Minerva Golding and the Wand of Silver (Harry Potter Deconstruction)

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Rytelus said:
Poor Harry, the man was not giving enthusiastic consent! I dunno if Charlene is an exception for pushiness, but I shudder to think about what kind of peer pressure the boys will put him through if they think of his adventures as some sort of example. But then again, that rebellious streak may come in handy.
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it was very fun to, as part of my role as researcher on the story, inform Dragon that the middle class cultural expectation of 1930s England was that women, being largely emotional and irrational, are of course the ones who throw themselves at men, who are expected to stoically/meekly turn them down, rather than the reverse that we think of today as universal. I think it probably took him about two seconds before he decided that this meant obviously poor Harry would be the constant target of a legion of attractive women throwing themselves at him he simply would not be able to handle.

... okay, hold on, I need to do a rant.

So: Harry Potter is a fantasy, the chosen one, he's special; throwing pretty girls at him is, in the adult-oriented erotic fiction version of the story, just another sort of manifestation of the same pattern as the wizard school, vault of gold, special powers world, and it dovetails well with one of Harry's actually fairly well-defined characteristics, his modesty and desire for... well, the mundane. Harry never wanted all this, he never asked for it, he just wanted normal. What Harry needed wasn't to be whisked off to wizarding school, he needed to be adopted by somebody who cares and to have a stable home life for a few years and go to therapy. But the world will swing him back and forth between abject misery and power fantasy instead, both of which really only aggravate his trauma. We can address that directly in a way Rowling clearly couldn't.

What's more, here we get to see him from the outside, from the perspective of a person who runs face-first into the fucked-up parts of the magical world and decides she won't stand for it; Minerva is Hermione if the story didn't go out of its way to undermine her understandable reaction to injustice. In writing this, I just realized... Harry's JK Rowling's self-insert, right? Like we think it's Hermione, I think she thinks it's Hermione, but Harry's the one who escaped a traumatic home life to a wonderous world where he's famous and rich and everyone knows his name. It's so fucking telling he ended up a cop, and equally telling she's ended up tilting at windmills.

Hermione is, to be frank, too hatefully-written; I know that sounds insane because our view of Hermione is mostly tainted by the movies making her hyper-competent and giving her all of Ron's best traits, but... the patriarchical misogyny that characterizes Rowling's presentation of women throughout the stories, where women only really have worth as mothers and only when they're the right sort, affects her character too. It's constantly brought up that she's annoying and shrill and ugly, Ron and Harry are her friend basically out of pity half the time, her interests are treated as jokes and when she's the one fucking character to go like "hey wait a minute, why do we have fucking slavery?", the story swings out of its way to call her stupid, immature, and meddling for it.

Ron gets multiple arcs about his jealousy at always feeling second-best, but this frizzy-haired little nerdling carried the both of them on her fucking back for half the goddamn books and what she actually wants out of life beyond her grades never, ever comes up after SPEW. She exists to do all the preparation that Harry is too traumatized and Ron too distractable to do and to remind them what it says in Hogwarts A History. To be incredibly, unbelievably fucking cynical, it is very easy in light of Rowling's Recent Terminally Online Spiral to read Hermione's character arc as learning that for all her book smarts, she's Just Too Emotional for politics, so she better saddle up for the next four serious books where she's got to make her lives revolve around taking care of these poor stupid men! After she's had some kids, well, then she's a Mother, and might be worthy of something else in the stage play or whatever.

Rowling's not a feminist, she just couches patriarchical expectations in feminist language. Hermione kinda... is that. She's written as a Cool Girl Power character, using the language, but when you actually unpack what agency she's allowed to have and where she's allowed to be in the story, you realize that she's positioned in the kind of subordinate supporting role you'd get in a much more explicitly conservative work, just couched differently. She's bossy, you know.

I'm not the author on this, I'm just the researcher, but by fucking God, somebody's gotta do right by this little nerd, and I'll hold Dragon to it.
 
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open_sketch said:
it was very fun to, as part of my role as researcher on the story, inform Dragon that the middle class cultural expectation of 1930s England was that women, being largely emotional and irrational, are of course the ones who throw themselves at men, who are expected to stoically/meekly turn them down, rather than the reverse that we think of today as universal. I think it probably took him about two seconds before he decided that this meant obviously poor Harry would be the constant target of a legion of attractive women throwing themselves at him he simply would not be able to handle.

... okay, hold on, I need to do a rant.

So: Harry Potter is a fantasy, the chosen one, he's special; throwing pretty girls at him is, in the adult-oriented erotic fiction version of the story, just another sort of manifestation of the same pattern as the wizard school, vault of gold, special powers world, and it dovetails well with one of Harry's actually fairly well-defined characteristics, his modesty and desire for... well, the mundane. Harry never wanted all this, he never asked for it, he just wanted normal. What Harry needed wasn't to be whisked off to wizarding school, he needed to be adopted by somebody who cares and to have a stable home life for a few years and go to therapy. But the world will swing him back and forth between abject misery and power fantasy instead, both of which really only aggravate his trauma. We can address that directly in a way Rowling clearly couldn't.

What's more, here we get to see him from the outside, from the perspective of a person who runs face-first into the fucked-up parts of the magical world and decides she won't stand for it; Minerva is Hermione if the story didn't go out of its way to undermine her understandable reaction to injustice. In writing this, I just realized... Harry's JK Rowling's self-insert, right? Like we think it's Hermione, I think she thinks it's Hermione, but Harry's the one who escaped a traumatic home life to a wonderous world where he's famous and rich and everyone knows his name. It's so fucking telling he ended up a cop, and equally telling she's ended up tilting at windmills.

Hermione is, to be frank, too hatefully-written; I know that sounds insane because our view of Hermione is mostly tainted by the movies making her hyper-competent and giving her all of Ron's best traits, but... the patriarchical misogyny that characterizes Rowling's presentation of women throughout the stories, where women only really have worth as mothers and only when they're the right sort, affects her character too. It's constantly brought up that she's annoying and shrill and ugly, Ron and Harry are her friend basically out of pity half the time, her interests are treated as jokes and when she's the one fucking character to go like "hey wait a minute, why do we have fucking slavery?", the story swings out of its way to call her stupid, immature, and meddling for it.

Ron gets multiple arcs about his jealousy at always feeling second-best, but this frizzy-haired little nerdling carried the both of them on her fucking back for half the goddamn books and what she actually wants out of life beyond her grades never, ever comes up after SPEW. She exists to do all the preparation that Harry is too traumatized and Ron too distractable to do and to remind them what it says in Hogwarts A History. To be incredibly, unbelievably fucking cynical, it is very easy in light of Rowling's Recent Terminally Online Spiral to read Hermione's character arc as learning that for all her book smarts, she's Just Too Emotional for politics, so she better saddle up for the next four serious books where she's got to make her lives revolve around taking care of these poor stupid men! After she's had some kids, well, then she's a Mother, and might be worthy of something else in the stage play or whatever.

