Praveen Srinivasan shouldered his rifle and knelt down at the edge of the cliff, pinning a pair of binoculars tight to his face. He scanned the vast complex below, which was known as Cave 16, focusing his trained eye for hidden snipers and guards that may have been concealed amongst the vast numbers of tourists and pilgrims currently enjoying the wonders of this ancient site.
Praveen turned to his colleagues as they shimmied up on their bellies besides him. And what an odd assortment they were too! An historian from Durham College, who was also Oakley Street through and through; a foreigner who was at once Brytish and then not, and as shaggy-haired as his gruff, bloodhound dæmon next to him; then there was the third ... quiet, intense and seemingly with no dæmon at all, but alive enough to suggest he had one somewhere. Praveen thought at first that the man was a male-witch, but he didn't give off that impression on close inspection.
Whatever he was, his fierce look unsettled Praveen more than the other two combined. But Oakley Street had given him a job to do, so Praveen pocketed his disquiet addressed them all as a group.
"Welcome, gentleman, to the Ellora Caves," Praveen announced as if he were a seasoned tour guide. "There are over thirty-four monasteries and temples spanning a site of roughly two kilometres, all dug out of the basalt cliffs you see before you. The ancient structure below us is known as The Kailasa Temple, a great monument to Lord Shiva - The Destroyer."
"Why do I get the feeling that he wasn't the most friendly deity, with a title like that?" Sirius quirked from his place on the far left of the group.
"On the contrary, Mr Black, Lord Shiva is a creator god," Praveen explained.
"A creator?" Sirius parroted, dubiously. "Called The Destroyer?"
"Yes, for from destruction comes creation," Praveen went on. "That which was old and imperfect is destroyed and remade anew, improved using knowledge and wisdom. The corrupt is separated, and rejoined as something better."
"I see, sort of," Sirius frowned. "Well, it's a mightily impressive structure, I'll give you that. What do the Magisterium want it for? Tourism revenue?"
Praveen waited patiently for Sirius' infantile guffaw to ebb away before replying. "No, Mr Black, the Magisterium's interest in the site is far more concerning, as it is with their attentions to many ancient sites across this great land. And indeed, the world. You see, their discovery of the phenomena known as The World Grid in this last year has led to an explosion of interest in mystical monuments. The locations for the construction of the great pyramids in Africa and Mesoamerica, monolithic sites across Europe, ancient temples in India, China and elsewhere seem to have been purposely and deliberately chosen for their position over great vortexes of energy along this Grid ... collectively known as Vile Vortices."
"I have heard of this phenomena," Will piped up, suddenly. "A biologist called Sanderson proposed the idea in my world, suggesting that certain areas of the planet create a 'wrinkle' in spacetime, on account of gravitational or magnetic aberrations. They are swirling vortexes of intense energetic properties that connect space, time and matter."
"A Scholar of that name proposed the same here ... possibly it was the same individual, passing through one of his own vortices," Praveen suggested. "The idea is that such focal points of intense energy can connect us to other realms of space, time and also consciousness. Temples and monuments were built on top of the vortexes to harness and channel this energy, creating this World Grid of connected power points, thus drawing us closer to our celestial ancestors and our gods."
"And now the Magisterium wants to control all such sites across the world ... and take this potential away from anyone that they do not wish to have it, thus denying us access to all the upper realms of existence and consciousness," Malcolm scowled, bitterly.
"That would seem to be the case," Praveen replied, gravely.
"So what are they after here, specifically?" Will pressed. "Malcolm mentioned a weapon ... the Vajra?"
"There are many curious ideas associated with Kailasa Temple, Mr Parry," Praveen went on. "The first thing you must understand is that our religion is the oldest surviving continual faith on Earth ... but we do not consider it to be myth or folklore, as other cultures do. In our view, this is history. These are eye-witness accounts to real events, even if they read like the most fantastical narratives at times."
"And so if the stories are true, the fantastical weapons in them could also be true," Malcolm mused. "Like the Vajra?"
"That's the belief," Praveen nodded. "But it's not just the Vajra. Look at this vast temple. Huge, isn't it? Intricately carved from the very rock itself, starting at the top and ending at the bottom. Some estimates say that nearly four hundred thousand tons of rock would needed to have been removed in order to carve this beautiful temple. And mainstream historians, like yourself Dr Polstead, believe that the feat was achieved in just eighteen years.
"However, recent calculations made by Scholars of Mumbai University suggested that for this to happen, an army of workers working twelve-hour shifts, with no breaks, would have had to have removed ten thousand pounds of rock per hour for those eighteen years, using only the most basic of tools that mainstream thought schools believe existed at the time. But, in fact, such a feat is not possible even with modern technology."
"Then what could have done it?" Sirius asked, fascinated now.
