It was late when Hermione woke. Or was it early? It wasn't easy to tell this far up North, where the daylight hours were short and life just seemed to go on regardless of the pervading conditions outside. Either way, Hermione was awake. In truth, she hadn't really been able to sleep at all.
There was a rusty gate leading into the back yard of Einarsson's Bar, which was directly opposite the cheap, bunkhouse room Mal had rented for them, and the constant wind played with it all night. Every thirty seconds or so the tell-tale creak would shriek out into the air, followed by the crash against the wall of the building, or with the chain-link fencing around the yard.
Against such a persistent din, Hermione found sleep impossible.
So she lay on the hard, lumpy bed, pulling the crusty blanket tight around her for warmth, and just drifted into another of her daydreams. Papageno was asleep at the foot of the bed, otter-formed again, and he wouldn't be able to tease her for being so girly. So she was safe to continue.
For Hermione had found herself doing this a lot over the last week or so. Just relaxing her mind and indulging her whimsical romantic side, which seemed to be growing inside her like an ever-inflating balloon. She put it down to being eleven now, and that extra digit must mean she was growing up.
When she was ten - no fewer than a couple of months ago - she would never have even had the slightest thought about boys. It would never have occurred to her to want to hold hands with one, or to spend time alone with one, or to want to meet one on a boat and be swept away by him, as she went off on a great adventure.
But now, such thoughts were becoming more and more common. And, of course, there was only one boy in these curious daydreams of hers.
Hermione often thought she could see him, if she pulled her mind's eye into tight focus. Not really his face so much, but more of his build and his personality. It was this, more than anything, that told her heart that he was real, that Lyra hadn't lied about him. Whatever else she might be planning for this journey, the boy in the other world was real, the danger he was in was true, and Hermione was going to find and help him, and he'd fall in love with her just for that.
The thought made Hermione so mindlessly giddy that when she closed a fist around her pillow to offset her excitement, it was so tight that it left creases there when she finally let go.
The Potter boy - which was the name she'd given him - was slight and wiry, Hermione sort of knew that. And he could run as quick as a whippet. She often imagined him racing through high-stalked corn fields on a sunny day, or pelting along the side of a canal or, which was the strangest image, running through a dark city where the lights were being switched off, as if he were racing the oncoming gloom itself.
That didn't make a lot of sense but, Hermione reminded herself, she was making all of this up anyway. But some parts of it had that ring of truth that she couldn't ignore. It was almost as if the universe, or maybe Dust itself, was giving her just a taster of the boy in her future. It wasn't blatant or obvious, but just enough to whet her appetite, and keep her spirits up against the doubts Papageno had pushed into her mind.
And speaking of rings ...
Hermione was letting her mind wander, this time to a story-book romance, where she met the Potter Boy on the shores of a Great Lake. They were sat under the shade of an ancient cedar tree, watching a large whale or squid bask in the warm shallows nearby. The boy was curled up, dozing with his head in her lap, while her fingertips gently traced an unusual scar on his forehead. He was telling her the story about how he got it, and how she was the only one he'd ever let touch the scar tissue of that most sensitive bit of his skin. They had their own castle, which was high up along sloping lawns, and had many turrets and towers, which looked pretty with the windows all lit up.
And then, Hermione saw a very different type of light.
At first, she struggled to define it in her mind. She remembered a hymn she'd heard once, which described something as 'spangled', and this was sort of like that. It was circular in shape and had a sparkle about it, a churning, twisting type of prettiness that Hermione found very pleasing to look at, as it surrounded the images in her daydream.
But that's when the sensation changed.
For as she tried to look at it, on the periphery of the castle in her mind, she realised with a jolt that the spangled ring was in her mind. It framed the scene she was picturing, as though she were looking at it on one of Lyra's special photogram plates. And with the realisation came a shock of nausea and light-headedness. It caused Hermione to close her eyes and rub furiously at them, as she fought against the wave of sickness flooding her gut.
"What is it?"
The sudden turn in her condition had awoken Papageno, who bounded up the bed to sniff anxiously at Hermione's ear.
"I ... I don't know," Hermione whimpered back. "There was ... something ... I don't know ..."
She had to retch to hold her sickness at bay. Pap tried to ease Hermione's hands away from her eyes.
"You were daydreaming ... about him again, weren't you?"
Hermione's eyes snapped open in the shock. "How do you know?"
"Are you really that silly, to think I wouldn't know?" Pap quirked. "We are one, Hermione. Your thoughts are my thoughts. I know full well what you think about, when you convince yourself that I'm not looking."
Hermione blushed in the darkness. "Then I wont think about anything ever again!"
"Don't be prissy, of course you will," Pap admonished. "And you can start with thinking about what you saw. What was it?"
"Did you see anything?" Hermione fired back. "Was that what woke you up?"
"No, it was your sudden sickness and panic," Papageno explained. "But I did feel something as I was dreaming."
Hermione sat up fully. "You were dreaming? I didn't know you could. How do I not know that?"
