Lyra ploughed her way through the heavy snow drifts to reach the peak of the ridge and looked back at the valley below. A forest of silver pine encircled the dark waters of Lake Enara and the flickering torchlight of the two-dozen, randomly arranged log cabins competed with the twinkling stars in a fierce battle to shine the brightest. Lyra smiled at the beauty of the world this night, then looked down at her apprentice, who was trying to decipher how it all worked.
"How are you getting on?" Lyra asked, pleasantly.
She carefully handed Hermione a thermal mug, containing hot tea of an earthly blend, one that the Witches of Lake Enara cultivated themselves, using some process of magic that made a mockery of the cold-weather conditions up here. Neither Lyra nor Hermione had been particularly fond of the tea to begin with, but after a month of forcing it down to stay warm, and with no better brews to be had, they were slowly training their taste buds to not reject the heathery liquid on first contact.
"I think I've found a pattern," Hermione replied, brightly. She showed Lyra the chart of celestial observations that she had been making. "The gold sweeps of the aurora seem to pulse brighter every twelve seconds or so. I don't know what that means, or how it might be important, but it seems fairly regular."
"The number Twelve is of considerable cosmic importance," Lyra replied, sitting next to Hermione on the snow and watching the Northern Lights blaze bright and fierce above them. "It recurs in nature and also in human culture and mysticism. Nobody is quite sure why, but twelve does seem to play a key part in the code of the universe."
Hermione nodded loftily, pretending to understand, when in fact she had no more idea about importance of twelve than of any other number. She imagined all the numbers of the counting system arguing haughtily about which one was the best, though why twelve should be selected above all others was something she could not conceive.
Hermione and Lyra were sat out here on the snow for more than just to find a chilly way to pass the time. Lyra had decided that, since Hermione was a whole world away from school, it might be prudent to restart a course of education that they had only scratched the surface of, at the very start of their acquaintance. Lyra had taken Hermione on as her apprentice, but as yet she hadn't shared very much of her vast knowledge at all.
So that's what they were doing, dipping their toes back into the world of Lyra's expertise.
"So, have the last three years given you any greater insight into Experimental Theology?" Lyra asked, as Hermione made another mark on her celestial chart. "What have your experiences taught you?"
Hermione cocked her head as she considered her answer. "Mainly, I suppose, that Experimental Theology is known as physics in Harry's world."
Harry didn't own that world, of course, but it made for easier conversation for Hermione to refer to it as if he did. In any case, she liked saying his name. It made her warmer and cosier than the acrid tea of Lake Enara.
"But there's a big difference between Physics and Experimental Theology, I think," Hermione went on. "Or maybe it's more that they ignore a big part of it in Harry's world."
"And what do they ignore?" Lyra pressed.
"Well, it's all about fundamental forces, isn't it?" Hermione asked, turning fully to face Lyra. "It's how the universe works. Atomcraft and anbaricity, the building blocks of energy and the universe. Only, it's not just that. Here, we think about life energies, too ... consciousness and spirit and how they connect people ... but I suppose that's because we have dæmons, isn't it? We'd be a bit silly to ignore it when it's slapping us right in the face."
"Quite," Lyra agreed, watching as Hermione tenderly stroked Papageno, whose head was visible beneath Hermione's jacket.
"But then there's Dust as well, which is a whole other confusing thing," Hermione frowned. "It is not from here, but has always been with us. It is omnipotent, yet obedient; conscious, yet the provider of consciousness; it knows the future, but doesn't tell you how to get there, or even if you should. The paradoxes are confusing."
"And what confuses you about your paradox?" Lyra asked pointedly.
They had discussed this landmine topic extensively over the past weeks. Lyra's interpretation of the message given to her by Dust, through the alethiometer, and whether it was the same as Serafina's prediction for Hermione's future. And all this was framed by Hermione, herself ... her feelings and her experience and, with ever-increasing prominence, her doubts.
