- Pronouns
- He/Him
There would normally be an update, BUT!
My brain...
Is...
Made...
Of bees
Nothing but bees.
My brain...
Is...
Made...
Of bees
Nothing but bees.
Minerva Golding and the Wand of Silver (Harry Potter Deconstruction)
- Thread starter DragonCobolt
- Start date
- Mature Novel Fantasy
Chapter Eleven: Extraction
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Author's note: i have returned with much needed Evil Lesbians for these trying times
Minerva sat on the bed in her room while Bellatrix - who was still in the room by dint of being her roommate - watched Kat as one might watch a dangerous beast. That did have something to do with the fact that Kat was currently pacing back and forth like she wanted to go prowling.
"I'll find the little-" She made a clenching gesture with her hands and wrung them, like she had a particular witch's throat between her hands and was resolving the situation in a permanent, terminal fashion.
"It's okay," Minerva said, dazedly.
"It's not okay!" Kat said.
"I think it's rather famous," Bellatrix said, nervously, her eyes darting from Kat to her. "W-What did that little Glintfaire snoot say about us?"
Minerva and Kat both looked at her.
"You are thinking this is about House stuff?" Kat asked.
"Well, of course, what else would it be about?" Bellatrix asked, her brow knitting above her dainty nose. Minerva wanted to laugh. She sprawled back onto the bed and tried to focus on the pressing issue: An Ars Magicka fanatic had just challenged her to a duel and she had chosen a wand and a shortsword for her weapon. Who chose swords for weapons in duels these days? It felt…
Well, it felt as surreal as magic and wizards and such.
Minerva rubbed her palms against her face.
Despite that, she found she kept worrying away at the Enragé and the vampire in the school. She knew there was a connection. She knew it was of vital importance. And that had nothing on the rumors of the Silver Wand. Hexgramatica was the most secure prison in the world - what better place to store horrors and dangers? Her mind whirled more and more as Kat continued her pacing - and then Bellatrix sighed. "Well, whatever it is about, I have a bit of a duty. You were raised among the Mundanes, so, you don't know how to duel, right?"
"I know the basics," Minerva said. "That it used to be fought in the astral plane, but that's no longer possible…"
"Quite," Bellatrix said. "But do you know of the three modes of dueling?"
"I'm guessing at least one of them involves short swords," Minerva said, her voice growing dry.
"Correct. Staves, wand, and sword and wand are the three modes," Bellatrix said, primly.
"You read a lot about dueling?" Kat asked, slowing in her pacing.
"Oh, no, we're just an old family," Bellatrix said, shrugging one shoulder. "My grandfather was killed in a sword and wand duel - that's also called the duel sinister."
"Why?" Minerva asked, trying to avoid the dying part.
"You hold the wand in the left hand, sword in the right," Bellatrix said, smiling thinly. Her voice grew grave. "But do you have a sword?" At the pregnant silence that hung in the air, the mousy girl shook her head and let out the deepest sigh that Minerva had ever heard. "Well, you'll need to get one." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Another thing - you'll need the obscura."
"...the what?" Minerva and Kat asked at the same time.
Bellatrix's lips went very thing as she shot Kat a look that practically said oh whatever to do with foreigners like this? Before she explained.
"The obscura is a part of the duel sinister. They're magical cloths, say, yae big. They are enchanted to obscure what they are draped over. The common mode is to fight with wand in the left hand, sword in the right, but there's a great deal of theories as to which is the proper tool to use - which weapon, even. Short sword has been interpreted to mean rapier, dagger, a foil, even an arming sword in one case - cruciform hilt and everything." She mimed a blow that made Minerva blink. "Dashed his brains right out, that's illustrated in Contemporary Duels: Their Parts and Particulars." Bellatrix blushed slightly. "...I may have read a little about duels."
Kat arched an eyebrow.
"None of this matters. I don't have a sword!" Minerva said, firmly. "And even if I did, I can't fight with a sword left handed. So, it must be the classic mode either way." She crossed her arms over her chest and laid back in the bed with a thump. She glared at the ceiling. "Are there rules pertaining to magic?"
"If it were in the astral, no," Bellatrix said.
"But since we're not going to be fighting in the astral, yes," Kat said. "Same rules as in football."
"I can't believe I am going to die in what amounts to a football game," Minerva said, closing her eyes.
"T-To be fair, duels don't tend to end in death. If you survive the ten, twenty seconds it takes for the healers to reach you, then you'll survive, they're much better at fixing up cuts and such thesedays," Bellatrix said. "Used to be that it was a race to see if the exsanguination got you, and the healing magic never used to fix the infections until they flared up, so, that might get you too and-" She stopped. "Sorry."
Kat frowned as she watched Minerva's face.
"Bella, might we be having some time alone? We are friends and…"
"No, no, I understand," Bellatrix said. She stood and her face settled into a determined mode as she lifted her chin. She started out, walking quickly as she did so. Once the door was shut, Kat locked it, then stepped to the bed. She placed her hand beside Minerva's head - but Minerva pushed her hand away, sliding her palms away from her face.
"Not…not now," Minerva said, and tried to not feel like she was twisting a knife in the big woman's chest, seeing the expression on her face. She tried to explain. "I…I have too much in my mind. I need…I need…"
Kat drew her hand back. "I understand."
She turned to go. Minerva realized that while she didn't need the confusion of Kat's kisses, her caresses, the distraction of her breath on her ear, her purring orders…she desperately needed something as deep and profound. She needed her warmth. She needed her…her. She reached out, grabbing onto Kat's hand, tugging her back.
"No, wait," she said, then blushed. "Just…hold me. Please?"
Kat turned back. She smiled, slightly. "I am a werewolf. Not an animal. I can control myself."
"I knew that," Minerva said, grinning at her…lover? She supposed that might be the word for it. It still felt too…immediate and heavy and weighted. Was lover the right word? Or maybe friend? Comrade? Buddy? Minerva closed her eyes as Kat crawled into the bed, pressing her down with those lovely strong hands of hers. Her arms followed, and Minerva found that being held by a large dyke of a werewolf was a banquet she should have gorged herself on years before. She almost went limp as she leaned back against Kat's chest, feeling her raw strength, her blazing warmth. Minerva closed her eyes and tried to sort her thoughts.
Wand of Silver?
Ignore it. Not important. She shoved it aside.
Duel? Too terrifying. Not yet. Not yet. She shoved it aside.
The thing in the basement. The vampire scare. Those dark eyes, glittering beyond the cell, the soft voice that had crooned to her.
You are in such deadly danger, my dear little witchling…
Minerva shivered from her head to her toes. But it wasn't fear. Not quite. She bit her lower lip and let her head rest against the pillow. Kat shifted slightly and then burrowed her nose against her neck. Minerva let out the quietest whine she could. She wanted to stay here forever. But she didn't know how long it would be until Bellatrix came back. She turned in Kat's arms, pressing her forehead to the other woman's. In the tight, heart shaped hollow of their bodies, their breath mixed and coiled together and tasted warm, when she breathed in once more.
"I need to go back into my memories and talk to the Enragé again."
Kat frowned. Her eyes, warm and golden, opened and peered into Minerva's. She weighed her.
"You should be the one called Cat, you know. Curious and curious and curious." She leaned in, kissing her on the lips. The electric contact thrilled Minerva along her spine. She tried to resist, but couldn't. When Kat drew back, Minerva's teeth dragged along her lower lip, stretching the touch out, anguishing in it. Kat grabbed the back of her neck. THe next kiss was long, painfully long, too long. The rattling sound of the door jerked Kat back and away and the latch clicking made it clear that Bellatrix was trying her key. Kat sprang to her feet, leaving Minerva panting and red faced as the door opened.
Kat was quite busy looking out the window at the underwater scene beyond, while Minerva laid on her back, looking up at the ceiling.
"By any chance," Bellatrix said, her voice almost too casual. "Do you know if you prefer a two edged or one edged blade?"
Minerva looked at her.
"...just asking," Bellatrix said, her cheeks heating.
Minerva didn't get a chance to be alone with her Alotexis for a solid day - and during that entire day, she had to endure whispers and glances and murmurs from everyone. Gina kept a distance that made her feel stung, but Harry made a point of stopping by her as they passed in a corridor and whisper.
"I'm hoping you beat that horrid…bint black and blue." His lips quirked in a smile as Minerva shot him a grateful look.
"I'm afraid I'm using a sword - but, knowing me, I'll probably hit her with the wrong side."
Harry grinned, weakly, then hurried on before anyone might complain that they were being too close after this fracas had flared up.
The other interaction of note was when Minerva was packing up after her potions class and Professor Ravenwood stepped to her desk and drew back her veil, so that she could peer directly at Minerva - an arresting sight, as her features were twisted into the most unhandsome halfway point between human features and the skull of a crow. Lips distended and colored a flakey yellow, tufted feathers peeking around the nostrils, a chin receding. As Minerva took in the horror of her features, Ravenwood spoke, clearly and without pause.
"You are not to lose. Understand it?"
Minerva gulped and nodded.
Finally, the evening came and Minerva finished off her homework in a flurry of scribbling and double checking her maths. Once she had finished that all, she took the small bottle she had packed her Alotexis into and pocketed it. She stepped through the House Sildanius rooms and came into the main sitting room, where Clyve and Gregory were both occupying a chess table. The pieces all seemed to be aminate, and as Cylve regarded the table and said: "Rook to Knight Four…" the rook in question sprang forward, extruding an arm from its circular frame. Said arm bore what appeared to be a mace, a mace that shattered the whinnying horse's skull into a spray of fine white chips that scattered across Gregory's robes.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Gregory exclaimed.
"Oi!" Clyve, who was sitting opposite from him, said. He lifted his chin to Minerva. "Where are you off too?"
"Practice rooms," Minerva said, the lie having been rehearsed and decided upon earlier. "I want to…to at least not embarrass myself in the duel."
Clyve gave her a thin smile, his eyes glinting with worry. "You know, you can always apologize, right? Might not look the most brave thing in the world, but-"
Minerva shook her head.
"No," she said, firmly.
"You really hate those Ars Magicka types, don't you," Gregory said, still brushing debris off his shirt.
Minerva blinked. "I…" She wasn't sure what to say. Gregory chuckled.
"Some people think it's a Glintfaire versus SIldanius thing, but…come now," he said, quietly. "You're from mundane London, no one gives a toss about Glintfair and the Sildanius feud there. It's gotta be something else. Only thing else is Leslie is wearing the wrong pants to grow a little mustache and start eins zwei drei vier!" he mimed a Nazi salute.
"Oh come on, she's not House Wagner," Clyve said - a play on House Wainscove's original name and ethnic allegiance so clear that even Minerva got it.
"Ars Magicka's the next best thing we have to the Bund," Gregory said, shaking his head. "My cousin Nert says the Bund's a menace in New York City."
"Your…cousin's American?" Minerva asked, honestly distracted from the task she had set herself.
"No, he's a wizard living in America," Clyve said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Saw no reason to move his entire tower just because some colonials were causing a ruckus, and he never moved."
Minerva nodded, then started towards the door.
Then she stopped dead.
"Wait, your cousin…you mean your cousin's grandfather, yes?" she asked. "Or, er, great grandfather?" She did more math. "Er, great great-"
"Oh, no, Old Albey moved to Virginia in 1762," Clyve said. "More room in the colonies for that kind of extension of one's life - less relatives badgering you when you're going to drop dead and give them the inheritance." He rubbed his jaw, examining the board. "That's why my pa didn't have me till after the War, we had almost too many damn…ah! Queen to…to over there." He pointed. "No, there, there, you daft biddy. And that's check!"
Minerva shook her head. Every day, it seemed, she learned something new and faintly disquieting. She walked through the narrow dark corridors of Hexgramatica, the torches flickering and the evening chill beginning to settle throughout the stone. Distant laughter from other rooms echoed queerly, giving the place a faintly haunted air. She frowned and hunched forward and walked even faster - for some reason, she almost expected to run into the very same Blackshirts who had hounded Petunia. Her heart squeezed and she put her hand over her chest, her other in her pocket - feeling the bottle.
I will learn more healing magic, she thought. I will, I will, I will.
The dueling practice rooms were situated in the heart of the keep, and each reminded her of the dueling arena beside the Invocations class - which only made sense, they both served the same function. She stepped into the room and the torches on the walls flared to life, flickering and adding their warmth to the hexagon of packed stone and earth. She closed the door behind herself, then squared her shoulders and pointed at the ground.
"Kemb Drit Selda."
She twitched her wand up and felt a warm glow of satisfaction as the earthen floor rippled, then started to slide up into the form of a rather comfortable looking sitting chair. She set herself down into it and sighed at how comfortable it felt. She rolled her head back, eyes closed. Magic had its advantages, didn't it? She reached into her pockets, pulled out the Alotexis, then opened it. Her shoulders squared.
"Go fast," she whispered. "And get this done."
She opened the cork.
When she opened her eyes once more, she was standing beside herself and Kat in the memory. She wanted to linger, to watch the drama. But she had no time for it. She pushed through the doorway that her own self would run into so unfortunately, then started down the stairs, her spectral breath coming faster and faster and faster as she tried to rush herself as quickly as she could. She came into the lower rooms, rushed past the Watcher, and finally, she came to the cell. She put her hands onto the walls to either side of the imprisoned creature and she peered inside.
"Hello?" she asked.
"Ah…" the sultry croon from between the bars excited her more than she cared to admit. "You're back."
Minerva gulped slightly. "I-"
"Did the excitement calm? It wasn't my activities, I'll have you know."
Minerva blinked. "Wait, you know about that?" She asked.
"Of course. You're not speaking to me in the past. I'm merely aware of the astral realm's movements - I am in the cell in the present, and you are here, in the present. Your spell merely arranged the astral into this shape. Remember?"
"Right. Right." Minerva blushed. "I know what you are. Who. You are."
"Do you?" The voice was a quiet drawl.
"Yes," Minerva said.
"Then tell me. What monster lurks here?" The faint hint of eyes glinting in the darkness met Minerva's, fierce and independent. "What creature are your teachers keeping secure here in the heart of Hexgramatica?"
Minerva licked her lips.
"That's just it. The Enragé isn't a monster. It is French, though. And that got me thinking: What Frenchwoman would be down here? A-And, well, it's French for fury. Anger. That narrows it down." She squared her shoulders. "It had to have been…1801. 1811. Was it the Third or Fifth Coalition? Which was it that caught you and tried you for treason, hmm?"
The voice was silent for a long time. Then there was the faint clink of chains and…
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
"Oh but you are a clever one," the feminine voice crooned. "Very good. My name is Cecillia Morganna-Wellesley II. I stood with the Revolution against a mad king and his madder ministers and sought to bring about a glorious, better world than the one we got. For that, I have been consigned to this rotting cell for one hundred and thirty two years." Her eyes flared as she looked out at Minerva. The chains suddenly clacked, as if they had gone taut. The eyes lurched closer and the faint shape of the figure within was visible from the light shining through the bars. Minerva saw the shine of leather, the glint of metal, the flash of very white teeth. "Now. What brought the little witchling to my door, against all sense and sanity?"
Minerva gulped. She leaned in, just a bit closer. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could see that Cecillia was a tall woman. Slender. Her arms were slightly too long, and they were held back behind her by the lengths of chain attached to leather straps around her wrists. Her body was covered with interlocking wrappings of leather, and the clinking sound came from more than just the metal of the chains. Every loop of the belt seemed to have another golden crucifix hanging from it. The outward signs of Christianity unnerved Minerva more than she expected. It didn't look pious. It looked…
Scientific. And frantic, too. If one worked, then hundreds will work better…
What she had taken for eyes were a pair of wooden-caps sewn onto leather belts that crossed over her face like a blindfold. The caps had the grotesque look of a doll's eyes. The buttons had upside down crucifixes on them, burned into the wood. The only part of Cecillia's face that was able to move or be seen at all was a pale jaw, and the lips, which were skinned back.
Her canines came to sharp, sharp points.
But then Minerva kept looking.
And she saw the true horror in the cell.
Thin glass tubes, the kind one might have seen in a doctor's shop, as they prepared for a transfusion of plasma. They wound from the wall and they met, they met at the jugular. At the thighs. At the wrists. Each of them attached to a needle which hooked into the woman's flesh, through tiny circles cut into the leather restraints she wore. The tubes were rich and heavy with dark, dark red fluid. Fluid that couldn't be…not if…not if she was…
"Oh my god," Minerva whispered, her hand going to her mouth. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."
Cecilia's laughter was half mad. "I was sentenced, as they say…to Extraction, witchling."
Minerva jolted awake in the tiny room, her body trembling from her head to her toes. She had had more questions. She had. But she was too…appalled, too horrified, to do anything but sit and shiver. Her mind, unbidden, spat up a fact she had learned…and had forgotten: Vampire blood, one of the rarest reagents in the world, serves as the base for-
"No!" Minerva put her hands over her face. She wanted to curl herself into a small ball. But her mind couldn't let her forget it. A century and a half. A century and a half, spent in darkness, with those cables going into her. Or, before rubber hoses, had they gone in and slashed her open with knives? With magic? How long had they been draining that woman - and allowing her to refresh herself? Again and again and again. Minerva wanted to be sick. She put her hand over her mouth and breathed through her nose, ducking her head forward.