"In theory, an instrument known as the Bhaumastra could have carried out the task," Praveen mused. "It is a high-tech device that would literally drill into the rocks and vaporise them, which would account for the lack of dug out waste material at the site. There are no hills of discarded rock anywhere nearby, and there is no evidence that the rock was quarried for use in other constructions either, so where did it all go? The device is mentioned multiple times in our Vedic texts, but as yet a working model has never been excavated."
"But the Magisterium might be digging for one here?" Will asked.
"Possibly, but they may also be after something else ... something altogether more arcane," Praveen replied, warningly.
"Like what?"
"There is another story about the Ellora Caves, about tunnels that go deep underground. Some seem to go nowhere, turning at odd angles as if to disorientate and confuse the unwary, or unworthy, traveller. But, if you can navigate them, or if the cosmic forces allow you to, then you will find an underground city that hosts meetings of a cabal of mystics in a huge amphitheatre. If you can reach it, you will interact with powerful, perhaps otherwordly forces, which will grant you great knowledge and wisdom ... which can be easily corrupted by the nefarious among us."
"So ... this is like High Brasil? An entryway for Dust?" Sirius asked to Malcolm.
"Oh, it may be more than that," Malcolm replied. "For the theory states that all these inner worlds lead to a single point in spacetime ... the origin of creation ... a place the ancient texts refer to as The Dæmon's Crucible. It was here that dæmons first came to human beings, where the first selected from our kind were given the gift of consciousness, then sent back to the surface to spread it across the planet. If the Magisterium wants to stop what they are calling dæmonisation, then this is where they will have to go to do it."
"Well, I suppose that answers the question of 'why here'," Will chipped in. "But 'why now' still remains."
"Magisterium forces are moving into such locations across the globe," Praveen went on. "We at Oakley Street are well aware of such movements, but they are targeting India specifically. As I said, our religious culture is the oldest continuing form of faith on Earth. We may not have been the only Origin Culture of modern humanity, but we may certainly be the one of the few that are left, and without doubt the most well documented."
"So the Magisterium can use your religious texts, perhaps to target the earliest known points of interaction between humans and gods, or Dust?" Sirius asked.
Praveen nodded. "General belief is that all gods are Dust, or are powered by it. The connection is intrinsic for all religions. Our origin stories are remarkably the same, whether Hindi or Buddhist, Christian or Pagan. Beings from somewhere else, from above, came to Earth and either seeded or taught humanity, forever changing and advancing our species. Some deities even have similar depictions across faiths, are part-animal but teaching the same disciplines, or impart the same knowledge to the same type of conduit human. Then there are generally wars between gods, great cataclysms - especially floods - and the belief systems left behind tell us that we will all return to our ancestral home in the stars some day.
"This is, basically, what the child, Lyra Belacqua, famously discovered on the great adventure of our time. That after death, we return to Dust, the basic matter of the universe, and reunite with our gods and ancestors. It is a hope for a beautiful eternity, is it not? Have you heard the tale, Mr Black?"
"Once or twice," Sirius quirked. "My wife likes to retell it from time to time ... though I think she forgets some of the key parts. Hardly surprising ... at it was an eye-witness account that she suffered much for."
Praveen looked to Sirius in complete astonishment. "You are married to Lyra Belacqua?"
"Happily so. She's put up with me for over three months now, which ... considering Lyra ... is an achievement few men can boast!" Sirius chuckled. Beside him, Mal and Will nodded reticently.
"Well, forgive my unease around you, Mr Black," Praveen grinned warmly. "Any friend of Lyra's has my undying loyalty."
"Thank you. Do you know my wife well?"
"We have met a few times," Praveen confirmed. "A fascinating member of Oakley Street. So bright and lively and fierce. She is a credit to herself and our organisation, Mr Black."
"She'll be delighted to have her own opinion of herself confirmed!" Sirius laughed. "I'll be sure to pass the message on to her. But please, there really is no need for all these mister formalities. My name is Sirius, you know."
"I choose to be respectful, Mr Black," Praveen replied, affronted. "I can easily choose to be otherwise, if I am told how to behave by another."
"Forgive me," Sirius retracted, raising his palms in a gesture of apology. "Your choice is your own. I respect that. It just makes me feel very old, that's all."
Praveen smirked at him. "If we survive this little adventure, Mr Black, perhaps then I will use your first name. Facing near certain death and coming out the other end tends to create a tight bond between people. And I don't think I can respect a man who isn't prepared to die alongside me."
"Let us all hope it doesn't come to that," Malcolm cut in, darkly. "Is Kailasa Temple that well protected, then?"
"The security has increased seven-fold over the past three months," Praveen explained. "You get the obvious guards and snipers, but there are security forces hidden in the crowds, some are touts selling cheap tat for international visitors, some even masquerade as tour guides. We will need our wits about us to get past them all undetected."
"And what is our target?" asked Will, adopting his military persona at once.
