"Will!" Lyra repeated, finding her usual voice again. "What the hell is this?"

"Colonel Parry!" came a desperate cry from somewhere in the churchyard. "They have wizards with them over there! You know the standing protocol is to withdraw and regroup!"

"In a moment, Prewett!" Will cried back.

"No, Colonel, we must withdraw! Right this instant!"

"Dont you dare, Will!" Lyra shrieked angrily. "You stand your ground and explain this to me!"

"Not here, Lyra," Will called back. "Meet me. Our usual spot. Midnight tomorrow ... I'll be waiting for you. Please be there ... and I'll show you that you've picked the wrong side in this fight."

And then Will Parry raced into the graveyard of the church. There was the roar of a motor, the rush of whipping rotor blades, and then a black attack helicopter suddenly lurched into the air and sped away from them before anyone could react to stop them.

"Damn it!" Lily cursed. "Riddle must have left with them. We were so close."

"We'll get him next time," James consoled, finally releasing Hermione from where he'd pinioned her against the parked van and helping Lily to her feet. Hermione took a huge breath as her lungs were freed from the crushing pressure.

"Was that the Will?" Sirius queried, as Lyra and Mal came over and lowered their weapons.

Lyra nodded. "I just don't know what he was doing here. I heard the Magisterium had taken an interest in him, but ... he ... he ..."

"He was one of them, Lyra," Mal scythed bitterly. "If anything, I'd say he was leading that little rabble."

"No, no," Lyra shook her head dismissively. "Will would never do that. He was too kind, too good -"

"When he was twelve!" Mal cut across briskly. "That was a long time ago. Clearly, things have changed. That man we just saw isn't the boy you knew, Lyra."

"What did he mean by meet at our usual spot?" Sirius asked. "I thought you hadn't seen him since you sealed the last portal between your worlds."

"I haven't," Lyra confirmed. Then she flushed in the pale winter light. "But we agreed - when we parted - that once a year, on the same day, we'd return to a particular spot in a garden in the grounds of Jordan College, him in his world and me in mine, and we'd sit on a bench that was there in both worlds. That way, we'd sort of still be near to one another.

"I've never missed one. Never."

Hermione swooned in her throat. On instinct, taken by the emotion of the moment, she slid next to Harry, threw caution to the wind and slipped her arm into the crook of his. He looked up questioningly at her, understood what she needed, and cautiously hugged her arm tight to his hip. She smiled sheepishly as he did so and Harry knew he'd done this one thing right.

He was getting better at reading Hermione's unspoken requests. And the notion cheered Harry no end.

"You aren't going to go to this meeting, are you?" Sirius pressed to Lyra. "It's far too dangerous."

"Of course I'm going," Lyra stated stubbornly, before adding, "and if you're so concerned, you can come with me for protection. You're a wizard, make yourself invisible, or something. Or don't come at all. Either way, I'm going. I wont rest until I find out what Will is playing at."

"I don't think he's playing at all," Mal proffered in a dark tone. "But Sirius, go with her. We cant change her mind, but I'll stop complaining if I know she has a chaperone for this date."

"I'll be there," Sirius confirmed with a curt little nod at Mal. Harry had the feeling that there was a grudging respect growing between these two, borne of a shared concern about this most contrary woman that they both cared deeply about.

Lyra Belacqua, it seemed, had lost none of the power that had drawn both men under her sway a long, long time ago.

Harry and Hermione didn't see each other for the rest of the Christmas Holidays. The truth was that Lyra refused to let Hermione leave their flat, essentially making her a prisoner in her own room. This only added to Hermione's already frustrated sense of mind, for Lyra had refused to tell her anything of her conversation with the mysterious Will Parry, nor to explain why it was that Thomas Riddle and the Magisterium might be targeting her, other than to say it was tied to her destiny with Harry.

Hermione hoped that Harry might have been told more about it, and it was the very first thing she asked him, once they had met up again in their Hogwarts Express compartment on January the Third.

"My parents and Sirius are being just as vague as Lyra," Harry confessed as the train rolled out of Kings Cross. "They haven't said much."

"But they have said something," Hermione implored. "Can you tell me what that is? Please? I cant stand being in the dark like this."

Harry fiddled with the black leather bracelet on his wrist. It was set with an amethyst charm that had a pentacle drawn into it in brilliant white. It was a gift from Sirius and was supposed to focus magical energy from the plexus on Harry's wrist, to give his spells more power. But Harry thought it just looked edgy and cool.

"I'm not supposed to say," Harry mumbled.

"Even to me?" Hermione replied, sounding hurt.

Harry hated that sound, but he tried to stand firm. "Especially to you. It's for the best, apparently."

"You don't sound sure about that."