"Dust told you that I would fall in love in another world, didn't it?" Hermione asked, quietly. Lyra nodded that it had. "And I have ... with Harry. But it didn't say anything about Harry loving me back, did it? I have just been assuming all this time that love is a two-way thing. But it's not always like that, is it?"
"No, it isn't," Lyra sighed, sadly. "I don't have any figures to back it up, but the higher percentage of love might be of the unrequited kind."
Hermione shivered at the heartbreaking nature of that possibility. "Exactly. The alethiometer only said I have a great destiny to fulfil with Harry, and I've been girlishly thinking that they are the same thing. How vain must you think me! To imagine that my falling in love is such an important destiny!"
"Falling in love is a pretty big thing, Hermione," Lyra quirked, wryly. "Not everyone gets to do it, you know."
"Maybe, but it happens all the time, and it doesn't change the world, does it?"
"The people who fall in love might disagree," Lyra smiled. "For them ... it might."
Hermione blushed. She hadn't really thought of it that way, but she wasn't about to be sidetracked.
"You know what I mean," Hermione huffed. "Harry has a destiny that will genuinely change the world for the better. And not just his, but ours, too. Defeating Tom Riddle is just that big a deal for us all. That's the sort of thing that goes beyond individuals and their relationships."
"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?" Lyra quipped.
"Or the one," Hermione nodded. "I've just been thinking, Lyra ... what if I've gotten this all wrong? What if I've been trying to see if I can get Harry to fall in love with me when that's not important at all? Should I have been focusing on the other parts of the destiny this whole time?"
"Well, is a relationship with Harry important to you?"
"Yes! More than anything!"
"Then there's your answer," Lyra smiled. "Hermione, you will learn, just as I did, that although Dust can show you the road only you can decide how to walk along it. Prophecy and prediction link you and Harry ... they say you have the power to empower him to complete his destiny. But it didn't tell you how to do it ... that is something you must find out for yourself. And in such cases as these you have to learn to trust what you feel, instead of what you think for once. Only there will you find the answers you seek."
Hermione swallowed hard as she contemplated her reply, stoking up the courage to ask the question that had been burning in her mind for days.
"That's actually something I wanted to talk to you about," Hermione mumbled, nervously. "You seem so assured about this, about what Dust told you, and I used to be, too. You're the expert, after all, and I trusted you completely. But my doubts have made me unsure. I want to know again, to feel that confident about all this, as I once was."
"And how do you propose to do that?"
"By learning to read the alethiometer," Hermione blurted out. Lyra raised her eyebrows in surprise. "It'll help, I think, because when it tells you things you feel the truth of them ... I know you do, and I want that, too. I think if I could learn to read the alethiometer, to communicate directly with Dust, it might put my mind at ease, get me back on track. Because I feel I've been derailed somewhat. I can't shake the feeling that I'm way off course somewhere, that I'm being eased to one side and away from my destiny. I need to get back to it, and I think this is how I'll do it."
"Reading the alethiometer is not easy," Lyra warned. "It takes years of study and practice, and even then you may not fully understand a reading without the required books."
"You read it without the books," Hermione pointed out, shrewdly. "So I know there must be more than one method to doing it."
"I can try, I suppose," Lyra mused. "But it requires great willpower ..."
"... which I have."
"And great concentration ..."
"... this is me you're talking to!"
"And you have to let your mind go, let outside influences take over for a while."
"Ah ... that might be the tricky bit!" Hermione frowned. "I prefer my mind to be where I can see it, thanks ... I lost it once, and I didn't like it. I almost lost a whole lot more, too."
"Well, that may be the deal-breaker," Lyra smirked. "I use my mind to read the alethiometer, but you are quite right in saying that I feel the answers when they come back to me. If you don't think you can do that, then this plan may be a non-starter."
"No, I have to learn," Hermione replied, stubbornly. "I have to learn to let go. I have to become aware of my opposites within and learn to understand the little tricks and illusions that my mind can play on me, but that my heart will always see through. I have to do this, Lyra ... please will you help me?"