She closed her eyes.
There was a single rule, at the core of her faith. Deep. Deep down. Protect life. That's how so many edicts and rules came back to. Protect life. Every religious rule she had could be cast by the wayside to save a single life - be it her own or someone else's. Martyrdom was a distinctly Christian affectation…and she had never before realized how much she would empathize with those Christians who got fed to lions. Preaching against the Roman Empire must have been roughly as survivable as a first year student trying to fight her way past a Watcher, and breaking free an ancient vampire from the prison cells.
She rubbed her shoulders. Her brow furrowed and she barely noticed the cold.
The vampire in the cells hadn't been the vampire that had caused the ruckus. That was what Harry had said. But how could any vampire know of Hexgramatica and not be related somehow to this situation. There was a piece of the puzzle she still missed. Minerva rubbed her fingers against her temple.
The door to the dueling room opened with a clunk and a creak. Minerva jerked her head up, shoving the Alotexis away in her pocket - but then she realized she had nothing to be afraid of if they didn't see the forbidden spell. She sprang to her feet and flicked her wand, dissolving the chair back into dirt beneath her as the door closed behind the robed figure who had stepped in. The figure turned and did a double taka.
Professor Stevenson, the head of House Glintfaire, looked at Minerva with such honest surprise it was almost funny. Her cat-ears twitched in surprise as Minerva gave her a thin smile.
"Apologies, Professor," she said. "I was practicing for my duel. Ahem." She felt a nervous flop in her belly as the Professor reached up and began to tug at her robes. She cast them aside, revealing what she wore beneath: A trim, tight black outfit that looked more suited for the dance hall than the dueling hall.
Beneath those robes…
Professor Stevenson hung the robes up and chuckled softly. Turning her back to Minerva, her tail swishing from side to side, she said: "You practice rather quietly for a would be duelist. I had no idea you were even in this room."
Minerva's eyes slid along those trim shoulders. Elegant back. Taut-
She jerked her eyes back up as Stevenson turned, her cat eyes glinting. "I-I was…not sure where to begin." Minerva stammered, sweat beading along the back of her neck. "I…I have a lot to think about."
"It has been a rather eventful few days," Stevenson said, her voice dry and faintly sarcastic. "I see you're afraid that I am going to upbraid you. Maybe even fix things so that my student wins? Hmm?" She arched an eyebrow at Minerva. Minerva shook her head. Professor Stevenson cocked her head to the side. "Cat got your tongue, girl? Spit it out."
"N-No, Professor," Minerva said, hurriedly. "It's just…complicated."
"No it's not," Professor Stevenson said, her voice firm. She lifted her chin, transfixing Minerva with her intent gaze. "Lift your wand."
Minerva blinked, but her hand was already drawing her wand from her pocket and holding it into what she hoped was an approximation of a dueling stance. She settled her feet - and then to her surprise, the Professor stepped into her reach, so that the tip of the wand pointed past her. She used one arm to brace Minerva's arm, then put her other onto the wrist, and quite suddenly, Minerva's wand was in her hand. "Keep your wand close to your chest. A close grip, thus." Stevenson said, holding her hand so. "You don't need to thrust it, you don't need to add strength or leverage. It is a casting implement, not a dagger. Again!" She tossed the wand back.
Minerva caught it and blushed. She had to focus on what Stevenson was saying. Not the feeling of the stronger, older woman's hands on her skin. Not the heat of her touch.
God, am I really like this around all girls now? Minerva thought glumly as she held her hand closer.
Stevenson nodded, then tried to take the wand again. This time, Minerva jerked back, and kept her wand tip pointed at the other woman's belly…for a few beats longer than before. Her wrist ached slightly as Stevenson stepped away, swishing MInerva's wand through the air like a sword. She showed her back, and in that outfit she wore…Minerva's heart raced as Stevenson let out a soft tssch. Her tail swayed from side to side: "Your grip is still weak, Sableknight. But it will do for a duel sinister."
She tossed the wand back. Minerva caught it. "Now, do you know the code?"
"N-No spells that directly influence the other wizard, and, uh, nothing that affects the ball. Er, the weapon," Minerva said, hastily correcting from football to dueling.
Stevenson arched a single eyebrow. Minerva's cheeks heated.
"There are three things you must keep in mind. The first is the terrain may be altered for attack and for defense. The second is that direct influence being disallowed does not mean that indirect influence is not allowed - choking fogs, stinging mists, illusions of yourself and others, all of these are permitted. And the third?" Stevenson's eyes met Minerva's eyes. "...are you quite all right?"
Minerva, who had been trying to not focus on the trim, athletic woman before her, shook her head. "No," she said. "I mean, yes, I-"
"Tell me, then, what is the matter?" Stevenson's words were…sharp, yet welcoming. It was the most curious sound that Minerva had ever heard. Stevenson must have seen something in Minerva's expression, for she sighed and explained. "Professor Ravenwood is not exactly the kind of House Head who will listen to her students woes. I…" She looked aside. "I…know…how much of a trial that the inquisition after your Trial Temporalus can be. I doubt that Ravenwood even so much as gave you a tender word and…" She actually flushed. "And, well, you may be a SIldanius, but you are still a student at Hexgramatica. So, speak. What is the matter?"
Minerva gulped. "I…uh, the vampire attack."
"Oh that," Stevenson said, rolling her eyes. "The whole school is in a tizzy just because Tweed can't remember his vampire lore - you never interrupt a feeding unless you want to get a vampire going after you."
Minerva opened her mouth, then closed it. "B-But the whole school was closed down!"
"I wasn't about to tell the Headmaster he was worrying over nothing when one of my students was involved," Stevenson said, her lip curling slightly. "But I swore that you were there."
Minerva realized that she was stepping near something dangerous. "I was there? I mean, I wouldn't admit to any such flagrant rules breaking around a professor, so…" She trailed off and risked a smile. Stevenson arched a single eyebrow, but despite her severe expression, amusement sparkled in her brilliant, cattish eyes. The torchlight glowed in them with such remarkable intensity.
"Quite," Stevenson said.
"But it wasn't that vampire I was concerned about," Minerva said, the words coming out slowly, her face locked onto Professor Stevenson. She was inching around the point…but damn it. Stevneson had as much as admitted that she had a vampire student. If her vampire student had caused the ruckus, and the headmaster didn't know about it, then…well, then Minerva had something she could tuck into her back pocket of Stevenson reacted poorly to what she had learned.
And there was something more…
Minerva wanted to know now how Stevenson would react to the vampire in the basement. She wanted to know how far, how deep, how true the rot was.
She had to know.
If she didn't know…she would go mad, she knew it .
"Ah," Stevenson said. Then, turning her head aside, she chuckled. "I always told Merlin that keeping such things here was asking for trouble."
"I do hear that Hexgramatica is quite safe," Minerva said.
"Yes,but this place isn't," Stevenson said. She snatched up her robes, casting them over her shoulders. "Come with me, Sableknight."
She turned and started off through the door. Minerva followed after. The turnings and corkscrewing corridors they went through were as dizzying and confusing as every passage through Hexgramatica, and each step made Minerva's stomach tighten more and more. They walked past a large painting of hunting hounds, but rather than continue, Professor Stevenson turned and simply walked into the painting. There was no ripple, no distortion - but between blinks, a severe looking woman with cat ears and tail had appeared in the copse of trees that overlooked the hounds. Minerva gaped at it, shook her head, whispered: "Right. Wizards."
Then she stepped forward, her eyes screwed up shut. She half expected to run into the wall - but instead, she stumbled forward and she felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Her eyes opened and she saw the hounds, barking and running about one another, while Professor Stevenson strode past them, heading for the copse of trees.
"Come along, keep up," she said, over her shoulder, as Minerva followed after, her shoes growing damp against the bright green grass.
"Where are we?" Minerva asked.
"Oh, you'd never dream I'd sleep in that drafty old gothic ruin?" Stevenson asked, her voice wry. "Nearly there." They stepped to the copse of trees and, through it, beyond the sight of what would be the painting's perspective, was a small and lovely looking cottage. The door opened as they walked towards it and to Minerva's surprise, she saw that the interior was rife with comforts: A bed, a small wireless set, a bubbling tea kettle, which seemed to have already been set upon the fire. It whistled cheerfully, and then lifted itself up into the air as if on invisible strings. As it bobbled upwards, alarmingly tilting from side to side, a pair of china cups came dancing from the cupboard and arranged themselves in the air to be poured in.
"Sit," Stevenson ordered and, perforce, Minerva sat and clapped her thighs together. The wooden table she sat had had the signs of much use - including a small etching of a heart on the wood: M + M sat within. Minerva jerked her eyes from the heart to Stevneson, who cast off her robes and let themselves be carried to a hook on the wall. She settled down and her fierce, fierce eyes bored into Minerva's. "How did you learn about the Bonapartist?"
Minerva gulped, then let everything spill from her lips. Well. Almost everything. "T-Then I…and my friend Kat, that is…that is, we, uh…we worked together and…" She saw something flash in Stevenson's eyes and Minerva's cheeks heated even more as she hurried along, continuing the story. Once she was finished, the cups set themselves down and Stevenson leaned slowly back in her chair. She tapped her wand above the cups and, without speaking a single word, sugar came dancing from the tip. She stirred the cup, slowly.
"So, you and Katarina Wolfe are…friends?" she asked.
"I-I did not think that was the most pertinent part of that story, but yes," Minerva said, her throat feeling dry.
The wand withdrew from the cup. A droplet of tea beaded along it. The sight of it made Minerva feel a strange excited thrill in her belly. Slowly, that wand tip lifted up…and then Stevenson placed the tip against her tongue. Her tongue curled up, licking the droplet off. She set the wand aside. Minerva's thighs tightened even more as her cheeks felt as if they had gone incandescent.
"Have you ever heard the tale of the dragon rider? It's an old wizard proverb," Stevenson said, her voice soft, her eyes piercing. "It is extremely dangerous for a wizard atop a dragon to dismount."
Minerva nodded.
"We inherited the Iron Duke's wreckage, as we inherited Haig's. Extraction is not a punishment we inflict anymore," she said, firmly. "But we cannot let her loose - can you imagine the damage such a woman could do, if given her freedom? Neither is it our place to kill her, is it?"
Minerva opened her mouth, then closed it, then…no. She couldn't keep it in.
"That's very fine. But, I note you continue to draw blood from her."
Stevenson did look aside. Her voice was quiet. "I've been voted down repeatedly on that point," she said, her voice edged. Minerva snorted, then took a drink from the tea. It was rich. Warm. She set the cup down and ducked her head forward.
"I…I don't know how to deal with this world!" She exclaimed. "It seems like every day, I find some new horror and new miracle and I can't tell if they're balancing out - or if they're just making me spin out like…like a plane with a wing shot off!" She slammed the cup down, her hands shaking. She jerked her head up, glaring at Stevenson. "A-And now you take me here and give me tea and offer me some kind words and some advice against your own student, but you didn't even try and protect me during that beastly inquisition!" Her hands shook more and her eyes blurred as Minerva felt the emotions of her entire stay in Hexgramatica boiling up and over. "You said I was not fit for Glintfaire and…"
"I misspoke," Stevenson said, her voice softer than Minerva expected.
Minerva blinked. The tears pricking at the edge of her eyes threatened to spill, to spill and run down her cheeks in a torrent. Stevenson sipped from her cup. Despite the drink, her voice was rougher than Mienrva expected.
"I lied," she said. "You can't be in House Glintfaire, and…and you shouldn't be here." She shook her head. "The vampire will remain in her cell, and I will continue to seek the end of her Extraction - to let her live out in what comfort I can manage. But you? You should go. This was a mistake." Her voice was choppy. Minerva's brow furrowed. She didn't know if she should feel hurt or relieved.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I am the head of a house, and while I may not be the head of House Sildanius, I have ordered it," Stevenson said, pushing her chair back. Minerva started to stand as well. Their eyes met and that something flashed in Stevenson's eyes again.
"First, I want you to promise me you'll do more than just vote," Minerva said, quietly. "At least bring word to her-"
"And what, you silly girl?" Stevenson said, her voice even more edged. "Tell her that you are wishing the best for her? She's a beast. A monster. A monster we may have made, but a monster none the less. She…if…" She stepped around the table. Her hand went to Minerva's cheek. "If she was freed, and you were there, your best wishes, your attempts to free her, would slow her down for less…" Her thumb caressed along Minerva's lips, a shockingly intimate move. "...than a second…"
Minerva trembled.
Oh.
Oh.
That was why Stevenson didn't want her here.
Minerva's face felt quite hot and her belly tingled with butterflies.
"Think of something," she whispered. "We can't just say the world is one way and turn aside and pretend there is nothing to be done."
"Oh can't we?" Stevenson asked. Her hand slipped back to the nape of Minerva's neck. "You come into our world, and you just think you can fix everything."
"I can at least try," Minerva said, her voice fierce. Her eyes flashed. Daring her to…to…to what? To…
Oh I shouldn't be here, Minerva thought. Oh this is wrong. This is so wrong.
Then why was she so very…wet?
"I am a professor," Stevenson said, quietly. Her hand slid from her neck to her shoulderblades. Her palm spread. "I have responsibilities. And…and…" Her hand cupped the small of Minerva's back. Minerva stood perfectly still, feeling the strength in that palm, pressing against her through her top. "And you are my student…" she whispered, leaning forward. "You can't tell me what is to be done."
"Make me stop, then," Minerva whispered, her head spinning. The line of argument seemed quite far off.
The hand almost touched her, caressing a shadow.
Showing an almost…titanic effort of will, Stevenson drew her hand back. She brought her knuckles to her lips, not quite biting them. She turned aside, her voice quiet.
"Go," she said, her voice fierce. Harsh. "Get out of here, silly girl, before I do something we both regret. I…" She paused. "Don't make any mistakes with Katarina Wolfe. Understand? Dont."
Minerva, her knees almost knocking together,nodded. She didn't feel brave enough to open her mouth, to speak. She turned and she stepped outside. The door closed and she almost tripped over her own feet as she started away from the cottage - breaking into a run. She came to the exit of the painted world, stumbling blindly into the corridor. She barely knew where she was - but she knew where to find where she had to go. Minerva moved through darkness, her breath ragged, not sure if she should weep from sorrow, scream in frustration, or breathe in relief. She found the first landmark she needed - the bust of Arthur - and then took the turns she needed to go down and, at last, come to the entrance of House Sildanius.
The sitting room was quiet and dark, the fire long since put out.
Bellatrix snored when she slipped into her room.
Bellatrix continued to snore.
And she was a day closer to death.
I need more training, Minerva thought.
And…
She realized, now.
She knew when Professor Stevenson went to practice her invocations, late at night. She knew which room she preferred to do it in.
It would be foolish. It would be…it would be…
She closed her eyes.
The day that followed was one that felt painfully slow. She moved through it on tiptoes, ready for the sword of Damocles over her head to drop. And yet, despite that, it seemed that almost no time had passed at all before she was once more in the practice room, standing in the chill.
The door opened.
In stepped Professor Stevenson. She shucked off her robes. Hung them on the hook.
And sighed.
She did not turn.
"Sableknight…"
"I have two days to learn to stand up against Leslie," Minerva said, her voice hesitant. Stevenson lifted her head, her tail twitching with agitation from side to side. Minerva could almost hear the rejection before it came. The words that spilled from her lip shocked…even her. "I'll do anything. For your help."
Stevenson turned. She arched a single eyebrow. But her tail was writhing sinuously. She was trying to keep control. Fraying.
"Anything, girl?" Stevenson asked.
Minerva looked aside. Her fingers undid a button at her collar. "Anything…" She whispered.
Stevenson let out a grunt, as if she had been struck in the belly.
"Damn it." She turned away. She pressed her forehead against the stonework of the room. She breathed in, then breathed out through her nose.
"Anything covers a lot, girl," she said, quietly. "And I'll take it all." She turned around, then walked towards Minerva, her eyes fierce, gleaming. She caught her chin. "You are a very bad influence upon me, Sabelknight." She lifted Minerva's chin up and Minerva almost melted. "No one else knows you're here? Not even your…other friend?"
Minerva trembled. That trembling might have been mistaken for a shake of the head.
"Good," Stevenson said, quietly. Her thumb slid along Minervea's lips. "Here, you will refer to me only as Professor, witchling." Her voice was a quiet, dominant croon that made Minerva's knees tremble. "Understood?"
"Y-Yes…" Minerva whispered.
The fingers on her chin tightened. Lifted. Those cat-eyes blazed.
"Y-Yes Professor!" Minerva squeaked.
The Professor released her chin. "Well enough. Show me your stance. We have a lot of work to do."
Minerva drew her wand…and raised it.
Two days to live, yes. But she would live them.
Minerva sat on the bed in her room while Bellatrix - who was still in the room by dint of being her roommate - watched Kat as one might watch a dangerous beast. That did have something to do with the fact that Kat was currently pacing back and forth like she wanted to go prowling.
