When she'd endured a week of particularly nasty picking-on by the girls of Jericho Prep, Hermione liked to spend her weekend evenings by just laying on the deck of her father's narrowboat, where it was moored to the banks of the canal that flanked the back of their house in Abingdon. She found that she could forget the tormenting the easiest when she simply looked up at the clear night and listened to the silence all around her.
Like the air itself, which was full of the whispers of the breeze as it swapped hushed stories with those being told by the slow-moving waters of the canal, Hermione found that she could hear all of the currents and turbulence of the silence, if she listened in just the right half-focused, half-ignorant way. She could tell when it bunched up and grew dense, and when it spiked as if in alarm, and when it relaxed enough to calm any observer to sleep.
It was only much later that Hermione would realise that she was listening to Dust.
And this night, Hermione half-wished that she was on the narrowboat as usual. For what she was witnessing caused her to hop from foot-to-foot with awkward embarrassment. Despite being just ten-years-old, Hermione Granger was worldly for her age, and knew that the scene in front of her was almost forbidden for young eyes to see. Even so, Hermione found it hard to look away.
For she had never seen the dæmons of two strangers embrace before ... so Hermione peeked on shyly, as Papageno became a door mouse and hid his eyes behind his tiny paws as he burrowed into the hood of Hermione's coat. It seemed indecent to watch, but she was deeply curious to see what might happen.
For this is just what the dæmons of Alice Lonsdale and Malcolm Polstead, two close friends of Lyra's, were doing despite their audience, as they all sat in the bar of the pub that Malcolm owned, which was called The Trout. Clearly, Alice and Malcolm weren't strangers at all. Hermione stared at their dæmons intently as they met - hers a dog, his a cat - as they started rolling around together, biting and clawing playfully at each other, undoubted intimacy existing between them. Hermione watched as though intruding on something illicit, as if she'd just stumbled upon the humans, themselves, locked in a passionate clinch without caring who caught them.
This felt very much the same.
"I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger ... my new apprentice," Lyra was saying, which jerked Hermione back to her senses and to the moment. She bowed politely as Alice and Malcolm turned their eyes to study her, their dæmons pausing in their revelry to sniff curiously at Papageno, when he ventured bravely as a moth from behind Hermione's ear and fluttered down politely to meet them. Satisfied, Ben the mongrel and Asta the ginger cat went back to their indecent cavorting like nobody's business, causing Hermione to blush at the sight of them carrying on in such a fashion.
"And which school do you attend, dear?" asked Alice, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.
"Jericho Prep," Hermione mumbled, wringing her hands nervously.
"The girls side, of course," Alice frowned. She turned to Lyra. "I've always said that you should push for Jordan to have its own feeder academy, and then invite all good students of any sex to attend. It would stop all this non-mixing nonsense. It's neolithic, is that attitude."
"Perhaps now isn't the time to debate the gender inequality in our elite education system," Malcolm proffered. He had the look of a Scholar, but the air of a man who knew his way around in the world, and the build of someone who could handle himself in a struggle. Hermione was more than a little bit afraid of him.
"No, it isn't," Lyra agreed. "We have a problem. A very unique problem."
"An Oakley Street problem, you said," Malcolm frowned. "How can this little girl have any need of us?"
The way that Malcolm said 'us' made Hermione think that there were secret, hidden sides to everyone in the room ... as though every member had two faces, one which they showed to the world, and one which they wore when they walked down this Oakley Street, wherever or whatever that might be. Faces they could flip to at will. The notion made Hermione tremble anxiously in her patent-leather flats. She felt so far out of her comfort zone that even the notion of comfort had been lost in her new paradigm.
"The alethiometer has given us some curious information," Lyra began, smirking over at Hermione. "It seems that Miss Granger here is destined to fall in love."
"Congratulations, my dear," Alice teased, as Hermione blushed brilliantly. "Not all of us get that kind of luck, you know. I, myself, was blessed enough to love in my life - God rest my Edward's soul - so I can guess how excited you are by this news. So ... do you know the fella lucky enough to capture your heart?"
"No, and that's where this gets interesting," Lyra answered for her Apprentice, who was much too embarrassed to remember how to speak for herself. Lyra just grinned widely at her ... she was already growing very fond of this shy little creature and something deeply protective was being born in her spirit where Hermione Granger was concerned. She'd have to confront it before too long, but for now she had to stay on topic.
"According to the alethiometer," Lyra went on, "the boy in question has someone out to kill him. Not only that, but he is a boy that we have to journey to another world just to find. "
Malcolm and Lyra exchanged dark, highly charged looks. Hermione felt the connection of their eyes sweep over her like a searing heat. She blinked in surprise, as the sensation caused her skin to tingle where she was standing between them.
"Oh no, Lyra, don't even ask -"
"Too late," Lyra quirked, jauntily. "I already have!"
"I don't care ... the answer is still no."
