An Opus Alchymicum Vol 1: The Experimental Theologian's Apprentice

Like The Witches Do

Papageno curled in close to Hermione's neck, intertwining himself with her thick woollen scarf. He was ermine-formed again, and pressed himself tight under the veil of her hair, doing all he could to protect her from the sudden gusts of the harsh Arctic winds. She was glad of his dense fur and body warmth against her flesh, thankful that she had some barrier against the biting cold and wondering just how long they would travel before they set up camp for the night.

For they had been travelling across the snow for three days now, and this would be their third night under the stars. The pack of dogs pulled their heavy sled in a seemingly tireless manner, deeper and deeper into that desert of bleak whiteness ahead of and all around them. Hermione didn't think it would ever end and wondered vaguely when they'd see civilisation again.

Not that she could imagine what form civilisation would even take out here. She was rather convinced that nothing could survive in this barren, offensive terrain. But, of course, she knew that things did, she just had little concept of how they managed it, now that she was marooned in the wilderness itself. There didn't seem to be sources of food, or water, or shelter from the elements. It was a truly hellish environment.

Hermione's only source of solace were the Witches, who were circling high above the sled and leading them on. They seemed to know where they were going, and were not at all affected by the cold, gliding along on their cloud-pines as they were, in their ragged scraps of silk, looking both glamorous and alluring, fierce and dangerous all at once.

And there was no greater embodiment of this than Queen Serafina Pekkala, herself. Hermione had been enchanted by her almost from the first time she'd laid eyes on her. There was something about her, a mystique, a power, an indelible sense of other that Hermione found captivating. She could barely pull her attention away from her. Even now, she scanned the mass of Witches overhead and wondered where Serafina was among the throng.

The keen interest was only stirred further by Serafina's own curiosity regarding Hermione. For it turned out that the Witches had heard about her ... and had been expecting her arrival in the North.

"You've been waiting for me?" Hermione asked in her astonishment, as Serafina made the disclosure around the campfire on their first night on the ice.

"For quite some time," Serafina confirmed. "Ever since the arrival of Thomas Riddle, in fact."

"The Witch-Consul?" Hermione asked, confused. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Everything," Serafina whispered. "He is the trigger for all that is happening now, for all the evil that will happen, if we cannot prevent it. And, somehow, you have a key role to play in the events that are to come."

"Me? How?"

"This we do not know with absolute certainty," Serafina replied. "We Witches can see only so much. We feel things, suspect things and prepare accordingly. But the future is not written in stone, the details not etched and immutable. There are many ends that could be reached ... our only hope is to assist you in delivering the outcome that benefits us all."

"And how do you know I am even involved at all?" Hermione pressed.

"Many years ago, the details of a prophecy from another world were delivered to us by a man named Sirius Black," Serafina began.

"Bastard ... womanising bastard!" Lyra sniped bitterly.

"Quite," Serafina smiled. "Many of my clan also took him as their lover, Lyra. You were not the only heart he broke during his time here."