Rowling's not a feminist, she just couches patriarchical expectations in feminist language. Hermione kinda... is that. She's written as a Cool Girl Power character, using the language, but when you actually unpack what agency she's allowed to have and where she's allowed to be in the story, you realize that she's positioned in the kind of subordinate supporting role you'd get in a much more explicitly conservative work, just couched differently. She's bossy, you know.

I'm not the author on this, I'm just the researcher, but by fucking God, somebody's gotta do right by this little nerd, and I'll hold Dragon to it.
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This breakdown, and analysis like it (this video essay by Shaun, and Your Letter, the great short story Open_Sketch wrote a while back) just click and I feel gutted and ridiculous for not putting two and two together before. I'd like to think that the reason is because I was a kid when I read it but it's probably because I'm not so good at literary criticism.

This patriarchal/misogynist characterization is something that really irritates me in fan fiction especially. I can think of several works of fan fiction nominally about characters like Hermione that make the story about them explicitly in the premise… but then revert to a more or less patriarchal view of things, coming up with new ways to express the underlying issue. Laughably, sometimes by making the story literally revolve around the character's father.

The awareness of it is something that makes this story feel so good in comparison.
 
Have to say, I'm sort of fascinated that Minerva seems more troubled by the likelihood of being a lesbian than she is by the (apparently) equal or near-equal likelihood of being a monsterfucker.
 
Stardust&Scotch said:
Have to say, I'm sort of fascinated that Minerva seems more troubled by the likelihood of being a lesbian than she is by the (apparently) equal or near-equal likelihood of being a monsterfucker.
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society's rules about monsterfucking are much more distant and abstract, as they usually don't come up much!
 
I think Katrina will become... if not friends with Mr. Perry, amicable. Because she, like Minerva, is not throwing herself at him. And that's what he wants, he wants friends instead of sycophants.

Well, okay, at present Katrina is "barely-restrained murderous rage", but it honestly seems like Harry would consider that a step up from the usual interaction he has with girls.
 
DragonCobolt said:
"Well, I personally think if the Russians can get communism to work in this world, then it's all for the good. The Mundanes have, well, they've been more good to the wizarding world than I think a lot of people think," Harry said. "We use their trains, their telegrams, their radios, their penicillin and their vaccinations. I've spoken with healers, and they say that a spell that can do what a vaccination can do would take the greatest of their willworkers, and we can get it now for free because of mundane cleverness."
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Someone give this lad some theory to read!


Love the story so far, can't wait to see how it develops further!
 
Well, this is quite an interesting little tale we have going here.
I'm quite curious what "someone's gonna do right by this little nerd" means for this story. It's possible Minerva is a Hermione-analog (which I think is most likely), but it's possible we have someone else who is going to fill that role. Look, I'm not great at literary analysis.
Whatever, I'll just enjoy the ride and leave others to their theorizing.
 
Here are a few
DragonCobolt said:
He was shirtless, and held a rose in her hand.
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his hand

DragonCobolt said:
THe smell of cigarettes and pipe smoke was thick as hell.
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The

DragonCobolt said:
Minerva glanced about the room and saw the massive, obvious missing space where the ornate, beautiful, and ancient writing desk had sat.
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Minerva glanced about the room and saw the massive, obvious space where the missing ornate, beautiful, and ancient writing desk had sat.
(The space isn't missing, the desk is.)

DragonCobolt said:
One thing Minerva had to say, at least he wasn't in his actual Ars Magica getup - he was dressed rather similarly to his sister. Which seemed to be at least half the problem as she could see the way he looked her over and shook his head.
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Don't understand what is happening here? Maybe it's just me.

DragonCobolt said:
The house fae running around doing tasks that no one asked them too, food missing from the larder-"
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them to,
if you care to consider them.

DragonCobolt said:
It looked as if it had come from the 1960s, not the 1930s.
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This kind of broke my immersion, because I had to stop and consider the possibility of time-travel. Not a big thing, but since I personally have not much clue of the difference between 30s and 60s train engines (and wouldn't be surprised if a portion of your readers were deficient similarly), it may not add that much to your description.

10ebbor10 said:
In order to conscript wizards, the nations of the world had to provide them with wands to make them useful.
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My impression is wizards will already have wands, but of various types, and the military would prefer their conscripts to have a uniform weapon.
 
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AlpineBob said:
This kind of broke my immersion, because I had to stop and consider the possibility of time-travel. Not a big thing, but since I personally have not much clue of the difference between 30s and 60s train engines (and wouldn't be surprised if a portion of your readers were deficient similarly), it may not add that much to your description.
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The Hogwarts Express is from the 30's. The Astral Express sounds like a streamliner, which are...also from the 30's. No time travel necessary, just wizards stealing one of the hot new trains.
 
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Torgamous said:
The Hogwarts Express is from the 30's. The Astral Express sounds like a streamliner, which are...also from the 30's. No time travel necessary, just wizards stealing one of the hot new trains.
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Yeah, that's pretty much how I interpreted it. The main difference was that I didn't think of them stealing the locomotive, just using a similar design, but now that you mention it...

Anyway, for comparison, imagine it was someone looking at, say [searches around a bit for an example] this when it was brand new and thinking it looks like it came from 1999. Well, no, from a post-1999 perspective it looks very much more like a design from around 1959, but in 1959 it looks futuristic.
 
AlpineBob said:
This kind of broke my immersion, because I had to stop and consider the possibility of time-travel. Not a big thing, but since I personally have not much clue of the difference between 30s and 60s train engines (and wouldn't be surprised if a portion of your readers were deficient similarly), it may not add that much to your description.
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Torgamous said:
The Hogwarts Express is from the 30's. The Astral Express sounds like a streamliner, which are...also from the 30's. No time travel necessary, just wizards stealing one of the hot new trains.
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Reese said:
Yeah, that's pretty much how I interpreted it. The main difference was that I didn't think of them stealing the locomotive, just using a similar design, but now that you mention it...
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Well, it depends on how you define "stealing" - is encorcelling the people in charge of the management of England's trains to ensure that they have free access to a train along a track that only they use "stealing"?

Yes. Yes it is, they stole the train.
 
Chapter Six: The Trial and the Board
  • Threadmarks
    • The steam that rose up from the Astral Express stung in Minerva's nose as she stepped out into the shadow of Hexgramatica. She was further from it than she expected - the rail-line didn't seem to have gone straight to the castle, but rather had swept off and into a quaint village that was set at the bottom of the hill from the castle itself. The castle was dominated by a profusion of turreted towers that were connected into a complex webwork of walls that protected the outer areas of the castle and the inner. There was something decidedly workman like about what Minerva could see of the castle - gates and walls working together to cut down entrances and funnel any who entered into it into old killing fields.

    Hexgramatica looked, for all the world, as if it could have withstood every army thrown at it for centuries…and if it had been set on a modern battlefield, artillery would have knocked the whole thing flat in a half an hour.

    The village, though, was more homely. Cottages rose two, three stories along a mainstreet, with a collection of pubs, shops, and other town buildings that looked like they were there for the enjoyment of students alone. Minerva was a little disappointed at how ordinary it looked, until she saw that the second story of The Alliterative Alembic had a window cast open and a cheerful girl was waving down to the passing students, dressed in a very scanty looking shift which did quite a lot to present her assets to the whole world.