"You know I will, sweetheart, if this is what you want," Lyra smiled, kindly. "But it wont be easy."
"Nothing worthwhile ever is," Hermione replied, bracingly. "But I'm ready for that."
"Alright then," Lyra nodded. "So, where do you want to start?"
"Pan."
"Eh?
"Pan."
"What do you mean, 'pan'? I don't understand what you're on about, Hermione," Lyra frowned.
"I mean ... it's Pan! Look!" Hermione cried, jumping up excitedly. "He's back from visiting my Harry ... I mean, from delivering message ... oh, bother! You know what I mean! He's back from delivering the message to my Harry!"
Lyra laughed at Hermione and her flusteredness. "Yes, I think I understand you ... sort of."
Hermione narrowed her eyes and pouted at Lyra, causing her to laugh heartily once again. They both watched as the coal-black owl swooped down from the night sky and landed deftly on Lyra's outstretched arm, before rubbing his head affectionately against her face. Hermione watched with a pang of longing in her heart, for she was forcibly reminded of Hedwig a moment, and the ways that she was not only as similarly familiar with Harry sometimes, but also with her, too. She missed them both terribly in that instant.
Then Pan told her news that made her blood boil.
"How is he? How's Harry?" Hermione blustered out. "Sorry, Pan. It's wonderful to see you. How was your journey? I should have asked that first."
Pantalaimon turned his large amber eyes on Hermione a moment. "My journey was fine, and Harry is fine. So you needn't worry about either."
"Great! Some good news at last!" Hermione cried, joyfully. "Perhaps our luck is turning, Miss Lyra!"
"Don't be so hasty," Pantalaimon told her, warningly. "There are other things happening around Harry that aren't quite so good."
Hermione tensed up instantly. "What do you mean? Is he getting into mischief there without me?"
"He is definitely vulnerable without your protection, let's put it that way," Pantalaimon replied, cryptically.
Hermione folded her arms crossly. "Pan, I would have thought, given my experiences over the last few years, that it should be quite clear that I have no taste in my life for riddles. Please be explicit with me now."
"That told you!" Lyra funned to her dæmon, but Pantalaimon bristled brusquely at her in response.
"Very well," the owl replied. "I hope I return to find your parents in better health, Hermione, because while you are here tending to your past, you may be losing your future in that other world."
"What do you mean?" Lyra asked for Hermione, who seemed too startled by Pantalaimon's bullishness to know what to say back to him.
"Only this, that I have taken so long in returning because I stayed at Hogwarts a while, both to rest and to gather some news of Harry to bring back to Hermione. I thought she might appreciate that."
"I do, I really do," Hermione thanked him hurriedly. "I am sorry for being so curt. Will you please tell me what is going on?"
"While you are here, Hermione, feeling that your place is with your wounded parents, your other place ... at Harry's side ... is being eyed up by another," Pantalaimon explained. "I have spent much time talking with Hedwig. She tells me that Harry is waywardly straying without you to guide him ... not only into dangerous adventures in parts of Hogwarts both above and under the ground, but also into the far more murky territory of the attention of another witch."
"What!" Hermione yelped. "Another girl is trying to get close to Harry while I'm not there? Is that what you're saying?"
"It is," the owl nodded.
"Well, that's just ... ooh! I'm so cross!" Hermione fumed. "Who is it? As long as it isn't that absolute cow Sally-Anne Perks I think I'll be alright. Her nose is just far too cute for it's own good. So ... who is it?"
"It's Sally-Anne Perks."
Hermione let out a screech of such rage and frustration then that several of the bird formed witch-dæmons took flight from nearby trees, where they had been slumbering away. They shrieked and squawked angrily in reply, causing Hermione to scream yet more shrilly to shut them up.
"Sally-Anne! Sally bloody Anne!" Hermione riled. "Well, she didn't waste any time hopping into my warm spot, did she? That conniving, pox-ridden, sneaky little witch! Well, Harry will see right through her games."