"Reconnaissance only, at this point," Malcolm replied. "We need to know how far the Magisterium have penetrated the caves, if they've found anything, if they've opened anything up. We must assume that, as they are still here, they haven't found what they are looking for yet. If it's here, we have to try and get to it first ... and if it's not, we have to see where else the rabbit-hole goes."
"I suggest we break into two teams," Will suggested. "Do a sweep, a head count. We need to know how many guns we are up against."
"I agree," Praveen nodded, recognising and respecting the solider in Will. "I will go with Lyra's husband, and we will take the West side of the complex. Dr Polstead, you and Mr Parry scout along the East wall. We will meet back here in two hours."
Malcolm nodded curtly. He reached into the knapsack he was carrying, as the group stood and prepared to part. Moving to Sirius, he pushed a loaded pistol into his hand.
"No wand, not yet," Malcolm muttered lowly, as Sirius stashed the gun into his waistband. "If we run into trouble inside the caves, that's one thing ... but no magic spells where the public can see, unless we have no other choice."
"Alright," Sirius nodded. Then he moved to Praveen, before addressing the others. "Two hours, no more. Any problems, just make a sound like a dying giraffe."
"What the hell does that sound like?" Will smirked.
"I don't know, but I bet no-one else does either," Sirius grinned. "So if we get into danger, make a sound no-one's heard before and we'll all know to pile in and rescue you!"
"Or just fire your gun, that will get the right attention," Malcolm suggested, grimly. "Let's go."
Hermione waited, like all the other guests, on the edge of the dancefloor, eager for the happy couple to arrive. She'd never been to a wedding before, especially not a royal one, and she was deeply excited. It was hard to stay still and quiet, but all the other guests were, so Hermione supposed she'd better follow their example. She didn't know how they were all managing it, and thought perhaps that she should ask someone ... after all, there were thousands and thousands of people crammed into the little hall, so someone must have known. It was hard to imagine how they'd all squeezed in at all, actually.
It was as if magic was at work, or something.
Music started playing suddenly, and Hermione found herself singing along with the rest of the congregation. She'd never heard the song before, but somehow she knew all the words. As the song reached a crescendo, the large doors at the far end of the hall were flung open and the royal couple waltzed in.
Oh, how elegant they were! Dressed in matching robes of sheer gold, they danced and twirled around the floor to rapturous applause. Hermione swooned deeply, dearly wished that she could have been the bride in her gold dress and veil, and wondered if the new Moon Princess was pretty or not. She must have been, to have won the love of the Sun Prince, Hermione reasoned.
But was the Sun Prince handsome? Of course he was, smiling broadly as he passed her position just then. Hermione sucked in a shocked breath at just how handsome he was. It took her breath away, but that was nothing new. She always did lose her breath whenever she saw ...
"Harry!"
Hermione woke with a breathy whisper, as her sled crashed over a severe bump in the snow road. Papageno crept up under her jacket and soothed to Hermione as she tried to get her bearings.
"Sshh, you were just dreaming," Papageno whispered, gently. "We're still out on the ice. We haven't gotten back to Harry yet."
Hermione groaned and creaked as she stretched out her cramped body on the sled, trying to adjust to the jerky movements of the craft again.
"What time is it?" Hermione asked, yawning groggily.
"Middle of the night," Papageno replied. "The Aurora's just fading. Look."
Hermione angled her head up. The sliver of colour peeking back at her through the trees was barely visible at all, though dim light was just now starting to fleck the horizon in the far distance.
"We aren't far now, though," Papageno went on in the gloom. "I remember the smell of this place. Acrid, burny. The Ice Station isn't much farther than this. What were you dreaming about?"
"Harry," Hermione smiled, cosily. "He was dancing, and he was a prince. He looked so handsome."
"And were you his princess?" Papageno quirked.
"Well ... no, I was just watching," Hermione frowned. "I hope that isn't prophetic! Oh, Pap ... what if it is? What if I'm too late, and Harry is already in love with Sally-Anne?"
"Whatever we find when we get back there, that wont be it," Papageno returned, confidently. "Whatever else Sally-Anne might have been able to convince Harry of, that wont be part of it. Only the Darkest magic could convince a boy so deeply in love with one witch that he was actually in love with another one instead."
Hermione was cheered by that, but a little cross also. "You weren't this confident the other day. If anything, you were trying to put me off Harry."
"I was merely trying to put you on your guard," Papageno replied in a lofty voice.
"So what's changed?"
"You know very well what ... your vision, obviously," Papageno huffed.
"Oh yes ... that," Hermione grinned as she pulled her knees into her chest, thrilling wildly as she remembered. "It was fairly definitive, wasn't it?"
For that had been the net result of Lyra's crash-course in alethiometer reading. Hermione had not been able to make a single impression on the golden compass-like device, but the effort had put tremendous strain on her mind, so much so that she somehow managed to conjure that spangled ring that she'd last seen three years ago in Trollesund.
