'Ice Station Zebra'

Hermione looked up at the huge, snow-covered letters of the sign above the entrance door to the complex, just as Iorek came to a stop and allowed her to slide off his back. It had been a surprisingly smooth ride, and Hermione's dainty self weighed little more than a feather to the powerful bear, so they had made good time. Serafina and her witches had pulled the sled using some spell or another, and Lyra and Mal now busied themselves unloading their cargo, just as the wind began to pick up again.

Papageno was there too, somewhere, just hidden out of sight. Hermione could feel him close, just on the periphery of her mind and vision. She kept the Bluebell Flame jar in sight at all times, just so he could see it, too. How he had managed to follow them, Hermione couldn't guess, unless he had just snuck onto the sled, or masked himself as one of the snow-dogs.

Either way, he was there with them … and Hermione was hopeful that very soon he'd come back to her.

But for now she distracted herself by assessing her surroundings. The Portal Station was a most unremarkable-looking thing, so nondescript that Hermione thought you'd probably miss it if you didn't know it was there. Then she realised that this was probably the very point. It was a large, dome-shaped metal structure, a little bit like an upside-down ice cream cone, with seven flat-panelled sides that came to an apex level with the tops of the surrounding trees. The dark grey metal blended in with the snow and the rugged sides of a sheer ravine that orbited it from the West.

It wasn't the most welcoming of locations.

"Are you afraid, Miss Hermione?"

Hermione turned to face Iorek Byrnison, King of the panserbjorne, who had spoken to her. His gruff, growl of a voice had frightened her when they first met, but now she sought solace in the power it commanded, and took an example from his strength and bravery. Or, at least, as much as an eleven-year-old new witch could.

"A little bit," Hermione confessed. "Do you ever get scared, King Iorek?"

"Not often, but it happens," the great bear replied. "And when it does, I defeat it."

"How do you beat fear?" Hermione asked. "Because fear for you must be something very great indeed. I cant imagine what could scare the panserbjorne."

"We have fears enough, but they would not be of your understanding," Iorek continued. "But when I meet fear, I accept it. I face it like any other enemy, and master it as such. You would do well to do the same, for where you are going, you will face one of the most challenging types of fear - the unknown."

"Would that scare you?"

"To begin with, yes," Iorek answered. "To go to a place where I didn't know myself, where my own kind was different, despite looking the same - that would be challenging, indeed. I have heard that bears there are not like they are here - they have no armour, they struggle for survival, they allow humans to put them in cages and charge money to be seen as curiosities. That is no life for a bear."

"Or any other animal," Hermione agreed. "I cant understand how any creature can make a slave of another. It's horrible to even think about it."

"You will go far, young witch," Iorek observed in his rolling growl. "If you maintain such an attitude. You will be a Silvertongue daughter of great worth to the world."

Hermione blushed at that. "Thank you, King Iorek. And thank you for coming to rescue me. I cant remember if I said thank you for that or not."

"You did, but I will accept your thanks again," Iorek replied. "Lyra and Queen Pekkala tell me you have great deeds to achieve in your life. Even a bear is not insensible of making formidable alliances with such a human. I would not be sorry to cross paths with you again, young witch. If you have need of me in the future, Lyra will know how to find me."

"Thank you, King Iorek," Hermione beamed, and wrapped her arms around his neck for a hug. But Iorek was so massive that Hermione's hands couldn't even reach each other around the bear's hulking frame.

"Speaking of finding things, I think it is high time we find that mischievous dæmon of yours," said Lyra, coming up from behind them. "Serafina says that a heavy storm is approaching from the North. So we need to get inside very soon."

"But how can I get him to come to me?" asked Hermione. "Every time I try he just runs away again."

"Then it is time to stop asking, and to begin telling," Iorek advised. "I understand little of the relationship between a human and their dæmon, but I know that it is part of you, an aspect of your soul. It can guide you, assist you … but it can also obey you. All you need is to show a strength of character that will command that respect."

"Right, I will," Hermione nodded stoutly, in a business-like manner.

She snatched up the bell jar and marched off briskly into the cluster of trees and bushes nearby. She knew Pap was hiding in there somewhere, listening to every word. As Hermione stomped through the snow she thought she caught glimpses of him, darting under brambles or burrowing beneath snow drifts. She started to pretend to ignore him, hoping it would stoke that side of him that demanded her attention whenever they were alone.

After going for about fifty yards, Hermione stopped and sat on a tree stump at the centre of a clearing she found there. She placed the jar of Bluebell Flames between her little feet and crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. Then she just frowned for a full minute.

"I know you're in there, Papageno, so you can stop hiding," she huffed.

Then she smirked to herself as she saw a pair of eyes blink back at her from the tree-line. Using her dæmon's full name was always a guaranteed way to taunt out a response.

He emerged a moment later, cat-formed, his bandy legs looking awkward and unsteady under his fluffy body.

"Well look at you … with your crooked shanks," Hermione teased.

