"So, let me get this right," Harry started again. "Years and years ago, there was someone famous called Harry Potter."

"Yes. Possibly thousands of years ago," Hermione confirmed with a brief nod.

"And he became famous because he killed a tyrant?"

"That's what Trelawney said."

"And you knew about that?"

Hermione turned on the bed of the twin-berth bunk in the Jily Harmony, propping herself on her elbow to better look at Harry.

"No, I didn't know that bit," she clarified. "But Dr Clementine and I did find a reference to you ... I mean, to the other Harry Potter. I didn't tell you because it didn't seem important. He lived yonks ago, after all."

"But now it does seem important, because I am him," Harry frowned. "According to the sooth-sayer, anyway."

Hermione shook her head. "That's impossible, Harry. You are your own person. You can't be two people, that's just absurd."

"But we are connected, me and him?" Harry pushed, turning his head on the pillow. "And me and you, too. From years ago and from now. We found each other because we've been looking for each other, ever since we were born or created or whatever the hell is going on. That's the gist of it, isn't it?"

"Yes, and it's quite romantic too," Hermione swooned, placing her head down on Harry's chest. "Just think, our souls were together all those centuries ago and now, however we are back, we've sought each other out again in these new bodies. We are like star-crossed lovers, just like Wilma Shakespeare used to write those plays about!"

Harry couldn't help but grin at that. It wasn't the trend for a man to be in touch with his emotional side, but Harry was a bit of a softie under all his bravado. It was a side only Hermione ever got to see, something she was deeply covetous of.

"Okay, maybe that bit isn't too bad," Harry teased. "But the rest is downright disturbing. What does it even mean?"

Hermione sat back up again and looked sternly at her boyfriend. "Look, Harry, I've checked you over thoroughly. You are not made of iron or steel, you don't have wires and diodes and components where your organs should be, and the fragrance you left in the bathroom earlier was enough to tell me that you have a very human digestive system!"

Harry guffawed at that. "It's all this foreign food. It's playing havoc with my guts."

"It's certainly doing something," Hermione replied, wrinkling her nose. "I'm only concerned that it's fetid enough to take the paint off the walls! The Jily is brand new, you know! I wouldn't want to explain to Dr Twix why we need the bathroom redecorated so quickly!"

"Ha ha. Maybe it would be better if I was a Stalker, get rid of all this nastiness!"

Hermione frowned darkly. "Having your brain wired into a steel skeleton is nasty enough. Wiped of all memory, all emotion, turned into a remorseless killing machine ... that's not a future I'd like to see for myself."

"But, like Trelawney said, we have to look to our past first," said Harry. "I want to know more about our connection to our past selves, or even if there is anything in the claim at all."

"Me too," Hermione agreed. "Though I think we can both agree that magic has nothing to do with it."

"Oh, definitely not," Harry nodded. "The other Harry probably just killed a vicious king or something, like in the old stories. Over the centuries the history became legend, legend became myth, then all this magic nonsense got woven in by some bard or another. That's usually how it happens. Just like with the legends of King Arthur and the knights of Spamalot. The famous Frankish poet, The Cretin of Troyes, added those details later, didn't he?"

"Well done for remembering," Hermione smiled. "Good to see you paid some attention in our history classes!"

"Hey! I studied very hard, I'll have you know. You weren't that distracting!"

"Yes I was."

"Alright, you were. But if I was simply reviving an old love I can hardly be blamed, can I?"

"It's a good enough excuse for me," Hermione grinned, swooping up for a sneaky kiss. "But if we are going to look for evidence of our past selves, where do we start?"

"We want to be archaeologists, don't we? I think we have to try and find some physical proof," Harry mused aloud. "Our old bodies will be dust by now, but things built in stone last for much, much longer."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Hermione squeaked, her eyes alight with energy.

"That depends ... what are you thinking?" Harry quipped.

"That we try and find the ruins of Hogwarts!" Hermione cried. "If it was a real school, there must be some evidence of it. Unless it really was magic and it'll be totally hidden from us by a spell or something."

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "If it was magic, and we went there in our other lives, it would mean we were magic, too. So we'd be able to see it, wouldn't we?"

"Oh yeah! I didn't think of it like that!"

"I was only joking, Hermione."

"Oh ... yes, I know that," Hermione climbed down sheepishly. "But still, we might be able to find foundations or ruins of some sort that have still survived. That would be proof enough. But where to start?"

"We have maps of what was the very north of the British Islands," Harry reminded her. "According to the bits of Hogwarts, A History that Trelawney was able to translate, we know that it was in a mountainous district on the shores of a great lake in that region. We just have to study the geography and come up with some potential locations. Then we can start searching them one by one."

"That's a good plan, Harry!" Hermione beamed. "You're getting good at plans, you know. I'm half-expecting you to pop me the question any day now!"

Harry hooted out a laugh. "Oh, Hermione, I do have a plan for that, but I want it to be special and catch you by surprise. But it will be my best plan yet."

"I have no doubt, but I suppose I'll just have to keep my eye out for it," Hermione replied sadly. "Just don't keep me waiting too long, Harry."

"Why? Planning on changing your mind about saying 'yes' are you?"

"Who knows?" Hermione teased. "If you wait too long and young Tom Natsworthy gets a bit older ..."

Harry was about to fire back a suitably disgruntled retort when suddenly the entire of Airhaven went dark outside the windows of the gondola. Hermione looked out in alarm.

"What's happening? Has the power gone out?"

"Cant have," Harry frowned, looking over at an instrument panel on the wall. "We're still charging our batteries from the city's generators. It looks like only the lights have been switched off."