"I'll find the little-" She made a clenching gesture with her hands and wrung them, like she had a particular witch's throat between her hands and was resolving the situation in a permanent, terminal fashion.
"It's okay," Minerva said, dazedly.
"It's not okay!" Kat said.
"I think it's rather famous," Bellatrix said, nervously, her eyes darting from Kat to her. "W-What did that little Glintfaire snoot say about us?"
Minerva and Kat both looked at her.
"You are thinking this is about House stuff?" Kat asked.
"Well, of course, what else would it be about?" Bellatrix asked, her brow knitting above her dainty nose. Minerva wanted to laugh. She sprawled back onto the bed and tried to focus on the pressing issue: An Ars Magicka fanatic had just challenged her to a duel and she had chosen a wand and a shortsword for her weapon. Who chose swords for weapons in duels these days? It felt…
Well, it felt as surreal as magic and wizards and such.
Minerva rubbed her palms against her face.
Despite that, she found she kept worrying away at the Enragé and the vampire in the school. She knew there was a connection. She knew it was of vital importance. And that had nothing on the rumors of the Silver Wand. Hexgramatica was the most secure prison in the world - what better place to store horrors and dangers? Her mind whirled more and more as Kat continued her pacing - and then Bellatrix sighed. "Well, whatever it is about, I have a bit of a duty. You were raised among the Mundanes, so, you don't know how to duel, right?"
"I know the basics," Minerva said. "That it used to be fought in the astral plane, but that's no longer possible…"
"Quite," Bellatrix said. "But do you know of the three modes of dueling?"
"I'm guessing at least one of them involves short swords," Minerva said, her voice growing dry.
"Correct. Staves, wand, and sword and wand are the three modes," Bellatrix said, primly.
"You read a lot about dueling?" Kat asked, slowing in her pacing.
"Oh, no, we're just an old family," Bellatrix said, shrugging one shoulder. "My grandfather was killed in a sword and wand duel - that's also called the duel sinister."
"Why?" Minerva asked, trying to avoid the dying part.
"You hold the wand in the left hand, sword in the right," Bellatrix said, smiling thinly. Her voice grew grave. "But do you have a sword?" At the pregnant silence that hung in the air, the mousy girl shook her head and let out the deepest sigh that Minerva had ever heard. "Well, you'll need to get one." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Another thing - you'll need the obscura."
"...the what?" Minerva and Kat asked at the same time.
Bellatrix's lips went very thing as she shot Kat a look that practically said oh whatever to do with foreigners like this? Before she explained.
"The obscura is a part of the duel sinister. They're magical cloths, say, yae big. They are enchanted to obscure what they are draped over. The common mode is to fight with wand in the left hand, sword in the right, but there's a great deal of theories as to which is the proper tool to use - which weapon, even. Short sword has been interpreted to mean rapier, dagger, a foil, even an arming sword in one case - cruciform hilt and everything." She mimed a blow that made Minerva blink. "Dashed his brains right out, that's illustrated in Contemporary Duels: Their Parts and Particulars." Bellatrix blushed slightly. "...I may have read a little about duels."
Kat arched an eyebrow.
"None of this matters. I don't have a sword!" Minerva said, firmly. "And even if I did, I can't fight with a sword left handed. So, it must be the classic mode either way." She crossed her arms over her chest and laid back in the bed with a thump. She glared at the ceiling. "Are there rules pertaining to magic?"
"If it were in the astral, no," Bellatrix said.
"But since we're not going to be fighting in the astral, yes," Kat said. "Same rules as in football."
"I can't believe I am going to die in what amounts to a football game," Minerva said, closing her eyes.
"T-To be fair, duels don't tend to end in death. If you survive the ten, twenty seconds it takes for the healers to reach you, then you'll survive, they're much better at fixing up cuts and such thesedays," Bellatrix said. "Used to be that it was a race to see if the exsanguination got you, and the healing magic never used to fix the infections until they flared up, so, that might get you too and-" She stopped. "Sorry."
Kat frowned as she watched Minerva's face.
"Bella, might we be having some time alone? We are friends and…"
"No, no, I understand," Bellatrix said. She stood and her face settled into a determined mode as she lifted her chin. She started out, walking quickly as she did so. Once the door was shut, Kat locked it, then stepped to the bed. She placed her hand beside Minerva's head - but Minerva pushed her hand away, sliding her palms away from her face.
"Not…not now," Minerva said, and tried to not feel like she was twisting a knife in the big woman's chest, seeing the expression on her face. She tried to explain. "I…I have too much in my mind. I need…I need…"
Kat drew her hand back. "I understand."
She turned to go. Minerva realized that while she didn't need the confusion of Kat's kisses, her caresses, the distraction of her breath on her ear, her purring orders…she desperately needed something as deep and profound. She needed her warmth. She needed her…her. She reached out, grabbing onto Kat's hand, tugging her back.
"No, wait," she said, then blushed. "Just…hold me. Please?"
Kat turned back. She smiled, slightly. "I am a werewolf. Not an animal. I can control myself."
"I knew that," Minerva said, grinning at her…lover? She supposed that might be the word for it. It still felt too…immediate and heavy and weighted. Was lover the right word? Or maybe friend? Comrade? Buddy? Minerva closed her eyes as Kat crawled into the bed, pressing her down with those lovely strong hands of hers. Her arms followed, and Minerva found that being held by a large dyke of a werewolf was a banquet she should have gorged herself on years before. She almost went limp as she leaned back against Kat's chest, feeling her raw strength, her blazing warmth. Minerva closed her eyes and tried to sort her thoughts.
Wand of Silver?
Ignore it. Not important. She shoved it aside.
Duel? Too terrifying. Not yet. Not yet. She shoved it aside.
The thing in the basement. The vampire scare. Those dark eyes, glittering beyond the cell, the soft voice that had crooned to her.
You are in such deadly danger, my dear little witchling…
Minerva shivered from her head to her toes. But it wasn't fear. Not quite. She bit her lower lip and let her head rest against the pillow. Kat shifted slightly and then burrowed her nose against her neck. Minerva let out the quietest whine she could. She wanted to stay here forever. But she didn't know how long it would be until Bellatrix came back. She turned in Kat's arms, pressing her forehead to the other woman's. In the tight, heart shaped hollow of their bodies, their breath mixed and coiled together and tasted warm, when she breathed in once more.
"I need to go back into my memories and talk to the Enragé again."
Kat frowned. Her eyes, warm and golden, opened and peered into Minerva's. She weighed her.
"You should be the one called Cat, you know. Curious and curious and curious." She leaned in, kissing her on the lips. The electric contact thrilled Minerva along her spine. She tried to resist, but couldn't. When Kat drew back, Minerva's teeth dragged along her lower lip, stretching the touch out, anguishing in it. Kat grabbed the back of her neck. THe next kiss was long, painfully long, too long. The rattling sound of the door jerked Kat back and away and the latch clicking made it clear that Bellatrix was trying her key. Kat sprang to her feet, leaving Minerva panting and red faced as the door opened.
Kat was quite busy looking out the window at the underwater scene beyond, while Minerva laid on her back, looking up at the ceiling.
"By any chance," Bellatrix said, her voice almost too casual. "Do you know if you prefer a two edged or one edged blade?"
Minerva looked at her.
"...just asking," Bellatrix said, her cheeks heating.
***
Minerva didn't get a chance to be alone with her Alotexis for a solid day - and during that entire day, she had to endure whispers and glances and murmurs from everyone. Gina kept a distance that made her feel stung, but Harry made a point of stopping by her as they passed in a corridor and whisper.
"I'm hoping you beat that horrid…bint black and blue." His lips quirked in a smile as Minerva shot him a grateful look.
"I'm afraid I'm using a sword - but, knowing me, I'll probably hit her with the wrong side."
Harry grinned, weakly, then hurried on before anyone might complain that they were being too close after this fracas had flared up.
The other interaction of note was when Minerva was packing up after her potions class and Professor Ravenwood stepped to her desk and drew back her veil, so that she could peer directly at Minerva - an arresting sight, as her features were twisted into the most unhandsome halfway point between human features and the skull of a crow. Lips distended and colored a flakey yellow, tufted feathers peeking around the nostrils, a chin receding. As Minerva took in the horror of her features, Ravenwood spoke, clearly and without pause.
"You are not to lose. Understand it?"
Minerva gulped and nodded.
Finally, the evening came and Minerva finished off her homework in a flurry of scribbling and double checking her maths. Once she had finished that all, she took the small bottle she had packed her Alotexis into and pocketed it. She stepped through the House Sildanius rooms and came into the main sitting room, where Clyve and Gregory were both occupying a chess table. The pieces all seemed to be aminate, and as Cylve regarded the table and said: "Rook to Knight Four…" the rook in question sprang forward, extruding an arm from its circular frame. Said arm bore what appeared to be a mace, a mace that shattered the whinnying horse's skull into a spray of fine white chips that scattered across Gregory's robes.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Gregory exclaimed.
"Oi!" Clyve, who was sitting opposite from him, said. He lifted his chin to Minerva. "Where are you off too?"
"Practice rooms," Minerva said, the lie having been rehearsed and decided upon earlier. "I want to…to at least not embarrass myself in the duel."
Clyve gave her a thin smile, his eyes glinting with worry. "You know, you can always apologize, right? Might not look the most brave thing in the world, but-"
Minerva shook her head.
"No," she said, firmly.
"You really hate those Ars Magicka types, don't you," Gregory said, still brushing debris off his shirt.
Minerva blinked. "I…" She wasn't sure what to say. Gregory chuckled.
"Some people think it's a Glintfaire versus SIldanius thing, but…come now," he said, quietly. "You're from mundane London, no one gives a toss about Glintfair and the Sildanius feud there. It's gotta be something else. Only thing else is Leslie is wearing the wrong pants to grow a little mustache and start eins zwei drei vier!" he mimed a Nazi salute.
"Oh come on, she's not House Wagner," Clyve said - a play on House Wainscove's original name and ethnic allegiance so clear that even Minerva got it.
"Ars Magicka's the next best thing we have to the Bund," Gregory said, shaking his head. "My cousin Nert says the Bund's a menace in New York City."
"Your…cousin's American?" Minerva asked, honestly distracted from the task she had set herself.
"No, he's a wizard living in America," Clyve said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Saw no reason to move his entire tower just because some colonials were causing a ruckus, and he never moved."
Minerva nodded, then started towards the door.
Then she stopped dead.
"Wait, your cousin…you mean your cousin's grandfather, yes?" she asked. "Or, er, great grandfather?" She did more math. "Er, great great-"
"Oh, no, Old Albey moved to Virginia in 1762," Clyve said. "More room in the colonies for that kind of extension of one's life - less relatives badgering you when you're going to drop dead and give them the inheritance." He rubbed his jaw, examining the board. "That's why my pa didn't have me till after the War, we had almost too many damn…ah! Queen to…to over there." He pointed. "No, there, there, you daft biddy. And that's check!"
Minerva shook her head. Every day, it seemed, she learned something new and faintly disquieting. She walked through the narrow dark corridors of Hexgramatica, the torches flickering and the evening chill beginning to settle throughout the stone. Distant laughter from other rooms echoed queerly, giving the place a faintly haunted air. She frowned and hunched forward and walked even faster - for some reason, she almost expected to run into the very same Blackshirts who had hounded Petunia. Her heart squeezed and she put her hand over her chest, her other in her pocket - feeling the bottle.
I will learn more healing magic, she thought. I will, I will, I will.
The dueling practice rooms were situated in the heart of the keep, and each reminded her of the dueling arena beside the Invocations class - which only made sense, they both served the same function. She stepped into the room and the torches on the walls flared to life, flickering and adding their warmth to the hexagon of packed stone and earth. She closed the door behind herself, then squared her shoulders and pointed at the ground.
"Kemb Drit Selda."
She twitched her wand up and felt a warm glow of satisfaction as the earthen floor rippled, then started to slide up into the form of a rather comfortable looking sitting chair. She set herself down into it and sighed at how comfortable it felt. She rolled her head back, eyes closed. Magic had its advantages, didn't it? She reached into her pockets, pulled out the Alotexis, then opened it. Her shoulders squared.
"Go fast," she whispered. "And get this done."
She opened the cork.
When she opened her eyes once more, she was standing beside herself and Kat in the memory. She wanted to linger, to watch the drama. But she had no time for it. She pushed through the doorway that her own self would run into so unfortunately, then started down the stairs, her spectral breath coming faster and faster and faster as she tried to rush herself as quickly as she could. She came into the lower rooms, rushed past the Watcher, and finally, she came to the cell. She put her hands onto the walls to either side of the imprisoned creature and she peered inside.
"Hello?" she asked.
"Ah…" the sultry croon from between the bars excited her more than she cared to admit. "You're back."
Minerva gulped slightly. "I-"
"Did the excitement calm? It wasn't my activities, I'll have you know."
Minerva blinked. "Wait, you know about that?" She asked.
"Of course. You're not speaking to me in the past. I'm merely aware of the astral realm's movements - I am in the cell in the present, and you are here, in the present. Your spell merely arranged the astral into this shape. Remember?"
"Right. Right." Minerva blushed. "I know what you are. Who. You are."
"Do you?" The voice was a quiet drawl.
"Yes," Minerva said.
"Then tell me. What monster lurks here?" The faint hint of eyes glinting in the darkness met Minerva's, fierce and independent. "What creature are your teachers keeping secure here in the heart of Hexgramatica?"
Minerva licked her lips.
"That's just it. The Enragé isn't a monster. It is French, though. And that got me thinking: What Frenchwoman would be down here? A-And, well, it's French for fury. Anger. That narrows it down." She squared her shoulders. "It had to have been…1801. 1811. Was it the Third or Fifth Coalition? Which was it that caught you and tried you for treason, hmm?"
The voice was silent for a long time. Then there was the faint clink of chains and…
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
"Oh but you are a clever one," the feminine voice crooned. "Very good. My name is Cecillia Morganna-Wellesley II. I stood with the Revolution against a mad king and his madder ministers and sought to bring about a glorious, better world than the one we got. For that, I have been consigned to this rotting cell for one hundred and thirty two years." Her eyes flared as she looked out at Minerva. The chains suddenly clacked, as if they had gone taut. The eyes lurched closer and the faint shape of the figure within was visible from the light shining through the bars. Minerva saw the shine of leather, the glint of metal, the flash of very white teeth. "Now. What brought the little witchling to my door, against all sense and sanity?"
Minerva gulped. She leaned in, just a bit closer. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could see that Cecillia was a tall woman. Slender. Her arms were slightly too long, and they were held back behind her by the lengths of chain attached to leather straps around her wrists. Her body was covered with interlocking wrappings of leather, and the clinking sound came from more than just the metal of the chains. Every loop of the belt seemed to have another golden crucifix hanging from it. The outward signs of Christianity unnerved Minerva more than she expected. It didn't look pious. It looked…
Scientific. And frantic, too. If one worked, then hundreds will work better…
What she had taken for eyes were a pair of wooden-caps sewn onto leather belts that crossed over her face like a blindfold. The caps had the grotesque look of a doll's eyes. The buttons had upside down crucifixes on them, burned into the wood. The only part of Cecillia's face that was able to move or be seen at all was a pale jaw, and the lips, which were skinned back.
Her canines came to sharp, sharp points.
But then Minerva kept looking.
And she saw the true horror in the cell.
Thin glass tubes, the kind one might have seen in a doctor's shop, as they prepared for a transfusion of plasma. They wound from the wall and they met, they met at the jugular. At the thighs. At the wrists. Each of them attached to a needle which hooked into the woman's flesh, through tiny circles cut into the leather restraints she wore. The tubes were rich and heavy with dark, dark red fluid. Fluid that couldn't be…not if…not if she was…
"Oh my god," Minerva whispered, her hand going to her mouth. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."
Cecilia's laughter was half mad. "I was sentenced, as they say…to Extraction, witchling."
Minerva jolted awake in the tiny room, her body trembling from her head to her toes. She had had more questions. She had. But she was too…appalled, too horrified, to do anything but sit and shiver. Her mind, unbidden, spat up a fact she had learned…and had forgotten: Vampire blood, one of the rarest reagents in the world, serves as the base for-
"No!" Minerva put her hands over her face. She wanted to curl herself into a small ball. But her mind couldn't let her forget it. A century and a half. A century and a half, spent in darkness, with those cables going into her. Or, before rubber hoses, had they gone in and slashed her open with knives? With magic? How long had they been draining that woman - and allowing her to refresh herself? Again and again and again. Minerva wanted to be sick. She put her hand over her mouth and breathed through her nose, ducking her head forward.
She closed her eyes.
There was a single rule, at the core of her faith. Deep. Deep down. Protect life. That's how so many edicts and rules came back to. Protect life. Every religious rule she had could be cast by the wayside to save a single life - be it her own or someone else's. Martyrdom was a distinctly Christian affectation…and she had never before realized how much she would empathize with those Christians who got fed to lions. Preaching against the Roman Empire must have been roughly as survivable as a first year student trying to fight her way past a Watcher, and breaking free an ancient vampire from the prison cells.
She rubbed her shoulders. Her brow furrowed and she barely noticed the cold.
