Harry - aimless, restless - mewled out nervous yelps.

"What do you mean 'you can't get him back'?" he demanded desperately. "Sirius cant be stuck there forever?"

Lily moved to comfort her son. "We don't know enough yet to assume anything. This is a developing situation, and we've not long found out ourselves."

Harry groaned again. That wasn't the answer he wanted.

"Mrs Potter?" Hermione asked politely, stepping forward. "But how do you know about this? Are you sure, absolutely sure, that it's true?"

"We're sure," Lily replied. "The message came straight from the source."

Lily nodded to a room just at the back of the pub. Harry and Hermione followed her line of sight - and both blinked at what they saw. For a rather large snow goose was padding about the room, looking for all the world as though it were the most natural thing for him to be there. Harry looked at Hermione in confusion, but then he saw both Pantalaimon and Papageno touch touches politely with the snow goose, and he thought he understood.

"Is that a dæmon?" he asked lowly.

Hermione nodded. "That's Kaisa. He is the dæmon of Serafina Pekkala."

Harry turned to her in deep surprise. "The witch who made you Separate from Papageno?"

"Well, she didn't make us," Hermione replied, colouring softly. "We chose to do that. But she helped us, showed us how to do it. And she was the one who helped us recover afterwards."

Harry felt a pang in his chest. He didn't like the idea of Hermione needing to recover, as that would mean she was hurt in the first place. And the concept of Hermione in pain was simply abhorrent in Harry's mind. He had no place for it.

He turned to his mother again. "And he was the one who brought news about Sirius?"

It was Lyra who answered this time. "Yes. Serafina helped Mal and Sirius to cross back into my world. The Witches of Serafina's clan guard the portal on this side, so that normal explorers don't accidentally stumble through it. Serafina's witch nature acts like a conduit between this world and that. She has to be in physical contact with anyone passing through - to make sure they reach the world they intended."

"Then ... there are others?" Harry shuddered. "Other worlds, I mean?"

"Millions," Lyra confirmed. "More than could ever be counted."

"So, could Sirius be lost in one of those other worlds?" Harry yelped again. "We might never even find him again if he is!"

"No, that hasn't happened," Lyra reassured him. "Kaisa told me that Serafina crossed fine with Mal, and then it happened. There was a flash of light - a surge of magical power that she could feel - then the portal was blocked off."

"Blocked?" Hermione queried. "You make it sound like you think this was done deliberately."

Lily addressed Hermione now. "I don't claim to know as much about these portals as Lyra, but we did study the one we had at the Ministry of Magic for a very long time. Our plan - once Voldemort was pushed through it - was to close it up if we could."

"But we never found a way," James cut in. "Now both Lily and I - as well as Sirius and Albus Dumbledore - are all pretty powerful magically. But nothing we did seemed to have any effect. In truth, we didn't make a dent."

"Meaning what?" asked Harry.

"Meaning," James replied. "That whatever, or whoever, closed that portal must have a level of magical skill that is likely greater than our own."

"Or perhaps is of a different sort, one possibly a little more in tune with the natural forces of the world," Lily added as an afterthought.

It was Hermione's turn to shiver now. "What sort of person or entity would have the power to close a barrier between worlds? It is astonishing to even consider it."

"I think the bigger question is why," Harry butted in. "If this was done on purpose we need to find out not only who did it, but why they did it. If they targeted Sirius we need to know everything about it."

"And we will be working very hard to find all that out," Lily assured her son and his best friend.

"In the meantime, Mal is going to stay in the North, see if he can help Serafina and her witches to reopen the gateway from this side," James told them. "Malcolm helped build the portal, so if anyone can re-open it he's got as good a chance as any."

"And Sirius?" Harry demanded. "What about him?"

"I'm sending Pan back with Kaisa," Lyra replied gently. "Dæmons have a way of crossing worlds that we humans cant fathom. It takes a bit of time, but they will probably reach Sirius before we do."

"That's not good enough!" Harry yelled, stamping his foot. Heavy silence fell between them all. Frustrated tears boiled behind Harry's eyes and he felt ashamed of his outburst. "Sorry, Miss Lyra. Thank you for sending Pan to do this. It sounds dangerous. But there must be something else we can do? Some other way to contact him? We can do magic for crying out loud!"