"He's agreed to go on a date with her," Pantalaimon told her, solemnly.
"What!?" Hermione cried. "No ... he wouldn't. Not Harry. I know Sally is really quite pretty, unfortunately, but this is Harry and he just ... he wouldn't. He wouldn't do that to me."
"I don't think he knows that it's a date, and he's oblivious to the fact that it is," the owl went on. "He's taking her to see the village, then to partner Neville who really is on a date."
"But ... but ... we wanted to see the village ... together," Hermione mumbled in a little voice. "Have I been here that long? Is it that time in the calender already? I suppose it must be. And if Neville is on a date, Harry probably thinks he's doing the right thing in helping out his friend. He's noble like that.
"But Sally-Anne is an artsy, tricksy little hag ... with pretty eyes and hair made of sunshine to hide it all! She'll get inside Harry's head and turn him, not against me ... but to her. She'll have Harry eating out of her dainty hands and gazing adoringly at her little button nose in no time, and I'll be stuck here not able to do anything about it!
"Oh, Lyra! What am I going to do? What have I done! I've gotten this all so backwards!"
"Backwards?" Lyra frowned, confused. "How do you mean?"
"I should have been explicit with Harry, told him how I feel, even if I kept the prophecy stuff till later!" Hermione squeaked. "I know he was starting to fancy me a bit more this Summer. He kept staring at me when we went to the canal that day in the other Oxford, and there was a new sort of passion there. Even Pap said that Marici told him Harry liked my legs. But I did nothing about it, I thought I ought not to. I thought I'd be influencing the prophecy too much.
"But what if I was wrong? What if I should have encouraged Harry more, even in subtle ways? Perhaps I should have made him think about me in a different way, by telling him how I think differently about him? He might have worked all this out by now ... worked out why we are so comfortable with each other, why we are happiest when we are alone together, and why Pap and Marici behave like they do with each other.
"But I didn't. I held back, showed restraint ... I didn't give him enough encouragement ... and I'm not sure he'd know what to do without that. He is a bit dense and unsure of himself, in an adorable sort of way. But he might take my aloofness as rejection, if he ever worked it out under his own speed. And now he's fallen under the power of a girl like Sally-Anne, who will throw herself at him and be explicit with what she wants, without me there to offer Harry an alternative.
"Oh, Lyra ... what if I've lost him already!?"
"Hermione ... first of all, you need to calm down," Lyra advised. "You're running away with this before you know if your fears even have legs."
"They do! They do have legs!" Hermione squealed, hotly. "And they are longer and more slender than mine, and walking away with my wizard under a pretty, stupid, scheming, blonde head!"
Lyra tried not to giggle at Hermione being so cross and furious. Laughter might only antagonise her. She thought it best not to mention the cute button nose she'd forgotten, either.
"Look, I think what we need is a strategy of our own," Lyra announced in a brisk tone. "As much as you being here with your parents is very noble, you can't help them just by wishing them well. You've missed weeks of school already, your parents are in the best and safest hands that they can be, and I'm sure that they'd want you to think about what you can do for yourself, considering that you can't do anything for them."
"What are you suggesting? That I just leave them?" Hermione cried, shrilly. "I can't, Lyra! What if something bad happens to them? I mean something really bad, and I'm not here with them? I'd feel just awful."
"But what if the solution to their condition can't be found solely in this world?" Lyra argued fairly. "The thing that did this to them was a product of both worlds. We have Serafina and Sirius ... and Malcolm, too ... all trying to find answers in this world ... but what if we two, you and I, are meant to be there, searching for the solution in that world, too?"
Hermione blinked as she dwelt on that. "It .. it could be, couldn't it? And if Sirius and Mal find their half of the problem, but we haven't found out the other bit ..."
"Then your parents might never get better," Lyra warned.
"And I'd have lost them and Harry!" Hermione whispered, aghast. "I can't let that happen, Lyra. I just cant. You need to teach me to read the alethiometer ... just enough to ask one question. If I get the answer ... if I feel it ... then I'll know what to do."
