Okay, so my name is the Great Kate Zonkey Machine. If you're bewildered by the name, I recommend visiting my profile. I'm sure you'll find an explanation somewhere in there. Anyway, I've been on Fanfiction for a while, but I'm new to the His Dark Materials category. So I hope nobody hates it! By the way, I don't know whether schools in the UK generally have principals; sorry if I got that wrong.

Disclaimer: Obviously I didn't write the series, or I wouldn't be pretending to write it!

Chapter One: The Fight

"…I never seen kids like that before, and that's a fact."

"I have," said Will.

"When? In your world?"

"Yeah," he said, awkwardly. Lyra waited and sat still, and presently he went on. "It was when my mother was having one of her bad times. She and me, we lived on our own, see, because obviously my father wasn't there. And every so often she'd start thinking things that weren't true. And having to do things that didn't make sense—not to me, anyway. I mean she had to do them or else she'd get upset and afraid, and so I used to help her. Like touching all the railings in the park, or counting the leaves on a bush—that kind of thing. She used to get better after a while. But I was afraid of anyone finding out she was like that, because I thought they'd take her away, so I used to look after her and hide it. I never told anyone.

"And once she got afraid when I wasn't there to help her. I was at school. And she went out and she wasn't wearing very much, only she didn't know. And some boys from my school, they found her, and they started…"

Will's face was hot. Without being able to help it he found himself walking up and down and looking away from Lyra because his voice was unsteady and his eyes were watering. He went on: "They were tormenting her just like those kids at the tower with the cat…. They thought she was mad and they wanted to hurt her, maybe kill her, I wouldn't be surprised. She was just different and they hated her. Anyway, I found her and I got her home. And the next day in school I fought the boy who was leading them. I fought him and I broke his arm and I think I broke some of his teeth—I don't know. And I was going to fight the rest of them, too, but I got in trouble and I realized I better stop because they'd find out—I mean the teachers and the authorities. They'd go to my mother and complain about me, and then they'd find out about how she was and take her away. So I just pretended to be sorry and told the teachers I wouldn't do it again, and they punished me for fighting and I still said nothing. But I kept her safe, see. No one knew apart from those boys, and they knew what I'd do if they said anything; they knew I'd kill them another time. Not just hurt them. And a bit later she got better again. No one knew, ever."

Will's mother was not mad.

There were times when she'd be confused, and frightened, but she was still his mother. She was still Elaine Parry. She still loved him, and she still trusted him, and he trusted her, and they took care of each other. And then she got better again. And she was not mad.

If Will had been able to spend all hours of the day with her, protecting her, comforting her, he would have. He would've left school and forgotten about his friends, and spent the rest of his mother's life looking out for her. But Will could not stay away from school. If he did, the school would come to him; some nosy officials would pay an unwanted visit to their house, and then his mother would get distressed and the school would become concerned and tell the police and the doctors, and then she would be taken away to a mental ward somewhere and Will would never see her again.

So Will did his best. He did what he could to keep her calm while he was around, and he trusted her not to do anything exerting or talk to anyone much until he came home each day. There was nothing wrong with his mother, and no one would think there was as long as they kept their heads down.

It worked that way for many years, and nothing ever happened.

Until today.

By the end of school, Will was already in trouble.

The bell rang at 3:45 in the afternoon as always, signaling the end of the day. Will thrust his textbook and notebook into his pack just like everyone else, eager to leave. But just as he was about to make his way through the door his teacher called him back.

Will turned and walked back slowly. "Yes…?" he said apprehensively.

"I need to speak with you a moment," said his teacher, Mrs. Gardner.

"What is it? Have I done something wrong? I didn't—!"

"Relax, relax," Mrs. Gardner said placatingly. "You're not in trouble. Well, you haven't broken any school rules that I know of, at least."

"Oh," said Will, feeling foolish and impulsive. He set his pack on the floor. "Then what is it? Only I've really got to get home to my mother…."

"I understand; this will only take a moment." Mrs. Gardner removed her squarish spectacles and gave Will a stern hawk-look. "William, I don't know what it is with you. I watch you during class, quite closely—"

"Brilliant…" Will muttered.

"—and you're an exceedingly bright young man. I know you must think we teachers say that to all our students, but you're different. I truly think you are more intelligent than any other child in my class. Which is why I can't understand why you're failing."

Will said nothing.

Mrs. Gardner went on. "What is going on, William? You're not finishing tests, you're not turning in your homework, you're certainly not paying attention during class… What can we do about this?"