"That's because I'm not," Harry confessed. "To tell the truth, I don't understand it at all."

"Then tell me," Hermione cajoled in her angel-soft tone, hoping Harry still had his weakness to her gentle coaxing. "Maybe we can work it out together."

"That's sort of the thing," Harry went on, his flimsy resistance smashed at the first foray. "It's all to do with that. The reason you came here in the first place. There is something you are able to bring out in me, something that will help me defeat Voldemort if I ever face him properly. But we're supposed to just let it happen. We cant force it ... whatever it is. We cant even know what it is."

Hermione huffed. She had heard those words before, from Serafina Pekkala and others. She placed great store in the wisdom of the witches of her world and it was this, more than anything, that made her shelve her rabid curiosity. For now.

"Fine, let's just do nothing."

"I'm sorry ... I wish I had more to tell you."

"Oh - I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to snap at you," Hermione apologised quickly. "I'm not mad at you. It's them ... and the whole world seems to be part of them."

"I know," Harry grinned weakly. "At least it means we have to stay friends, though. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Hermione smiled radiantly at him, as bright as sunshine poking through rainy clouds. "It's the best thing."

Harry felt his cheeks heat up as Hermione's solar smile fell on him. He had to change the subject.

"So, did you get all your homework done?"

"Within the first week," Hermione chimed happily. "I did six inches more for Snape's essay than he asked for, just to give him more work to do. Then I rewrote half my History of Magic assignment, to include some local information about Merlin's Coven that I found when Lyra took me to see Stonehenge ..."

And she was off, reciting all that she had learned about the magical community in Avebury. After that, Harry used his best flattery to persuade Hermione to read through his Charms essay for any mistakes. Then they entered into a fascinating and invigorating discussion about the rune stone set Hermione had bought Harry for Christmas, and he told her how his mother had stepped up his education into how to use them properly.

"Each gemstone has its own vibrational frequency, did you know that?" Harry asked her with indecent zeal, though he didn't wait for a reply before ploughing on. "And there is a way to get resonance between that frequency and your wand, then you can channel the power of the rune and cast spells with them. The very symbols are esoterically enchanted, did you know that? Of course you did, you know everything."

"I don't know everything, Harry," Hermione argued shyly. "But I did know that the shapes of the runes are considered divinely designed. They carry deep meanings, being far more than simply characters in an alphabet. The very symbols themselves are spells, and obviously you know how to charge and use them."

"I'm only just beginning to learn," Harry told her. "And there's a lot to get to grips with. But it's fascinating, I think. I'm still just on individual runes right now, but I hope I'll be able to combine them one day. Then my spells will be really powerful, even more than the ones I used against Voldemort."

Hermione turned her eyes down as she smiled coyly. "I never said thank you for that ... for saving me."

"You don't ever have to thank me for something like that," Harry stated bluntly. "I'd prefer if you were never in trouble, but if you are, I'll always be there to help you if I can. Do ... do you genuinely think I wouldn't be?"

"A bit. I'm not used to having someone who would come to my rescue if I needed it," Hermione confessed in a tiny voice. "It's very new for me."

"Well, you'd better get used to it," Harry grinned, sitting back and idly scratching Papageno behind his ears. "Because you're stuck with me, Miss Granger!"

Hermione couldn't tell him, wasn't sure she'd ever be able to tell him, just how welcome those magical words were to her ears.

The Welcome Back feast that night was spectacular. The remnants of the Christmas crackers had been laid out on the House Tables and once they'd all been pulled it was as if a cloud of battle-smoke was hovering just over the heads of the students. The sumptuous feast left them all rather leaden and weary and it was with very full stomachs that the students trudged up to bed that night.

Harry couldn't help but give a listen out as they passed the Third Floor Corridor, and was happy to hear a low growl as the stamping feet of a thousand young witches and wizards disturbed Fluffy from his slumber. The Philosopher's Stone must still be safe beneath his three snouts, and that was enough for Harry to put it from his mind.

When Harry reached his dorm he was looking forward to collapsing in a heap onto his four-poster and just passing out in his day clothes. But he was hit by a rancid sort of smell when he entered the room. It was coming from Ron's bed, the scarlet curtains of which had already been drawn around the heavy wooden frame.

"Oh sweet Merlin, looks like Ron's farted again," Dean Thomas quirked, wrinkling his nose as he closed the door to the circular dorm.

"Yeah, but I don't remember eating burnt tyres for dinner," Seamus laughed back. "Phew! I think Ron should go and see Madame Pomfrey in the morning - say his guts have gone all Hamlet on him."

"Eh?" Neville asked, confused.