    That was almost as shocking as the fact she was emerald green and had ears the length of her shoulders.

    Minerva heard a boy, his voice not quite low enough to be missed, whispering to his friend. "There they are, the goblins of Underfae."

    Gina, who was walking beside Minerva, scoffed and shook her head. "Men are such pigs," She said, sighing as she brushed her fingers through her hair. Beside her, Katarina blew a kiss to the gobliness, who giggled and blew a kiss right back with such overt eagerness that Minerva felt scandalized all over again

    Scandalized and jealous…

    "W-What is this place?" Minerva asked as the crowd of students continued off the train, their luggage carried by burly stevedores - there were humans in that group, but also men with horns, centaurs, and one silvery unicorn who seemed to be in charge of everything by the way he prodded people with his horn to direct them hither and yon.

    "It's Underfae Upon Brocéliande," Gina said, shrugging. "It's some lake in France, but they pulled it into the Astral back in the…back in the…um…" She snapped her fingers. "In The Hundred Years War, I think?"

    "Ah," Minerva said, dazed. "And it's full of goblins?"

    "Who else would it be full of?" Gina asked. "But no, there's a lot of magical creatures that live in Underfae, they get paid by students, they can use the money in the mundane world once they're disguised." She smiled. "Come on! We should hurry, before all the carriages are taken." She took Minerva's hand and tugged her along, while Katarina started to light up a cigarette she took from her buttoned up shirt pocket. The acrid scent of her smoke followed after Minerva as she started to process the rest of what Gina had said - they had stolen the lake? From France? - before they came to a set of carriages that were arrayed before one of the stables.

    They were drawn by unicorns, their flanks bright, gleaming and beautiful beyond compare. Just seeing them made Minreva want to let loose with a girlish giggle. She managed to get past the awe: "W-Wait, the Hundred Year War? That was two centuries after the school was founded?"

    "Grounds change," Gina said, shrugging. "The railroad wasn't always here neither. Used to be, you had to fly across all of bloody England and Scotland and half the Astral to get here."

    Minerva's hand dropped to the purse where her broom waited. It rubbed against her fingers, clearly happy to be touched. Then Gina groaned as a voice called out: "Oi! Gina! Gina!" Minerva saw that a tall, sandy haired man who looked somewhat like a cross between Roland and a pencil was waving from one of the wagons. "Gina, get in here!"

    "It's my older brother, Parcival," Gina said, sighing.

    "Gina!" he called, more forcefully.

    "Go, I'll see you at the castle," Minerva said, and Gina gave her one more hug. Minerva forced herself to not look around for Katarina. She forced herself to not think about being in a close coach with Katarina sitting across from her. Or next to her. She stepped up to a wagon that seemed empty, then swung herself into the compartment, thumping down with a grunt - to find herself sitting across from a silver haired woman of intensely pale complexion who was wearing…precisely nothing above the waist. Her breasts, modest and perky, were fully on display and either she enjoyed body paint or her nipples were naturally silver.

    "Oy Gevalt!" Minerva exclaimed before she could stop herself.

    "Shhh!" The girl lifted her finger to her lips.

    They sat in silence, save for the faint sounds of conversation outside.

    "...a-are you…" Minerva started, quietly.

    "Shhhhhhhh…" The girl, this time, reached out, and placed her finger on Minerva's lip. Her fingertip was warm.

    Silence continued. Then the compartment door opened and a black haired fellow with blue eyes leaned in, smiling. "Oh hey, la-" He stopped, seeing the girl with her bared breast. His Scottish brogue made him stand out against the more posh, upper class sounding Londoners that made up the majority of the Hexgramatica student body. "...I'll take another one." He ducked back out again.

    "Drat," the girl said, slumping back. "I was sure it would work."

    "W-What would work?" Minerva asked.

    "It's just, I'm a virgin, I double checked with the unicorn," the girl said, shaking her head as she started to slide her blouse on, buttoning it up - without showing any sign she had remembered or even packed underclothes. "Oh, right, I was hoping to attract some wild fae. Maybe a redcap or an ettercap or selkie."

    "Why?" Minerva asked.

    "I always wanted to meet one that wasn't enslaved," the silver haired girl said. Then she frowned. "Sorry, I meant bound. People get so mad at me sometimes for that."

    "N-No, uh, you're right, it does seem rather like slavery," Minerva said, hesitantly.

    "Oh," the girl brightened. "My name is Selene. Selene Lunachild Sidereal. My mother conceived me during a full moon at Stonehenge, she wanted to inculcate celestial aspects. I don't think it quite worked, though, I've never become a wolf once."

    "I…see…" Minerva said, slowly. "Well, Selene, my name is Minerva Golding."

    "Minerva," Selene said, brightening. "That's the Roman name for Athena. We're like Greek siblings!" She smiled, warmly. "Golding, though, I haven't heard that as a wizard family's name. It sounds…" She furrowed her brow. "Jewish? That would explain the Yiddish." She smiled, even more warmly. "I've never met a Jewish woman before - some people say that you're a Christ killer, but that always seemed odd to me, the Romans were the ones who crucified him." She shrugged. "Anyway, I hope no one at school gives you a hard time. People usually give me a hard time."

    Minerva smiled, uncertainty. She was still not sure if this girl was having her on as a joke, or if this was just how she was. "Well, I won't give you a hard time," she said. "I was born among the mundanes - so, this is all…heh, this is all Greek to me!" She tried for a warmer smile.

    Selene's brow furrowed. She cocked her head. Then her eyes shone. "Ah! Hah!" She laughed. "Oh, that's lovely!" She turned around, then opened the front window of the coach. She leaned out, calling to…the unicorn, for all that Minerva could tell. "Silvermane, so, my new friend here, she said that she's from the mundane world, so, this is all like Greek to her, get it? Oh! Her name is Minerva!" She paused, then frowned as the unicorn whinnied. "Well, no, but in Greek, that would be Athena!"

    There was another whinny.

    Selene drew back - but even as she said the words, Minerva realized that she had understood the whinny.

    "Silvermane is asking if you're also a virgin birth," she said. "Like your namesake, leaping from your father's head?"

    "I am not and have not!" Minerva said, frowning seriously.

    Another whinny.

    "I will not be sassed by a…a unicorn on my first day!" Minerva said, huffing even as she laughed. The whole stagecoach lurched, then, as Silvermane and the other unicorns started forward. The rumble and creak of the wheels was almost overpowering - but then Selene shut the window and turned back to smile warmly at Minerva.

    "Silvermane likes you," she said. "I can tell. I always liked unicorns."

    "A-Are all kinds of magical creatures real? What about dragons?" Minerva asked.

    Selene nodded. "There's a rumor that one of the Blyhtes eloped with a dragon. Very scandalous."

    "Oh!" Minerva's eyebrows shot up. Then she shook her head. "I-I shouldn't pry."

    "Why?" Selene asked.