Will shrugged, and then he said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Gardner. I'll do better from now on." He looked straight into her eyes.

She looked down to the papers on her desk and said, "Very well. But if I don't see some immediate improvement I'll be talking to your mother about this."

Will swallowed and nodded.

"I'm going to give you a little bit of extra homework, so you can raise your marks in my class. You'll want to write this down…."

School was over, and Ethan was walking to his home. He walked along a row of great gnarled trees with his hands in his pockets, thinking about everything from the homework in his pack to the Prime Minister. A noise across the trees made him look up.

A rowdy gang of kids about his age was loping down the street on the other side of the line of trees. They were laughing and talking loudly. Ethan thought they were the only ones around at first, but then he saw another figure.

This one was alone. He could tell it was female, and the woman had neck-length wispy brown hair and a thin mousy figure. She was tottering down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as the boys, a small handbag swinging from her arm. But something was wrong….

The other boys had noticed, too. They all stopped and fell silent for a moment, and then somebody wolf-whistled. This was followed by a series of catcalls and jeers from all of them. The woman stopped and looked at them. Ethan couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but he got the gist of it.

So did the woman. She began to cry as Ethan watched through the trees, transfixed with horror. Her shoulders started shaking and she put her face in her hands. This only made the kids laugh harder. Ethan could feel their emotions, an awful blend of outrage and cruel glee. Now they were tormenting her, calling her terrible names, and she just looked at them with a glistening tear-stained face. Poor thing, thought Ethan. She doesn't understand.

That was when things suddenly got much worse. A small object that couldn't be identified through the trees spun through the air towards the defenseless woman. It hit the asphalt at her feet. This sparked a volley of sticks and pebbles, hurled at the woman by those heartless boys. One of them struck the woman squarely on the forehead.

She staggered and dropped her purse. She began to sob hysterically. The boys sneered and moved closer, but then another figure joined their ranks.

He was about the same height as the rest of them, but his voice was entirely different. It was slightly deeper, and the ferocity in it made Ethan flinch.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" the stranger yelled. He snarled and charged at the gang like a bull, scattering them.

The boys were cowards. They still laughed and jeered and called insults, but none of them wanted to stick around with the boy. A bunch of them ran through the trees, straight at Ethan. They bowled through him, whamming into his right side and knocking him to the ground. They didn't even look at him, they just ran off.

Ethan stood up and beat the dirt out of his trousers. He looked back at the woman and the boy. She was still crying and he was hugging her, soothing her. His voice had completely changed from the angry bear-voice to a soft, low voice so saturated with love that it made Ethan's heart ache. He put his arm around the person Ethan could only assume must be his mother and led her gently back down the sidewalk the way she had come.

Ethan wanted to kick himself for being so cowardly. He was scarcely any better than those boys; he'd done nothing but watch in disgust as the boys tormented the poor woman, and had been torn between chasing the boys and comforting the woman when they ran away. Ethan felt just as guilty as the other boys. Mentally beating himself, he trotted home with his hands in his pockets. He spent a sleepless night dwelling on the boy and his mother.

Friday morning, Will woke up still overflowing with fiery anger. He was going to go to school, and he was going to find the bastards who did that to his mother, and he was going to teach them a lesson. He wolfed down his breakfast and kissed his mother goodbye. She didn't remember yesterday's incident at all. He threw his pack over his shoulders and left the house, walking down the lane in the cool autumn air. The foliage on the trees was a pleasant red-yellow blend, with dark green leaves deeper in. This gave the impression that the trees were candy-coated. It would have been nice to look at, had Willl not been thinking of the boys.

He had counted them. There had been five boys present, and he'd memorized each face. The leader had a square nose, an unattractive point on his lips, and a head no wider than his neck. He did not know him or his cronies, but he would seek out their faces. He would find them.

Nigel and his friends had a table all to themselves outside. They spent lunch period every day sitting over there and laughing and tossing bits of trash at people and catcalling at every girl who passed by. Things were transpiring much as they always did that Friday—until a boy spoke to Nigel.

"You," said Will, his teeth gritted and his fists clenched as he walked on shaking legs toward the table.

The chattering crowd felt a little quieter; nobody approached that table.

"Hey, Nige," whispered the boy next to Nigel. "It's that mad kid from yesterday. The one whose mum's mental."

The boy grinned and stood up to face Will. "Oi, what's your problem?" he sneered, but he did not meet Will's eyes.