The vampire in the cells hadn't been the vampire that had caused the ruckus. That was what Harry had said. But how could any vampire know of Hexgramatica and not be related somehow to this situation. There was a piece of the puzzle she still missed. Minerva rubbed her fingers against her temple.
The door to the dueling room opened with a clunk and a creak. Minerva jerked her head up, shoving the Alotexis away in her pocket - but then she realized she had nothing to be afraid of if they didn't see the forbidden spell. She sprang to her feet and flicked her wand, dissolving the chair back into dirt beneath her as the door closed behind the robed figure who had stepped in. The figure turned and did a double taka.
Professor Stevenson, the head of House Glintfaire, looked at Minerva with such honest surprise it was almost funny. Her cat-ears twitched in surprise as Minerva gave her a thin smile.
"Apologies, Professor," she said. "I was practicing for my duel. Ahem." She felt a nervous flop in her belly as the Professor reached up and began to tug at her robes. She cast them aside, revealing what she wore beneath: A trim, tight black outfit that looked more suited for the dance hall than the dueling hall.
Beneath those robes…
Professor Stevenson hung the robes up and chuckled softly. Turning her back to Minerva, her tail swishing from side to side, she said: "You practice rather quietly for a would be duelist. I had no idea you were even in this room."
Minerva's eyes slid along those trim shoulders. Elegant back. Taut-
She jerked her eyes back up as Stevenson turned, her cat eyes glinting. "I-I was…not sure where to begin." Minerva stammered, sweat beading along the back of her neck. "I…I have a lot to think about."
"It has been a rather eventful few days," Stevenson said, her voice dry and faintly sarcastic. "I see you're afraid that I am going to upbraid you. Maybe even fix things so that my student wins? Hmm?" She arched an eyebrow at Minerva. Minerva shook her head. Professor Stevenson cocked her head to the side. "Cat got your tongue, girl? Spit it out."
"N-No, Professor," Minerva said, hurriedly. "It's just…complicated."
"No it's not," Professor Stevenson said, her voice firm. She lifted her chin, transfixing Minerva with her intent gaze. "Lift your wand."
Minerva blinked, but her hand was already drawing her wand from her pocket and holding it into what she hoped was an approximation of a dueling stance. She settled her feet - and then to her surprise, the Professor stepped into her reach, so that the tip of the wand pointed past her. She used one arm to brace Minerva's arm, then put her other onto the wrist, and quite suddenly, Minerva's wand was in her hand. "Keep your wand close to your chest. A close grip, thus." Stevenson said, holding her hand so. "You don't need to thrust it, you don't need to add strength or leverage. It is a casting implement, not a dagger. Again!" She tossed the wand back.
Minerva caught it and blushed. She had to focus on what Stevenson was saying. Not the feeling of the stronger, older woman's hands on her skin. Not the heat of her touch.
God, am I really like this around all girls now? Minerva thought glumly as she held her hand closer.
Stevenson nodded, then tried to take the wand again. This time, Minerva jerked back, and kept her wand tip pointed at the other woman's belly…for a few beats longer than before. Her wrist ached slightly as Stevenson stepped away, swishing MInerva's wand through the air like a sword. She showed her back, and in that outfit she wore…Minerva's heart raced as Stevenson let out a soft tssch. Her tail swayed from side to side: "Your grip is still weak, Sableknight. But it will do for a duel sinister."
She tossed the wand back. Minerva caught it. "Now, do you know the code?"
"N-No spells that directly influence the other wizard, and, uh, nothing that affects the ball. Er, the weapon," Minerva said, hastily correcting from football to dueling.
Stevenson arched a single eyebrow. Minerva's cheeks heated.
"There are three things you must keep in mind. The first is the terrain may be altered for attack and for defense. The second is that direct influence being disallowed does not mean that indirect influence is not allowed - choking fogs, stinging mists, illusions of yourself and others, all of these are permitted. And the third?" Stevenson's eyes met Minerva's eyes. "...are you quite all right?"
Minerva, who had been trying to not focus on the trim, athletic woman before her, shook her head. "No," she said. "I mean, yes, I-"
"Tell me, then, what is the matter?" Stevenson's words were…sharp, yet welcoming. It was the most curious sound that Minerva had ever heard. Stevenson must have seen something in Minerva's expression, for she sighed and explained. "Professor Ravenwood is not exactly the kind of House Head who will listen to her students woes. I…" She looked aside. "I…know…how much of a trial that the inquisition after your Trial Temporalus can be. I doubt that Ravenwood even so much as gave you a tender word and…" She actually flushed. "And, well, you may be a SIldanius, but you are still a student at Hexgramatica. So, speak. What is the matter?"
Minerva gulped. "I…uh, the vampire attack."
"Oh that," Stevenson said, rolling her eyes. "The whole school is in a tizzy just because Tweed can't remember his vampire lore - you never interrupt a feeding unless you want to get a vampire going after you."
Minerva opened her mouth, then closed it. "B-But the whole school was closed down!"
"I wasn't about to tell the Headmaster he was worrying over nothing when one of my students was involved," Stevenson said, her lip curling slightly. "But I swore that you were there."
Minerva realized that she was stepping near something dangerous. "I was there? I mean, I wouldn't admit to any such flagrant rules breaking around a professor, so…" She trailed off and risked a smile. Stevenson arched a single eyebrow, but despite her severe expression, amusement sparkled in her brilliant, cattish eyes. The torchlight glowed in them with such remarkable intensity.
"Quite," Stevenson said.
"But it wasn't that vampire I was concerned about," Minerva said, the words coming out slowly, her face locked onto Professor Stevenson. She was inching around the point…but damn it. Stevneson had as much as admitted that she had a vampire student. If her vampire student had caused the ruckus, and the headmaster didn't know about it, then…well, then Minerva had something she could tuck into her back pocket of Stevenson reacted poorly to what she had learned.
And there was something more…
Minerva wanted to know now how Stevenson would react to the vampire in the basement. She wanted to know how far, how deep, how true the rot was.
She had to know.
If she didn't know…she would go mad, she knew it .
"Ah," Stevenson said. Then, turning her head aside, she chuckled. "I always told Merlin that keeping such things here was asking for trouble."
"I do hear that Hexgramatica is quite safe," Minerva said.
"Yes,but this place isn't," Stevenson said. She snatched up her robes, casting them over her shoulders. "Come with me, Sableknight."
She turned and started off through the door. Minerva followed after. The turnings and corkscrewing corridors they went through were as dizzying and confusing as every passage through Hexgramatica, and each step made Minerva's stomach tighten more and more. They walked past a large painting of hunting hounds, but rather than continue, Professor Stevenson turned and simply walked into the painting. There was no ripple, no distortion - but between blinks, a severe looking woman with cat ears and tail had appeared in the copse of trees that overlooked the hounds. Minerva gaped at it, shook her head, whispered: "Right. Wizards."
Then she stepped forward, her eyes screwed up shut. She half expected to run into the wall - but instead, she stumbled forward and she felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Her eyes opened and she saw the hounds, barking and running about one another, while Professor Stevenson strode past them, heading for the copse of trees.
"Come along, keep up," she said, over her shoulder, as Minerva followed after, her shoes growing damp against the bright green grass.
"Where are we?" Minerva asked.
"Oh, you'd never dream I'd sleep in that drafty old gothic ruin?" Stevenson asked, her voice wry. "Nearly there." They stepped to the copse of trees and, through it, beyond the sight of what would be the painting's perspective, was a small and lovely looking cottage. The door opened as they walked towards it and to Minerva's surprise, she saw that the interior was rife with comforts: A bed, a small wireless set, a bubbling tea kettle, which seemed to have already been set upon the fire. It whistled cheerfully, and then lifted itself up into the air as if on invisible strings. As it bobbled upwards, alarmingly tilting from side to side, a pair of china cups came dancing from the cupboard and arranged themselves in the air to be poured in.
"Sit," Stevenson ordered and, perforce, Minerva sat and clapped her thighs together. The wooden table she sat had had the signs of much use - including a small etching of a heart on the wood: M + M sat within. Minerva jerked her eyes from the heart to Stevneson, who cast off her robes and let themselves be carried to a hook on the wall. She settled down and her fierce, fierce eyes bored into Minerva's. "How did you learn about the Bonapartist?"
Minerva gulped, then let everything spill from her lips. Well. Almost everything. "T-Then I…and my friend Kat, that is…that is, we, uh…we worked together and…" She saw something flash in Stevenson's eyes and Minerva's cheeks heated even more as she hurried along, continuing the story. Once she was finished, the cups set themselves down and Stevenson leaned slowly back in her chair. She tapped her wand above the cups and, without speaking a single word, sugar came dancing from the tip. She stirred the cup, slowly.
"So, you and Katarina Wolfe are…friends?" she asked.
"I-I did not think that was the most pertinent part of that story, but yes," Minerva said, her throat feeling dry.
The wand withdrew from the cup. A droplet of tea beaded along it. The sight of it made Minerva feel a strange excited thrill in her belly. Slowly, that wand tip lifted up…and then Stevenson placed the tip against her tongue. Her tongue curled up, licking the droplet off. She set the wand aside. Minerva's thighs tightened even more as her cheeks felt as if they had gone incandescent.
"Have you ever heard the tale of the dragon rider? It's an old wizard proverb," Stevenson said, her voice soft, her eyes piercing. "It is extremely dangerous for a wizard atop a dragon to dismount."
Minerva nodded.
"We inherited the Iron Duke's wreckage, as we inherited Haig's. Extraction is not a punishment we inflict anymore," she said, firmly. "But we cannot let her loose - can you imagine the damage such a woman could do, if given her freedom? Neither is it our place to kill her, is it?"
Minerva opened her mouth, then closed it, then…no. She couldn't keep it in.
"That's very fine. But, I note you continue to draw blood from her."
Stevenson did look aside. Her voice was quiet. "I've been voted down repeatedly on that point," she said, her voice edged. Minerva snorted, then took a drink from the tea. It was rich. Warm. She set the cup down and ducked her head forward.
"I…I don't know how to deal with this world!" She exclaimed. "It seems like every day, I find some new horror and new miracle and I can't tell if they're balancing out - or if they're just making me spin out like…like a plane with a wing shot off!" She slammed the cup down, her hands shaking. She jerked her head up, glaring at Stevenson. "A-And now you take me here and give me tea and offer me some kind words and some advice against your own student, but you didn't even try and protect me during that beastly inquisition!" Her hands shook more and her eyes blurred as Minerva felt the emotions of her entire stay in Hexgramatica boiling up and over. "You said I was not fit for Glintfaire and…"
"I misspoke," Stevenson said, her voice softer than Minerva expected.
Minerva blinked. The tears pricking at the edge of her eyes threatened to spill, to spill and run down her cheeks in a torrent. Stevenson sipped from her cup. Despite the drink, her voice was rougher than Mienrva expected.
"I lied," she said. "You can't be in House Glintfaire, and…and you shouldn't be here." She shook her head. "The vampire will remain in her cell, and I will continue to seek the end of her Extraction - to let her live out in what comfort I can manage. But you? You should go. This was a mistake." Her voice was choppy. Minerva's brow furrowed. She didn't know if she should feel hurt or relieved.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I am the head of a house, and while I may not be the head of House Sildanius, I have ordered it," Stevenson said, pushing her chair back. Minerva started to stand as well. Their eyes met and that something flashed in Stevenson's eyes again.
"First, I want you to promise me you'll do more than just vote," Minerva said, quietly. "At least bring word to her-"
"And what, you silly girl?" Stevenson said, her voice even more edged. "Tell her that you are wishing the best for her? She's a beast. A monster. A monster we may have made, but a monster none the less. She…if…" She stepped around the table. Her hand went to Minerva's cheek. "If she was freed, and you were there, your best wishes, your attempts to free her, would slow her down for less…" Her thumb caressed along Minerva's lips, a shockingly intimate move. "...than a second…"
Minerva trembled.
Oh.
Oh.
That was why Stevenson didn't want her here.
Minerva's face felt quite hot and her belly tingled with butterflies.
"Think of something," she whispered. "We can't just say the world is one way and turn aside and pretend there is nothing to be done."
"Oh can't we?" Stevenson asked. Her hand slipped back to the nape of Minerva's neck. "You come into our world, and you just think you can fix everything."
"I can at least try," Minerva said, her voice fierce. Her eyes flashed. Daring her to…to…to what? To…
Oh I shouldn't be here, Minerva thought. Oh this is wrong. This is so wrong.
Then why was she so very…wet?
"I am a professor," Stevenson said, quietly. Her hand slid from her neck to her shoulderblades. Her palm spread. "I have responsibilities. And…and…" Her hand cupped the small of Minerva's back. Minerva stood perfectly still, feeling the strength in that palm, pressing against her through her top. "And you are my student…" she whispered, leaning forward. "You can't tell me what is to be done."
"Make me stop, then," Minerva whispered, her head spinning. The line of argument seemed quite far off.
The hand almost touched her, caressing a shadow.
Showing an almost…titanic effort of will, Stevenson drew her hand back. She brought her knuckles to her lips, not quite biting them. She turned aside, her voice quiet.
"Go," she said, her voice fierce. Harsh. "Get out of here, silly girl, before I do something we both regret. I…" She paused. "Don't make any mistakes with Katarina Wolfe. Understand? Dont."
Minerva, her knees almost knocking together,nodded. She didn't feel brave enough to open her mouth, to speak. She turned and she stepped outside. The door closed and she almost tripped over her own feet as she started away from the cottage - breaking into a run. She came to the exit of the painted world, stumbling blindly into the corridor. She barely knew where she was - but she knew where to find where she had to go. Minerva moved through darkness, her breath ragged, not sure if she should weep from sorrow, scream in frustration, or breathe in relief. She found the first landmark she needed - the bust of Arthur - and then took the turns she needed to go down and, at last, come to the entrance of House Sildanius.
The sitting room was quiet and dark, the fire long since put out.
Bellatrix snored when she slipped into her room.
Minerva masturbates while thinking of her teacher!
Minerva crawled into bed, trembling. She bit her own knuckle to keep herself quiet as her hand snaked, moving as if it had its own imagination and will, along her belly. The hem of her skirts dimpled around her fingers and she shifted, fidgeted. She lifted a single thigh. Her cheeks burned as she slid her finger through her thatch of pubic hair and found her own clit. She was so needy that just touching herself nearly brought a mewl from her lips. She clapped her hand over her mouth, cheeks burning, heart hammering.
This is insane. Stop this. Control yourself, she thought.
Instead, her middle finger prodded the folds of her cunt.
"Ohgod… "She whispered past her mouth, unable to stop herself.
Bellatrix rolled in her bed, mumbling something in her sleep. Minerva couldn't even stop herself. She tried to freeze. Instead, her traitor finger thrust…crooked…plunged deep. She trembled and closed her eyes as she started to work her finger into her sex, grinding against her center of pleasure, her pointer finger crooking up to find her clit. She was too sensitive to touch it directly - she made small circles as her mind cast out flickering, shadowy images. Kat…Stevenson…Kat and Stevenson, Stevenson alone. Hands, caressing her. Squeezing her. Tightening around her throat.
You have been a very bad student, little witchling…
She closed her eyes tightly and added another finger.
She bit down on her hand. Pain and pleasure washed through her and she trembled such that the bed let out a squealing squeak. When the white waves passed, when her eyes were clear, when she was able to breathe and gasped quietly for air…she remained as still as a mouse, listening.
This is insane. Stop this. Control yourself, she thought.
Instead, her middle finger prodded the folds of her cunt.
"Ohgod… "She whispered past her mouth, unable to stop herself.
Bellatrix rolled in her bed, mumbling something in her sleep. Minerva couldn't even stop herself. She tried to freeze. Instead, her traitor finger thrust…crooked…plunged deep. She trembled and closed her eyes as she started to work her finger into her sex, grinding against her center of pleasure, her pointer finger crooking up to find her clit. She was too sensitive to touch it directly - she made small circles as her mind cast out flickering, shadowy images. Kat…Stevenson…Kat and Stevenson, Stevenson alone. Hands, caressing her. Squeezing her. Tightening around her throat.
You have been a very bad student, little witchling…
She closed her eyes tightly and added another finger.
She bit down on her hand. Pain and pleasure washed through her and she trembled such that the bed let out a squealing squeak. When the white waves passed, when her eyes were clear, when she was able to breathe and gasped quietly for air…she remained as still as a mouse, listening.
Bellatrix continued to snore.
And she was a day closer to death.
I need more training, Minerva thought.
And…
She realized, now.
She knew when Professor Stevenson went to practice her invocations, late at night. She knew which room she preferred to do it in.
It would be foolish. It would be…it would be…
She closed her eyes.
The day that followed was one that felt painfully slow. She moved through it on tiptoes, ready for the sword of Damocles over her head to drop. And yet, despite that, it seemed that almost no time had passed at all before she was once more in the practice room, standing in the chill.
The door opened.
In stepped Professor Stevenson. She shucked off her robes. Hung them on the hook.
And sighed.
She did not turn.