"But, Harry," Hermione whispered softly, stepping into his circle of pulsing emotion when no-one else dared. "That wasn't enough for me, remember? Sirius had to go all the way to my parents to give them the two-way mirror. If there was an easier way to reach them, we'd have done that, wouldn't we?"

Harry felt his anger recede at Hermione's satin-soft voice. She had a funny way of being able to calm him like that. It didn't help the situation, but Harry certainly felt better when his mind wasn't racing a mile-a-minute.

"So, we can't contact him," Harry huffed, taking a deep breath. "But can we at least find out if he's still alive? Dad? What about all those rituals you can do? Is there anything like that which could help?"

James looked at Lily with an impressed grin. "Possibly. I'd have to hit the books ... divining the truth is never straight forward. But we might be able to come up with something."

Then Hermione gasped, before gripping Harry's arm excitedly.

"What? What is it?" Harry winced, for the pressure on his forearm was slightly painful.

"Harry - what your Dad just said - it gave me an idea!" Hermione chirruped. "He said about using books to see the truth and I remembered ... we have got a way to find out about Sirius!"

"We do?" Harry asked in cautious hope. "What is it?"

Hermione turned her eyes to her Mistress. "The alethiometer. That can tell us how Sirius is, cant it Miss Lyra?"

"Of course it can!" Lyra cried, leaping up animatedly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"It's because she's in love with Sirius and cant think straight with him being in danger!" Harry whispered to Hermione, causing her to giggle violently next to him.

"Shush you two!" Lyra scowled through her uncharacteristic blush - as she'd clearly heard them - before turning to Lily. "Can I use that room back there? Can you make it silent for me? I need quiet for this to work."

"Lead on," Lily smiled, drawing her wand. "It's been a while since I've cast a Privacy Charm, but I'm sure I can manage one!"

Then the two ladies sauntered off to the back room. The dæmons amassed there stepped aside dolefully, while Lyra carefully placed the alethiometer in front of her and began turning the dials on the sides. Harry angled his head to try and get a look, as he was deeply keen to see the truth-reader, curious to watch it at work. But he was too far away and had to simply content himself with waiting until Lyra was done.

It didn't take more than a few minutes.

"Well? What did it say?" Hermione asked briskly, as Lily and Lyra returned to them

"He is with the bears," Lyra announced with a huge grin. "That's exactly what it said!"

Harry relaxed at Lyra's relieved tone. "The bears? And that's ... good?"

"These aren't regular bears, Harry," Hermione explained. "They are the panserbjorne - armoured bears. They are fierce warriors, but the most of honourable of beings, too. If Sirius is with them, then he's safe. He'll be okay if he's with Iorek."

"Iorek?"

"Iorek Byrnison, he's the King."

"The bears have a King? Wow. You'll have to tell me all about that!"

"I think it's a story we would all like to hear!" James chuckled. "How about Lyra and Hermione tell us more over dinner and drinks. I waited all day for Paddy to show up ... now I'm starving."

Lily looked at him in disgust. "Your best friend is missing! And you only think about your stomach!"

"First order of business, survival," James replied, unabashed. "Paddy would tell you the same."

"Why do you call him Paddy, Mr Potter?" Hermione asked with a crinkle to her brow, as Lily ushered them into a booth and called a waitress over.

"It's from his Animagus name," James explained. "In his dog form we called him Padfoot. Hence, Paddy."

"Padfoot?" Lyra swooned lowly. "The name of his dæmon was Padfiette, when we finally met her. She was a fierce old bloodhound, that one."

"Then if Paddy is with her and these bears of yours, he'll be alright," James chuckled confidently. "He's a survivor, is Sirius. He'd be having a right old laugh if he thought we were sat here fretting about him, while he's probably having the time of his life. So, let's stop worrying and listen to Hermione, who was about to tell us about these magnificent Knights of the North ..."

It was a good thing Harry had such a busy week, as it kept his mind from Sirius and his predicament. He had to keep active, as without Hermione to keep him sane and grounded Harry was liable to race around the flat in a state of perpetual, fretful motion. He couldn't settle to anything, starting task after task but never finishing a single one.

In the end, it threatened to drive his mother round the twist.