"I'm not asking for your permission, or for you to come," Lyra stabbed bitterly. "Just for your help in getting there. Or, failing that, a bit of practical advice as to what we might expect to encounter. We are going, no matter what you have to say about it."
"Going?" Hermione asked, looking up in hopeful surprise. "Are we going somewhere soon? Can we cross between worlds already?"
"Yes, at a location in the very remote Arctic North," Lyra replied sourly, narrowing her eyes at Malcolm. He turned away bashfully from her stabbing gaze. "The walls between the worlds are the thinnest up there, up under the Northern Lights. Like me, our Mal here knows all about that ... especially after he helped Oakley Street to build a portal between the worlds under the Aurora ... and then tried to hide his involvement in the project from me!"
Malcolm ducked his head guiltily, just as Ben, Alice's dæmon, whacked Asta across the ear with his shaggy paw.
"Ouch! That was uncalled for!" Malcolm complained in a grumble, rubbing his own ear in protest as Asta darted for safety behind his robust shins.
"Malcolm Polstead! What have you been doing?" Alice demanded. "Don't tell me this is true, or I'll clobber you myself for real next time!"
"Did you think that I wouldn't find out?" Lyra interjected quickly, her anger rising quicker even than Alice's, which was saying something. "I am the Head of Experimental Theology at Jordan, for crying out loud! Nothing of that nature gets past me!"
"Who told you? Actually, don't answer that ... it was Charlotte Dubois, wasn't it? She always was one of your Disciples."
"You leave Charlotte out of this!" Lyra hissed. "It doesn't matter who told me. I'd have found out eventually. It only matters that you didn't tell me, Mal."
"It was a secret project," Malcolm returned evenly. "And it was more important than anything to keep it secret ... from you."
"Me? Why?" Lyra scoffed, honestly hurt by the confession but trying not to show it.
"How can you even ask that?" Malcolm cried out, passionately. "Can you honestly tell me, if you'd known what we were doing, that you wouldn't have chartered the first Zeppelin to the North, and then run straight through the portal to try to find ... him? I had more reason to keep this a secret from you than anyone else that Oakley Street could possibly have thought to recruit."
There was an acidity to his tone that took Hermione by surprise. She swallowed a dozen questions that she might have posed about this, as Lyra began talking again.
"And you want to discuss this now? Is this the time, really?" Lyra asked in an weary drawl.
"There's never been a time, Lyra ..."
"No, and we've been over why that is many, many times," Lyra retorted. "Just tell me why you did it, Mal? Will and I closed those windows for good ... and for good reason. They were meant to be shut for good. As a physician, I'd have thought you of all people would be able to appreciate the danger of re-opening old wounds."
Malcolm rounded on her in defiance. "And you think that the Magisterium would just accept that and let it go, just because Lyra Silvertongue said so? There are a thousand other worlds out there, Lyra, you know that. A million or more, maybe. Who knows. There are uncountable worlds for the Magisterium to dominate and indoctrinate, if they can just reach them. Do you think, once they knew that they existed, that the Magisterium would be content to just leave them be? To leave them to their heresy, in a world without the dominance of their God? If you do, I'll be disappointed in you. I know you are far brighter than that. Even your new Apprentice would know better than to think such nonsense."
Hermione shivered in the slipstream of Lyra's droning silence, correctly understanding Malcolm's cold inference. The suggestion was, frankly, quite terrifying.
"So ... they opened the way to other worlds ... first?" asked Lyra, quietly. Her voice was the tiniest it had been since she was a young girl and under the scrutiny of Lord Asriel, her father unacknowledged, when he had inspected her dirty fingernails and cuffed her ear for her slovenliness.
Malcolm nodded with a heavy breath. "They did. In Geneva and in Rome, and who could guess where else. They found the thesis of your father's work at his laboratory in Svalbard ... and then found that it wasn't too hard to recreate the effects in a more controlled environment ... and they had no shortage of heretics and blasphemers to kidnap and sacrifice in the name of The Almighty's good work."
Alice scoffed angrily at that, and ground her thick nails into the pine of the kitchen table. Malcolm moved to stare out of the window, to master his surging rage by looking out across to the ruins of Godstow Priory on the other side of the canal, memories of which always calmed him. Even Lyra looked distressed, something Hermione had never expected to see in the exalted scholar.
"And did they find other worlds?" Lyra asked.
"Many," Malcolm confirmed. "And some found us through the open windows. Not that I need to tell you about that. That overgrown boy scout that you were knocking around with for a while, that Sirius Black, he came to us through one of them."
Lyra blinked and blushed in surprise. "You know about Sirius? How?"
"Nothing of that nature gets past me," Malcolm scoffed, pointedly. He was visibly angry at the topic, but he mastered himself admirably, which Hermione found impressed her deeply. Malcolm breathed in and out in a practiced rhythm, and was soon perfectly calm again as he spoke. "So, what do you intend to do next?"