And it showed her the same vision, only significantly more clearer this time. She was sat on the Hogwarts grass again, knowing the castle so familiarly now that she was in no doubt as to where she was. It was by the oak tree on the banks of the Great Lake, looking up at the spires and turrets of the castle. It was evening, the stars were out, bright and burning for her, and a crescent moon was poking around the side of the Astronomy Tower.
And around her shoulders ... were Harry's arms!
He was holding her so close, so gentle and tender, that there was no doubt about their situation. He was pulling her body into his chest, breathing in unison with her, his hands playing with her hair as he kissed the crown of her head. They were lovers, boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever ... and experienced in those roles with each other by whatever point in time this vision was showing. Hermione could feel all that in the phantom embrace as if she were there, as she looked up at the castle, tucked into Harry's embrace and felt so in love that it was almost obscene.
But they were older. How much older, that was hard to tell, but they had definitely aged in more ways than one. There was a maturity to their relationship, a depth to their connection that Hermione couldn't even conceive the creation of at this point in her life. Whatever it was, she was keen to find out how they got there ... but she knew there were obstacles now to overcome first.
And the persistent Miss Perks had made herself a bigger one than ever.
Hermione and Papageno had discussed little else since Pantalaimon had returned with his dire news from Hogwarts. Harry had agreed to spend time with Sally-Anne, and Hermione was convinced that at least one of the pair would have known the nature of such a thing ... while the other was ripe to be exploited by innocent ignorance.
That irked Hermione greatly, but she couldn't really blame her love rival for her actions. Hermione begrudgingly accepted that if the situation were reversed, and a barrier to intimacy with Harry had been removed for her, that she would have grasped at the opportunity with both hands. No, what annoyed Hermione the most was that she'd had the opportunity firmly in her own grip for the longest time ... then somehow managed to let it slip through her fingers.
For she and Papageno had constructed their own chronology of events, though they had no idea as to how accurate it might be. The ones that were the most annoying had Sally-Anne hopping into all the places that Hermione had made her own over the past two years, as soon as she saw the openings arrive ... sharing a cabin on the Hogwarts Express, sitting next to Harry in all his classes, studying with him. At least Harry was safe at mealtimes and in the Gryffindor Common Room, where Neville at least might have been able to offer some protection from the charms of a pretty girl.
But then Neville had been the one to inadvertently turn Harry to the idea of intimate relationships with girls, and somehow thrown him into the path of Sally-Anne, though Hermione was waspishly convinced that the witch must have thrown herself at him. That made much more satisfying sense in her militant mind. And Harry had just been drawn in, either through his own silly nobleness or, Merlin forbid, a genuine fancy for Sally-Anne. That would make things more difficult in the long run, but Hermione was buoyed by Papageno's view on it all, which always brightened Hermione's mood when she was at her most doubtful.
"So ... you do still think that Harry is in love with me, then?" Hermione asked in a girlish whisper.
"I've already answered that about fifty times!" Papageno chortled back.
"Then make this number fifty-one!" Hermione sang. "I like hearing you say it."
"Okay ... I think Harry is in love with you," Papageno replied, flatly. "But I only know as much about this as you do. I could still be wrong."
"But the vision showed us together, didn't it?" Hermione argued. "So, however long it takes, however hard it might be, we get there eventually, don't we?"
"The vision seemed to show that, yes."
"Oh, Pap! Stop being so dismissive!" Hermione cried. "Either I'm destined to be with Harry, or I'm not. Pin your flag to one pole and stick to it, will you?"
"I just want you to be cautious," Papageno reiterated. "Our future seems to be with Harry and Marici, but if we get home and find Harry has gotten closer to Sally-Anne ... or anyone else, for that matter ... we have to keep our heads about it."
"If we do find that, I'll rip Harry's head away from her pretty little gob! I'll tell you that right now!" Hermione hissed. "If Sally-Anne thinks she can get in six weeks what I've been biting my lip for two years for, she's got another thing coming. I don't care how blonde she is, this brunette is not going to stand by and elbowed out of the way by a cutesy smile and a bit of golden hair!" I have two elbows of my own, you know, and I'm not afraid to use them!"
"That might not be the best idea," Papageno warned.
"Why not? If Harry likes me best, he should want me if I offer myself to him."
"But if you try and head-butt Sally-Anne out of the way, and Harry's grown fond of her in our absence, he might not think very much of you for doing that."
Hermione frowned crossly. "Hmm. I never thought about it like that. That's put such a dampener on my plans, Pap!"
"I know. Your mind is growing so coarse and savage as you get older. I see too much of Lyra in you, these days."
"I see that as a compliment," Hermione rebuffed, crossing her arms stoutly.
"Whatever you see it as, it's not the most becoming new trait of yours," Papageno frowned. "In any case, what I was saying was that we might need to treat this with a delicate touch."