"James! Do something with this little stressball, will you?" Lily begged on Saturday morning. "I need to get this paperwork done before Monday ... and I cant do it with Dick Van Dyke flitting around me like this!"

"Dick Van Dyke?" James quirked, then he looked over at Harry and chuckled. For his son was dressed in a dirty set of old clothes, had a broom in his hand and one foot in the fireplace.

"What?" Harry frowned as his father continued to laugh at him. "The chimney needs sweeping!"

"Come on, son," James laughed. "Let's go and burn off some of that energy on a different type of broom."

Hooch and Hardbroom's was packed that morning, as was typical on a Saturday. Harry entered with his father standing boldly at his side. It occurred to Harry that James Potter might well be the worst Unspeakable in the history of the profession, for almost everyone recognised him and gave him cheery waves as they passed. James insisted it was genius, that he was simply hiding in plain sight. Harry wanted to point out that if people could see you then you weren't actually hiding.

But Harry was about to go flying with his father for the first time in his life, and he was so excited about this that he was even willing to forget that James Potter was probably a complete idiot, if only for one afternoon.

"How can I help you today?" the elderly witch on the reception booth asked pleasantly, as Harry and James approached her.

"A flying rink for two, with a full Quidditch set, please," James beamed.

"Very good, Sir. And will you be requiring brooms?"

"No, we have our own," James grinned, brandishing a little box no bigger than a cigar case. Inside, two magically shrunken brooms were held fast by little silver clasps.

"A Nimbus and the 2001 model!" the reception witch gleamed. "You'll be the envy of the arena."

"We'll try and keep the Wronski Feints to a minimum!" James chuckled. He paid five Silver sickles each for himself and Harry and they trotted off to Flying Rink number Seven, which was down at the far end.

"Dad?" Harry asked with a little frown. "What's a Wronski Feint?"

"Ooh, has Sirius never shown you the most dangerous move in flying?" James crowed gleefully. "I cant say I'm shocked. He never was much of a broomsman ... this manoeuvre was always beyond him. Now your old Dad on the other hand ..."

And with that James resized Harry's old Nimbus and kicked off hard from the ground, grabbing a Bludger as he shot upwards like an arrow. The Bludger followed and James avoided it skilfully. He wasn't lying, he really did fly well. Harry watched in awe and appreciation as his father practically funned with the hapless Bludger, taunted it even.

"Ready for this, son?" James called down with a grin, as he gunned low past Harry, who nodded eagerly.

Then he rocketed upwards, the Bludger went hurtling behind, then James curled round into a steep vertical dive. Harry watched in wide-eyed astonishment, wondering - as James streaked towards the ground - just why his father had chosen today to commit suicide. The ground came quickly ... the impact was moments away ... Harry was already sketching his father's eulogy in his mind ... and then ...

Thump!

At the last minute, James pulled the broom from the dive and hurtled back towards the roof of the aerodrome in an exaggerated twirling motion. The Bludger had nothing like that dexterity. It smashed into the ground so hard that it disappeared under the mound of earth it threw up on the impact.

Harry clapped vigorously - as did the large crowd that had gathered outside their rink net to watch.

James landed deftly at Harry's feet. "Now that, son, was a Wronski Feint!" he beamed widely. "Only the Bludger is usually the opposition Seeker. Just keep that move in mind if you come up against a Seeker you don't particularly like!"

"Wow, Dad!" Harry gawped. "That was amazing!"

"It wasn't my first time," James replied smugly. "But, seriously, don't you go trying that back at Hogwarts. If Minerva tells me you have been, I'll take that expensive broom right off you, leave you with a Cleansweep Five or some other piece of tat."

"I wont, Dad," Harry promised faithfully. "Even though I'm dying to now you've shown me."

"Speaking of showing me, I hear you fly pretty well," James quirked with a grin. "It's about time I saw for myself."

Harry's face cracked into a wide smile as his father resized his shiny new broom and Harry kicked off from the ground. He felt that wonderful blast of air to his face, that rush of tingles as he became airborne. He really did love to fly. He zoomed around the rink, spinning upside down and doing a few loop-the-loops, drawing excited cheers from a gaggle of girls that was watching him from down below.

Harry didn't have time to feel flustered by that, as soon his father was flying right alongside him.

"What say we do a couple of circuits together?" James quirked, hovering just to Harry's right. "Then how about a game of Quaffle Catch?"