"And what do you want to ask it?"
Hermione turned her eyes stoically to her Mistress. "Just one thing ... is it time for me to go home?"
Harry flopped down at his desk and took out his parchment pad and textbook, yawning obscenely as he did so. He'd been to five classes already today, though only two of them were his own, and the effort had left him more than a little fatigued. He was desperate to stay cogent, however, as this class - Fundaments of Alchemy - was easily the favourite of his new elective courses. He just hoped he'd be able to stay awake through it.
All this time travelling was proving to be tiring work. He was thinking of travelling back a few hours just to slink off somewhere quiet to catch up on his sleep!
But that was a plan for later. For now, Harry simply took off his glasses and rubbed his weary face as the class slowly filled up around him. Then, a voice above to his right startled him.
"You know, you have really nice eyes, when they aren't hidden behind those specs. Have you ever thought about trying contact lenses?"
"Hi, Sal," Harry blushed, hurriedly stuffing his glasses back on to look at the grinning girl above him. "No, I cant get on with contacts. I tried once, but I get really squeamish about things being too close to my face."
"Mind if I share your desk?" Sally-Anne asked, breezily. "I managed to spill a whole bottle of nail-polish remover over my Dictionary of Alchemical Imagery when I was packing my bag this morning ... I'm such a clumsy dut! ... so would I be able to share yours? My copy is still drying, see."
"Go for it, have a seat," Harry beckoned pleasantly, sliding aside slightly as Sally-Anne sat down.
"Thanks!" Sally beamed. "Good job I'm happy with my nails, now that I've got nothing to clean them with. I went for alternating white and red. What do you think?"
She held out her fingers for Harry to inspect. He blinked blandly at her.
"Is that good?" Harry asked, innocently.
Sally-Anne laughed sweetly and shook her head in mock exasperation. "You're such a boy, aren't you?"
"I was, last time I checked," Harry replied without thinking. The inference of that made them both flush and look away from each other a moment.
"So, what did you write your essay on?" Sally asked, getting back to topic. "I went for symbols of death and how they might tie into the breaking down of the Matter of the Stone. What did you do?"
"I chose to go for the deaths of ideas, rather than something physical," Harry explained. "The Black Stage symbolises the death of outmoded ways of being and thinking, casting off the dross of ignorance and allowing a new perspective to enter the consciousness of the alchemist themselves, thus influencing their future work and operations."
"Wow! I really didn't think of it like that!" Sally-Anne whispered, reverently. "That's so insightful, Harry! Professor Abraham will give you such a great mark for that, I bet. I wish I'd thought of that. Do you think I have time to copy your essay?"
Sally grinned cheekily, and Harry found himself grinning back. "You can try, but my handwriting is atrocious. You'd have a hard time deciphering it!"
"I've seen your writing, and I think it's very nice," Sally-Anne disagreed in a sweet tone. "And I think there's a lot to be said for a boy with a nice hand ... of nice handwriting, you know ... that's what I meant. It shows intelligence and good breeding."
Colour rose to Sally's cheeks again, framing her nose as she angled her head away in her bashfulness. Actually, now that he was looking at it up close, Harry noticed that Sally-Anne had a very cute nose. It was small and delicate, with a narrow bridge and shallow nostrils, all sat in good perspective between her eyes, which were warm and expressive themselves. Yes, it was very cute, as noses went.
"Good breeding!" Harry laughed, when he eventually remembered to reply. "You make me sound like a prize-winning dog or something!"
"I'm sure you'd be of the finest pedigree if you were," Sally-Anne smiled back, shyly.
Harry felt his stomach lurch a bit at the soft look that Sally-Anne was giving him in that instant. The gout of squirming wriggles in his belly distracted him abruptly, which was handy ... as he and Sally were in very grave danger of having a moment just then.