"Something is rotten in the state of Weasley!" Harry quipped back, causing Seamus to salute him from across the dorm. "I'm going to bed. Maybe the smell wont be so bad once I'm asleep."

But the next morning, the pungent aroma was still there. Harry was the last one to wake to it, but all the boys were pinching their noses as they headed towards the showers before dressing for breakfast.

"I don't know what it is, but it's bloody disgusting," Seamus moaned as he buttered a crumpet.

"It's unnatural, is what it is," Dean agreed. "Nobody should smell like that."

"Maybe ..." Neville began, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Maybe they don't have any running water at The Weasleys. I hear they are very poor. Their house, apparently, is extremely rustic."

"That smell isn't from not bathing," Harry argued. "It's more like from swimming with livestock and all their faeces."

"Poo talk? At breakfast? Honestly, Harry!"

"Morning, Hermione," Neville chirped brightly, as Harry shimmied up to allow Hermione to plant herself down next to him. "How was your Christmas?"

His eyes were twinkling with mirth, but Hermione simply narrowed hers at him.

"It was very pleasant, actually," she returned loftily. "And thank you for the flowers. They were lovely."

Harry snapped his head to Neville so fast he almost cracked his neck muscles. "You sent Hermione flowers?"

Hermione couldn't help but grin to herself at the ferocious look on Harry's face, as she reached over to touch his forearm in a pacifying sort of way.

"Yes, but it was a very funny joke," Hermione explained. "As underneath the flowers was a potted mandrake ... which screamed and screamed, until I looked up how to shut it up by burying it back in the earth. Very funny, Neville."

"I only got it because they are good at reviving people who have been Petrified," Neville told her with a laugh. "You know ... it wakes people up."

He nodded pointedly between Harry and Hermione, causing the latter to blush. But Harry missed that as he was choosing a particularly juicy pear to devour for his breakfast, slicing it up totally oblivious to whatever it was that Neville and Hermione were on about.

"So, what were you talking about when I came in?" Hermione asked, stealing the first slice of pear as Harry cut it onto his plate and popping it into her mouth. He continued on without complaint, as if it were Hermione's right to take his things if she wanted to.

"This really odd smell that was coming from Ron Weasley's bunk last night," Neville replied.

"An odder smell than normal," Harry clarified with a little smirk at Neville.

"It was rancid," Neville took over. "I know his feet and breath are bad, but this was something else. Even both combined wouldn't be this awful."

"And he was really secretive on the train," Dean chipped in. "Quieter than normal."

"Do you think he's hiding something then?" Hermione asked in a business-like tone. "Or up to something?"

"Who knows, but if that smell is still in the dorm tonight I'll be giving him a hiding till it goes away," Harry promised darkly.

But the smell hadn't gone away by the end of the day. Worse still there was a powerful new aroma of beeswax and furniture polish mixing acridly with it, as though someone had tried to mask the stench. Harry chose to give the dorm a wide berth; he didn't trust himself to keep his promise to Hermione to not break Ron's neck, if he didn't clean up whatever foulness had infected his bed.

So Harry joined Hermione in tackling their first homework of the new term, describing the threats and counter actions related to Devil's Snare, which Professor Sprout had been telling them about that morning. Harry smugly finished his essay first, having remembered all about it from when Dumbledore dropped in on him a year ago and they had discussed the dangerous plant.

"I don't think I'd like to be liquidated by a bush," Harry mused, as he listened to the relaxing sound of Hermione's quill scratching away. "I don't see that as the way I'd like to go."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. "You have a preferred way? Because that's not weird at all!"

"I never said I was normal," Harry quirked. "But yeah. I don't think I'd like to die in a way that people would laugh about. And that definitely counts!"

"Yes, but that's just morbid, Harry. Besides, I don't like you talking about your death. Stop it."

"Sorry," Harry offered, genuinely surprised by how serious Hermione was being. "I'll make sure not to run into any killer plants any time soon!"

"And if you do?" Hermione quizzed. "How do you escape? Let's see if there's any content to your scribbles over there!"

"Devil's Snare likes the cold, damp and dark," Harry recited. "So hit it with heat and light. A good fire will do the trick, or those bluebell flames you are so skilled at conjuring."

"How about dragon fire?" asked Neville, flopping down angrily at their table as he stomped into the Common Room. "Would that do?"

"Yes, obviously," Hermione answered him in a sniffy voice. "But where would you find any of that?"

"How about Hagrid's Hut!" Neville seethed. "In ten minutes or so!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry, sitting up in alarm.

"That's what it was, the smell in our room!" Neville ranted on. "It was a dragon's egg, Harry! A bloody dragon's egg! Ron somehow managed to get one for Hagrid as a Christmas present! And he's taking it to give to him right as we speak!"