That sounded just about the best thing Harry could imagine.

An hour later, which was probably the quickest hour Harry had ever lived, and it was with a sort of cosy exhilaration that he followed his father from the flying rink. The little cluster of girls shuffled over excitedly, each one egging the other on for some cause Harry couldn't fathom, but felt irrationally wary of.

"Go on, you ask him."

"No, you do it!"

"No, you ... you're the one that fancies him!"

Harry coloured deeply as James grinned down at him. To their immediate left, the swarm of girls were getting ever closer. They all looked around Harry's age, with some maybe a little younger. Harry was not amused to see a shock of ginger hair among the number, but - thankfully - the head of Ginevra Weasley was not near to the front of this Murder of Maidens.

"Dad! Hurry up! Walk faster."

"Why?" James teased. "Are we in a rush?"

"No, but if you don't want to make the front page of the Daily Prophet - for hexing a bunch of schoolgirls to death to protect your son - I suggest you get a move on!"

James laughed heartily. "Oh, dear, son. You're going to need to develop a better defence mechanism than that! You're a good-looking boy - you get that from me! - and you'll break a lot of hearts before your star begins to wane. Better get used to it."

"I don't want to break any hearts," Harry complained. "I don't anyone giving me their heart to break in the first place!"

"Now that isn't strictly true, is it?" James quipped wryly.

Harry's felt something stick in his throat at the hugely loaded look his father was throwing at him. He shivered under the flash of understanding that passed between them. Oddly, he was glad when the expected interruption finally came, because who knows where that conversation might have gone.

"Excuse me?" said a sweet little voice as Harry and James came to a sudden stop. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry turned away shyly. But James was perfectly amiable to make up for his son's aloofness.

"Yes he is," James replied brightly. "And I'm his father. What can we do for you, young lady?"

Harry looked through the gap in his father's arm. A girl with dark French plaits and almond-shaped eyes was looking earnestly back at him.

"Could we please have your autograph?" the girl asked. "Our friends will never believe we saw you in real life when we tell them. Please?"

"Of course you can!" James chimed. He took a copy of Witch Weekly from the girl. There was a picture of Harry on the cover - of course there was - and a match-by-match account of his first Quidditch season at Hogwarts. "Who are we making this out to?"

"Can you please sign To Demelza, love Harry?" the girl asked, hopefully.

Harry growled slightly as he snatched the magazine and quill - which James had conjured from somewhere - from his father. "I'll sign the cover ... but I wont lie."

He scribbled To Demelza, from Harry Potter, signing his name so messily it was practically illegible. But the girl, Demelza, was delighted nonetheless. She squeaked a 'thank you' and ran back to her little coven, who all began to swoon over the signature.

"Seriously, it's just ink," Harry grumbled.

"Yes, but it's ink from you!" James tittered. "Come on, son. This isn't going to go away ... so I think we need to have a long discussion about managing your public persona."

When Harry told Hermione about his being accosted at the aerodrome, when they met up the following Tuesday, her response took Harry by surprise. He expected her to offer some sage advice, or to suggest some spells to keep the girls away, perhaps to even begin to draft a lawsuit against the magical media at large for violation of his privacy.

What he hadn't expected was for her to be so utterly livid.

"They did what!" she thundered, at a rather unreasonably high volume - Harry thought - considering they were in a bookshop. "Those animals! Those heathens! Who do they think they are, interrupting your private time with your Dad like that? And Ginny Weasley was there, you say? One day, you know, that girl and I are going to have a serious falling out!"

Surprised as he was, Harry couldn't help but grin warmly at Hermione assuming the role of his champion like this. She was, for whatever reason, angry enough for the both of them. He didn't think Hermione had ever fallen in with Ginny Weasley, now she was planning an explosive falling out? That cheered Harry no end, and made the whole thing seem not quite so annoying after all.

But speaking of annoying ...

"Welcome! Welcome!" Fabian Flourish announced with a, well, flourish. "The time you have all been waiting for is finally here! The reason you have all come today has now arrived! It is my proud honour to introduce the one, the only, Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Harry groaned. He had hoped to avoid this moment, but he was out of luck it would seem. However, the rest of the crowd - the mostly female crowd - began to clap wildly. Even Hermione put her hands together with more zeal than Harry thought was necessary. But then again, he was of the firm opinion that one clap was probably one too many for this court jester.