"And look at you, with your secret fire," Papageno flung back. "Only been a witch for a few days and you're already doing magic!"

They looked at each other for a few seconds, both trying not to smirk, or cry, and then suddenly Papageno just trotted forward and leapt up into Hermione's outstretched, waiting arms.

"Oh Pap!" she wept as she tugged him to her chest. "I'm so sorry! So sorry that I hurt you! That we hurt so badly! I'm so, so sorry!"

"I'm not," Pap replied, which caused Hermione to pull him away from her in surprise.

"You're not?"

Papageno shook his head. "We agreed to do it. We knew it would hurt, but we survived it. Now we can say we are brave, and strong, like Lyra and Iorek and Mal. We don't need to be afraid of anything anymore. We should be proud of ourselves."

"I'm proud of you," Hermione cried hotly. "You were so courageous. I didn't think I could do it, and I was going to stop at least twice. But then I saw you, so firm and tough, and I knew I couldn't let you down. But why did you stay away so long? I've missed you."

"I missed you, too," Papageno confessed. "But I had to get used to it, being away from you. Where we're going, I'm going to be like that a lot. And I needed to give you chance to get used to it, too. This is how we are now, Hermione. It feels strange, and different, and not what either of us expected. But it's the new us. And you know what? I think it will be okay."

"So do I!" Hermione agreed with a beaming smile. "But don't think you can just run away from me whenever you like, and go off chasing rats or something. Don't try and be all prissy and independent. You're still my dæmon!"

"And you're still my human! All pouty and stompy as ever!"

Hermione laughed and hugged Pap closely to her again. Then they got up and started walking back towards the ice station.

"So, are you going to stay like that now?" Hermione asked, looking down at the cat prints Pap was making in the snow.

"Yes, yes I think so," the dæmon replied. "Even though I still can change, I think I'll stay like this more often than not. I wont be able to change so much in that other world anyway, so might as well try to get out of the habit now."

"Will you miss it? Changing?"

"For a while, but we both knew I'd have to settle eventually. No point lamenting something we cannot avoid, is there?"

Hermione nodded in agreement. They soon reached the ice station again and joined the party at the entrance doors. Mal and Lyra were saying their goodbyes to Iorek and Serafina. Hermione added hers to the raft of adieus and promises to see each other again, then after one last hug to each, followed Mal inside the station building itself.

Hermione winced a little as the door clicked shut behind them. The powerful anbaric lights were so bright, and after days in the pale glow of the Arctic desert the glare was quite shocking to her eyes. But she was glad of the warmth, which came largely from under-floor heating which seeped up through their toes as the party made their way into the heart of the building.

Mal led them into a room where all their belongings had been stored. It looked like a seminar room, with three rows of tables and a large whiteboard on the far wall. Mal turned to Lyra and Hermione as they sat down.

"This is what's known as a 'Prep Room'," Malcolm explained. "Before anyone is allowed to cross into the other world, they need to become completely immersed in the culture over there."

"So that they blend in," Hermione sagely assumed.

"Precisely," Mal nodded. "My friends who head up the project can explain more about what we are going to need to know. They've gone back and fore to that world many, many times. I'll just go and fetch them."

"A cup of tea might be nice, too," Lyra quirked with a grin. "Maybe some biscuits?"

Mal smirked back at her. "I'll see what I can rustle up. You ladies get settled and I'll be back soon."

As Mal left, Pap and Pan fell into deep conversation in the corner of the room. Lyra turned to Hermione.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, much!" Hermione beamed back. "Thank you … for being so understanding. I couldn't have gotten through this without your help."

Lyra flushed slightly at Hermione's words. "So, I suppose we'd better start to think about what we're going to do … once we cross over."

"We have to find this boy," Hermione replied, a little confused. "I thought that was the plan?"

"It is, but how are we going to do it?" Lyra asked. "You heard what Serafina said. It isn't as if we can just walk up to this stranger and tell him all this. Imagine how he will take that. He could be surprised, confused … even scared. He might run away if we just blurt it out like that."

"Oh … I didn't think of it like that," Hermione frowned. "What do you think we should do, then?"

"We are going to have to live in that world … maybe for a long time," Lyra began. "Remember, you have to fall in love … and this boy has to fall in love with you, too. And you're still so young for any of that. You don't know what romantic love even is at your age, and we can guess this boy will be the same. You have to grow up a little before any of that can happen."

Hermione huffed deeply. "What do you suggest then?"

"We have to find him and try and get you into his life," Lyra replied. "We cant force you to be friends, but we have to give you a chance to get to know him. We could take a house in his street, get you to join clubs that he might be in, enrol at the same school. Then the rest will be up to you."

"But how are we even going to find him?" Hermione grumbled. "He could be anywhere!"

"You're forgetting, we still have this!" Lyra grinned. Then she reached into one of her cases and drew out the mahogany box. The alethiometer was set on the table a moment later.