"You've never asked," Pap replied fairly. "But I can, so now you know."
"So what were you dreaming about?"
"I was dreaming about the day I settle," Pan returned quietly. "About what I might be when I do."
There was a pregnant pause between them. They had discussed this issue before, and for both it was a contentious point, a mix of curiosity and illogical anxiety. It was going to happen, they couldn't prevent it, but it would mark a sea-change in their lives, and because of that there was a part of each of them that was wary of the approaching moment. Pap's final form would define much of Hermione's personality, and she wondered how that would manifest.
"So ... what were you?" Hermione asked softly. "Was it an otter?"
Pap shook his head. This was the form that both expected him to take, so it came as a surprise to Hermione to hear his denial.
"I was a cat," Pap confessed after a moment. "A big ginger cat with bandy legs. I've had the same dream a few times lately. I wonder if it means I might settle soon, and if that's what I'll be."
"I don't think I considered you as a cat," Hermione pondered thoughtfully. "What do you think that says about me?"
"That you're loyal, but also free-spirited and independent," Pap replied faithfully. "But notoriously difficult to please!"
They shared a laugh together as they considered the truth of it.
"Would you like to be a cat, do you think?" Hermione asked as they calmed down.
"It isn't a case of what I would like to be, Hermione," Papageno considered sagely. "We wont get to choose such a thing. I will be as nature ordains."
"That really doesn't seem fair, does it?" Hermione mused. "I think we should be able to pick a form for you. Who decided that we cant? I want someone to complain to."
"Er ... that would be The Almighty! Or, failing that, Mother Nature, herself."
"Well, she should know better!" Hermione huffed. Then she blinked in a rustle of anxiety. "Do you really think you'll settle soon? We're too young, aren't we?"
Pap shook his head. "It's different for everyone, isn't it? And girls often settle earlier than boys. You remember Jenny Slocombe? Her dæmon settled last year, didn't he?"
"Oh yes, and he was a little fox," Hermione recalled. "So, do you think it might happen for us soon?"
"I don't know if it will be soon," Pap replied. "But things are changing. I have noticed, over the last six months or so, that it's different when I sit on your top half ... a bit more ... bumpy, than it used to be."
Hermione flushed furiously and pulled the blanket up over her chest in her embarrassment. Pap just shook his head at her. He had seen her naked a million times before, when she showered and changed and things, so this sudden jolt of humility was really a bit redundant as far as they were concerned. Hermione seemed to realise that in the same instant, and eased the covers back to their previous position.
"So, you think we are changing?" Hermione whispered.
"We both know that," Pap replied. "But we just have to be ready for when the big change happens. I wonder if this thing you saw is part of that?"
"I doubt it, otherwise everyone would know about it, and we'd have heard about it before now," Hermione considered. "No, this was something else."
"Describe it," Pap pressed.
"It was like a ... well, a ring of light, really," Hermione began. "It was sparkling and shimmering, sort of the way that light dances in soapy water. You know, when it goes all the colours of the rainbow. It was like that, but it was moving all around the scene I could see in my mind."
"Was it showing you that, do you think?"
"It ... it could have been," Hermione mused. "I mean, it didn't feel like I was dreaming, but it didn't feel like it was real, either. It was sort of, like -"
" - seeing what could be."
Hermione looked up, and pulled the blankets back up immediately. For Malcolm was speaking to her from across the room. She hadn't noticed he was still up, sat in an easy chair by the moonlit window, looking out towards the harbour. Hermione gulped when she saw his rifle on his lap, catching what little light was flickering from the streetlamp outside. His dark features were fixed on the street, his thick hands gripping the rifle firmly, just in case he needed to fire off a shot in a hurry.
He made Hermione feel very safe, unshirkingly watching over her and Lyra as he was.
"Was that what your vision was like?" Malcolm asked plainly.
"Yes, it was just like that," Hermione replied. "How do you know?"
"I've had the same thing myself," Malcolm confessed. "And, to answer your query, no ... it isn't something all people see as they pass through adolescence. In fact, until you just said it, I've not known anyone else who's experienced it. Apart from me."
Hermione sat up fully and pulled her knees under her chin. "So, do you know what it is?"
"I used to think of it as my personal aurora," Malcolm replied, somewhat distantly. He was looking out of the window, perhaps hoping to see the actual aurora above the lights of the town. But it was a foggy night tonight, and the Northern Lights were hidden above the cloud deck. "I never knew completely what it was. But I've come to think of it as something that helps me and guides me, shows me the right way to go when I need it."
"Is it Dust?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so."
"But how is that possible?" asked Hermione. "Dust can only be seen through special photograms, cant it?"
"That's quite right," Malcolm confirmed. "But Lyra, over there, is quite bright, you know ... when she's not snoring like an Arctic Seal, of course! And she helped me to understand that Dust can affect people in different ways. I just have a sensitivity to it, my brain is wired in a way that allows Dust to manifest for me in ways it doesn't for others.
