the fruit of my own womb more. If she'd take me, I'd adopt her tomorrow. But, as you say, you know her parents. But you failed to kill them, Will. I know it was you who directed Tom Riddle to them in my world."

A lesser man than Will Parry would have baulked under the ferociousness of Lyra's look just then, but he held his courage.

"What do you want, Lyra?"

"I want you to explain," Lyra replied. "Properly explain. What happened to you, Will?"

"Who are you asking for? You ... or that wizard boyfriend of yours behind the glass?" Will scowled back.

"Both," Lyra fired at him. "You'll explain to us all. What made you turn against all you once stood for?"

"How can you even ask me that?" Will howled angrily. "You know full well the reason ... it was you."

"What did I do?" Lyra asked, genuinely surprised by Will's passion.

"You left me!" Will cried, angrily. "You showed me the deepest love I will ever feel and then you just left me!"

"Will ..." Lyra began, rather gently. "You know I had no choice. We had no choice. Those windows had to be closed. Dust -"

"Brought us together, and we fell in love defying the rules, Lyra! They didn't apply to us. Nobody ever left the World of the Dead, the Boatman told us that. But we did. Nobody could cross worlds ... but we did. We were special, Lyra! We had something special. We weren't like other people, other couples. Why shouldn't we have left just one window open? Much less Dust would have flown out with just one window left. I could have spent time in your world, and then you could have come back to mine.

"After all that effort to change everything, you went right back to playing by the rules. And you broke my heart in the process."

"Is that what this is all about?" Lyra cried. "You and your heart? Will ... we were twelve. Who knows if this dream we had would have survived all that time, all the changes we'd have gone through growing up. And besides, you know we will be together again, when we leave the World of the Dead together and return to Dust. We made a promise."

"It wasn't enough for me," Will volleyed back. "I wanted you. I tried to love again ... I even married and had a son ... but it was never enough. I lurched from one failed relationship to another, leaving my own trail of broken hearts in my wake. Then, one day, I decided I'd had enough. I was going to find a way to get back to you, make everything as it should be."

"So you went to the Magisterium?"

"Not at first," Will explained. "I was recruited by the British Secret Intelligence Service. They could find a use for someone like me, someone skilled at not being seen. When the Magisterium came to me, I didn't realise it was them at first. But my name triggered something with MI5. My father, it turns out, left quite the legacy."

"He'd be ashamed of you, for what you're doing," Lyra sniped coldly.

Will swallowed and closed his eyes. "I know. But you don't know what it's been like ... how hard it was ... being on my own ... being without you."

"Of course I do!" Lyra cried, kneeling at his feet. "Don't you think I was exactly the same? But I accepted it, allowed myself to love again. You can love more than one person in your life, Will. It's allowed. It may not be the same, in fact it probably has to be different by its very definition, but you can do it. That isn't an excuse for what you've become. What happened to that brave, sweet boy I fell in love with in the land of the mulefa? Is he still under there somewhere? I hope he is, because we need him now."

Will looked up at Lyra, locked eyes with her. The intensity of the love burning between them took Harry's breath away as he watched. Even in their anger with each other, their passion throbbed as strongly as the day they'd first kissed. Harry could tell that. He lost his mind a little as he watched, not just because of the display between them ... but also because he was secure in the knowledge that Hermione looked at him in just that way.

And Harry knew that he looked at her just the same.

It was the most monumental piece of understanding Harry Potter had ever had. It was life shattering. It shifted the poles of his world, redefined the edges of his emotional map. This terrifying new feeling, that had been creeping up on him so slowly, was one that he'd never encountered before. It was like an undiscovered country, one never seen in his entire life, but one he was eager to explore further.

Only he had seen it before. It was right before his eyes, in the connection between Lyra and Will, and Harry had grown up saturated by it around his mother and father. The comparisons left him breathless, speechless too, had he needed to speak. Harry was glad that this was a time to be silent, because he was too shaken to be an active member of the world just now.

"I ... I can't help you, Lyra," Will replied lowly, almost apologetically. "I'm committed to my role."

"Weren't you just saying about not playing by the rules?" Lyra smiled. "Will ... this isn't you. I know it isn't. You were everything that was good and smart and brave. Being part of a cowardly gang isn't the Will Parry I loved. You can change you stars, Will. What would Kirjava say?"

Will's eyes popped wide. Harry took a stabbing guess that Kirjava was Will's dæmon. Little else could have produced such a deep response as this. Like Sirius, Harry reasoned, he must have met his own soul somewhere on his journey with Lyra. Harry was beginning to understand, more and more, that Hermione's Mistress was a truly remarkable woman.

"I ... I ... Lyra ... I can't ..."

"You can," Lyra cajoled, softly. She took his hands in her own. "If you want to. Help us, Will. Turn on them. Be one of the good guys again. Make your Mum proud. Make me proud, Will."

And just like that, Will Parry's resistance was broken. Harry saw shades of himself in the capitulation ... only with Hermione asking something of him. He knew he was equally as powerless against his own lifelong lo -

Harry bit his tongue to check himself. He'd almost thought a very dangerous word. He couldn't get his mind around the idea yet ... and he definitely wasn't brave enough to let that notion into his raw and battered consciousness without some extensive soul-searching.

"Okay, Lyra. You win," Will mumbled. "I'm yours ... not that I was ever anything else."

Will smiled warmly for the first time, and Harry saw a glimpse of the man Lyra had been alluding to peek out from this emotionally wounded shell. That made Harry flick his eyes up to Sirius, who was watching proceedings with an inscrutable expression. Harry didn't have the adult vocabulary with which to read it.

But he knew one thing for sure ... this was going to get messy!

"What do you need from me?" Will went on.

"We need to get to High Brasil, Will," Lyra explained. "Can you help us?"

Will nodded. "I can do better than that ... I can take you there. But I hope you have an army of wizards behind that glass. High Brasil is the most dangerous and highly defended island in any world. And that's before you even reach the land."

"Why? What's on the land?"

Will looked at her with a shrewd expression. "Have you ever heard of the Tuatha De Danaan?"