Harry shook his head to throw off that weird sensation, not sure at all what had caused it or what to do with it. He focused on the front of the classroom, which seemed miles away from where he was sat with Sally in the back row of tables. He vaguely wondered if it was cooler in that part of the subterranean chamber, as it suddenly felt so sticky and hot down this end that Harry's neck was crawling with prickly discomfort. He loosened his robe collar to try and coax a bit of cold air onto his clammy skin ... but, of course, there was little air movement when you were two floors underground.
Just then the door opened and Harry hoped for a bit of respite from his harried senses. But he was out of luck, for not only did the open door yield the arrival of the teacher, the aforementioned Professor Lyndy Abraham, but another lady as well ... one Harry knew particularly well.
"Mum! What is she doing here?" Harry mumbled in his shock.
"Is that really your Mum?" Sally-Anne whispered. "But of course it is! I recognise her picture from the papers now. Ooh, she's so much prettier in real life, isn't she? Now I can see where you get your good looks from, Harry!"
Harry felt his face heat up again as Sally-Anne nudged him playfully. Harry tried to lock eyes on his mother, trying to communicate with his gaze his confusion at finding her here. What was going on?
It didn't take long to find out.
"Good afternoon, class," Professor Abraham announced, jovially. "I have a special treat for you today. As we are going to have a try at purifying some lead today, as part of our first term coursework to turn it into copper, I thought I'd ask an old friend of mine to help us out. Some of you may know her ... one of you will definitely know her ... but for those who don't, allow me to introduce Mrs Lily Potter to you all."
There was a smattering of polite clapping, a good deal more excited whispering, and every head bar none snapped to Harry, causing him to shrink under their collective attention. He dearly wished for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him, to save him dying of embarrassment. It would be useful, too, as he hadn't yet mapped out the subterranean passages in this part of the castle.
"Just pretend they are looking at me, Harry," Sally-Anne cajoled in a hush. "Pretend that I've farted or something and everyone knows it's me, like it came out in my voice or something!"
Harry snorted out a laugh at that and felt much better. "Do you fart like that?"
"I never fart," Sally-Anne replied, loftily. "I'll have you know I'm a demure and good little witch, and we don't do things like that."
"Yes you do! Everyone does!" Harry chortled. "I've heard Hermione fart before. She didn't mean to, and I don't think she noticed me hearing, but she did ... though, to be fair, she was Petrified at the time."
"Oh, sweet Merlin, I hope I didn't guff all over the Infirmary when I was Petrified!" Sally-Anne cried in her horror. "I have to go and see Madam Pomfrey later, too. I might struggle to look her in the face now!"
"What are you going to see Madam Pomfrey for?"
"Cramps."
"You want her to give you cramps?" Harry frowned. "But why ..."
"No, Harry," Sally-Anne giggled. "I want her to give me a potion for cramps. I have cramps."
"Was it something you ate?" Harry suggested helpfully. "Maybe it's trapped wind and you do need to fart. I get bloating cramps sometimes, especially if I eat too many sprouts at Christmas. They are like little bombs of compressed air, those things!"
"No, Harry, these aren't those sorts of cramps, they are big girl cramps," Sally explained, patiently.
"What are they?" Harry asked, curiously.
"You know ... witch's problems."
Harry shook his head dumbly. "I don't know what they are. I'm not a witch, so how would I?"
"Hasn't Hermione ever complained about them? If she gets them, it should be a monthly issue."
Harry wracked his brains. "Not that I can think of. But she's not a girl who complains much. She's easily the strongest witch I know, easy."
"Well, not all witches get them, but I do ... and quite badly, sometimes," Sally told him, grimly.
"Do you want me to come with you to Madam Pomfrey later, in case you have trouble getting up there?" Harry offered. "There's a lot of stairs between here and there, you know."
"Oh no, it's quite alright. I'm sure I'll manage," Sally-Anne replied in a bracing tone. "But thank you for offering. That's very sweet of you."
"Well, if you change your mind, it's really no problem," Harry replied brightly. "I'll be going that way anyway on the way back to my Common Room."