"You know exactly what my problem is," said Will sarcastically, advancing. "My problem is I'm mad—stark-mad, mad as a hatter. So mad I might just break you and your mates' noses for no reason at all."

"Hey!" said Nigel. "Easy, easy. Look, don't blame me. It's not our fault your mum is a—"

Will's knuckles collided with Nigel's teeth. The older boy fell back onto the bench. His cronies stood up with cries of outrage. Angry, Nigel retaliated from the bench—he swung his leg at Will's, causing Will to fall face-first onto the concrete. The other students were now shouting and chanting, and a distant teacher was yelling and coming towards them. Nigel stood up and took a step forward, but a third boy gripped his shoulder firmly and shoved him backwards. Nigel landed on his back.

Everyone present was momentarily stunned—everyone except Will and Ethan.

Will fixed his unwanted helper with a withering glare. But Ethan did not look away as all others did. He stared defiantly into Will's eyes until Will muttered, "Stay out of this; it's my fight. I don't need your help."

"I never thought you did," said Ethan at once. "But I saw what these scumbags did yesterday evening and thought they ought to pay, same as you."

Will snarled. "It's none of your concern—!"

But Nigel had finally gathered his wits. He furiously attacked Ethan and yanked on his hair. Ethan cried out and landed a blow on Nigel's stomach, but the older boy didn't let go. Then Will dug his fingernails into Nigel's upper arms and he shrieked and relinquished his grip on Ethan. Will flung Nigel onto the ground, and kicked his back hard out of sheer hatred. The crowd was disenchanted now, booing and hissing at Will; he was not playing fair, but he did not care. To Will, fighting was not about playing fair—it was about forcing your opponent to give in by causing him pain in any way possible.

Nigel's friends jumped over the table and beset Will and Ethan. The two boys both brought up their feet at the same time: Will's met its mark under the chin of one of them, while Ethan's connected with another boy's chest. Both of them flew backwards and landed on their bottoms in the food laid out on the table. The crowd laughed as one of the boys blinked away stars and the other wheezed shallowly. The fourth boy managed to land a blow of his own on Will's ear. It burned white-hot and Will angrily swung his own fist at the boy, who ducked. But then Will thrust his knee forward, and it struck him in the eyes. They would have moved on to the fifth boy had the teachers not arrived at that moment and blown an airhorn, making all the children cringe and cover their ears.

"Now that's enough!" the teacher screamed, rushing over to the boys. "Stop it this instant!"

The boys knew better than to keep at it, but they looked daggers at one another—and Will's expression did not soften when he glared at Ethan, as they stood there breathing heavily.

"What in heaven's name did you think you were doing?"

They didn't answer her.

"Hm." She pursed her lips. "You're bleeding. Come with me to the nurse's office, and then I'll be taking you straight to the principal's office."

The nurse obviously wanted to scold them, but that was not her job. Instead she inspected their mouths, ears, eyes, noses, and stomachs. According to her, Nigel had broken teeth and cuts on his arms, and the skin on the spot where Will had kicked him had been scraped raw. Ethan's scalp would irritate him for the duration of the next week. Will's knuckles (which had been bitten when he punched Nigel) were bloody, as were his palms and his lower lip; there would be some swelling on his ear. The other boys had multiple bruises, and one had a fractured jaw, but no permanent damage had been dealt to any of them.

The principal did not care why the fight had happened, which was good (Will wouldn't have told him anyway), only that it had happened. "Your behavior is disgraceful," he told the six of them. "And I ought to expel you, but I'll give you a second chance since you have clean records. I am going to suspend you for the full of next week."

"NO!" cried Will, but he instantly relaxed. At first he'd been afraid his mother would want to talk to his teachers once she realized he was suspended, but then he realized he could just tell her that school was out for the week.

"You have an objection?" said the principal, daring him to say yes.

"No, sir," said Will.

"Well, then. The three of you will finish the school day, but then you'll not be returning until the Monday after next."

They nodded.

The principal gave his own curt little nod. "You may go."

"What's wrong?" said Will's mother as he walked in that afternoon. "Did something happen at school?"

"No," Will lied. "What makes you say that?"

"There's blood on your lip."

"Oh," he said, cursing himself. "Yeah…I tripped on the sidewalk today on the way." He tried to wipe it off, but it was dried.

"Oh, Will," said his mother lovingly, "You simply must learn to be more careful."

She had no idea how true her words really were.

AN: For the record, I never found it plausible that Will could deliberately break the bones of another student and avoid a conference with his mother. If you find it implausible that it happens in my fic, you can bring it up with Philip Pullman.