"Go on then, what should we do, if you know so much better?" Hermione huffed.
"If Harry has gone on a date with Sally-Anne, it might have gone well ... don't pout at me, Hermione, it might have ... and we have to think worse-case scenario for a moment," Papageno began. "Because, if it has, they might be going on another one very soon."
Hermione frowned a moment ... then her face dropped in horror. "The Halloween Ball! They'll have a really proper date, with close dancing ... just like in my dream!"
"That's probably just a coincidence ... probably," Papageno ploughed on, though the thought did unsettle him. "But let's just say for a minute that they do ... if you barge in there, and then try to barge Sally-Anne out of Harry's arms, when he wants her to be there, how do you think that will make him feel about you?"
"Grateful, probably," Hermione muttered, mutinously. Papageno just stared blankly at her. "Oh, fine, Pap! He'd probably be very upset with me. But he'd get over it, I'd just have to kiss him and make it better!"
"And that's how you intend to announce all of this to Harry!" Papageno cried, incredulously. "You walk into the room, punch or curse his date to the floor, then kiss him and confess your undying affection for him. Out of nowhere?"
"What? Seems like a fine plan to me."
"Hermione ..."
"It's dramatic, it's romantic," Hermione went on, thoughtfully. "It happens in books and movies all the time."
"It's stupid, it's foolhardy," Papageno frowned in disagreement.
"It's unusual and unexpected ... it sums up mine and Harry's relationship perfectly," Hermione countered stubbornly.
"Hermione ... be sensible."
"Why!" Hermione cried, hotly. "Being sensible is what got me into this mess! Doing all this thinking ... judging, weighing, working out all the pros and cons ... when what I should have done all along was to act on my feelings. If I had, I could have come back into this world to see Mum and Dad, safe in the knowledge that Harry was mine, and that our love would protect him from the charms of Sally-Anne bloody Perks!
"But no, I didn't do that. I left him in doubt, vulnerable to other girls who circled like vultures. I knew Pap ... I knew he liked me! When he kissed me last year, I knew then! He didn't just breath air into my lungs, you know ... he pressed his lips to mine for three seconds before he starting puffing out that oxygen ... and I kissed him back for three seconds after! He doesn't know that I know he did that, but I do. You knew, too ... so why didn't you tell me what to do!?"
"That's not fair!" Papageno argued, slightly hurt. "I was just as confused and disorientated as you were that night. Voldemort touched me, don't forget."
"Alright, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," Hermione conceded, sorrowfully. "But we still knew afterwards and stayed all coy about it. That was a mistake. I see that now. But what am I going to do if Harry is going out with Sally-Anne? I cant just go in there and cause a scene, you're right about that. Harry wouldn't thank me for it, no matter how much I try and convince myself that he would."
"I think you need to be careful," Papageno advised. "If Harry and Sally-Anne are somehow a couple now, he might see you throwing yourself at him as a reaction to that. You've not said before that you might want to be his girlfriend, don't forget ... he might just see you as being belligerent and possessive if you suddenly turn up and do that. He might not even believe you, or he could end up resenting you for making things difficult for him."
"Hmm, you have a point ... unfortunately," Hermione huffed. "Oh, Pap! I feel like I'm playing catch up now! It's like I've spent all this time waiting for Harry to get up to speed, and suddenly I feel like he's jumped two paces ahead of me while I've been standing still! How did that happen!? And what do I do next?"
"You have to make what you can of the development," Papageno advised, sagely.
"How?"
"Well, if Harry is going out with Sally-Anne, at least he knows what a girlfriend looks like now ... or how a potential better one might look."
"Ooh, that's good, Pap!" Hermione cried. "So, you're saying that now Harry has started to think about girlfriends, I should show him how I might look as one? Wait ... are you saying that I should go out with someone else, too?"
"Maybe."
"No, no, no," Hermione shook her head sternly. "Why would I want to do that? It might hurt him."
"Does the idea of Harry going out with Sally-Anne hurt you?" Papageno asked, fairly.
"It makes me cross, but it's as much with me as anything," Hermione huffed. "It's not Harry's fault that he might find Sally-Anne attractive ... she is, after all ... and if he wants to be close with a girl in that way, and I haven't given him that option with me, you can't exactly blame him for looking elsewhere. He cant wait around for me on the off-chance forever.
"But if I go off and try and get a boyfriend, just to show Harry that I can be a girlfriend, too, then that's just being petty and spiteful, which I don't like to think is me at all. Besides, I don't want anyone else. I want Harry ... I'd be happier on my own than to be with someone else just for the sake of it. And Harry will be mine eventually. We've seen that."
"What about just hanging around with other boys then?" Papageno suggested. "Fake an interest in Draco Malfoy ... that would get Harry's attention."
