An Opus Alchymicum Vol 2: The Witch-Consul's Riddle

A Dæmon's Decision

August the Thirtieth was a balmy, sultry night across the British Isles. Lyra had flung open the large windows of their Oxford flat, in an attempt to entice a non-existent breeze into the stifling rooms. She had even brought the fan from her bedroom and plugged it in, only for it to blow warm air around the living area. In the end, she'd resorted to pulling off her halter-top and lounging on the window sill, half in and out of the frame, and cooling herself off by allowing melting ice cubes to drip down her neck and into the crook of her bra.

"If Malcolm sees you like this, he'll have a heart attack," Pantalaimon warned, as he stretched out near the fan.

"I don't care," Lyra huffed. "If I don't get cool, I'm sure I'll die! It's so hot, Pan! I don't think I can stand it!"

"It's nothing like as bad as the Levant," Pantalaimon reminded her. "You're being melodramatic as always."

"Is Hermione asleep?" Lyra demanded. "All that packing was very stressful for her."

"Yes, for the third time," Pan replied blandly. "That was good stuff ... what was it called again?"

"Horlicks," Lyra reminded him. "As soon as Mal gets home, I'm brewing a cup and heading right to bed. Maybe this heat wouldn't hurt so much if I was unconscious!"

"You're such a diva!" Pan chuckled. "Sometimes I forget how much, then you overreact like this and it all comes flooding back!"

"Shut up, Pan!" Lyra laughed.

"I cant ... we need to talk, now that we're alone."

Lyra sighed heavily. "Yes, I know we do."

"What are the chances?" Pan began. "Not only that we'd find him ... but that he'd be here with Harry Potter?"

"Billions to one, I reckon," Lyra huffed. "Dust works in funny ways, Pan. Annoying ones, too, sometimes."

"Annoying? How?"

"Well, if Sirius is Harry Potter's guardian I wont be able to torture and kill him," Lyra replied resentfully. "I was so looking forward to cutting off a certain appendage and wearing it as a necklace!"

"Lyra! Don't be disgusting!" Pan fake admonished with a deep laugh. "Then again ... you could still do that. He doesn't need it, after all!"

"True. Though I much preferred it when I had his balls in my handbag, metaphorically," Lyra mused. "Maybe having bits of him under my nose might be a little unpleasant."

"Yes, quite unhygienic," Pan quipped lightly. "Though, lets be honest, you never had Sirius Black under that kind of control."

"No, I doubt any woman ever has," Lyra agreed bitterly. "How many others do you think he's had?"

"How high do numbers go?" Pan laughed. "But don't act all scorned and mistreated. You loved it at the time ... and you never loved him. You're just cross that he kept more lovers from you than you did from him!"

"Sometimes I wish you didn't know me so well," Lyra smirked. "But that's what I'll do when I see him again. I'll list them all, in alpha-numeric order ... then tell him he was the worst of the lot!"

"But he wasn't ..."

"No, he was right up near the top," Lyra grumbled. "But he doesn't need to know that. Yes, that will do very nicely for me. I'll do it in public for maximum effect."

"No you wont," Pan warned. "It will humiliate Hermione. Think of her, instead of your savage self."

"Yes, I will. You're right," Lyra agreed. "But I will tell him ... and I'll add that he 'didn't touch the sides' either ... or does that reflect worse on me?"