    "It's rude to pry," Minerva said, realizing that…perhaps this girl, having been raised by the kind of mother who would give a child a lunar name in hopes of creating a…a what? A werewolf? Well, she supposed that kind of parent might not have taught her the ins and outs of polite society. And even Minerva knew the basics.

    "Oh," Selene said. "How annoying. It's ever so much fun." Her smile grew whimsical. The stagecoach tilted slightly as they started to head up the hill and both girls moved to the window, peering out and watching as the castle grew closer and closer. Someone was waiting out by the castle gates, and Selene let out an excited squeal as she pressed her face so firmly against the glass that Minerva had no chance to see what had her so entranced. "She really is!" She exclaimed.

    "Who is really what?" Minerva asked.

    "Well, I-" Selene started, but then the coach came to a stop, and Silvermane let an imperious whinny that echo into the cabin. Minerva opened her door, figuring that she'd see what had gotten Selene so excited. She stepped out and froze, her eyes wide, as she saw that she was one of the first students from the carriages, and thus, was the first one in the sights of the professor who was waiting for her.

    To her utter and complete shock, the professor was not a man.

    In fact, the professor did not seem to be entirely human.

    She was a tall and elegant woman who stood as straight as if she had been etched by a ruler, with hair graying to magnificent silver tied into a severe ponytail behind her. Her face was delicately lined by worry and frowns, adding to her harsh expression. Her eyes were a luminous gold and green, mismatched and slitted like that of a cat - while her brow was partially concealed by a sweeping broad brimmed hat which had a pair of holes cut in the middle of the brim to allow a pair of tawny cat-ears to peek forth and twitch. The golden fur of the ears was also threaded slightly with gray, as if she was aging all as a piece. Despite the age, though, there was beauty and strictness and a faint frown that made Minerva feel like she was in primary school again. The woman was dressed in flowing robes of black cut, with a green scarf and a green pin upon her breast of a rampant lion.

    "Welcome to Hexgramatica," the woman said. "Assemble, please." She gestured before herself with a wand - and her wand tip glowed. WIthout a single word being said, a red carpet appeared and unfurled, leading the way straight to the front gates. Minerva walked forward, hesitantly. The woman's voice grew firm. "Assemble in good time, if you kindly?"

    Minerva's cheeks heated and she hurried to respond to the professor's voice. A shiver ran along her spine and she ducked her head forward as she stepped into the line, with Selene walking up behind her - other students beginning to fill in.

    "Look up," the professor's voice did not snap, and yet, still held enough command in it to jerk Minerva's chin right upwards. She tried to look back with cool bravery, but the woman exuded such intense prowess that it was hard to not feel one's knees knocking. "I don't recognize your face from the newspapers, nor do I see a family crest. Your name, girl?"

    Minerva's cheeks flushed. "Mine…Minerva Golding," she said.

    The professor arched an eyebrow. "Minerva Golding. And your wizarding family?"

    Minerva's throat felt dry. "S-Schross-Sableknight."

    "Ah, one of Maximillian's conquests," the woman said, frowning at her. "Well. I am the Head of Evocations and of House Glintfaire, Professor Stevenson, you may refer to me as Ma'am."

    "Y-Yes Ma'am!" Minerva said.

    Once the students had been assembled, Professor Stevenson began to pace before them, her voice pitched to carry. "Welcome, one and all, to Hexgramatica. For the past fifteen years, we have been accepting females to the college grounds, which has led to us needing to enact new rules, rules that will now be iterated for you as a group. Firstly, female and male dormitories are separated by a spell - any male or any female who attempts to enter the incorrect room will be…ejected." Her lips quirked faintly. "Secondly, any sign of inappropriate inter-student fraternization shall be punished to the fullest extent of our capabilities and, I hasten to inform you, our capabilities extend further than you can imagine." She turned on her heel, pacing back the other way. "And thirdly, females are not allowed on Underfae's grounds until three months have passed and we are sure you can control yourself while not under supervision."

    She turned, then, hearing something, and frowned right at…

    Of course.

    Right at Katarina.

    "Is this amusing to you, Miss Wolfe?" Professor Stevenson asked. Her voice was cold enough to heat Minerva's cheeks and make her glance over to see if Katarina was taking this seriously. To her shock, Katarina actually backed down.

    "No, Ma'am."

    "Very good," she said. "You have all had a long day's travel through the astral, a banquet is being prepared and the Headmaster will have a few words before your Trials." She turned on her heel again and began to walk forward, her high heels clicking and her hips swaying.

    "She's a fire breather all right," Selene said, then sighed. "I wish I was like her."

    "O-Old and crotchety?" Minerva whispered as she tore her eyes away from Professor Stevenson's rump.

    "A Wilder Girl!" Selene said, her voice pitched low. "During the War, they had to make a tearing number of magical weapons and munitions for the big fights, since they burned so much of it up. She must have been working in the munition factories, since, well, ladies have smaller fingers and all. The exposure to the alchemical reagents changes people, she changed so she had those ears and that tail!" She clutched her hands to her chest as they walked through the front gate and under ominously dark murder holes that stretched over the entryway. Minerva tried to not think of pikemen and crushing rocks.

    "You want to have a magical contagion like that?" Minerva asked.

    "Yes," Selene said. "I hope for wolf ears and a tail. Maybe enhanced senses."

    Professor Stevenson glanced back and gave Selene a severe look.

    "She heard me!" Selene sounded delighted.

    They came into a large courtyard that seemed significantly larger than the narrow walls had indicated - something that didn't even provoke a shocked look from Minerva at this point - and towards a large feast hall that was made of stone and carved wood in the center of the castle, right before the towering keep that made up the heart of Hexgramatica. Minerva did notice that the clearing within the center of the place did have some side areas - she spotted what looked like an archery range, a pair of doors that led into the walls, where a fae carrying a large bubbling pot ducked into darkness. Then she was in the feasthall itself, which was lit by dozens, if not hundreds, of floating candles that flickered and glowed and cast their warm light across tables that were already thronging with students. The students were dressed in various house colors, and stood at attention, quietly, waiting for everyone else to arrive. They ranged in age from only a year older to nearly on the cusp of their thirties, as far as Minerva could tell.

    The far end of the room had a tall table. Sitting there were the…well, the professors.

    They…

    They were not what she had expected.

    At the farthest end of the table was a lantern jawed man with black hair and smoldering eyes, who had features that Mienrva once would have described as 'being from hewn stone' but these days such a description would be all too literal rather than figurative. His face had been marred by a triple ranked scar across his face - a claw swipe that had nearly taken out one of his eyes and left a notch in his lips. His left hand appeared to be only…half there. It was like a limb made of smoked glass, glittering and translucent.

    Next to him was a woman who appeared to be cast entirely in colors of silver and chalk white. Her skin was white, her hair was silver, her eyes were pale white without pupils to show where she looked. Her clothing, too, was impossibly old fashioned, in a flowing dress that rippled around her body as if she was in some kind of a constant low level breeze. When she shifted, Minerva realized she could see hints of the chair behind her through her face and neck.

