An Opus Alchymicum Vol 4: The Dæmon's Crucible

The Fellowship of Lyra

After three days trekking upriver on foot, stopping at every ramshackle trading post and seedy bar he came across, Sirius was well and truly fed up. He was tired, his cold-weather furs were not only cumbersome but were now heavy from rain saturation, having become waterlogged during a flash storm on the second day. The sodden garments were already beginning to give off a musty, unclean aroma that was making Sirius bitter and grumpy, because the heavy weight was also causing him to sweat profusely under his many layers of clothing.

In short, Sirius Black stunk ... stunk worse than an Immore Alley tramp after too many Firewhiskeys and a few nights sleeping in the cowshed.

Even his magic was no good against it. The cleaning Charms he cast on himself were utterly futile, lasting barely minutes before he was soiled again, and cosmetic perfume Charms equally as pointless, as the inclement weather would have washed away any deodorant, had be he able to conjure any. It was a sorry state of affairs.

Sirius couldn't even Apparate properly in this world, partly because the effect of Dust often made him end up wildly off-course, but also because this world was simply different to his own, and people materialising out of thin air just wasn't the done thing ... and was as likely to draw you a bullet in anger as a round of applause. In any case, Padfiette was corporeal again here, and that increased the chances of Splinching by a factor of twelve.

Sirius would have to warn Harry and Hermione about that, when they were old enough to learn the art of teleportation. He made a mental note to tell them about it ... if he ever got off this damned river.

For he was quickly beginning to appreciate the sageness of the advice he'd received in the fishing village of Mirna, where he'd begun this trek into the Siberian wilderness, as well as his own stupidity for not heeding it. He was told to wait for a boat upriver, to not attempt the journey on foot at this time of year, as it was far too treacherous. But Sirius Black was far too stubborn, too impatient and ... he crossly accepted ... far too arrogant to be held to the same restrictions as other, lesser humans.

And it was a lesson he was being taught in the harshest way.

For the Yenisei was a river in full throttle right now. Fast-flowing, swelled by meltwaters from the thawing permafrost, navigating this snaking waterway would have been tough enough for the hardiest of vessels. But Sirius only had the flimsiest of canoes, which he soaked in stabilising Charms and hoped for the best. It was cocky optimism that bordered on insanity, and the hardly-muffled chuckles of the Mirna fisherman should have been warning enough.

Two hours later, when the weather turned, and the headwaters rushed with fury and Sirius capsized in his pathetic canoe, he should have turned back. An hour after that, as he finished his first drying Charms and a surge of tide caught his charge in the peak, before casting it asunder against the sharp rocks that flanked the far side of the river, smashing it to a hundred jagged pieces, Sirius should have turned back.

But he didn't, not even when he gave up trying to rebuild the canoe by magic. He just shrugged, had a little chuckle, conceded Round One to Mother Nature, and ploughed on by foot.

Now, after three days of mud and rain and filth, and twelve more rounds to Nature, Sirius was on the verge of a major tantrum of frustration. Things had even come to a head between him and Padfiette, who had angrily asked to be put back inside her wizard until his stormy mood had cleared. That made things worse as they stopped speaking for several hours, and the trek was ten times more unpleasant for Sirius without his dæmon for company and counsel.

But then, on the late morning of the fourth day, things started to look up ... and it was the shaggy-furred bloodhound who brought good news to break the icy impasse that had sprung up between her and her human.