"It would, you're right," Hermione nodded, sagely. "And it would either make Harry hate me in a second when he found out what we'd done, which he would, or he'd have me committed to St. Mungo's to get my head examined, or swapped completely to something less mental! Neither one sounds like a sane plan, Papageno!"
"Okay, perhaps the Malfoy plan was a little extreme," Papageno conceded. "But there are other boys that could irk him, ones who wouldn't sooner slaughter you than snog you. It could make Harry a little jealous, if you have a bit of a flirt or something with one of those. It might speed things up a bit."
"Now who's sounding like Lyra?" Hermione quirked. "That could just make things worse, start a tit-for-tat war, excuse the pun. I think I might be able to get over it quite tolerably, if Harry hasn't kissed Sally properly or anything, so let's keep it at that."
"But having a relationship with someone else might be a good thing for you," Papageno pointed out. "Just like with Harry, it might open your eyes to other things, a bigger world ... it might actually be healthy for you."
"There are parts of the Dark Arts that can make you healthy, it doesn't mean you should go out and try them all," Hermione frowned, crossly. "Kissing other boys just to learn how to do it, for the boy I really want to kiss, is like cutting off your uncle's privates just to call him your aunt ... you have what you're looking for all along, but you don't need to make sacrifices to get it."
"What an analogy!" Papageno hooted. "But isn't that just what Harry is doing with Sally-Anne?"
"Sort of ... just without the kissing."
"Or the castration!"
"Papageno!" Hermione admonished with a blushing giggle.
"So, no showing Harry that you want him to be your boyfriend by getting a different one, just to make him jealous?"
"No, Pap, that's cruel and hurtful ... and hardly fair on me, either. I have more self-respect than to lower myself to a scheme like that," Hermione scowled. "And you remember how that worked out when he thought I fancied Lockhart. Urgh! It makes me sick just saying the words! But no, Pap, I have to make Harry want to be with me just for being me ... not because I might be someone else's. That wouldn't be right at all. That's what he might think I'm doing if I try and steal him from Sally now ... to keep him to myself just so that no-one else can have him."
"But that is what you're doing!"
"I know, but he has to be willing to come," Hermione pointed out, coolly. "He has to know that I want him in the right way, and he has to feel the same. I don't know how to communicate that without disrupting everything now, but I'll think of something."
"Just barge in. Hit Sally with your most powerful curse and then tell Harry you love him!"
Hermione barked out a laugh. "How did we switch perspectives like this? I was all for rampant action and you were the one preaching caution one minute, and now it's the other way around!"
"It's how we work things out. We've always done it this way," Papageno replied, simply. "So, what is our strategy?"
"Oddly, I think we have to support it ... support them," Hermione frowned, feeling nauseous at the very idea. "We have to win his closeness back, make him see that he just cant do without us ... but at the same time step back from him. Not in terminal ways, but just enough to make him see what he's missing.
"We are better than Sally-Anne, I'd make him a better girlfriend than her ... and Harry knows it, really. But he's also clueless, and he will need advice about all these new things, and who will he come to for it? Us, obviously! Then we just have to make him see that the girlfriend things he's asking about to use with Sally-Anne, he should be doing and learning with me ... then he'll have a choice to make."
"And he'll choose us, obviously!" Papageno purred in triumph. "Perhaps you are right. Even Lyra said that she thought she might not have been such a great girlfriend to Will if they'd stayed together. Their future was so uncertain once the drama of their early relationship had passed, despite how passionately they cared for each other."
"Yes, how was it she put it?" Hermione mused. "Something about how the 'gazing adoringly phase' doesn't last forever, then you have to manage the relationship properly? At least we already have that with Harry ... we are best friends, we've done all the ground work ... it's just about making that next step now. It's just a shame that we have to watch him learn about the next phase by watching him develop a close relationship with another girl."
"That wont be easy ... it might be hard to watch if they start smooching."
"Eww ... they wont! Stop saying that. It wont happen, I'm telling you."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Harry is squeamish with things close to his face," Hermione explained. "We'll have to rely on that, till my face gets close to his again. And if that plan fails, we'll research troll halitosis charms and silent casting or something to use on poor old Sally! That'll keep Harry away from her!"
"Hermione Granger! That's a cruel scheme ... I approve!" Papageno laughed.
"You have to help me in this, Pap, you are my secret weapon, you know," Hermione went on.
"I am? How?"
"You can do something that no other girl can compete with ... you can touch Harry's soul for me."
"Marici! Of course!" Papageno exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"Because you're in love with her, too," Hermione smiled. "It's warped your little kitty mind!"
"Why ... yes, I think I must be!" Papageno whispered in astonishment. "What a strange realisation! I knew, of course, but how odd is it to hear the words out loud?"
"I know! I was the same when I said that I loved Harry for the first time," Hermione grinned. "You get used to it."
"So, what do you want me to do?"