"Sableknight…"
"I have two days to learn to stand up against Leslie," Minerva said, her voice hesitant. Stevenson lifted her head, her tail twitching with agitation from side to side. Minerva could almost hear the rejection before it came. The words that spilled from her lip shocked…even her. "I'll do anything. For your help."
Stevenson turned. She arched a single eyebrow. But her tail was writhing sinuously. She was trying to keep control. Fraying.
"Anything, girl?" Stevenson asked.
Minerva looked aside. Her fingers undid a button at her collar. "Anything…" She whispered.
Stevenson let out a grunt, as if she had been struck in the belly.
"Damn it." She turned away. She pressed her forehead against the stonework of the room. She breathed in, then breathed out through her nose.
"Anything covers a lot, girl," she said, quietly. "And I'll take it all." She turned around, then walked towards Minerva, her eyes fierce, gleaming. She caught her chin. "You are a very bad influence upon me, Sabelknight." She lifted Minerva's chin up and Minerva almost melted. "No one else knows you're here? Not even your…other friend?"
Minerva trembled. That trembling might have been mistaken for a shake of the head.
"Good," Stevenson said, quietly. Her thumb slid along Minervea's lips. "Here, you will refer to me only as Professor, witchling." Her voice was a quiet, dominant croon that made Minerva's knees tremble. "Understood?"
"Y-Yes…" Minerva whispered.
The fingers on her chin tightened. Lifted. Those cat-eyes blazed.
"Y-Yes Professor!" Minerva squeaked.
The Professor released her chin. "Well enough. Show me your stance. We have a lot of work to do."
Minerva drew her wand…and raised it.
Two days to live, yes. But she would live them.
- Location
- Nowhere, Midwestern USA
- Pronouns
- She/Her/They/Them
Oh, dearie me. This isn't going to end well.
... I mean, I'm going to be honest, this is hot as fuck, but end well? No. No it won't. Or maybe, against all odds, it will. I hope so.
... I mean, I'm going to be honest, this is hot as fuck, but end well? No. No it won't. Or maybe, against all odds, it will. I hope so.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Minerva is unfortunately attracted to the Evil Aura of bad decisions
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
So, she should go for decapitation. Since direct killing curses aren't fucking allowed, apparently.
Turn the air into boiling water!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The issue is two fold.
1) Minerva doesn't actually want to kill anyone, even fascist jerks
2) Minerva has never held a sword once in her life
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
Hm... 1 is rather dangerous for her, as a win without killing still leaves him able to kill later. 2 might be circumvented by animating the sword, but wasn't it very draining for her when she did it to the desk?
(I'm kind of hoping sword animation would also circumvent 1, but obviously she wouldn't plan for that.)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Minerva. My girl.
From one disaster lesbian to another: damn.
Personally I don't find it as efficient as the more permanent alternative, but Minerva isn't of the same mindset/experiences as me ... and she seems pretty firmly attached to her principles, for the time being.
From one disaster lesbian to another: damn.
Public humiliation is often pretty effective; when was the last time anyone saw anything from that fash who got cold-cocked on camera?
Personally I don't find it as efficient as the more permanent alternative, but Minerva isn't of the same mindset/experiences as me ... and she seems pretty firmly attached to her principles, for the time being.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
fucking your teacher is moral, ethical and legal
source: dude, trust me
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
This sounds like a girl who just so happens to have a selection of dueling swords in her wardrobe for "Sentimental reasons"
Is it possible to draw?
She can enchant her own sword, no? There is no way such a plan could end badly, especially if she uses the secret
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
This post factchecked TRUE by REAL disaster lesbians
I didn't really feel the chemistry for this one. Like, they're arguing over morality and it's all serious, and then Stevenson starts caressing her, and it seems like kind of a sudden shift. Is this really putting her in the mood?
Everything else in the chapter was great, but that part felt a bit jarring.
Everything else in the chapter was great, but that part felt a bit jarring.
Chapter Twelve: The Unexpected Weight
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Professor Stevenson made Minerva's heart flutter as she stood on the opposite side of the room. Back straight, chin up, her body clad in naught but a tight black top and sleek, form fitting leggings that reminded Minerva of the kind of clothing a stage hand might wear to avoid drawing attention in a play. She looked as if she had full mobility in the costume - and she looked as if she reveled in it. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she regarded Minerva cooly, before at last speaking.
"Your first lesson," she said. "Strike me."
Minerva looked at her wand, then back up at Stevenson.
"With a spell," Stevenson said, her tail twitching and her ears flicking with cattish annoyance.
"Right," Minerva said. She squared her shoulders. She lifted her wand, then aimed. "Cidak Slan Wif!"
A bolt of light exploded from her wandtip and shot towards Stevenson. It struck the wall behind her as she stepped to the side, hands still behind her back.
"Again," Stevenson said.
Minerva frowned. She flicked her wand and spoke the words again. "Cidak Slan Wif!" And again, the bolt struck the wall behind Stevenson, who had not even moved her hands from behind her back. As smoke rose from the stonework behind her, she stepped forward.
"Again!"
"Cidak-"
Stevenson stepped into her arm, clasped her wrist, twisted her so, and the wand came flying free from Minerva's hand as Stevenson lifted her arm and pushed her down with one hand. Minerva wobbled, her shoulder aching and sweat beading and dripping down her chin as she was forced to look down at the ground. Stevenson's voice was a quiet, dangerous purr that excited every atom in Minerva's body. She was painfully aware that it would just take a tiny twist and Stevenson could have her on the floor. On her back. On her knees.
"As you can see…there is a certain disadvantage when it comes to attacking with spells."
"I bloody well can!" Minerva exclaimed, her voice tight.
"Ahem."
The pressure on her arm heightened ever so slightly. It didn't hurt. But it threatened too. The pressure made Minerva's knees go weak and her cheeks heated. "I-I bloody well can…P-Professor," she said.
Stevenson released her with a grin. "Very good," she said. "A spell travels through the medium it is released into. We are in the material realm - the propagation of magic is decidedly slower than a human's reflexes, or their muscles. This means…"
"S-Spells can be dodged," Minerva said, nodding.
"Very good," Stevenson said, her fingers tousling Minerva's head. Minerva's cheeks heated even more and she tried to not drop to her knees right then and there. This woman just does things to my brain, she thought. Or tried to think. The actual thought came out more as: Pet oh my brain that…er, uh, head…girl…
Stevenson turned around, her tail swishing. Which, of course, drew Minerva's eyes down that long, sinuous tail to that taut, tight, firm-
"And thus, once the astral plane was discovered, duelists chose to fight there rather than in the material world," Stevenson said. She picked her wand from her hanging robes, flicking her wrist to extend it from the curved pistol-like hilt it had. Her fingers gripped the wand firmly as she turned back to face Minerva. "In that plane, it is a direct battle of magic against magic. Quite fair." She chuckled. "But that's not an option for us anymore. Now is it?"
"No, Professor," Minerva said, shaking her head.
Part of her had played, like one might play with a knife, the idea of leaving out professor on purpose. And as she looked into Stevenson's slitted, catlike eyes, Minerva could see the smug knowledge that the older woman had seen it. Minerva…was beginning to realize she was just an open book for this older woman. The memory of her vision in the Trial Temporalius tickled through her brain and her cheeks heated even more.
"Now," Stevenson said. "Magic is swiftest when it acts. Thus. If I were to fling a spell here." She tapped the ground before her feet. "That created a wall, the wall would be up before your spell reached me. Understood?"
Minerva nodded.
"When I ask a question, I expect a response, witchling," Stevenson crooned.
Minerva's knees trembled. "U-Understood, Professor."
"Good," Stevenson said. "Now that you know the basics, we shall practice your defenses. We shall begin with your dodging. Ready?"
Minerva gulped. "Y-Yes, Profess-"
"Cidak Slan Wif," Stevenson said, her wand whipping in a sword-slash of an arc. At the midsection, a bolt of crackling magic burst forth and whistled at Minerva. She flung herself to the side, stumbling. The bolt struck the wall with a spray of sparks, some of which stung against her back. Stevenson's voice cracked out - authoritarian. Domineering. Sensual. "I said dodge, not stumble. Minimum necessary movements! Cidak Slan Wif!" Her wand, which had been held up by her ear, slashed down in another arc. Again, a bolt flew out. Minerva jerked herself aside and the bolt struck the wall with another spray of sparks and smoke.
Stevenson arched a single eyebrow in approval. "Better," she said. Her wand slashed and her voice barked out the words again. Another bolt - but this time, there was no pause. WIthout missing a beat, Stevenson slashed upwards again, her voice ringing out as she cast again, then again and again and again. She timed her wand movement such that each time she said Wif, it was whipped down at the exact right angle. Minerva had never imagined there could be such…precision and talent in flicking a wand.
Bolt after bolt struck the wall as Minerva found her rhythm. But it took her focus. She dodged, dodged, dodged…and then on the last, she dodged and Stevenson stepped forward, reached out with her left hand, grabbed onto her throat, then wheeled her about and pinned her to the wall. She brought her knee up, pinning Minreva's arm down by the wrist. The wand dropped from Minerva's nerveless fingers as, catlike, Stevenson remained poised on the ball of one of her feet.
"You got too close to me, witchling," Stevenson crooned, softly. Her clawed fingertips pricked against Minerva's skin and Minerva couldn't breathe. That had very little to do with the pressure or lack thereof on her throat. "You must always maintain distance. Many duels end on the floor."
Her fingers tightened more, choking off some of Minerva's air.
Minerva moaned around her grip.
Stevenson's grin was predatory.
"You are a little mouse of a thing, aren't you?" Stevenson asked. The older woman leaned in, moment by moment. "You did quite well, for a beginner, at getting out of the way. Minerva's head was swimming and her heart thudded in her ears as Stevenson slid in closer, then closer…and then she crooned. "Not quite good enough for this, witchling."
She released. Minerva almost dropped to her knees as Stevenson stepped away. Her back was turned. "We practice again. I want you to survive long enough to use any other lessons I give you."
Stevenson swung around, flicked her wand, and Minerva was too cross-eyed with the proximity, with the pressure, with the scent of her professor, the intoxicating, forbidden scent of her in her nose that she didn't even step aside. The bolt struck her chest and she felt the nerves go out in her body. She sprawled onto the ground, crashing there with a groan. Stevenson sighed.
Minerva couldn't roll over. She couldn't even blink. It was like her every muscle was slack. Limp. And she was still conscious. SHe hadn't realized that being struck down by a spell was so…alienating. She'd almost have preferred to be unconscious.
Crunch.
The sound of a single foot setting down sent a thrill along Minerva's spine.
"What will I do with you," Stevenson said. "It's almost like you wanted me to hit you."
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The foot came down beside her head - and Minerva could see the elegant arch of foot, the sleek curve of ankle. For the first time in her life, she understood those old stories of Victorians thinking that showing a girl's ankles was just utterly scandalous. That foot shifted and pressed to her shoulder, then rolled her onto her back, so she looked up at Stevenson. Stevenson's hands were on her hips and her lips were pursed. She slowly knelt down - her feet coming up onto their balls, her thighs spreading as she came down to remain poised right above Minerva's head. Her finger brushed along Minerva's throat.
Her claw was out. Minerva could feel the point.
"In a war, this is when you'd be having your throat slit," Stevenson said.
Minerva wanted to gulp. She couldn't.
"Fortunately, duels aren't war," Stevenson said. Her hand paused. Her fingertip slipped down - bit by bit. "But learning to shake off a stun is a vital skill. It takes focus. Dedication. Your will, against the spell that holds you down." Her finger brushed underneath the edge of Minerva's collar. She tugged and the first of her buttons came popping free. Then the second. Then the third. Then the fourth. Minerva wanted, quite badly, to move. Instead, she remained laying there as her top spread open. Her pale skin prickled with goosebumps as her bra remained the only thing keeping her top concealed from the older woman.
"If I get this off before you move," Stevenson said, her clawtip teasing along her skin. "Then I shall have to punish you, witchling."
Oh god, she's touching me, Minerva thought.
Stevenson's claw-tip dragged inch by inch along the circumference of her bra's cup. Minerva felt the tingling pressure and a traitor part of her mind asked: Would being punished be so bad? She squirmed within the prison on her flesh. Then she felt Stevenson's hand gripping the middle of her bra, the thick buttress between the two cups. Fingers curling, Stevenson took hold and started to tug back. Fabric stretched, and hooks clicked and creaked against one another as the small of Minerva's back started to lift off the ground. The feeling of her bra biting into her back excited her beyond almost all reason.
But…
It won't…be…Minerva focused. That…
Her bra felt as if it was about to give way. Stevenson's grin was pure feline, her eyes gleaming.
Easy!
Minerva's hand wrenched up and she caught her professor's wrist. Stevenson grinned, wickedly, then released her bra with a grunt. Minerva sat up, her cheeks flushed. She still felt…cool and clammy, her skin tingling and buzzing. It was like her whole body had gone to sleep and was only just now beginning to waken.
"Well enough," Stevenson crooned, quietly. "Now…" She stood, and then jerked her chin. "To your feet. We have to continue honing your dodge. I want you to be passable before it's time to get to your rooms."
Minerva buttoned herself closed. Her cheeks burned. Her head ducked forward and she managed only a soft mumble.
"Y-Yes Professor."
Stevenson didn't touch her once for the entire rest of the dueling - Minerva remained focused on her dodging, kept her distance, and by the time she was done, she ached physically, and she ached in her soul, ached to be touched. Stevenson nodded as the chime rang out, announcing the late hour. "Very good, witchling," she said, her voice quiet, as Minerva panted and ducked her head forward. Minerva nodded, her eyes closed as she tried to bring in the air she needed for her burning, fatigued body.
Stevenson's fingers slipped through her hair. She brushed her hair backwards, and Minerva bit her lip to keep from moaning as the other woman caressed her. Her finger slid back along her ear, then slid along the side of her cheek, to her jaw. She gripped her, lifting her head, tilting her head backwards so that Minerva looked up into her eyes. Stevenson purred softly.
"You're a good girl," she said. Minerva almost melted. "Tomorrow night, we shall practice attacking."
"Yes, Professor," Minerva said, quietly. Stevenson's thumb caressed along her lips, then pressed against her. Minerva resisted, ever so slightly, her brain a confused jumble of adrenaline, excitement, and…knowing it was wrong. Very wrong. The pressure of Stevenson's thumb against her tongue set Minerva's knees quivering. Her hand reached up, grabbing onto Stevenson's wrist, but Stevenson's other hand grabbed onto Minerva's left, pinning it above her head, pressing her into the wall.
"I've seen the defiance in your eyes when I call you witchling," Stevenson's voice was so husky. It tasted like whisky, rough and intoxicating. "And yet, you follow my every order. Almost like you know what you are." Her thumb slid free.
"And what's that?" Minerva spat out.
The hand on her wrist tightened more. Stevenson did not say a single thing. She simply caught Minerva's eyes with her own and narrowed them ever so slightly.
"...Professor," she whispered.
"Obedient. You know your proper place, as a student."
"Do I?" Minerva asked.
"I could show you…" Stevenson growled.
Minerva's eyes flashed. Her tongue spoke before her brain could stop herself. "Can you?"
"Can you what?" Stevenson's hand slid from Minerva's jaw to her throat. She squeezed ever so slightly, leaning forward, her voice warm against Minerva's ear. "Speak up little witchling, I can't hear you." Her hand tightened more.
Minerva moaned out. "Professor!"
"Remember," she said, fiercely. "Not a word of this outside of this room. You can keep a little secret. Yes?"
Minerva nodded, hurriedly. "Yes, professor," she said. She licked her fingers, subtly. She wanted to taste more of her. She needed more of her. Her head was still spinning. Her body still ached for the older woman to just hold her. She wanted to say more. Instead, she kept her tongue as the door opened, as robes swished, as the door closed, leaving her in the chambers. Minerva lapped at her palm, slowly, tasting every last drop she could.
Finally, she whispered.
"That…was a mistake…"
It was. She thought. Then, firmly. It was!
What did you do when you made mistakes?
You didn't make them again.
The door to the dueling chamber opened.
Stevenson stepped inside, her robes already in her hand. She hung it on the hook, then turned and smirked as she eyed Minerva, who stood before her, her eyes downcast.
"Ready for another lesson?" she asked.
"Yeah…" Minerva said, quietly.
Stevenson arched an eyebrow. Rather than demanding she be called a professor, rather than speaking sharply, rather than stepping forward and grabbing her, she instead simply arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"
Minerva opened her mouth, then closed it. "Does it matter?"
"Yes," Stevenson said. She walked forward, slowly. "You are my student. Not of my house? Yes. But you are my student. And I am risking a great deal for you, little witchling. I do want to see you flowering after the duel." She reached up, brushing a lock of Minerva's hair behind her head. Minerva's cheeks heated as she ducked her chin forward.
"...I…have another friend," she said, quietly.
"Another dyke, you mean," Stevenson said, her voice quiet.
"Yes," Minerva whispered.
Stevenson chuckled. "I'm not hurt."
"She smelled you on me," Minerva said. She rubbed at her neck, looking aside. "She smelled you all over me."
"You didn't bathe?" Stevenson arched an eyebrow.