So Harry glowered at Hermione. "Why are you clapping?"

"I'm just being polite," Hermione murmured, turning a curious shade of scarlet and steely avoiding Harry's gaze.

Harry continued to look at her queerly, steadfastly refusing to join in this raucous applause, that the wizard at the front of the shop was now basking in. There was a collective swoon from the ladies of the crowd. Even from the young lady closest to Harry.

"Do you need some fresh air?" Harry asked in concern.

"No, why do you ask?"

"That breathy sigh you just made," Harry clarified, his lips curling into a slight frown. "I thought you might be having trouble breathing or something. It is quite stuffy in here."

"I'm quite alright, thank you," Hermione replied brightly. She still wasn't looking at him. She kept patting her hair in a very peculiar way and Harry was about to question her about this bizarre new affliction she was suffering under.

But then Lockhart began speaking.

"Hello, everyone!" he announced theatrically, flashing his brilliantly white teeth at them all. "Welcome, welcome! Form an orderly queue ... fear not, for the Banshees didn't break me, I survived a Year with the Yeti, and my days Wandering with Werewolves are now past ... and there's plenty of me to go around!"

Harry felt the desire to vomit all over the obscenely enormous pile of Lockhart's books nearby. But he had to pick up a copy of each first, as they were on the required reading list for the next Hogwarts year. He and Hermione collected a set each, added them to the books they already had for their other classes and made their way towards the till to pay. Harry was keen to get out of the shop as quickly as possible.

Oddly, Hermione had chosen to stand on Harry's left, rather than what had become her usual position on his right. Shuffling along in this configuration would allow her to pass close to Lockhart's book signing table, and Harry wasn't sure if he was happy about this or not. On the one hand, it meant he was shielded from the wavy-haired bimbo and his peacock's feather quill - which annoyed Harry even more as he clocked eyes on it. But then he was confused by Hermione's abrupt change of what had become their habit, and this concerned Harry even more deeply than the possibility of being spotted by Gilderoy the Gormless.

"All these together please," Harry told the cashier, and he dumped all their books on the counter, as Hermione turned her eyes down bashfully next to him. She had gracefully accepted the offer that Harry's parents had - happily - made to sponsor her tuition at Hogwarts, but she was still shy when it came to seeing it in action.

"I assume you're for Hogwarts," the cashier said as he began totalling up the cost. Harry nodded the affirmative. "Well, in that case, you'd better pop to Mr Lockhart's table before you pay. There's a special extra book you'll need for next year."

"From him?" Harry scoffed. "Why?"

"Don't be flippant, Harry!" Hermione squeaked. "We need another book! Come on."

And with that she grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily to Lockhart's table at the side of the till. There was a low-level outcry at them jumping the queue, but Hermione was bobbing on the balls of her heels and didn't notice the grumbles at all. Harry had the strongest urge to shake this silliness out of his best friend.

What on earth had come over her?

"Excuse me, Mr Lockhart," Hermione twittered excitedly. "We were told we have to pick up books for Hogwarts, we were told. We go to Hogwarts. So we need books. That's what we were told. Can we get them then, please? If you have any spare time, please?"

Gilderoy Lockhart put down his quill and flashed a winning smile at Hermione. For a wild moment, Harry swore that Hermione shrank an inch or two, as though her knees had given way beneath her. But then, Lockhart's gaze left Hermione and fell on him. Lockhart glanced away ... then snapped his eyes back a second later.

"Can it be!" he hushed. "Yes! It is ... Harry Potter!"

Little whispers broke out within the amassed crowd and Harry felt himself pushed forward into Lockhart's strong grip. Then there was a big camera in his face.

"Nice, big smile, Harry, that's the way," Lockhart simpered as the camera flashed away. "Get the girl in, too. Gilderoy Lockhart meets Harry Potter and his little girlfriend. Imagine the angle! That's got to be worth the front page!"

The next thing Harry knew was that Hermione was shunted next to him. Someone had draped her arm around his neck, thread his around her waist and then posed them so that she was practically hanging off him. Harry was too surprised by the whirlwind of motion to even think to protest. He tried not to imagine the headlines in the morning papers.