"Be all over Chi like a rash, in ways that I'd never dare be with Harry!" Hermione laughed. "Don't give Harry's heart a chance to beat without feeling us. He might be able to hug and kiss Sally and, as much I want to hug and kiss Harry, too, it's just skin at the end of the day ... she cant touch him anything like as deeply as we can. We have to make him see how much better our touch is than hers, make him want to be closer to us than her."
"I can do that, but will you be able to cope with it?" Papageno asked. "It will affect you, too, don't forget."
"I know, and I'm looking forward to it," Hermione blushed. "Harry is so cute when he gets all confused and flustered, and maybe he'll come to me ask what's going on. A little bit of intimacy is just what we need. Ooh, Pap! I could give him the 'birds and the bees' talk! How funny would that be? He'd squirm like the wriggliest worm!"
"Just so long as the lesson doesn't get practical!" Papageno warned. "You just remember your modesty, miss."
"Papageno!" Hermione flushed, totally scandalised. "What a thing to say! What sort of girl do you take me for?!"
"A sort of girl who has lost her mind a little to love," Papageno returned, simply. "There are other things in that area that you shouldn't be losing for a long time yet!"
"Pap! Honestly!" Hermione cried, shrilly. "I've never been so embarrassed by you in all our life!"
"It's all I've got left to keep you in line!" Papageno volleyed back. "You're growing up far too quickly for my liking."
"Not that quickly," Hermione hushed back. "Honestly! I cant believe you said that to me."
"Why not? You are fourteen now, Hermione. You'll be thinking about things like this soon enough, if you aren't already. Just remember that thinking is one thing, and acting is quite another."
"Talking is another, too, and I don't want to talk about this anymore," Hermione muttered, more uncomfortable than she'd ever been with her dæmon before. That was a completely new sensation.
Luckily for her, the sled pulled over the next ridge, then sped down the valley gorge at a breakneck speed, then it levelled off as it eased onto the wide plain again and finally brought Ice Station Zebra into view.
Or, at least ... what was left of it.
"Halt! Halt!" the sled driver called, pulling the dogs to a stop. Then Lyra was hurrying over to Hermione and hauling her from the sled. Hermione noticed, with a thrill of dread, that Lyra had her rifle out and cocked.
"What's going on?" Hermione whispered as she allowed Lyra to tug her down into the snow behind the tree line.
"Look," Lyra nodded through the trees.
So Hermione did ... and gasped aloud at what she saw.
For the research station was completely wrecked. It was smouldering badly, as if it had been consumed by fire and only recently doused. The roof had collapsed, the expensive equipment was mangled and askew in the rear yard, and the whole place was saturated by a dense, congealed air ... the putrid stench of death.
"What happened? An accident?" Hermione whispered.
"I don't think so," said Pantalaimon, who fluttered down next to them. "I see scorch marks on the walls. That's weapons-grade, Lyra."
"Any life?" she asked back, lowly.
"Not that I could see, but that doesn't mean there isn't any."
"We have to go in and see," Lyra announced. She turned to the Skraeling sled drivers, speaking fast and in a language that Hermione didn't understand a word of. A moment later and the drivers unloaded their sleds, before gunning off into the snow.
"Now what!" Hermione cried, lowly. "We're stuck here!"
"Now ... we go in," Lyra announced, bullishly. "Do you have that magic wand of yours handy? Good. Take it out, we might need it."
"But I don't know many offensive spells," Hermione muttered, drawing her Phoenix wand with shaking fingers, hoping to draw courage from its connection to Harry's own. "I only managed to get to one duelling club session back at Hogwarts."
"Then lets hope you learned something useful," Lyra growled. "Pan ... watch the sky. Hermione, stay close to me and keep low. Let's move."
Pantalaimon took off and began a circuit of the complex, while Lyra gripped onto her rifle and darted out of the trees, moving in a crouched posture to what remained of the front entrance to the station. Hermione was close behind in her slipstream, watching left and right for any signs of movement.
They stepped over the threshold, then picked their way carefully down smoky corridors, where flickers of small fires pierced the hazy gloom. Wires and cabling hung and swayed precariously from the ceilings, and every now and then sparks flashed from ruined power ducts or smashed anbaric equipment.
The whole place was so eerily quiet, that was the thing that unsettled Hermione the most. She had stayed here for all those weeks, and in that time the place was never quiet. There was always a buzzing, or humming, or whirring to break up the drone of the winter silence outside. But now, there was almost no sound at all, besides the heavy breaths of herself and Lyra.
Hermione gripped tight to her wand as they made their way along. They passed the living areas, where Hermione had joyously woken her parents with the Mandrake Draught, then past the Communal Lounge, which Hermione had been looking forward to enjoying a warm cup of tea in again during their journey back. It was smashed and ruined now, the spotlessly white floor now awash with dirt and dust and ash. There was destruction everywhere ... but one thing was worryingly missing.