"Okay, how about you walk me as far as Gryffindor Tower, just in case?" Sally compromised. "That's about half way, and I should be fine for the rest."
"We have a deal," Harry grinned. "But if you change you mind en route, I won't mind going all the way with you."
"I'll keep that in mind for later," Sally replied, blushing furiously, though Harry couldn't work out why.
The class started properly then, working in pairs, and while Sally set to work lighting the fire under their crucible, Harry strode up to the front of the classroom to collect the block of lead that they were going to be working on, but not before taking a detour to his mother first.
"What in the name of Merlin are you doing here!" Harry hissed lowly. "This is so embarrassing! You could have warned me!"
"And ruin the surprise?" Lily funned. "That look on your face when I came in was priceless! I'm going to show your father the memory of it later, he'll be wetting himself with laughter!"
"I bet he will, silly old fool!" Harry huffed. "Seriously, Mum, though ... why are you here?"
"I'm helping out Lyndy with her class, like she said," Lily explained. "We met when I was Apprenticing in Alchemy with Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel in Kent. Lyndy was a student of Nicolas' daughter, Amelie. Did you know that she once competed against Dumbledore in an ancient, inter-schools tournament back in the 1920's? I'm surprised Dumbledore hasn't mentioned it. Your Dad heard rumours that Ludo Bagman, an incorrigible old school friend of his, is trying to revive it for some reason. I hope they don't allow it ... there were some terrible accidents in the tournament over the years ...
"Anyway, Lyndy got in touch and asked me to help, now that I'm back out in the world and everything. And I did say over the Summer that it was high time that we accelerated your progress in alchemy, didn't I? Well, this is the perfect vehicle to do that."
"So ... will you be attending these classes regularly then?" Harry asked in mild horror.
"Yes, probably. About once a month, I imagine."
"Ah ... just like witch's problems, then."
"Excuse me?" Lily frowned.
"Harry! Are you bringing that lead or not?" Sally-Anne teased as she emerged at his shoulder. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten the way back to me! Hello, Mrs Potter, it's nice to meet you."
"And you are?" Lily asked, sternly.
"Sally-Anne Perks. Harry's alchemy partner," Sally-Anne replied, brightly.
"Pleasure," Lily replied, barely masking a scowl on her face. "Don't get too settled with this arrangement, Harry. Remember that Hermione will be back soon, and don't forget what we discussed about her."
"I wont," Harry promised. "But I have to work with someone while Hermione's away, don't I? And I could do a lot worse than Sally!"
"Oi, cheeky!" Sally-Anne giggled. "Do you mind if I steal Harry, Mrs Potter? We really need to get back to work. We've got so much catching up to do as it is."
"Alright, don't let me keep you," Lily replied. There was something uncharacteristically false about her tone of voice. Harry honestly didn't know what to make of it. "I'll be over in a bit to check on your progress ... make sure you aren't forgetting your foundations, Harry."
Lily's look was so loaded, but Harry wasn't sure what she was trying to say. She had taught him well, he knew what he was doing, even though this was the first chance he'd get to try it out for real. She just needed to trust him.
"Your Mum seems nice," Sally-Anne told him as they returned to their table and got to work.
"She's normally nicer," Harry frowned, fixing his stare on the back of his mother's head, as she tended to another partnership across the room. "I wonder if my Dad has had his monthly night at The Leaky Cauldron with Neville's Dad over the last few days ... Mum's always a bit grouchy when Dad has a sore head the day after that. He's pretty much useless to the world for twenty-four hours! Hey ... I wonder if that's wizard's problems, and a bit like your witch's ones? That happens pretty regularly, too!"
"No, Harry," Sally-Anne giggled, grabbing onto his arm as she laughed. "I think that's something completely different!"