"I did!" Minerva exclaimed. She stepped away, purely so she could think.
"Ah." Stevenson said. "Katarina then. Your other friend." She chuckled, softly. "Is the German jealous?"
I'd almost prefer it if she were. Minerva thought, her stomach knotting. She remembered the odd expression on Katarina's face - the curiosity, the arch of an eyebrow, the lack of surprise. It was a strange reminder of the queer circles that they ran in. Unsettling. It felt like what Minerva had done should have caused more of a reaction. But…that was just it. Maybe it had. Maybe underneath her cool exterior, Kat had been hurt. Minerva didn't know, and had not had the chance to ask. In public, outside, in the view of every single other Hexgramatica student streaming to the dining hall, there had been no chance to apologize, to ask if she was all right, to be direct.
It was like being trapped in a broom closet. Dark and musty and full of obstructions she kept tripping on.
How could I have been so thoughtless? Minerva though as she rubbed her shoulders with her palms, her back to Stevenson. She glanced over her shoulder and the knife-sharp, elegant figure of Professor Stevenson burned into her eyes. Her nipples ached and she felt dizzy. Ah. Yes. I wasn't thinking. That's how.
"Well?" Stevenson asked.
"I'm…not sure," she said. "I couldn't exactly be specific about this. Tell no one and all that."
"Mmm," Stevenson said. "Is she upset enough to be a problem? Do you want me to speak with her?"
Minerva turned. "Sp…Speak with her?"
"I am a professor, I do have some small power in such affairs," Stevenson said.
"No, I…I told her I can't…that i…that I needed to be secret and…" Minerva blushed. "She's a werewolf, you know that. She smelt your scent on me. She may make the connection when she sees you next. Then she'd know. And…she didn't seem too upset."
Stevenson let out another 'hmm.' "Is this going to be a problem?"
Minerva rubbed her hands along her shoulders. "I don't know," she said. "But since the next day I am going to be in a duel I am not exactly thinking straight."
"I daresay you haven't been thinking straight since you saw your first pretty girl in the market," Stevenson said, her voice dry.
Minerva snorted. "Ah. So. Right. We're practicing attacking today? Hmm?"
"Do you have a sword?" Stevenson asked, curiously.
"Yes," Minerva said.
It was true. After a fashion. She thought a bit guiltily of Bellatrix, while Stevenson nodded. "Good, then we shall be focusing on the use of the wand to manipulate the field. The closer your casting is to your person, the faster the effect. Thus, using the landscape defensively is faster than casting to turn the air into fog or stinging scorpions. However, it's easier to change, say, ten yards of ground into spikes than it is to cover the same radius with, say, a stunning spell." She grinned, slightly. "Do you see the formation of one's strategy in this?"
"Yes, quite. Just like football," Minerva said.
Stevenson snorted.
"Let us begin with some transformations. I want to see you forming specific structures - walls, platforms, barriers. Begin with this shape." Her wand scrawled a shape in the air, the tip of it glowing and leaving behind a shimmering line of purple smoke. Minerva grinned, then held up her wand.
"Kemb Drit So!"
Her practicing fell into a rhythm - and Minerva felt as if she had gained a foot in height every time Stevenson gave her a nod and a little grin and a quiet 'very good witchling.' She needed to simply visualize the structure, then flick her wand and speak the words - and through it all, she worked hard, wishing nothing more than to please her professor. With her sweat gleaming along her arms and her hair matted down to her head, she lowered her wand as Stevenson's tail twitched from side to side and she laughed.
"I don't think I've ever seen a student quite so good at this kind of shapecrafting so early in their career."
Minerva grinned. She didn't know if she wanted to mention the weeks she had spent locked up in a room with nothing to read but thaumaturgy books. She didn't know if she wanted to mention her note taking in each class, her extra practice squirreled away after her homework was completed. She didn't know if she wanted to tell her about the tiny fearful voice that whispered in the back of her mind, just barely beyond the range of her hearing: What if they find out? What if they throw you out on your ear? What she imagined might well be an ancestral survival mechanism; What if you have to run? What if you can't?
"Thanks," she said. Then. "I…why do you practice here so often?"
Stevenson arched an eyebrow, then shrugged one shoulder. "I like it," she said, stepping to her robes. She took her wand out, rolling her shoulders slowly. "But…also…" She paused, then turned around. "You know how I got these?" She pointed at her ears. They twitched, as if glad to be noticed. Minerva gulped and nodded.
"They were a byproduct of the factories, in the war," she said.
"Quite," Stevenson said. "They called us the Canary Girls - the first one grew little wings and a beak, after all." She looked aside, then flexed her fingers, clawtips springing from it. She relaxed her hand and the claws retracted, grudgingly. "I…joined the factory because of a friend. Named Mary. She was the daughter of a skilled painter named Franklyn, and she and I would often go within them, using their magic to find a place to be…private. Like the cottage you saw."
Minerva remembered the etching on the table. M+M in a heart. Mary and…
She realized she didn't know Professor Stevenson's given name. She knew she had heard it at least once. It started with an M.
Stevenson sighed. "Mary and I worked ourselves to the bone, but we were women in a man's profession, and some spiteful fool started a rumor about us two. Mary was meek about most things - I never expected her to get into a fight about it. Or…maybe it wasn't a fight. Maybe they just came upon her. Maybe. I don't know. I…wasn't there." Stevenson's hand clenched, then unclenched. "She was dead when she was found - and the scrying and investigations found the killer. Just one man, the blackguard who had tried to get her to go to bed with him. He was acquitted when they found her journals - I was only saved because she wrote in code." She shook her head. "So, I practiced, learned how to fight, challenged him to a duel, and killed him."
Minerva felt like her entire face was on fire. "Oh," she said, quietly.
"And, as you can see, I never stopped practicing. It made me rather good at this, and…to my surprise…got me this job," Stevenson said. She grinned, but it was a grin without mirth. "It also helped that, by that point, there weren't that many men who could take it. But I do think I'd still have gotten it."
Minerva nodded again. Then, quietly. "Thank you, Professor. I…I'm glad you got the bastard."
Stevenson sighed. "I do sometimes think Mary would think rather poorly on me," she said, quietly. "I do need to stop seducing students." Her lips quirked as she turned to face Minerva.
"W-Well, I mean, we are adults," Minerva said, her voice soft, her eyes flicking to the side. "W-Wait, am I not the first-?"
"Witchling…lift your wand," Stevenson said, her voice a quiet croon.
Minerva woke in a cold sweat, an hour before her alarm. Bellatrix rolled over her in her bed, mumbling.
Minerva figured it was for the best. She had only a short time to get ready. She went to the bathroom. She washed her face. She wrote a note to Bellatrix. She figured the girl was owed the apology.
When she came, a half hour early, to the dueling rooms, her second was waiting for her. Kat's foot was tapping a ferocious tattoo against the stone ground, her breath fogging in the chill of the early morning. The faint sound of murmuring conversation came through the door leading into the dueling chamber, and Minerva wondered how many students and professors had hurried to get the best seats for this. Kat lifted her head as she saw Minerva and flashed her a very Kattish grin. Minerva smiled back, hesitantly.
They were alone.
"Kat, I…I wanted to talk to you," she said.
"About Melissa?" Kat asked.
Minerva blinked at her. She formed the first letter of the name before she stopped herself. "Ah," she said.
Kat actually laughed. "Good god, you are not even knowing her first name? And you had…" She leaned in, her voice a rough croon. "You had her scent all over your face."
Minerva's entire face went bright red. She had no time to splutter. No time to ask Kat if she was upset. No time for anything - the clicking sounds of shoes and the murmur of more conversation drew her attention away from the burly German. Resplendent in their House Glintfaire green and black robes, Leslie Browning-Darenwood and her second, a dark Indian girl by the name of Shyla, her family name still unknown to Minerva. Behind them came more Glintfaire students, including Harry, who shot Minerva a nervous smile. Leslie smirked at her as she walked forward.
"I see that you've come alone, with just a single second…" Leslie said, her voice cold. "Does House Sildanius see you in such a poor light, Minerva?"
"I don't drag my friends out of bed for pomp," Minerva said, dryly.
"Besides, I just came here to wish Minerva good luck!"
The voice that split the crowd was bright, forcefully cheerful, and almost dared anyone to say anything. Gina strode forward, pushing past the shocked Leslie, to throw her arms around Minerva. She hugged her tightly, then drew back, turning to give a fierce, shark like smile to Leslie. "I hope you give her a good, solid drubbing, Minerva."
"Virginia!" Leslie exclaimed.
"What?" Gina snorted. "You lose us some points for being beaten black and blue? I'll just earn them back twice over when we beat them in football. Minerva's my friend, and you're a silly-"
"That's quite enough, Gina!" Minerva said, hurriedly - she wasn't sure if Gina knew exactly how dangerous Leslie might be. She knew enough about how blackshirts operated in London - they hunted in packs and remembered who had offended them.
Leslie glared daggers at Minerva.
"...silly little twit!" Gina said, grinning.
"You-" Leslie stepped forward. Kat stepped between her and Gina, growling loudly - and Minerva, and only Minerva, was close enough to notice how Gina's eyes went quite wide and her face went quite red as she saw the breadth and impressive musculature of Kat's shoulders. Leslie backed away from Kat, but Shyla drew her wand, aiming it at Kat and pursing her lips. Her voice was as posh as any that Minerva had heard.
"Don't even try it!"
It felt like the entire corridor was about to explode into spells when a loud clap of palm on palm jerked everyone's attention around. The Headmaster, Professor Stevenson, and a stranger that Minerva had never seen before were walking down the corridor. The stranger was tall, handsome, and had a bland, inoffensive face that might blend into a thousand backgrounds. But his eyes were the eyes of a snake. Minerva instantly felt her hackles rise, looking into those dark, empty eyes.
"I see you are all quite excited for the duel, but we must remember our decorum," the Headmaster said. "Especially with such an august visitor…"
"Chancellor!" Leslie exclaimed, having finally jerked her eyes from Gina and Minerva and Kat to the arriving adults. She came to attention, as did two other members of the class. Harry looked completely shocked, his mouth opening.
"Ah, Harry, son," the bland-faced man said, placing his palm on Harry's shoulder. "Glad to see you here - I didn't know you were friends with Leslie."
"I, uh…" Harry stammered.
"You're Vane Villamont," Minerva said, slowly.
"And you…are Minerva Schross-Sableknight, yes?" The leader of Ars Magika said, turning to face Minerva with a warm smile that didn't reach his eyes. He looked down his nose at her, measuring her from head to toe. "Maximilian's granddaughter?"
I am Rebecca Golding's daughter, you mamzer, Minerva thought. What she said was: "Yes, Chancellor."
"Please, only members of Ars Magicka need to use my official title," Villamont said, waving his hand. "I'm not Prime Minister, after all."
"Quite, Mr. Villamont," The headmaster said. "Come, let's take our seats, we can continue the discussion afterwards."
They strode in through the door. Leslie glared at Minerva, then walked past, followed by her second, followed by the Glintfaire students, with Gina giving her one last hug and a kiss on the cheek and a whispered 'good luck!' - and then Kat and Minerva were alone once more. Minerva had so much to say. But she had no time to say it in.
"Good luck," Kat said. Then. "I'm not mad. Or disappointed. I know how it is. When we're…" She made a gesture that seemed to encompass them and the world alike. "We will be talking later, though. I promise that much."
Minerva felt her heart soar. She hadn't ruined things, not forever. She nodded, smiled, then turned to go before she did something stupid like kiss her. She walked into the dueling room, Kat following after her, to see that it was the same hexagonal shape as the practice rooms, but with tiers of seats arranged around it, sweeping up and away. Minerva saw that quite a few Sildanius students had claimed front row seats - and she saw Bellatrix waving down at her, looking…deeply excited. Minerva grinned.
The Headmaster stood between Leslie and Minerva. He nodded. "Today, we are here to settle a matter of honor between Leslie Browning-Darenwood and Minerva Schross-Sableknight. This is to be a Duel Sinister. Both have their weapons…" He nodded to Minerva, then to Leslie. Leslie reached into her robes and drew forth a pair of cloth covered weapons. The magic imbued in the cloth made it impossible to tell which was a wand, which was a sword. She hefted both with a little smirk. Minerva reached into her robes, then took forth her weapons. Her cloths concealed them as well.
She felt the heavy, heavy weight in her right hand.
"When my cloth touches the floor, combat shall begin." The Headmaster drew forth a handkerchief. "The winner is, as is customary, the last one to remain standing and able to fight. Now…"
He dropped his handkerchief.
As it fell, he vanished in a flare of smoke.
And it struck the ground.
Leslie started with a quick flick of her right hand. "Cidak Slan Wif!"
Minerva dodged. Realization blazed in her: The wand was in her right hand!
The bolt struck the wall. Leslie narrowed her eyes - she had clearly hoped that Minerva would be so off balance that-
She flicked her right hand again. "Subtrahe-"
As she spoke, Minerva started forward. She thrust out her left hand, cloth fluttering.
"-Kemb-"
Minerva spoke. "Kemb Drit-"
"-Wif!"
Minerva flung herself flat, skidding towards Leslie. She touched her cloth covered wand to the ground and shouted. "Miċelnes!"
The bolt of green light shot over her head as Leslie's spell missed her by a hair. It struck the wall and rebounded with a squeal of energies and fizzled out against a dome of magic that surrounded the dueling chamber. At the same time, the ground humped, twitched, then wrenched upwards, forming into a crude column of stone, which shot up. Leslie, who had started to dodge, had clearly expected a magical spell aimed at herself. Instead, she stumbled directly into the path of the pillar, which slammed into place around her wrist, shaped by Minerva's focused image. Minerva started to stand, grinning fiercely as she saw that the dangerous short sword, the left hand, was caught fast in a vice of stone. Leslie jerked hard at the restraints, her eyes wide.
"Gotcha," Minerva growled.
Leslie looked directly at her.
Then she smirked.
"I'm not right handed," she whispered.
Her right hand thrust - the wand pressing towards Minerva's belly. And then pain. And cold. And blood. Minerva gaped, looking down, and saw the cloth around Leslie's right hand slipped away, revealing not a wand, but a length of sword, buried right in her stomach. The crowd gasped in shock.
Minerva trembled. Kat cried out.
"Surrender," Leslie growled. "Or I yank this out and-"
Minerva swung her right arm in a brutal arc. Leslie yanked the sword free - it hurt even worse - and parried the blow…but instead of turning it, her short sword was knocked jarring out of the way and she had a moment to gape in shock before the cloth covered weapon smashed directly into her temple.
Minerva clutched at her belly as the cloth around her weapon fell aside, revealing…
A length of dull gray lead pipe. Wrenched from beneath her bathroom's sink. Sliding between fingers growing weak as the crowd gasped in shock. Minerva flicked her wand and the transformed earth fell aside - and with it, Leslie hit the ground first. She sprawled there, and Minerva kept her feet until Kat reached her, and a healer grabbed her other arm. Her knees trembled and she grinned, weakly, at Kat, feeling increasingly faint.
"I won," she whispered. "I didn't…touch the ground, I won…"
"You…"
What Kat had to say vanished.
The healer whispered a spell, touched wand to Minerva's temple…and everything turned to warmth and a glowing light and the embrace of healing magic.
"Your first lesson," she said. "Strike me."
Minerva looked at her wand, then back up at Stevenson.
"With a spell," Stevenson said, her tail twitching and her ears flicking with cattish annoyance.
"Right," Minerva said. She squared her shoulders. She lifted her wand, then aimed. "Cidak Slan Wif!"
A bolt of light exploded from her wandtip and shot towards Stevenson. It struck the wall behind her as she stepped to the side, hands still behind her back.
"Again," Stevenson said.
Minerva frowned. She flicked her wand and spoke the words again. "Cidak Slan Wif!" And again, the bolt struck the wall behind Stevenson, who had not even moved her hands from behind her back. As smoke rose from the stonework behind her, she stepped forward.
"Again!"
"Cidak-"
Stevenson stepped into her arm, clasped her wrist, twisted her so, and the wand came flying free from Minerva's hand as Stevenson lifted her arm and pushed her down with one hand. Minerva wobbled, her shoulder aching and sweat beading and dripping down her chin as she was forced to look down at the ground. Stevenson's voice was a quiet, dangerous purr that excited every atom in Minerva's body. She was painfully aware that it would just take a tiny twist and Stevenson could have her on the floor. On her back. On her knees.
"As you can see…there is a certain disadvantage when it comes to attacking with spells."
"I bloody well can!" Minerva exclaimed, her voice tight.
"Ahem."
The pressure on her arm heightened ever so slightly. It didn't hurt. But it threatened too. The pressure made Minerva's knees go weak and her cheeks heated. "I-I bloody well can…P-Professor," she said.
Stevenson released her with a grin. "Very good," she said. "A spell travels through the medium it is released into. We are in the material realm - the propagation of magic is decidedly slower than a human's reflexes, or their muscles. This means…"
"S-Spells can be dodged," Minerva said, nodding.