"What a fabulous moment this is!" Lockhart announced in that dramatic tone he loved so much. "When young Harry here, and his lucky little lady, entered Flourish and Blotts today to purchase my autobiography - Magical Me - he was only hoping to help keep it at the Number One Spot in the Bestseller Chart for a record twenty-seventh week!"

Lockhart paused to milk the eruption of applause that he knew would follow his announcement. Once he'd smiled enough, or his jaw was tired from it, he addressed the crowd again.

"Twenty- seven! Where do the weeks go? But I get distracted! Yes, when Harry came to buy my book today, he had no idea that he would not only be sharing in my life's reflections and memoires, but would soon also be sharing in my dreams, too. In fact, we will be sharing in dreams together.

"For I will soon be fulfilling a dream, ladies and gentlemen, one I have held dear for the longest time. A dream more challenging and more rewarding than all my life's adventures combined - for details see my published works! And for that Harry will need this, a Dream Diary - which I will now present him free of charge!"

There was another round of applause and Harry looked at Hermione, hoping she might clear up his confusion. But Hermione was not looking at him, she was transfixed by Lockhart. Her eyes were sparkling, as though she'd been dazzled by his piano-key teeth and the jaunty angle of his pointed hat.

"Why do I need a dream diary?" Harry asked crossly.

"For, my dear boy, you will soon be receiving the greatest education in fighting the Dark Arts ... from the greatest foe of the Dark Arts in the history of magic - me!"

Harry groaned as he realised what that might mean. Lockhart confirmed it a moment later.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that your children will soon be being taught the strongest Defence Against the Dark Arts by yours truly, the Champion of the Light! And the Darkest Art is being unable to dream. But I don't want to give too much away, to make my future students too excited! Term doesn't start for a whole month yet!"

The burst of excitement Lockhart's pronouncement caused allowed Harry to disentangle himself from those silk, forget-me-not blue robes of his and make a dash for the exit, just as soon as he'd paid for his books. He was almost free and into the air when another unwanted irritant suddenly blocked his path.

"What did I tell you? Hogging the limelight as always. Even in a bookshop famous Scarhead cant help but make a scene for himself!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry growled. "Out of my way."

"Make me," Malfoy volleyed back.

He was being unusually bold, and then Harry saw why. For there, on his shoulder, was the powerful figure of his father, hovering like a menacing bodyguard.

"Now, now, Draco, play nice," Lucius sneered, raising his ornate cane as a sort of barrier between his son and Harry. "Or, perhaps, don't play at all. I wouldn't want you to get dirty ... cavorting with all this muddy blood."

Harry noticed then that Hermione had arrived just behind him. She stared furiously at the Malfoys. Away from Lockhart, it seemed, she was back to her old self. He wondered if she'd been under some sort of spell the whole time.

"If it's bad blood you want," Hermione sniped through gritted teeth. "We're more than up for that. Aren't we, Harry?"

"Too bloody right we are!" Harry confirmed stoutly. "That's just my game."

"Making enemies with the rich and famous?" Lucius simpered loftily, picking up Hermione's new dream diary from on top of her pile of books. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Then I suggest you get out of my face!" Harry growled. "Or that's exactly what you will be doing."

"Forgive our intrusion," Lucius smirked falsely. "We were just trying to be friendly. Come along, Draco, before we sink any lower."

"See you at school," Draco sneered lowly, as his father slid the dream diary back onto Hermione's stack of purchases.

"Let's go, Harry," Hermione urged. "You remember what your Dad told you about not courting negative attention."

Hermione scowled one more time at the Malfoys, then steered Harry into the fresh air of Diagon Alley. She led him down into a little alcove and allowed his anger to erupt. Harry had a hot temper, and Hermione was prepared to be the only one who need absorb it. Once he'd spent himself, Hermione pressed a hand to his chest to still him, which happened far quicker than she'd expected.

"You shouldn't let him get to you, Harry," Hermione hushed. "It's Malfoy. He's not worth letting under your skin."

"He's just making my blood boil lately," Harry seethed. "And if he makes one more comment about your blood ..."

Then something happened that Hermione had never seen before. As Harry's emotion surged, the air around his body began to crackle and sparkle. It burst out in colours, greens and reds for the most part, with a tint of gold here and there. It was like looking at the Northern Lights ... only this was around Harry.