"What are you going to ask it?" Hermione whispered reverently, resting her head on her palms as she planted her elbows either side of the alethiometer, to watch Lyra at work.

"Let's ask who he is, shall we?" Lyra smiled back.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and Lyra began turning the dials. The long needle of the symbol-reader swung around and around, giving Lyra her answer.

He is a wizard.

Lyra blinked as she came out of her trance-like state, and told Hermione the message.

"A wizard? Isn't that … like a male witch?" Hermione hushed. "Like your friend, Sirius?"

"Just like that," Lyra confirmed. "How curious."

"And if he is a wizard, then I think I know just where we should start looking."

Malcolm had re-entered the room at that moment, with two people in tow. They smiled warmly at Hermione as they crossed the room to them.

"You do?" Hermione asked Mal, excitedly. "How?"

"These are my friends, and they know all about witches and wizards in that world … for they used to be a pair of them," Mal grinned. "Allow me to introduce you to my favourite ex-colleagues - Frank and Alice."

"Nice to meet you," Hermione began politely. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand … how is it that you used to be a … a witch and wizard?"

Alice smiled kindly at Hermione. "We are from that world originally. But there was a great war, and we were victims of the tyrant who started it."

"Thomas Riddle, you mean?" asked Hermione.

"Yes," Frank confirmed. "How do you know him?"

"We went to see him in Trollesund," Malcolm explained. "He gave us our travel visa to get here … and sent the Tartars to make sure we never returned."

"But luckily I have friends in the North," Lyra grinned fiercely. "So we were ready for them when they struck."

"You said you were victims," Hermione continued, her features fixed in a puzzled expression. "But you're here."

"Yes, because only our minds were attacked," Alice replied. "We were tortured by one of Riddle's people, a sadistic witch named Bella Lestrange. She and Riddle were heavily into soul magic … delving into the Darkest of Dark Arts."

"What did they hope to do?" Hermione asked with a cool shiver.

"Ultimately, they wanted to split their souls, to anchor them to the physical world," Frank explained. "It would, essentially, make them immortal. Thomas Riddle assumed the nickname of Lord Voldemort … but the only sort of lord he became was a Dark one. He was able to successfully split his soul, we learned later."

Hermione gasped in horror. "And you … did he split your souls?"

"Of a fashion," Alice took over. "Bella was able to rip our souls from our bodies, but she had no vessel to place them into. For the longest time our souls just wandered aimlessly, lost in the world. For, you see, our physical bodies survived. But our souls had no idea how to get back into them."

"Then, as much by chance as design, our souls found a route here, to this world," Frank continued. "They were accepted as separated dæmons. We found friends in the Witches and the scholars here. They sent through a recovery party, and they brought our bodies back to us."

"And, miraculously, in this world we became whole again," Alice explained. Hermione now saw her little dæmon on her shoulder. He was a toad, and he poked his beady eyes out from the veil of Alice's long hair. "Our minds are linked to our dæmon's, just as yours are."

"But can you go back?" Hermione asked. She thought it would be very sad if they couldn't.

But Frank's glum expression confirmed this fear. "We can, but we lose the connection at once. We can still control our bodies to some extent, but we appear - to all intents and purposes - as if we have lost our minds."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione sympathised. "Can the Witches not help you?"

"No, and neither can our own magic," Alice replied. "And we have tried everything either world can think of."

Hermione felt a surge of pity for them. "But you said you knew about magic. About where I might start to look for a boy that I have to find in that other world."

"Well, if he's a wizard, and he's your age, there's only one place he's likely to be," Frank answered.

"And where's that?"

"Hogwarts, the premier school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Europe," said Frank.

"There's a school … for witchcraft?" Hermione breathed lowly. "Wow."

"Only the very best there is," Alice smiled. "If you want to find a boy wizard, that's the best place to start your search."

"Well, I suppose as I am a witch, it makes sense to go to a school to learn about how to be a better one," Hermione pondered. "How do I get in?"

"We'll give you the contact details of the Headmaster," Frank explained. "Make your case to him."

"Wont he suspect us, as we aren't from that world?" asked Hermione.

"Just say you are Muggleborn," Alice advised. "Muggle is the name given to non-magic people over there. It will explain your lack of knowledge of magic or the magical world, as lots of students come from that background."

"Muggleborn," Hermione parroted. "Okay. Will there be a test?"

"The Headmaster will assess you, but you have witch-oil in your soul, so you'll pass," Frank answered. "Don't worry, the school term doesn't start for several months. We can prepare you thoroughly before you cross over."

"Okay, that sounds like a plan," Hermione nodded. "Thank you for helping me. What can I ever do to repay you?"

"There is one thing," Alice began cautiously. "If you get in to Hogwarts, and you meet a round-faced boy there, try to be friends with him. He is a kind-hearted, but nervous child. A friend or two will do him the world of good."

"Okay, I can do that," Hermione promised. "But I have to ask … who is he?"

Frank looked at Hermione and smiled. "His name is Neville … and he's our son."

End of Book 1