"Ooh, Harry, I've heard about things like that!" Hermione whispered faintly. "It's a tactic used to create chaos and panic! Someone is trying to make sure someone else doesn't leave, or in the dark confusion, kill them!"

Harry looked up at Hermione and they both chorused together, "Tom and Hester!"

For they had briefly caught sight of their fellow Apprentice Historian and his strange travelling companion just a few hours previously, as they were passing the Gasbag and Gondola. He looked tired and strained, she looked utterly grotesque. Someone had sliced her face clean in half and made an ugly job of it, leaving her mutilated and horrifically disfigured.

It was a damned shame, Harry had thought through his pity, for if it wasn't for the scar, or her missing eye and nose, she might have been quite a pretty girl.

Harry and Hermione leapt up together, their imperative concern for Tom driving them both to action. Harry reached the door to the gondola first and yanked it open, calling down to one of the urchin children who were guarding the air-ships for a bit of gold.

"What's going on?" Harry called to the startled boy.

"Dunno!" the child shouted back. "But me mate, Billy Costa, reckons he seen a metal man with green eyes heading for the Gasbag ... just come off a Goshawk 90 from London. We thought they was all dead, destroyed in battles or gone mad and ripped their own heads off!"

Harry swallowed hard and deep. Could it be true? A real Resurrected Man, a true Stalker, here on Airhaven? It was believed that all had perished, but in this world of possibilities there was every chance that one had survived. Just then, Harry felt a strong hand grasp onto his wrist.

"Don't even think about it, Harry!" Hermione hissed. "If London have sent a Stalker after Tom and that girl then we are staying well clear."

"We cant just leave him, Hermione!"

"Of course we can," she volleyed back. "I don't like it anymore than you, but what can we do? We have no weapons ... no Lightening Guns, no flame-throwers ... not even a sword or a good, solid club. What are you going to fight it with? Bad language?"

Harry went to argue, but Hermione's logic was flawless. It didn't make him feel any better about it, but he couldn't magic a solution out of thin air. A Stalker would tear him apart with a single blow, her too. That thought ultimately kept his feet rooted to the gangplank.

"Alright, but maybe we should just go to the edge of the air-quay," Harry suggested. "What if Tom manages to escape? We could give him an exit route. Wooahhhh!"

Just as Harry finished his suggestion, the whole aërodock was suddenly rocked by a severe movement that caused every air-ship docked there to tilt and swing precariously. Balloons fluttered, rigging creaked and Harry grabbed onto the gangplank railings for dear life.

"What in the name of Quirke is happening!" Hermione cried out from behind.

Harry didn't have time to reply, as suddenly aviators and airmen were rushing back to their ships, diving aboard and unfastening moorings as they went.

"What's happening to the city?" Harry called to a passing aviatrix, as she hastily cut the rope ties to her balloon with her long-bladed knife.

She looked back up at Harry at an odd slanted angle, where the deck plates had started to dangerously list.

"That bloody metal man has started a riot out there," the aviatrix cried back, leaping into the basket of her balloon with her coat flapping behind her. "It's caused a fire in one of Airhaven's gasbags. The city is going down, fast. Best get away while you still can."

"It wont crash, will it?" Harry asked urgently.

"With one balloon lost the city cant stay afloat," the aviatrix explained. "The engines might be able to glide it down to be repaired on the ground, but if another one goes it'll fall out of the sky like a dart. Even if it survives, all it needs is for some hungry Panzerstadt or Tractionville to come along and it'll scoff Airhaven up before it's even cleaned out the fire damage ... and anyone still aboard will be seen as fair loot.

"So I'd get into the sky if I were you, unless you want to lose that shiny airship to Bayreuth or Linz or Montpellier, and your pretty little girlfriend to some slaver or another. I was a slave myself once aboard Arkangel in the Ice Wastes ... I don't recommend it, especially for a dainty piece of skirt like that one. It's not a pleasant experience."

Harry needed no second invitation. He turned and raced back up the gangplank, bundled Hermione into the gondola and began fiddling with the mooring hooks.

"Get the engines fired up," Harry instructed. "The damage to the city has turned off the magnets of the moorings, so I just need to undo the clasps."

"And what about the gangplank?" Hermione called back, diving into the pilot's seat and entering the start-up code into the control panel.

"We can retract it once we're airborne. Just steer us away, high and fast."

"And Tom and Hester?"

Harry took a deep sigh. "We'll say a prayer to one of the Gods of the Sky once we're safely clear. He got lucky once, didn't he? Let's hope his luck lasts the night."

Hermione did as Harry told her. As soon as the last mooring was free, she angled the controls to perform a steep climb, one so severe that it made Harry topple over as The Jily Harmony pulled clear of the stricken Airhaven. Hermione called out a fretful 'sorry!' as Harry got back to his feet, then he manually pulled in the gangplank until it was flush to the gondola, where he locked it in position. Then he headed into the cockpit and looked anxiously out of the main window, as a hundred other balloons and airships rose along with them.

"Tom'll be on one of those, I'm sure of it," Hermione told him confidently, squeezing Harry's arm as he gazed out with a pale, concerned expression. "He's with those soldiers of the League now, and I'm sure they'll look after him. He'll be all right."

"I hope you're right, Hermione, I hope you're right," Harry muttered quietly. "There's nothing we can do for him now, his fate is out of our hands. Steer us North, my love, straight and true. I'll get the maps and we'll find somewhere to start our search for Hogwarts. I really hope there is magic there, Hermione ... for whatever is coming, I rather think we might need some."