    Next to her was an empty space, claimed within a few moments by Professor Stevenson.

    Next to Stevenson was a fellow who seemed to be short and stout as a barrel, his face bristling with a heavy beard that curled and snarled in the air like it itself was carved out of solid stone. His eyebrows were bushy and his eyes were flint gray. His arms were bared and covered in glowing tattoos of intricate and clearly arcane design.

    Next to him? In the heart of the table was the most devastatingly beautiful man that Minerva had ever seen in her life; it was strangely assuring. His skin was cherry red, his eyes were smoldering black pits with red dots for irises, and a spade tipped tail twitched behind him. He was lean and strong and had a wicked smile - even as he whispered something to his right, to the woman there. She was raven black in coloration and…pumage. Her hair was ruffed with feathers and her eyes were gold and her features were concealed by a small shawl that wrapped around her lower jaw. She laughed at whatever the devilish man had whispered to her.

    The last two at the table, occupying the right side, was a gangly, skinny man who looked to be barely older than some of the students, who wore a complex apparatus on his head made of gearing and clockwork, holding several glowing lenses before eyes that seemed to be more empty pit than flesh and blood. When he turned his head to his partner at the right corner, Minerva saw clearly that her first impression was, indeed, true and that his eyes looked like some brutal man had hacked at it with a small ax, leaving behind nothing but ruin.

    The eyeless man's comrade was the most normal of the lot, with sandy brown hair, a warm smile, freckles, and a strong jaw. The only thing that made Minerva arch an eyebrow was that he had…a crutch precisely like Petunia's leaning against the wall behind him. She wondered at what injury lurked beneath the table.

    Minerva and the other unsorted took the only table that had open seats, and before they took their seats, the devilish man stood. "Welcome," he said, his voice melodious - like a set of chimes. "I'm sure you're all quite tired from your long trip, and so, I will be brief."

    He took a seat once more and the entire place burst into quiet laughter, students sitting down as fae emerged, bearing with them food on trays.

    "Who is he?" Minerva whispered to Selene.

    "Oh," Selene said. "He's the Headmaster."

    "Yes, but-" Minerva cut herself off, then realized with some relief that Gina had managed to squeak close to her and sat merely one seat away from her. Then that relief became mild mortification as the boy in that seat, frowning, was ousted from his chair by Gina, who beamed at Minerva as she claimed the seat.

    "Hey!" she said, happily.

    "Who is the headmaster!?" Minerva whispered.

    "Oh him?" Gina asked, then laughed. "Right, I forgot, you don't know. He's Headmaster Merlin. Now! Let's dig in!"

    The food was delicious, but the sight of the house fae bringing them in, not to mention knowing that her Trial was ahead of her, made Minerva feel as if every bite was like ashes. If she hadn't been so damn hungry, she might have nibbled, but instead, she managed to pack it away.

    As she ate, conversation flew back and forth, with laughter and the occasional cry of 'hear hear' from every table. The only disturbance that drew her attention away from her plate was when a male voice, high and shrill, exclaimed.

    "You take that back!"

    "Oh, it was just a joke, Perkins."

    The first male who had spoken was from the Purple and Gold clad Harrierette House table, and he was standing, glaring at his companion. He was thin, with a beaky nose and a nervous temperament. His opponent looked as powerfully built as someone who should step onto the gridiron, not sitting in house robes. He was rolling a scone back and forth across the dish, while everyone silenced and craned their heads. The teachers were frowning, but Merlin had lifted one hand - as if allowing this to continue for a moment.

    "I've had enough of your…your…your intimations!" Perkins spluttered.

    "I just said that if Bigsly here needed a loan…" The scone-man said, smirking cruelly.

    Perkins' entire face went red as he realized just how much attention he was getting. "Lionel, I…I…"

    "Yes, Perkins?" The more assured boy asked. "What is it, Perkins?"

    "...nothing, I retract my statement," Perkins said, his voice stiff. Something that Minerva hadn't seen had passed between them. He took a seat.

    "That's Perkin Cadfell-Mallard," Gina whispered to Minerva. "And I think that's Lionel Gawain."

    "He seems like a bit of a prig," Minerva muttered. "What do you think he was needling Perkins about?"

    "Oh, it's nothing serious," The boy that Gina had displaced asked. He was the same boy, Minerva noticed, that had retreated from Selene's oddness. "Perkin's family has taken on some poor buggers fleeing the continent, you see, Jewish wizards if you can believe it, and everyone suspects there's a family connection, right? Can someone pass the salt?"

    "Oh!" Selene said, brightly. "Minerva's a Jew too!"

    Everyone looked at her. Minerva, who was buttering her own bread, didn't change facial expressions at all. The awkward stillness continued for a beat, before the black haired boy coughed.

    "N-Not that…well, there's nothing…I mean, you're also a Schross-Sableknight, right?" he asked. "I'm Sean, by the way."

    "A pleasure," Minerva said, her voice dry.

    The conversation seemed to have hit a rock at that point. Well, for everyone but Selene, who seemed to be utterly transfixed with regaling Minerva with everything she had ever learned about the mystical mutations that could be inflicted on someone for working in a factory. It was as if Selene had devoured book on book on book on the subject and found it all endlessly fascinating, and spoke about it with such frank and eager earnestness that Minerva felt rather like interrupting her would be akin to kicking a puppy. Gina did manage to find a place to say, in the edges: "Cor, and they made ladies do this?"

    "Well, it was a war against the Germans," Selene said, cheerfully. "We had to…to…"

    She frowned.

    "Why did we fight the War of Shadows again?"

    "W-Well, an Archduke of Austria was blown up by a Serb," Minerva said. "And we were allies with Belgium and, well, the Germans invaded France through Belgium."

    "Yes, but why did we wizards get involved?" Selene asked, cocking her head to the side, her brow furrowing. "That was the part I never did understand, since my father died during the war."

    "Oh…I'm sorry," Minerva said, quietly.

    "It's okay," Selene said. "I was too young to remember it. Also, mother had to raise his shade to have me in the first place."

    Gina choked on her wine. "Selene!" she exclaimed. "You can't talk about that kind of thing at the dinner table!"

    After the meals were removed and everyone started to stand up, Gina whispered to Minerva. "Do you think that Selena's touched in the head because she's half a ghost?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

    "No…" Minerva said, firmly. "I've met girls just like her back in the mundane world. They're just…" She considered her options. "They're just like that."

    ***​

    Minerva was not the first called to the trials - she actually saw Katarina go ahead of her, the blond, buff girl flashing her a wicked grin, followed by a half-dozen other students. It seemed to take somewhere between a few minutes and, at one point, nearly half an hour, to process each one. But she was not the last.

    "Minerva Schross-Sableknight," a school official who hadn't been on the table at the front of the feasthall called out over the waiting room where students whiled away their time before the test. It was a barren stone room with nothing but an out of place grandfather clock that ticked and tocked while men and women sat about, conversing quietly, and waiting for their name to be called by the same orderly.