"Very good," Stevenson said, her fingers tousling Minerva's head. Minerva's cheeks heated even more and she tried to not drop to her knees right then and there. This woman just does things to my brain, she thought. Or tried to think. The actual thought came out more as: Pet oh my brain that…er, uh, head…girl…
Stevenson turned around, her tail swishing. Which, of course, drew Minerva's eyes down that long, sinuous tail to that taut, tight, firm-
"And thus, once the astral plane was discovered, duelists chose to fight there rather than in the material world," Stevenson said. She picked her wand from her hanging robes, flicking her wrist to extend it from the curved pistol-like hilt it had. Her fingers gripped the wand firmly as she turned back to face Minerva. "In that plane, it is a direct battle of magic against magic. Quite fair." She chuckled. "But that's not an option for us anymore. Now is it?"
"No, Professor," Minerva said, shaking her head.
Part of her had played, like one might play with a knife, the idea of leaving out professor on purpose. And as she looked into Stevenson's slitted, catlike eyes, Minerva could see the smug knowledge that the older woman had seen it. Minerva…was beginning to realize she was just an open book for this older woman. The memory of her vision in the Trial Temporalius tickled through her brain and her cheeks heated even more.
"Now," Stevenson said. "Magic is swiftest when it acts. Thus. If I were to fling a spell here." She tapped the ground before her feet. "That created a wall, the wall would be up before your spell reached me. Understood?"
Minerva nodded.
"When I ask a question, I expect a response, witchling," Stevenson crooned.
Minerva's knees trembled. "U-Understood, Professor."
"Good," Stevenson said. "Now that you know the basics, we shall practice your defenses. We shall begin with your dodging. Ready?"
Minerva gulped. "Y-Yes, Profess-"
"Cidak Slan Wif," Stevenson said, her wand whipping in a sword-slash of an arc. At the midsection, a bolt of crackling magic burst forth and whistled at Minerva. She flung herself to the side, stumbling. The bolt struck the wall with a spray of sparks, some of which stung against her back. Stevenson's voice cracked out - authoritarian. Domineering. Sensual. "I said dodge, not stumble. Minimum necessary movements! Cidak Slan Wif!" Her wand, which had been held up by her ear, slashed down in another arc. Again, a bolt flew out. Minerva jerked herself aside and the bolt struck the wall with another spray of sparks and smoke.
Stevenson arched a single eyebrow in approval. "Better," she said. Her wand slashed and her voice barked out the words again. Another bolt - but this time, there was no pause. WIthout missing a beat, Stevenson slashed upwards again, her voice ringing out as she cast again, then again and again and again. She timed her wand movement such that each time she said Wif, it was whipped down at the exact right angle. Minerva had never imagined there could be such…precision and talent in flicking a wand.
Bolt after bolt struck the wall as Minerva found her rhythm. But it took her focus. She dodged, dodged, dodged…and then on the last, she dodged and Stevenson stepped forward, reached out with her left hand, grabbed onto her throat, then wheeled her about and pinned her to the wall. She brought her knee up, pinning Minreva's arm down by the wrist. The wand dropped from Minerva's nerveless fingers as, catlike, Stevenson remained poised on the ball of one of her feet.
"You got too close to me, witchling," Stevenson crooned, softly. Her clawed fingertips pricked against Minerva's skin and Minerva couldn't breathe. That had very little to do with the pressure or lack thereof on her throat. "You must always maintain distance. Many duels end on the floor."
Her fingers tightened more, choking off some of Minerva's air.
Minerva moaned around her grip.
Stevenson's grin was predatory.
"You are a little mouse of a thing, aren't you?" Stevenson asked. The older woman leaned in, moment by moment. "You did quite well, for a beginner, at getting out of the way. Minerva's head was swimming and her heart thudded in her ears as Stevenson slid in closer, then closer…and then she crooned. "Not quite good enough for this, witchling."
She released. Minerva almost dropped to her knees as Stevenson stepped away. Her back was turned. "We practice again. I want you to survive long enough to use any other lessons I give you."
Stevenson swung around, flicked her wand, and Minerva was too cross-eyed with the proximity, with the pressure, with the scent of her professor, the intoxicating, forbidden scent of her in her nose that she didn't even step aside. The bolt struck her chest and she felt the nerves go out in her body. She sprawled onto the ground, crashing there with a groan. Stevenson sighed.
Minerva couldn't roll over. She couldn't even blink. It was like her every muscle was slack. Limp. And she was still conscious. SHe hadn't realized that being struck down by a spell was so…alienating. She'd almost have preferred to be unconscious.
Crunch.
The sound of a single foot setting down sent a thrill along Minerva's spine.
"What will I do with you," Stevenson said. "It's almost like you wanted me to hit you."
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The foot came down beside her head - and Minerva could see the elegant arch of foot, the sleek curve of ankle. For the first time in her life, she understood those old stories of Victorians thinking that showing a girl's ankles was just utterly scandalous. That foot shifted and pressed to her shoulder, then rolled her onto her back, so she looked up at Stevenson. Stevenson's hands were on her hips and her lips were pursed. She slowly knelt down - her feet coming up onto their balls, her thighs spreading as she came down to remain poised right above Minerva's head. Her finger brushed along Minerva's throat.
Her claw was out. Minerva could feel the point.
"In a war, this is when you'd be having your throat slit," Stevenson said.
Minerva wanted to gulp. She couldn't.
"Fortunately, duels aren't war," Stevenson said. Her hand paused. Her fingertip slipped down - bit by bit. "But learning to shake off a stun is a vital skill. It takes focus. Dedication. Your will, against the spell that holds you down." Her finger brushed underneath the edge of Minerva's collar. She tugged and the first of her buttons came popping free. Then the second. Then the third. Then the fourth. Minerva wanted, quite badly, to move. Instead, she remained laying there as her top spread open. Her pale skin prickled with goosebumps as her bra remained the only thing keeping her top concealed from the older woman.
"If I get this off before you move," Stevenson said, her clawtip teasing along her skin. "Then I shall have to punish you, witchling."
Oh god, she's touching me, Minerva thought.
Stevenson's claw-tip dragged inch by inch along the circumference of her bra's cup. Minerva felt the tingling pressure and a traitor part of her mind asked: Would being punished be so bad? She squirmed within the prison on her flesh. Then she felt Stevenson's hand gripping the middle of her bra, the thick buttress between the two cups. Fingers curling, Stevenson took hold and started to tug back. Fabric stretched, and hooks clicked and creaked against one another as the small of Minerva's back started to lift off the ground. The feeling of her bra biting into her back excited her beyond almost all reason.
But…
It won't…be…Minerva focused. That…
Her bra felt as if it was about to give way. Stevenson's grin was pure feline, her eyes gleaming.
Easy!
Minerva's hand wrenched up and she caught her professor's wrist. Stevenson grinned, wickedly, then released her bra with a grunt. Minerva sat up, her cheeks flushed. She still felt…cool and clammy, her skin tingling and buzzing. It was like her whole body had gone to sleep and was only just now beginning to waken.
"Well enough," Stevenson crooned, quietly. "Now…" She stood, and then jerked her chin. "To your feet. We have to continue honing your dodge. I want you to be passable before it's time to get to your rooms."
Minerva buttoned herself closed. Her cheeks burned. Her head ducked forward and she managed only a soft mumble.
"Y-Yes Professor."
Stevenson didn't touch her once for the entire rest of the dueling - Minerva remained focused on her dodging, kept her distance, and by the time she was done, she ached physically, and she ached in her soul, ached to be touched. Stevenson nodded as the chime rang out, announcing the late hour. "Very good, witchling," she said, her voice quiet, as Minerva panted and ducked her head forward. Minerva nodded, her eyes closed as she tried to bring in the air she needed for her burning, fatigued body.
Stevenson's fingers slipped through her hair. She brushed her hair backwards, and Minerva bit her lip to keep from moaning as the other woman caressed her. Her finger slid back along her ear, then slid along the side of her cheek, to her jaw. She gripped her, lifting her head, tilting her head backwards so that Minerva looked up into her eyes. Stevenson purred softly.
"You're a good girl," she said. Minerva almost melted. "Tomorrow night, we shall practice attacking."
"Yes, Professor," Minerva said, quietly. Stevenson's thumb caressed along her lips, then pressed against her. Minerva resisted, ever so slightly, her brain a confused jumble of adrenaline, excitement, and…knowing it was wrong. Very wrong. The pressure of Stevenson's thumb against her tongue set Minerva's knees quivering. Her hand reached up, grabbing onto Stevenson's wrist, but Stevenson's other hand grabbed onto Minerva's left, pinning it above her head, pressing her into the wall.
"I've seen the defiance in your eyes when I call you witchling," Stevenson's voice was so husky. It tasted like whisky, rough and intoxicating. "And yet, you follow my every order. Almost like you know what you are." Her thumb slid free.
"And what's that?" Minerva spat out.
The hand on her wrist tightened more. Stevenson did not say a single thing. She simply caught Minerva's eyes with her own and narrowed them ever so slightly.
"...Professor," she whispered.
"Obedient. You know your proper place, as a student."
"Do I?" Minerva asked.
"I could show you…" Stevenson growled.
Minerva's eyes flashed. Her tongue spoke before her brain could stop herself. "Can you?"
"Can you what?" Stevenson's hand slid from Minerva's jaw to her throat. She squeezed ever so slightly, leaning forward, her voice warm against Minerva's ear. "Speak up little witchling, I can't hear you." Her hand tightened more.
Minerva moaned out. "Professor!"
It's okay to fuck your teacher if it's really hot and you're both lesbians, Sketch has confirmed this with rigorous research. It is both moral and legal!
Stevenson chuckled, then grabbed onto her shoulders and shoved her down. Minerva pressed to the ground and watched, panting, as Stevenson took hold of her leggings, then pushed them down. The thick bush of her pubic hair came free first, then the folds of her sex, dripping with eagerness. Minerva had a few seconds to watch, eyes wide, before clawed fingers pressed against the nape of her neck, palm to the back of her head, and Stevenson shoved her forward, mashing her face between her thighs. The heady scent of feminine arousal almost sent Minerva fainting, but she knew…well, she knew vaguely what to do. The last woman she had been with…well…her tongue darted out and she found that a woman born as a woman tasted of peaches and spices, tingling along her tongue. Her eyes fluttered half shut as she looked up into Stevenson's fiercely pleased features.
"There we go, witchling…" Stevenson purred. "Show your professor what you learned in your dirty little dyke circles back in London. Don't try and pretend this is your first time eating pussy." She said, grinning wickedly. Minerva wanted to draw back - confusion on her face. She'd never heard it described that way. Of course, the lesbians she had met was…
Well.
Her eyes closed fully as she drew her tongue slowly along the sex offered her. She reached up, cupping Stevenson's taut ass, feeling her through her silks. She leaned in, her tongue sliding back down, then back up, and as she crooked her tongue against her professor's sex, she heard a husky moan escaping the other woman's lips. Her hips bucked…and Minerva realized something that shocked her.
This was remarkably similar to taking Kat in her mouth.
Kat's penis, for all that it was…well…a penis, felt rather like Stevenson's sex - the same parts, the same warmth, the same delight in bringing pleasure to another. The real change was not the parts…it was entirely the person. For Kat had placed her palms to either side of the wall, had gripped that rather than her. At least at first.
Stevenson?
"Oh good student, yes, very good, eat your teacher out," Stevenson groaned softly, grabbing onto her hair with one hand, the back of her head with another, holding and angling her as she ground her hips against Minerva's face, adding to the pressure of Minerva's tongue as she rolled her head backwards. "Oh yes, witchling, you do know how to eat pussy, yes you do…" She moaned then as Minerva found her clit, sucking it between her lips. Her hand slid forward. She added two fingers, thrusting up into her teacher.
Stevenson bit her lip. Her tail twitched behind her. Her orgasm was quiet - buried under her own control as she arched her back and sighed, but Minerva felt it where it counted. Warmth, enfolding her fingers. Tightening. The flowering of her juices tingled along Minerva's tongue. Her eyes closed tighter still as she focused on the raw tactility of the moment. Her past. Her future. Both of it felt so very distant. Then…
Then she was released. Stevenson stepped back, her hand tugging her leggings back up around her hips. Her voice was ragged. "Acceptable." She caressed Minerva's head once more - a gentle pet.
Minerva almost came from that alone.
Stevenson turned. She walked away. Her hips rolled as she spoke over her shoulder.
"There we go, witchling…" Stevenson purred. "Show your professor what you learned in your dirty little dyke circles back in London. Don't try and pretend this is your first time eating pussy." She said, grinning wickedly. Minerva wanted to draw back - confusion on her face. She'd never heard it described that way. Of course, the lesbians she had met was…
Well.
Her eyes closed fully as she drew her tongue slowly along the sex offered her. She reached up, cupping Stevenson's taut ass, feeling her through her silks. She leaned in, her tongue sliding back down, then back up, and as she crooked her tongue against her professor's sex, she heard a husky moan escaping the other woman's lips. Her hips bucked…and Minerva realized something that shocked her.
This was remarkably similar to taking Kat in her mouth.
Kat's penis, for all that it was…well…a penis, felt rather like Stevenson's sex - the same parts, the same warmth, the same delight in bringing pleasure to another. The real change was not the parts…it was entirely the person. For Kat had placed her palms to either side of the wall, had gripped that rather than her. At least at first.
Stevenson?
"Oh good student, yes, very good, eat your teacher out," Stevenson groaned softly, grabbing onto her hair with one hand, the back of her head with another, holding and angling her as she ground her hips against Minerva's face, adding to the pressure of Minerva's tongue as she rolled her head backwards. "Oh yes, witchling, you do know how to eat pussy, yes you do…" She moaned then as Minerva found her clit, sucking it between her lips. Her hand slid forward. She added two fingers, thrusting up into her teacher.
Stevenson bit her lip. Her tail twitched behind her. Her orgasm was quiet - buried under her own control as she arched her back and sighed, but Minerva felt it where it counted. Warmth, enfolding her fingers. Tightening. The flowering of her juices tingled along Minerva's tongue. Her eyes closed tighter still as she focused on the raw tactility of the moment. Her past. Her future. Both of it felt so very distant. Then…
Then she was released. Stevenson stepped back, her hand tugging her leggings back up around her hips. Her voice was ragged. "Acceptable." She caressed Minerva's head once more - a gentle pet.
Minerva almost came from that alone.
Stevenson turned. She walked away. Her hips rolled as she spoke over her shoulder.
"Remember," she said, fiercely. "Not a word of this outside of this room. You can keep a little secret. Yes?"
Minerva nodded, hurriedly. "Yes, professor," she said. She licked her fingers, subtly. She wanted to taste more of her. She needed more of her. Her head was still spinning. Her body still ached for the older woman to just hold her. She wanted to say more. Instead, she kept her tongue as the door opened, as robes swished, as the door closed, leaving her in the chambers. Minerva lapped at her palm, slowly, tasting every last drop she could.
Finally, she whispered.
"That…was a mistake…"
It was. She thought. Then, firmly. It was!
What did you do when you made mistakes?
You didn't make them again.
***
The door to the dueling chamber opened.
Stevenson stepped inside, her robes already in her hand. She hung it on the hook, then turned and smirked as she eyed Minerva, who stood before her, her eyes downcast.
"Ready for another lesson?" she asked.
"Yeah…" Minerva said, quietly.
Stevenson arched an eyebrow. Rather than demanding she be called a professor, rather than speaking sharply, rather than stepping forward and grabbing her, she instead simply arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"
Minerva opened her mouth, then closed it. "Does it matter?"
"Yes," Stevenson said. She walked forward, slowly. "You are my student. Not of my house? Yes. But you are my student. And I am risking a great deal for you, little witchling. I do want to see you flowering after the duel." She reached up, brushing a lock of Minerva's hair behind her head. Minerva's cheeks heated as she ducked her chin forward.
"...I…have another friend," she said, quietly.
"Another dyke, you mean," Stevenson said, her voice quiet.
"Yes," Minerva whispered.
Stevenson chuckled. "I'm not hurt."
"She smelled you on me," Minerva said. She rubbed at her neck, looking aside. "She smelled you all over me."
"You didn't bathe?" Stevenson arched an eyebrow.
"I did!" Minerva exclaimed. She stepped away, purely so she could think.
"Ah." Stevenson said. "Katarina then. Your other friend." She chuckled, softly. "Is the German jealous?"
I'd almost prefer it if she were. Minerva thought, her stomach knotting. She remembered the odd expression on Katarina's face - the curiosity, the arch of an eyebrow, the lack of surprise. It was a strange reminder of the queer circles that they ran in. Unsettling. It felt like what Minerva had done should have caused more of a reaction. But…that was just it. Maybe it had. Maybe underneath her cool exterior, Kat had been hurt. Minerva didn't know, and had not had the chance to ask. In public, outside, in the view of every single other Hexgramatica student streaming to the dining hall, there had been no chance to apologize, to ask if she was all right, to be direct.
It was like being trapped in a broom closet. Dark and musty and full of obstructions she kept tripping on.