"What is that?" Hermione murmured. She reached out her hand and tried to touch the flashes of colour swimming around Harry's chest.

"Oh!" Harry gasped, as Hermione's fingers brushed over the floaty little waves.

"Did that ... hurt?"

"Sort of," Harry confirmed uncertainly. "But it kind of ... tickled, too."

Hermione snatched her hand back quickly, as though she'd been chided by Harry. But he was more concerned about the continuing little rainbow engulfing him.

"What is this, Hermione?" Harry asked in a tiny voice. "It isn't going away. C-can you make it stop?"

Harry's voice was so small and fragile that Hermione felt her heart cry out at the sound.

"I don't know how."

"What do you think it is?" Harry asked quietly, as though desperate for Hermione to have the answers.

"At a guess? You're having a bout of accidental magic," she offered. "I've read about them. At times when you're particularly emotional, your magic can sort of spill out of you."

"That's happened before!" Harry cried in a gasp. "When I was younger. But ... how can I bring it back under control?"

"Breathe, calm yourself," Hermione suggested. "Find a way to let go of your anger and relax."

"I don't know if I can. I'm just so cross at Malfoy and his Dad, for what they said about you."

"I'm a big girl, Harry, it's just sticks and stones," Hermione dismissed off-handedly. "I have no respect for Malfoy, so his insults are equally worthless. Let it go ... and if you do, there's a reward in it for you."

"That sounds like bribery," Harry grinned, and immediately his flaring aura began to recede.

"If it works, it works," Hermione snickered. "Release it, Harry. I'm allowing you to. I don't want you to be angry for me. It doesn't suit you. Let it go."

And just like that, he did. He took a huge breath and the last of his magic flowed back under his skin with the exhale.

"Well, that was weird."

"I'd call it fascinating. We should look into it a lot more."

Harry huffed. "We aren't even back at school yet and you're setting us extra homework already! So ... what was this reward you mentioned?"

Harry gulped, and felt a bizarre urge to moisten his lips. So he did. Hermione noticed that and flushed madly. For a moment she was tempted to change the reward, to take the most courageous step she could imagine. But she was far too terrified of slipping and falling, so she stuck to the original plan.

"It's this," Hermione replied breathily. "It's your birthday present a little bit early. Happy Birthday, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes wide as Hermione reached into her little bag and handed over a brightly coloured envelope. It was covered in sparkly glitter and the card inside depicted a red-robed Quidditch player reaching for a Golden Snitch. It looked as if Hermione had made the card herself, and Harry felt instantly covetous of it.

"I hope you haven't spent a lot of money," Harry warned as he opened the card.

"Only a little," Hermione confessed. "Now that we haven't got to worry about school supplies, Lyra has a lot more disposable income. Mal brought a lot of money back from Lyra's account in our world, too. So I wanted to treat you. Open it."

Harry was sure he was going to frown at whatever was waiting inside, but he couldn't bring himself to when he saw it. The card had two other slips of card attached to one side, and Hermione's hand written message shone in silver ink opposite them.

Happy birthday, Harry!

I want you to have a great day, so I've bought you two tickets for the Weird Sisters concert. They are playing in London on July 31 st ! What are the chances! The only condition is that you take me along with you using the other ticket, as I'm dying to see them play, too! The ticket includes a VIP Meet and Greet after the show, too, but if you want to take someone else, I'll understand and I hope you have a good time.

Happy birthday,

Love from Hermione.

Harry stared at the card a moment, his heart beating faster under his ribs. Then he just launched himself at Hermione.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked in pleasant surprise as Harry hugged her tight. "I take it you like it?"

"Like it? I love it!" Harry crowed gleefully, pulling away and reading the tickets again. "And of course I'll take you! Who else could I possibly want to go with? Ooh, we could go in costumes, or get matching moon goddess pendants - that's their symbol, you know - or at the very least I could lend you one of the t-shirts I have of theirs. It's going to be great!"

"Cool. It's a date, then."

Harry looked up in bewilderment. "Of course it's a date ... it's July the Thirty-First."

Hermione smiled in a sort of exasperated disappointment and shook her head. Harry really could be hopeless sometimes. But Hermione didn't think she'd want it any other way.