    Minerva stood, caught Gina's eye, and saw Gina giving her a cheerful smile and thumbs up. Next to her, Selene clapped her hands and smiled at her. It seemed she had well wishers at least. Minerva followed the orderly through a narrow corridor that grew increasingly cold and chilly. Minerva felt the cold seeping into her bones as the orderly reached a door that led into a stairwell that seemed to go straight into the earth.

    "You will walk down to the Trial Temporalus," the orderly said. "In the antechamber, remove your clothing. Afterwards, you will be given something for modesty. Then, you will complete the trial before the professors. Remember everything, trust nothing and…" His lips quirked slightly. "Good luck."

    Minerva gulped.

    She started down the stairs. They curved sharply around a pillar in the center of the construction, with guttering, flickering torches in sconces. Each one she passed made her feel as if she was going deeper into some dark, forgotten past. The chill made her breath fog into the air and she continued down and down. She lost count of the steps she had made, and lost count of the flickering torches. She simply continued down, winding around and around and around…

    After an eternity, she came to a roughly hewn corridor that seemed more natural than artificial, widening away from the final step and the final torch. Silvery light drew her forward. The air was so cold that she felt as if she could touch it with her fingers, feeling it tingle along her nose, her throat. Her fingers worked at the collar of her blouse as she came to the source of the light and saw that there was a vast, swirling pool of silvery liquid. Looking down at it, she saw glints. Flashes. She could see her own reflection in it…but in one second, her reflection was…

    Well…

    It changed.

    The water rippled. There she was, her hair shorter and curlier, her lips skinned back in a cheerful smile, her teeth glittering with the awful dental contraption she had worn in her youth. Then, it rippled once more and now, she saw herself. She looked as she did now, her face smeared with black char. She held something in her hand and leaned against a wall. Something puffed from the wall, an explosion of plaster, and she jerked away from the impact, then stepped around, hefting the-

    Ripple.

    She saw herself, laying back in a bed, beaconing someone, something forward.

    Ripple.

    She saw a baby, squalling and screaming. Faintly, she heard a shushing voice. Soft. Feminine. "Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, ha-gomel l'chayavim tovot she-g'malani kol tov…" Minerva frowned, the words…familiar. They were a prayer, but she hadn't heard it often. It sounded like someone calling out for good health - or thanking God for good health. Then, she heard a soft shshing. The baby quieted and the same voice murmured. "My little Minerva. Shh."

    "M…Mama…" Minerva whispered.

    She…

    She couldn't remember her mother's voice.

    The water rippled. An image of her, sitting bored in the underground.

    Minerva squared her shoulders. She took hold of her blouse, then tugged it off her body. Her skirts followed. The cold bit even more. She shivered, breathed in, then leaped into the pool with a splash.

    Warmth and silver light surrounded her.

    ***​

    Minerva has a string of intense, sexually charged visions hinting at the future: Bondage in a library, saved from a pack of hounds by a trans werewolf, making love to a woman made of fire and wood. Then, a final vision of a two-faced king and a city under siege by an endless army of winged dragons.
    In the silvery forest, Minerva ran. Her feet pounded as she sprinted, her red cape fluttering behind her. She thumped into a tree, clutched it, panting. Behind her, she could hear growling and snarling. Paws thumped along the ground and when she looked back, she saw the hounds. They were wrong shaped and when they spoke, they spoke in nonsense words - their elongated snouts opening and gnashing as they let rushed after her. They fanned out, and their collars glittered with red and black and gold.

    Minerva had to keep running. Her cloak tore, leaving behind red ribbons. And still, the hounds chased.

    She came into a clearing.

    Tripped.

    Skidded.

    Then the hounds were on her, growling as they advanced, fanning outwards. One of them leaped - before a clawed hand lashed out of nowhere. Bitter black clawtips bit into the misshapen head and the hound had enough time to whine piteously before the palm bore down and the entire head burst into red ruin as the arm that came after the hand shoved. The figure that stepped between Minerva and the hounds stepped forward, snarling, growling.

    "Away. She's mine."

    Minerva's skin prickled and she scrambled backwards. The wolf…the woman that stood before her was impossibly large. Her shoulders seemed as broad as a house, her muscles strong. She was somewhere between man and beast, her snout long, her eyes golden. Fur bristled along her entire body, including her full bared breasts. Her nipples jutted, and her thighs showed a sheath and a bright red prick that thrust from it. Minerva whimpered and whispered. "I don't…I-"

    The silvery paw that cupped her cheek was oh so gentle.

    "But you do," the wolf-woman crooned. "Come." She cradled Minerva's head, then pushed her forward. Minerva's mouth opened and she tasted a feminine cock, thick, bestial and inhuman. Her tongue pressed against the thick glans that teased against her, then she leaned forward, unable to stop herself as the wolf-woman stood proudly before her. Her paw petted along Minerva's head as Minerva took more and more of her thick cock between her lips. Her hand reached up, finding the heavy balls of the wolf-woman. Furred and full of cum. Minerva's eyes half closed and the wolf-woman chuckled.

    "Mine I said," she growled. "Mine I meant."

    Her paws gripped to either side of Minerva's head and Minerva simply accepted what was going to come next.

    The wolf-woman threw her head back, howling as with lustful need as she began to buck her hips, her cock thrusting down Minerva's throat again and again and again, making Minerva choke and tremble with pleasure. Her toes curled and her eyes rolled back as she was taken in this rough, fierce way, the woman panting and snarling as her heavy balls clapped against Minerva's chin again and again and again.

    When she howled again, it was a higher note.

    And Minerva drank.

    And drank.

    And     drank.

    When she drew her mouth back, she panted - and opened her eyes as she saw that she was no longer in the forest. Her arms were bound behind her back, tied fast by leather straps that glittered with gold buckles. Her mouth was closed, now, fastened shut by another binding around her mouth, around her throat. The leather bit gently, pleasantly. Her eyes fluttered shut as she wriggled, and felt that her thighs were bound as well, ankles together. She was entirely encased in leather straps, and each little wriggle and squirm she made made the bindings clink and jingle slightly.

    Then…she felt something jerk upon her back. She swayed and weightlessness tore at her. Her eyes opened and she looked around wildly. Muffled cries came from her gagged mouth as she realized that her bindings had been hooked to iron chains. She hung in the air in a foundry of steel and heat. Flowing metal dribbled along lines while indistinct figures worked with immense hammers. The clang and clamor of the work filled her ears, while a crucible swayed by overhead.

    It posed over her as she felt a finger of ice cold confidence crawl along her rump, teasing her through the leather. A crooning voice - as commanding as the wolf-woman's - purred to her. "Ah, my little silver one. What a mold you make. See?"

    Fingers, firm and fierce, gripped her chin and jerked her head around. She saw the crucible pouring and the mold was filled. Steam hissed and the other hand - she could just barely catch the glimpse of golden fingers and an articulated, mechanical hand - plucked from the mold a book of leather binding and pages.

    "Smell it."

    The figure pressed the book to Minerva's nose, while her other hand held Minerva's head, forcing her to inhale it.

    The smell of the book - the fresh paper, the ink, the leather - made Minerva…

    Wet.

    So fucking wet.