How could I have been so thoughtless? Minerva though as she rubbed her shoulders with her palms, her back to Stevenson. She glanced over her shoulder and the knife-sharp, elegant figure of Professor Stevenson burned into her eyes. Her nipples ached and she felt dizzy. Ah. Yes. I wasn't thinking. That's how.
"Well?" Stevenson asked.
"I'm…not sure," she said. "I couldn't exactly be specific about this. Tell no one and all that."
"Mmm," Stevenson said. "Is she upset enough to be a problem? Do you want me to speak with her?"
Minerva turned. "Sp…Speak with her?"
"I am a professor, I do have some small power in such affairs," Stevenson said.
"No, I…I told her I can't…that i…that I needed to be secret and…" Minerva blushed. "She's a werewolf, you know that. She smelt your scent on me. She may make the connection when she sees you next. Then she'd know. And…she didn't seem too upset."
Stevenson let out another 'hmm.' "Is this going to be a problem?"
Minerva rubbed her hands along her shoulders. "I don't know," she said. "But since the next day I am going to be in a duel I am not exactly thinking straight."
"I daresay you haven't been thinking straight since you saw your first pretty girl in the market," Stevenson said, her voice dry.
Minerva snorted. "Ah. So. Right. We're practicing attacking today? Hmm?"
"Do you have a sword?" Stevenson asked, curiously.
"Yes," Minerva said.
It was true. After a fashion. She thought a bit guiltily of Bellatrix, while Stevenson nodded. "Good, then we shall be focusing on the use of the wand to manipulate the field. The closer your casting is to your person, the faster the effect. Thus, using the landscape defensively is faster than casting to turn the air into fog or stinging scorpions. However, it's easier to change, say, ten yards of ground into spikes than it is to cover the same radius with, say, a stunning spell." She grinned, slightly. "Do you see the formation of one's strategy in this?"
"Yes, quite. Just like football," Minerva said.
Stevenson snorted.
"Let us begin with some transformations. I want to see you forming specific structures - walls, platforms, barriers. Begin with this shape." Her wand scrawled a shape in the air, the tip of it glowing and leaving behind a shimmering line of purple smoke. Minerva grinned, then held up her wand.
"Kemb Drit So!"
Her practicing fell into a rhythm - and Minerva felt as if she had gained a foot in height every time Stevenson gave her a nod and a little grin and a quiet 'very good witchling.' She needed to simply visualize the structure, then flick her wand and speak the words - and through it all, she worked hard, wishing nothing more than to please her professor. With her sweat gleaming along her arms and her hair matted down to her head, she lowered her wand as Stevenson's tail twitched from side to side and she laughed.
"I don't think I've ever seen a student quite so good at this kind of shapecrafting so early in their career."
Minerva grinned. She didn't know if she wanted to mention the weeks she had spent locked up in a room with nothing to read but thaumaturgy books. She didn't know if she wanted to mention her note taking in each class, her extra practice squirreled away after her homework was completed. She didn't know if she wanted to tell her about the tiny fearful voice that whispered in the back of her mind, just barely beyond the range of her hearing: What if they find out? What if they throw you out on your ear? What she imagined might well be an ancestral survival mechanism; What if you have to run? What if you can't?
"Thanks," she said. Then. "I…why do you practice here so often?"
Stevenson arched an eyebrow, then shrugged one shoulder. "I like it," she said, stepping to her robes. She took her wand out, rolling her shoulders slowly. "But…also…" She paused, then turned around. "You know how I got these?" She pointed at her ears. They twitched, as if glad to be noticed. Minerva gulped and nodded.
"They were a byproduct of the factories, in the war," she said.
"Quite," Stevenson said. "They called us the Canary Girls - the first one grew little wings and a beak, after all." She looked aside, then flexed her fingers, clawtips springing from it. She relaxed her hand and the claws retracted, grudgingly. "I…joined the factory because of a friend. Named Mary. She was the daughter of a skilled painter named Franklyn, and she and I would often go within them, using their magic to find a place to be…private. Like the cottage you saw."
Minerva remembered the etching on the table. M+M in a heart. Mary and…
She realized she didn't know Professor Stevenson's given name. She knew she had heard it at least once. It started with an M.
Stevenson sighed. "Mary and I worked ourselves to the bone, but we were women in a man's profession, and some spiteful fool started a rumor about us two. Mary was meek about most things - I never expected her to get into a fight about it. Or…maybe it wasn't a fight. Maybe they just came upon her. Maybe. I don't know. I…wasn't there." Stevenson's hand clenched, then unclenched. "She was dead when she was found - and the scrying and investigations found the killer. Just one man, the blackguard who had tried to get her to go to bed with him. He was acquitted when they found her journals - I was only saved because she wrote in code." She shook her head. "So, I practiced, learned how to fight, challenged him to a duel, and killed him."
Minerva felt like her entire face was on fire. "Oh," she said, quietly.
"And, as you can see, I never stopped practicing. It made me rather good at this, and…to my surprise…got me this job," Stevenson said. She grinned, but it was a grin without mirth. "It also helped that, by that point, there weren't that many men who could take it. But I do think I'd still have gotten it."
Minerva nodded again. Then, quietly. "Thank you, Professor. I…I'm glad you got the bastard."
Stevenson sighed. "I do sometimes think Mary would think rather poorly on me," she said, quietly. "I do need to stop seducing students." Her lips quirked as she turned to face Minerva.
"W-Well, I mean, we are adults," Minerva said, her voice soft, her eyes flicking to the side. "W-Wait, am I not the first-?"
"Witchling…lift your wand," Stevenson said, her voice a quiet croon.
***
Minerva woke in a cold sweat, an hour before her alarm. Bellatrix rolled over her in her bed, mumbling.
Minerva figured it was for the best. She had only a short time to get ready. She went to the bathroom. She washed her face. She wrote a note to Bellatrix. She figured the girl was owed the apology.
When she came, a half hour early, to the dueling rooms, her second was waiting for her. Kat's foot was tapping a ferocious tattoo against the stone ground, her breath fogging in the chill of the early morning. The faint sound of murmuring conversation came through the door leading into the dueling chamber, and Minerva wondered how many students and professors had hurried to get the best seats for this. Kat lifted her head as she saw Minerva and flashed her a very Kattish grin. Minerva smiled back, hesitantly.
They were alone.
"Kat, I…I wanted to talk to you," she said.
"About Melissa?" Kat asked.
Minerva blinked at her. She formed the first letter of the name before she stopped herself. "Ah," she said.
Kat actually laughed. "Good god, you are not even knowing her first name? And you had…" She leaned in, her voice a rough croon. "You had her scent all over your face."
Minerva's entire face went bright red. She had no time to splutter. No time to ask Kat if she was upset. No time for anything - the clicking sounds of shoes and the murmur of more conversation drew her attention away from the burly German. Resplendent in their House Glintfaire green and black robes, Leslie Browning-Darenwood and her second, a dark Indian girl by the name of Shyla, her family name still unknown to Minerva. Behind them came more Glintfaire students, including Harry, who shot Minerva a nervous smile. Leslie smirked at her as she walked forward.
"I see that you've come alone, with just a single second…" Leslie said, her voice cold. "Does House Sildanius see you in such a poor light, Minerva?"
"I don't drag my friends out of bed for pomp," Minerva said, dryly.
"Besides, I just came here to wish Minerva good luck!"
The voice that split the crowd was bright, forcefully cheerful, and almost dared anyone to say anything. Gina strode forward, pushing past the shocked Leslie, to throw her arms around Minerva. She hugged her tightly, then drew back, turning to give a fierce, shark like smile to Leslie. "I hope you give her a good, solid drubbing, Minerva."
"Virginia!" Leslie exclaimed.
"What?" Gina snorted. "You lose us some points for being beaten black and blue? I'll just earn them back twice over when we beat them in football. Minerva's my friend, and you're a silly-"
"That's quite enough, Gina!" Minerva said, hurriedly - she wasn't sure if Gina knew exactly how dangerous Leslie might be. She knew enough about how blackshirts operated in London - they hunted in packs and remembered who had offended them.
Leslie glared daggers at Minerva.
"...silly little twit!" Gina said, grinning.
"You-" Leslie stepped forward. Kat stepped between her and Gina, growling loudly - and Minerva, and only Minerva, was close enough to notice how Gina's eyes went quite wide and her face went quite red as she saw the breadth and impressive musculature of Kat's shoulders. Leslie backed away from Kat, but Shyla drew her wand, aiming it at Kat and pursing her lips. Her voice was as posh as any that Minerva had heard.
"Don't even try it!"
It felt like the entire corridor was about to explode into spells when a loud clap of palm on palm jerked everyone's attention around. The Headmaster, Professor Stevenson, and a stranger that Minerva had never seen before were walking down the corridor. The stranger was tall, handsome, and had a bland, inoffensive face that might blend into a thousand backgrounds. But his eyes were the eyes of a snake. Minerva instantly felt her hackles rise, looking into those dark, empty eyes.
"I see you are all quite excited for the duel, but we must remember our decorum," the Headmaster said. "Especially with such an august visitor…"
"Chancellor!" Leslie exclaimed, having finally jerked her eyes from Gina and Minerva and Kat to the arriving adults. She came to attention, as did two other members of the class. Harry looked completely shocked, his mouth opening.
"Ah, Harry, son," the bland-faced man said, placing his palm on Harry's shoulder. "Glad to see you here - I didn't know you were friends with Leslie."
"I, uh…" Harry stammered.
"You're Vane Villamont," Minerva said, slowly.
"And you…are Minerva Schross-Sableknight, yes?" The leader of Ars Magika said, turning to face Minerva with a warm smile that didn't reach his eyes. He looked down his nose at her, measuring her from head to toe. "Maximilian's granddaughter?"
I am Rebecca Golding's daughter, you mamzer, Minerva thought. What she said was: "Yes, Chancellor."
"Please, only members of Ars Magicka need to use my official title," Villamont said, waving his hand. "I'm not Prime Minister, after all."
"Quite, Mr. Villamont," The headmaster said. "Come, let's take our seats, we can continue the discussion afterwards."
They strode in through the door. Leslie glared at Minerva, then walked past, followed by her second, followed by the Glintfaire students, with Gina giving her one last hug and a kiss on the cheek and a whispered 'good luck!' - and then Kat and Minerva were alone once more. Minerva had so much to say. But she had no time to say it in.
"Good luck," Kat said. Then. "I'm not mad. Or disappointed. I know how it is. When we're…" She made a gesture that seemed to encompass them and the world alike. "We will be talking later, though. I promise that much."
Minerva felt her heart soar. She hadn't ruined things, not forever. She nodded, smiled, then turned to go before she did something stupid like kiss her. She walked into the dueling room, Kat following after her, to see that it was the same hexagonal shape as the practice rooms, but with tiers of seats arranged around it, sweeping up and away. Minerva saw that quite a few Sildanius students had claimed front row seats - and she saw Bellatrix waving down at her, looking…deeply excited. Minerva grinned.
The Headmaster stood between Leslie and Minerva. He nodded. "Today, we are here to settle a matter of honor between Leslie Browning-Darenwood and Minerva Schross-Sableknight. This is to be a Duel Sinister. Both have their weapons…" He nodded to Minerva, then to Leslie. Leslie reached into her robes and drew forth a pair of cloth covered weapons. The magic imbued in the cloth made it impossible to tell which was a wand, which was a sword. She hefted both with a little smirk. Minerva reached into her robes, then took forth her weapons. Her cloths concealed them as well.
She felt the heavy, heavy weight in her right hand.
"When my cloth touches the floor, combat shall begin." The Headmaster drew forth a handkerchief. "The winner is, as is customary, the last one to remain standing and able to fight. Now…"
He dropped his handkerchief.
As it fell, he vanished in a flare of smoke.
And it struck the ground.
Leslie started with a quick flick of her right hand. "Cidak Slan Wif!"
Minerva dodged. Realization blazed in her: The wand was in her right hand!
The bolt struck the wall. Leslie narrowed her eyes - she had clearly hoped that Minerva would be so off balance that-
She flicked her right hand again. "Subtrahe-"
As she spoke, Minerva started forward. She thrust out her left hand, cloth fluttering.
"-Kemb-"
Minerva spoke. "Kemb Drit-"
"-Wif!"
Minerva flung herself flat, skidding towards Leslie. She touched her cloth covered wand to the ground and shouted. "Miċelnes!"
The bolt of green light shot over her head as Leslie's spell missed her by a hair. It struck the wall and rebounded with a squeal of energies and fizzled out against a dome of magic that surrounded the dueling chamber. At the same time, the ground humped, twitched, then wrenched upwards, forming into a crude column of stone, which shot up. Leslie, who had started to dodge, had clearly expected a magical spell aimed at herself. Instead, she stumbled directly into the path of the pillar, which slammed into place around her wrist, shaped by Minerva's focused image. Minerva started to stand, grinning fiercely as she saw that the dangerous short sword, the left hand, was caught fast in a vice of stone. Leslie jerked hard at the restraints, her eyes wide.
"Gotcha," Minerva growled.
Leslie looked directly at her.
Then she smirked.
"I'm not right handed," she whispered.
Her right hand thrust - the wand pressing towards Minerva's belly. And then pain. And cold. And blood. Minerva gaped, looking down, and saw the cloth around Leslie's right hand slipped away, revealing not a wand, but a length of sword, buried right in her stomach. The crowd gasped in shock.
Minerva trembled. Kat cried out.
"Surrender," Leslie growled. "Or I yank this out and-"
Minerva swung her right arm in a brutal arc. Leslie yanked the sword free - it hurt even worse - and parried the blow…but instead of turning it, her short sword was knocked jarring out of the way and she had a moment to gape in shock before the cloth covered weapon smashed directly into her temple.
Minerva clutched at her belly as the cloth around her weapon fell aside, revealing…
A length of dull gray lead pipe. Wrenched from beneath her bathroom's sink. Sliding between fingers growing weak as the crowd gasped in shock. Minerva flicked her wand and the transformed earth fell aside - and with it, Leslie hit the ground first. She sprawled there, and Minerva kept her feet until Kat reached her, and a healer grabbed her other arm. Her knees trembled and she grinned, weakly, at Kat, feeling increasingly faint.
"I won," she whispered. "I didn't…touch the ground, I won…"
"You…"
What Kat had to say vanished.
The healer whispered a spell, touched wand to Minerva's temple…and everything turned to warmth and a glowing light and the embrace of healing magic.
I'm honestly surprised Minerva didn't go full Mädchen in Uniform years ago if she could get this wound up over a teacher. Is Stevenson just that hot and dominant, or was Minerva just that closeted and sexually repressed prior to discovering she's a witch?
NotInventedHere
MSV, Desert Class
- Location
- UK
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Possibly the magical cloths confuse that too?
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
of course she's repressed shes british
also, like, serioustalk, real a tragic consequence of the historical marginalisation of queer people is it left a lot of young curious queers vulnerable to people in power, which itself would become cyclical. in many places and times, you'd end up with a subcultural norm where the expectation was that young queers would be 'brought into the lifestyle' by an older mentor, often much older, and it was simply How Things Were because an isolated young queer would otherwise not really be able to find the underground queer elements of society. the people going into these subcultures, having no idea of the rules and desperately relieved to find other people like them, were highly vulnerable and entering the space from a position of ignorance and isolation that would make those exploiting them seem learned and popular, etc etc.
and then this is horribly compounded with the fact that in heterosexual society, older men taking advantage of younger women was just... sort of normal, treated as perhaps morally questionable but not illegal or horrific. at minerva's workplace, sexual harassment would be kind of rampant, made worse by the post-war norms caused by unbalanced demographics.
so basically, minerva is kind of a vulnerable mess because, yes, she's honestly that repressed and isolated, and the power difference isn't that weird for minerva's perception; it's wrong, but in a way that makes it exciting rather than the horrific abuse of power we (largely) recognise it as today.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The cloth is a part of it - I didn't explain this well enough, but you will where the blast comes from in this dueling style.
Also, re the teacher thing: Its also probably a factor of "Minerva has also probably not met a hot female teacher that presses her buttons like this, in a situation like this" too.
She's probably had fantasies, but never been able to act on them.
- Location
- Somewhere with a Thousand Watchful Eyes
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Mm. Straight as a ramp, that one.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
- Location
- United Kingdom
- Pronouns
- She/Her
this is really good! idk why ive not been reading it before now
also it is. impressive how many different angles this has impacted and destroyed my psyche from. like... jesus christ.
also also, since im here - i have gotten the impression, possibly incorrectly, that one of the various alterations to the timeline compared to IRL is that britain is, like... a lot closer to the brink than IRL in the 1930s? The BUF are knocking around, there's explicit mention of socialists picking fights with them at one point, Stalin was actually in Britain for his interview. (Though that's also maybe because he isn't the General Secretary?)
also it is. impressive how many different angles this has impacted and destroyed my psyche from. like... jesus christ.
also also, since im here - i have gotten the impression, possibly incorrectly, that one of the various alterations to the timeline compared to IRL is that britain is, like... a lot closer to the brink than IRL in the 1930s? The BUF are knocking around, there's explicit mention of socialists picking fights with them at one point, Stalin was actually in Britain for his interview. (Though that's also maybe because he isn't the General Secretary?)
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