"And now, it seems, it's doing the same for you. Don't ask me how. I just know that it does. My advice would be to not fight it. Let it in, and see where it takes you. Dust spans the entire universe, and all the worlds within it. If it wants to show you something about this boy we are going to look for, let it. He is obviously important in some way, and that means you must be important enough for Dust to want you to know about him, and then to reach him."
"Me? Important?" Hermione hushed shyly. "I don't think I'm important."
"Well of course you are," Mal declared staunchly. "Lyra wouldn't be here if she didn't think so, and I learned long ago to trust Lyra's instincts. She has a good heart, even if she rarely shows it."
"Dr Polstead ... can I ask you something?" Hermione began cautiously. "Something about Miss Lyra?"
"You're wondering if she has an ulterior agenda regarding you?" Malcolm guessed.
"Well ... yes," Hermione whispered back. "How did you know?"
"Because you are bright, too, and intelligent enough to read the intentions of others," Malcolm explained. "Dr Riddle put me onto that aspect of you. You question everything around you. It is an admirable quality to carry, Hermione. And of course you would question why Lyra would be so keen to help you, especially when you consider that she barely knows you, but is willing to cross worlds for you, to put herself in danger for you."
"Are ... are we in danger then?" Hermione stuttered, an icy trickle of fear running down her spine at Malcolm's firm tone.
"Very much so," Malcolm replied, darkly. "There are two agents of the Magisterium parked in a car across the road, watching us, as we speak."
Hermione gasped and jumped up to see. She was at Malcolm's side before he could complain. So he pulled off his overcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders, to keep out the biting cold of the Lapland Winter, something the wooden walls of the bunkhouse were powerless to deflect.
"Where are they?" Hermione whispered.
"You see that old tug moored up at the quay?" Malcolm asked, pointing at the little boat a few hundred yards away. Hermione nodded. "Watch it for a few moments. Then you'll see."
So she did. For a minute she saw nothing, and then suddenly there was a little spark of orange that didn't belong there. It was so small that had she not been looking right at it, Hermione wouldn't have noticed it at all.
"What is that?" she breathed.
"It looks like our CCD friends are partial to smokeleaf," Malcolm replied, blithely. "He's been puffing away like that for nearly three hours."
Hermione nodded in understanding. "How do they know we're here?"
"Could be a dozen ways," Malcolm confessed. "Someone might have spotted us leaving London, or the CCD agents you met at the Royal Arctic Institute may have come here on a whim. Most likely, though, is our Witch-Consul friend might have his fingers in several pies. He seemed the sort."
"But, he gave you the travel visa," Hermione reminded him, slightly confused. "Why would he do that if he's on their side?"
"He is a duplicitous creature," Malcolm returned darkly. "Your Pap knew about his fake dæmon, I assume? Well, he's clearly got more faces than a pair of dice. It wouldn't surprise me to find he's on the Magisterium's payroll somewhere. Too smooth by half, and if he's deceived the Witches, as well ... we need to be cautious where he's concerned."
"Deceived the Witches?" Hermione gasped in horror. "I didn't think they could be deceived? I thought they were like the panserbjorne in that way?"
"They are," Malcolm confirmed. "They aren't easy to trick, but it happens. I think it has happened with him."
"But why?"
"Consider the convenience for yourself," Malcolm prompted. "This man - this very bizarre man - randomly turns up in our world. Arrives - if we believe him - in a state bordering death. Clinging to life, was how he described it. Now, why would that be, do you think?"
So Hermione did, and the answer chilled her. "Because he didn't just leave that world ... he was thrown out!"
"And quite violently, we can assume," Malcolm went on with an acknowledging nod. "It doesn't take a great leap of deduction to understand that such a man may not be as trustworthy as he seems."
"And then he did trick the Witches!" Hermione exclaimed. "By making them believe his snake was his dæmon, but she isn't! But ... why then would he give us the travel visa?"
"My guess? He wants us to get out into the wilderness of the frozen North," Malcolm replied. "Out there the risks are great. There is a good chance we might not survive if we aren't totally focused. And even then, the Magisterium can use the CCD Agents to get rid of us ... and make it look like just another Arctic accident. You'd be amazed if you knew how many scholars and explorers come to that end, if they cross the Magisterium's imaginary lines."
"But then Dr Riddle is tricking everyone!" Hermione cried. "Well, he wont trick us! We'll go and find the Witches, and tell them everything. They will have to help us then! Because we'll be telling them that they are being deceived, but don't know it."
"Oh ... but we do," came a soft voice from the doorway. "And you need not worry about us, special child, for we have Dr Riddle under close watch. In fact, he is more of a risk to you than to us ... which is why I've come to you now."
Just then, Lyra snorted and stirred, as she woke amidst all the conversation. She looked up with bleary eyes, and blinked the sleep from her face in a matter of seconds.
"Oh, there you are. I've been wondering when you'd show up, Serafina Pekkala."