    "Smell it, little slut," the golden woman crooned. "Fucking whore. You'll do anything for this, wouldn't you?"

    Minerva, muffled, tried to say yes. Oh god yes. She would.

    A golden finger undid a single binding and yanked. Her mouth opened and her tongue lolled out. She drooled, almost desperately, onto the book's cover. Her tongue flicked, but before she could taste the book, as she wanted, the golden hand withdrew it. "Say please, little whore. Little filthy witch whore."

    "P-Please…" Minerva croaked.

    "Please what?" The golden figure chuckled.

    "Please let me…let me…let me lick it," Minerva panted.

    The book opened. From her perspective, the pages were like a woman's thighs falling open. The words glowed with promise. Minerva whimpered. She leaned forward, craning her head, her tongue. The ache of effort in her jaw was intense. She licked and tasted the words and knew them. The knowledge was blindingly blissful. Then the book closed and the golden figure laughed.

    "Beg more."

    "Please! Pleeeeease!" Minerva writhed in the bindings and the restraints. "Please, I'll do-" She strained. "Anything!" She strained…and the leather straps broke. And she fell. Fell. Fell into the crucible, boiling and bubbling. The molten metal swept around her, warm and comforting. Minerva writhed, kicked, then swam upwards. Her head burst from warm water and she dragged herself onto a stone island that jutted in an underground cave. A fire burned before her.

    Sitting within the fire was a woman. Her whole form was made of the parts of the fire. Wooden thighs. Charcoal breasts. Glittering sparks for eyes. Hair of flaming red, sparks weaving off of it. She giggled quietly. "Two for two, Minerva," she purred. "How predictable…" She crooked her finger. "Well, come on now."

    Minerva, though, was feeling ragged and raw and tensed and eager and pushed. So.

    She pushed back.

    The fire woman squeaked as she was pinned onto her back, sparks flying as Minerva realized her hands had become silver and articulated, as if she was a doll made of pale machinery and glittering promise. Her fingers tightened and the fire girl gasped in shock…and eagerness. This time, it was Minerva who growled. Minerva who     snarled. "Little fire bitch spread your fucking legs!" She took the fire woman roughly with her fingers, pressing her hands back above her head, the fire hot but not burning her. She knew she was wanted by the way wooden legs and coal-bright knees spread, how flaming ankles hooked almost behind her neck.

    Oh how sweetly she moaned.

    "Yes! Yes!" Her hips bucked as Minerva's fingers curved inside her, fierce. Hard. Feral. She growled and her claws dug into the fire woman's breast, drawing forth a glittering scatter of sparks that hissed and bounced off her. Smoke wreathed and she came, embers forming into stars that shone like gemstones overhead. She stood in an alleyway then, still nude and silver and with fire clinging to her hand. She panted as the stars became blotted out here and there by dark shapes.

    Whistling screams split the air and a roar of fire and hate burst to her left. But she felt no fear. She walked forward and came to the middle of the city, where a throne on a plinth of glittering white skulls was surrounded by black faced mannequins. They carried rifles and bloodied bayonets. On the throne, a lounging figure sat. He was wreathed in silver and gold, richly decorated in gemstone necklaces. A cracked crown sat upon his head, and yet, he wore a pair of masks that seemed to neither suit his face. One was a stern, bearded man. The other, feminine and light, with warm lips.

    With each step she took, Minerva saw the figure     shift slightly - feminine curves appearing and vanishing.

    "Well, then. This is what you wanted," the Two Faced King said, gesturing around himself. Bright lights stabbed upwards and dragons flew in the air above London. Screams whistled and roaring flashes came, thither and yon. Minerva lifted her hand. "This is what you always wanted, wasn't it? For us to fight?"

    The dragons roared.

    "Tell me, Minerva. Tell me what to do!" The Two Faced King stood. She…he…walked down the throne towards her, and with each step, they grew smaller and smaller. A scared child grabbed at her thighs, tugging at her, burying the two masks against her as they sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. "I don't know what to do! Tell me what to do!"

    Minerva took the Two Faced King in her hands and lifted them up, whispering quietly. "You fight, King."

    ***​

    Minerva emerged from the silvery water. The room was warm. She felt at peace. Focused. She drew herself up and out and sighed as the silver dripped from her hard nipples and her fingertips. A house fae stood, quietly, to the side, with a towel and a white robe. He held the first to her, then the second once she had dried. Minerva gulped slightly as she started up the stairs - but rather than needing to climb the endless stairs, she simply found that the exit out of the silvery room was a door, which opened directly into an office with windows that clearly showed she was on one of the towers.

    The impossibility she could ignore.

    The desk across from her had the Headmaster and the head teachers at it. The Headmaster smiled. "Hello, Miss Sableknight," he said, spade-tipped tail twitching like a cat. "Welcome, come in. Your trial is over - you have been shown images of your fate. Or, at least, a spread of possibilities - some are contradictory, some are never to be, some are…" His lips quirked. "Merely metaphors."
    He rapped his knuckles on the desk. "Take a seat and tell us what you've seen."

    A chair sat before the desk.

    Minerva gulped. She took a seat. Her cheeks immediately started to turn red.

    Professor Stevenson saved her. "My Trial Temporalus," she said, her voice dry. "Was exceedingly graphic. You may speak around any images you consider…explicit. It is, well, it is an important part of the process."

    Minerva lifted her chin. She remembered the broom she had stolen. She remembered what she had said when she had decided it: Fuck Wizards. She was going to be looked down on, she was going to be judged, she was going to be dissected. So.

    Fuck them. She wouldn't be afraid.

    "In the first image, I was chased by hounds," she said, firmly. The lantern jawed, scarred fellow who was missing a hand lifted his good hand.

    "Professor Stengrad here: Hounds or wolves?" He asked.

    "Hounds," she said, utterly confident. "Hunting hounds. They wore collars of red and gold and black."

    "Interesting," Stengrad said. "Collared hounds indicate civilization, a hostile one. A wizarding woman forced to live in the Mundane, surrounded by enemies, hunted by those that would destroy us, eh?"

    Minerva, who was thinking of the black swastika on red fields of the fascist, and of the feeling of Europe in this day and age, arched an eyebrow. "It may be," she said, simply.

    "Professor Tonks here," the dwarven man with glowing tattoos started up. He was holding a notepad in his hand. "Did you fight back against the Hounds? Resist? Run away?"

    "I ran," Minerva said. "Then a protector stepped between me. She was.." She considered. "A werewolf."

    Stengrad frowned. It seemed that he was the most expert in the field of hounds and such. Or maybe just the most interesting. "How did you know she was a werewolf? Did she bear a lycanthrope's badge or hat or-"

    "She was seven feet tall, covered in fur, and had breasts the size of my head," Minerva said, her voice flat. It was getting oddly easy to feel detached, even as her innermost images were being dissected by eight strangers. "I think that was my first clue."

    Stevenson actually quirked her lips in a faint smile. Her amused eyes met Minerva's and she gave her a very subtle smile. Minerva wondered at that. Did she think that she was helping Minerva? That this absurd examination was somehow…proper? She didn't know.