Harry looked down to where Sally-Anne was holding onto him and considered it curiously. Normally, only Hermione ever touched him at all, and he liked it that way. But, as he felt the warmth of Sally's palm through his robe, he found he didn't mind that either. Her grip was soft and delicate, a bit like her eyes and that button nose, and that warmth was quite comforting against his arm. This was getting very confusing.
Lily came by their table just then and Sally quickly let go of Harry's arm. He found he was a bit sorry about that, which was strange, but he looked up at his mother as she inspected their work.
"This fire isn't hot enough ... nowhere near so," Lily criticised, sternly, assessing the flames beneath the crucible. "You'll never break down the lead unless you have real fire going. Have you lost your mind for this, Harry?"
"No, Mum," Harry returned, defiantly. "I was just turning it up now."
"It's my fault, Mrs Potter," Sally-Anne apologised sheepishly. "I was the one who lit the fire. It's my fault it isn't burning properly."
"Well Harry knows better, so he should have stopped you when he knew you were doing wrong," Lily admonished, turning her flaming eyes on her son. "Sort yourself out, Harry, before you waste any more time with this."
"Yes, Mum," Harry mumbled, mutinous in his shame. "I'll get on it now."
"See that you do," Lily frowned, before sweeping away in a worrying impersonation of Snape. What had gotten into her?
"Sorry about that," Harry muttered as soon as he was sure Lily couldn't hear. "I really don't know what's up with her today. Here ... let me show you what you did wrong the first time. Try not to think I'm being bossy!"
"I'm all in your hands!" Sally-Anne purred, so outrageously flirtatious that even Harry understood it a little bit. He concentrated on his work, and tried to ignore the way that Sally-Anne's silky tone was still tickling his ear drums.
After half an hour or so, Harry had gotten things back on track. Professor Abraham herself came to their table to oversee the melting of the lead. She showed them how to use their alembic to separate and divide the molten metal, removing the easiest impurities with a tricky little filtration spell to aid the process and setting aside the oozing dross that was left.
"Right, now we've purified the Matter as much as we are able with this first operation, we now need to reunify it," Professor Abraham explained. "This process is known as?"
"Coagulation!" Sally-Anne piped up. "Or solve e coagula, to give the full term."
"Very good, Miss Perks," Professor Abraham, nodded. "Take five points for Hufflepuff. That which has been separated, and shed of some impurities by the separation, must now be reunified again, or coagulated, as Miss Perks correctly termed. If this has been successful, the Matter will have attained a more pure state that it was to begin with."
"How will we know?" Harry asked, adding hopefully - "Will it have turned to gold?"
"Oh no, Mr Potter," Professor Abraham smiled. "This procedure has only removed the very basic impurities of the Matter. To reach more refined states, hotter fire and far more advanced magic will be needed to purify the metal further. I shouldn't need to tell you that, considering that your mother is a Master Alchemist herself. You have the perfect tutor for this subject right in your own home!"
"Then what will tell us if we've done it properly, Miss?" Sally-Anne pressed.
"The Matter will be a little shinier, much less dull, as though you have added a tint of light to it," the Professor explained.
"Or like you've ... enlightened it?" Harry whispered, somewhat reverently.
Professor Abraham smiled knowingly at Harry. "Metaphysically, yes ... you could look at it like that. And all the great alchemist's do ... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter, with such a mind like that. But, considering your teacher, should we really have expected anything else?"
Professor Abraham shared a respectful nod with Lily just then, as she arrived at their table in time to catch the end of their discussion. Harry stole his mother's gaze a moment, a flash of understanding passed between them ... and Harry blushed in a shot of guilt and shame. For Professor Abraham was totally right ... Harry had been taught very well in matters of the mind.
But there was one thing that she had gotten totally wrong ... it wasn't Lily Potter who was Harry's chief mentor in this finest of arts, she wasn't the witch responsible.
In fact, the witch who was, wasn't here right now. She wasn't even in this world. Harry felt her absence keenly just then and closed his eyes, missing her miserably, and hoping that one day, very soon, she'd come back home to him and bring order to his chaotic new world..