"Head to Trollesund, and from there contact the witches of the Northern Clans," Lyra explained. "I'm counting on Serafina Pekkala for her counsel. Someone has to be willing to help us. I was just hoping for some assistance to get there from closer to home, which is why I came here first. Obviously, I was mistaken on that front."
Malcolm visibly bristled at the snipe, but held his tongue impressively.
Hermione, at this point, felt the need to interject. "You're going to so much trouble, Mistress Lyra. Is there no easier way? I don't want to be a burden."
Lyra smiled down warmly at her Apprentice. "Crossing between worlds is never easy, Hermione. But the life of an innocent boy is in the balance ... and, as this is the boy who you will love, I feel duty-bound to get you to him, so you can do whatever it is you need to do in order to save him. The rest will be up to you. In any case, Dust - through the alethiometer - has left me in no doubt that this quest is of great importance. If it wasn't, we wouldn't even be here.
"I can only assume that there is something about this boy, and you, and your future together, that will make this journey worth all the effort. The Fates, it would seem, are not done with me quite yet."
Malcolm sighed deeply near the window. It was a sigh of reluctant, but not unexpected, acceptance. "Okay, Lyra ... I'll help you. Just tell me what you need."
"Your company and guidance?" Lyra asked hopefully. "Where we are going, I get the feeling that it will be dangerous ... and I'd rather not go alone."
"One day, Lyra Silvertongue, I'll refuse you something," Malcolm quirked, smiling for the first time that night. It looked, to Hermione, like the sun coming out after the rain. She could even swear that she felt its heat crash over her, as Malcolm joked - "a curse on you, Lyra ... and on that silver tongue of yours!"
Lyra grinned at him. "Thank you, Mal. I knew I could count on you. Pack your thermals and furs, it gets cold out there under the Aurora ... and I can't promise to be there to cuddle you for warmth if we get attacked by Tartars or something!"
"Who else will you ask for help?" Alice queried, shaking her head at Lyra's shameless flirting. "I don't like the idea of you being so exposed."
"Oh we wont be," Lyra quipped confidently. "We are going to pay a visit to the panserbjorne. I have some pull with their king. Or, at least, I used to have ..."
"There is another visit we ought to pay first," Malcolm pointed out reasonably. Then, when Lyra cocked a confused look at him, he nodded down at Hermione. "Miss Granger's parents? I'm pretty sure they may need some convincing before we whisk her off to meet the Armoured Bears, Witches and who knows what else. They may stop her going at all."
"I'm not worried, Dr Polstead," said Hermione grimly. "My Mum always said that I had witch-oil in my soul, whatever that means. If I'm going to meet some witches, maybe they'll make me into one of them. It will be like going home. Maybe there's a school out there somewhere, in one of these worlds, where they can teach me all about their magic ..."
Malcolm frowned, unconvinced by Hermione's assuredness. Then he turned to Lyra. "Can I have a word with you? In private?"
Lyra scrunched up her eyes, as was her way, but followed Malcolm out of the kitchen of The Trout and into the beer garden overlooking the canal. He was pensive a moment, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts, as he watched a brightly-coloured gyptian narrow-boat float past on its way to the horse-fair at Jericho. Lyra watched it too, smiling inwardly at a flash of warm memories from her childhood, as they flooded into her brain.
Then Malcolm spoke. "Lyra ... you shouldn't do this. It's incredibly reckless."
"I knew you'd try and talk me out of it," Lyra huffed crossly. "I don't know why I came here. But I am doing it. The alethiometer says I must ... and I've already made a commitment to young Hermione."
"Then break it," Malcolm retorted. "She'll get over it. She's young enough to fix her broken heart. We both know that."
"Like I was, you mean?" Lyra asked incredulously. "You claim to love me, Mal ... but sometimes I wonder if you truly know what real, heartfelt, soul-deep love actually is. If you did, you'd know why not doing this wasn't even an option."
Malcolm clenched his jaw at the rebuke. "All I'm saying is that you know the risks, the dangers. To take them upon yourself is one thing, but to draw this girl into them ... that's something else thing entirely. And it's a ridiculously dangerous something else, as we are both worldly enough to know. "
"Mal ... she drew me in!" Lyra exclaimed. "And now that she has, I have to see it through with her."
"You know that the Magisterium watches you religiously," Malcolm reminded her. "The moment that you try and leave for the North, they'll be dogging you every step of the way. You'll need more than the bears to save you from them, once you are out in the frozen wasteland of the North."
"I've outsmarted them before, I'll do it again," Lyra boasted. "I practically do it for sport at this point."
"Lyra - you're not taking this seriously!"
"What are you, my dæmon now?" Lyra scythed. "Look, Mal, either come with us or don't. The decision is yours. But don't pester me if you decide to come, and don't lecture me if you don't. I have to help Hermione to do something important in another world ... to save an innocent life, to fall in love, and who knows what else along the way. My personal war with the Magisterium didn't end, Mal - it may never end, as long as I am there to irritate them. And being in my life means accepting that. The choice is yours ... go with me now, or turn your back on me forever.
"I give you a week decide."