    "What did the protector do?" Stengrad asked, curiously.

    "Well, she killed one of the hounds. The rest fled. Then she…claimed me," Minerva said, her voice growing a bit pinched as she forced herself to cling to her detachment.

    "How?" Stengrad asked. "Collar-"

    "N-no," Minerva said, began. "A… um… It…" The fantasy of simply being frank, direct, brave faltered against the reality of it. "We had… she, we had intercourse."

    "Intercourse? He had a penis?"

    "… s-she, I'm certain." Minerva corrected.

    "A hermaphroditic werewolf, interesting!" The ghostly woman said. "Oh, ah, Mrs. Fairbrook Leeds." She gestured to herself and Minerva did wonder why she didn't get to call herself professor. "The sexual congress is a clear sign of submission to a higher authority, but confused - the feminine aspect…a significant number of Ravelorexu members do go into noviciate sanctums and nunneries. Think that might be it?"

    Minerva opened her mouth. "A nunner-"

    "Silence," the raven haired and raven feathered woman said, her veil rippling with her voice. "Students do not interpret."

    Minerva closed her mouth, fuming.

    "Was that the end of this vision?" Stevenson asked, her voice dry.

    "Yes," Minerva said. "The next, I was restrained by leather harnesses. My arms were bound behind my back. I was suspended on chains. I was in a…a foundry. But instead of forging metal or swords, they were forging books."

    "Interesting," the eyeless man said. "Professor Harlington Tweed here, did you see the books? Or the workers?"

    "I didn't see any distinction for the workers, but…only one book was shown me," Minerva said. "A golden woman insulted me - called me a whore, a witch-"

    "A witch?" Stevenson asked, her voice firm. "Did she call you a witch whore?"

    "And a little slut," Minerva said. Her voice was dry. But did…

    Did she notice a faint flush on Professor Stevenson's face?

    "Professor Stevenson, do you recognize this symbolism?" Professor Tweed asked. "I've never seen anything like it."

    "I believe the bindings and the metalworking both combine to indicate she is ill favored for Glintfaire," Professor Stevenson said, her voice flat and harsh. Minerva felt like she had been slapped. She looked aside.

    "The golden figure," she said, quietly. "She made me submit to her book. She pressed my face against it, as if it were a prize."

    "Interesting. Submission to knowledge…" Tweed said, quietly. "That's a very interesting symbol, isn't it Professor Ravenwood?"

    "It is," the raven haired woman said, her eyes narrowing behind her veil. "Did you lick it?"

    "D-Did I…" Minerva stammered. "Y-Yes. I licked the book."

    "Tasting of the ink," Ravenwood said. "Agreed, Professor Green?"

    The sandy haired man with the crutch, the most normal of the group, who had been quietly taking notes the whole time, nodded and grunted softly. "Did the book taste good or foul?"

    "Good," Minerva said, without hesitation.

    "Damn it," Ravenwood grumbled.

    "The readings are clear enough on that one - now, tell us of the third," Merlin said, quietly.

    "It was simple enough," Minerva said. "I was dropped into a cauldron of metal from the leather bindings. That is, I tore my way out of them." This produced soft murmuring and, to her confusion, a growl of anger from Ravenwood. Minerva felt pricking pain at the corners of her eyes. Detachment. Detachment. She would not let them win. She lifted her chin. "I swam out of the metal and emerged from water."

    "Interesting, metal and water, that's fire and water but at a slant," Professor Tweed said, reaching up and adjusting his goggles with a click and a whirr. "Are you a lesbian, Miss Schross-Sableknight?"

    Minerva almost lost control then. She bit the words out. "No," she said, her voice growing together. Detached. Detached. Don't let them win. Don't let them…

    "What lovers have you had?" Tweed asked, curiously. "Maybe one of them was a homosexual and it impacted your aura?"

    "N…None," she said, her voice cracking. She lifted her chin, and knew her cheeks were burning.

    This caused the entire table to sit up. Professor Stengrad's eyes were wide. "You're a virgin?" he asked.

    "Hymen intact?" Tweed added, not even showing a blanch at that kind of question.

    "Gentlemen!" Stevenson barked. "That is irrelevant to the Trial."

    Minerva had never before felt so humiliated in her life. She ducked her head forward and, raggedly, she managed to get out. "T-To…the best of…my knowledge."

    "It is entirely relevant," Stengrad said, while Stevenson glared at him. He lifted up his spectral hand, ticking off the half-there fingers, one by one. "The lust for knowledge, the foregoing male touch for feminine, the submission to the book, the leather bindings and the freedom from it. These are all the low cunning and questing knowledge without higher aspirations that make her perfectly suited for House Sildanus."

    House Sildanus. The same house that Katarina wore the badge of so proudly. Who's reputation was black for reasons that remained unclear to Minerva thus far. Minerva started to cry. Tears beaded and welled, fury and shame struggling against one another. She ducked her head forward.

    "You did not finish the last image," Merlin said. His voice was gentle.

    That made it so much worse.

    Minerva sobbed, then held up her hand. She tried to compose herself. Her hand went to her mouth. She breathed in. She shuddered and spoke. "T-There was a woman made of fire a-and…and I…" She sniffed. "And we…I made…" She made a gesture.

    "Ah, latent lesbianism, I suspected as much," Tweed said, clapping his hands. "It's irregular, but not illegal. We do all have our burdens, and we expect you to be able to resist any… ahem… urges. Consider it a warning. Now, are we agreed?"

    "Sildanus," Stevenson said, her voice soft.

    "Sildanus," Tonks said, his voice a rumbling burr.

    The others nodded - all save for Professor Ravenwood, who glowered. "Ah hell," she said. "You're putting a penniless Schross-Scableknight into my House. I always get the damn dregs."

    "Such is the breaks!" Professor Green said, spreading his hands.

    "Uh, I wasn't done?" Minerva said, her voice a quaver.

    "The Trials only show you three images," Merlin said, his voice gentle.

    Minerva blinked at him. At the utter certainty in his voice. The gentleness in those red and black eyes. He looked so calm. So sure. His smile was gentle. "You've been through a lot - this trial is…trying for everyone," he said, quietly. "But you have been placed as an honored member of House Sildanus." He waved his and, speaking: "Carrien So Haater." His wand flicked and robes appeared before him - the robes that Minerva had purchased from the tailor. The robes glittered and the colors changed from their gray, unmarked form to the dark blue and warm orange of House Sildanius.

    Minerva took the robes from the air, holding them against her breast in a neatly stacked pile.

    Professor Ravenwood stood. She waved her hand and placed a small pin - it was a fierce looking ram, dark blue and glowering. "Here," she said, her voice flat. "Welcome to House Sildanus. Follow me."

    She turned and walked off as the rest of the professors spoke warmly to one another - clearly pleased. Minerva, her face streaming with tears, ducked her head down and walked after Professor Ravenwood, her shoulders shaking as she managed to keep her keening soft enough to not disturb the convivial conversation.

    The door shut behind her and she followed Ravenwood into Hexgramatica.
     
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