"Where are the people, Lyra?" Hermione whispered. "The engineers and Scholars and photogramists ... where have they gone?"
"I'm not sure they've gone anywhere," Lyra replied, lowly. "We just haven't found their final resting place yet."
Hermione gulped at that. She knew what was coming ... knew that when they found it, it would be sudden and a surprise ... there was no way of avoiding it.
"But still," Hermione thought, grimly. "At least I'll be able to see Thestrals afterwards."
Lyra opened another door, one leading to the biggest research laboratory of the whole compound. Hermione had never been in here before, as it was the room that monitored the gateway to that other world, and so was contained too much sensitive data and equipment.
Or at least, it used to ... for the whole place had been stripped clean now.
Work stations were gone, memory banks were missing, documents and files were flung open and their contents stolen. Lyra moved angrily from worktop to worktop examining the mass theft. But what had the thieves been looking for?
Pantalaimon was about to lead them to the cause.
"Lyra! Cover Hermione's eyes!"
The owl dæmon called down from the rafters of the roof, which had been torn open to expose it to the sky. Lyra obeyed the command on reflex, moving to Hermione and flinging a hand over her face.
But it was too late. Hermione had spotted Pantalaimon when he fluttered in ... she'd seen what he had found ...
... she'd seen what had become of all the Scholars ... for they were all hanging, mangled and mutilated the the very cables that had powered their research.
"Don't look, sweetheart," Lyra hushed, drawing Hermione's head tight to her breast. But Hermione shrugged hard and pulled away.
"I've already looked," Hermione muttered back bitterly. "I'm not afraid to look again."
"It's not about fear," Lyra cajoled. "It's about what's right. I don't want you to see."
"But I might need to see, maybe to help work out what's gone on here," Hermione rebuked, sternly.
"Lyra! I've found one that's breathing!" Pantalaimon called from the roof. "Come up here and lower him down."
Lyra followed the instruction, clambering up to where Pantalaimon was sitting and untying the rope she found there. She slowly lowered the wounded Scholar to the research lab floor. Hermione hurried over to him as Lyra slid down the rounded walls of the chamber to join them.
"His name is Dolohov. He's a Czech Scholar, if I remember right," Lyra frowned as she assessed his wounds. "Worked on stabilising the conduit to the other world. Dolohov? Can you hear me?"
The Scholar groaned and opened the one eye that wasn't swollen and bloody from a beating he'd taken.
"Lyra? Is that you?" Dolohov croaked out. "Thank God you're alive!s I thought they might have gotten to you by now."
"Me?" Lyra scowled. "Is this all to do with me? Is that why you were attacked."
Dolohov nodded. "There was a woman ... she came from another world. She's completely mad, Lyra. She blames the Potter boy who was with you for the defeat of some Dark Lord ... and she wants to find you and the girl, to ... to ..."
"I know what she wants us for," Lyra growled. "But what did she want here."
"Our research, our knowledge ... about building portals," Dolohov choked out.
Lyra shared a dark look with Hermione. "But why, Dolohov?"
But Dolohov looked borderline, delirious in his pain. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. He looked up, terrified, at Lyra.
"She ... tortured those people," Dolohov muttered blankly. "She went wild, she ... slit their throats, then she tore the place apart. But she was late. You'd already gone ... and she'd missed her chance to ... blow you to bits."
"Did she destroy the gateway?" Lyra implored.
"No, no," Dolohov managed to shake his head. "She was too busy trying to wring the information out of the Scholars, so Magnus Ekesson set fire to the important documents with a flare gun. He incinerated that room ... and himself to boot. He bought safety for the gateway ... with his life. You have to go Lyra. His sacrifice will be for nothing if she finds you here."
"Can you stand? We can help you to safety if you can."
"Leave me," Dolohov insisted.
"No! We can get you out of this, I wont let you die in here."
"Lyra! I've punctured a lung and I have other smashed organs that are causing me to bleed internally ... the damage is too extensive," Dolohov groaned. "Lyra ... I'm dead already."
"Lyra, we have to go," Pantalaimon chipped in, warningly. "There's no telling when they might be back."
"I wont!" Lyra seethed.
"You will!" Dolohov spluttered out. "Go now! Let me not have the pain of seeing you caught here, Lyra! Get to the safe place you mentioned ... where was it? Let me dream of it in my last moments."
"I'll be in that other world, in their version of London," Lyra told him, firmly. "My girl will be safely at her school of Hogwarts and I'll be doing everything I can to avenge this. I shall avenge you all."
Dolohov smiled in dark triumph. "I shall toast your victory from my place with Dust. Now ... get out of here."
Lyra stood, shrieked out in anger to the open heavens, then took Hermione by the arm as she reluctantly fled from the place and sought refuge in an alternate, but equally dangerous world.