Minerva Gold and the Wand of Silver Pt. 02

"How?" Minerva asked.

"Radium, I believe," Garivanus said, then hung the Heludo back up, before drawing down what had to be a Milandus. This one was painted to look like wood, and had a silver tip, and looked to be half the size and twice the thickness. Garivanus flicked his wrist and the wand unfolded with a clack, extending to be almost half again as long as the Heludo. "The Milandus has a single piece metal jacket and a core of transmutated fools gold, with a similarly fluorescing tip, but it has a collapsible base with a dueling handle. Both wands are excellent universal casting implements, but the Milandus has a slightly easier time controlling distant targets, while the Heludo has a surer grip on masses." He folded the wand back up.

"And their price?" Minerva asked while Harry considered.

"The Heludo is ten pounds," the goblin said, causing Minerva's jaw to drop. She wasn't sure the last time she had seen ten pounds in the same place, let alone spent them on a single object. "And the Milandus goes for fifteen pounds, ten shillings. However, if those are beyond the missus purse, we have the option to rent the wands. That would be two pounds, ten shillings for the Heludo, paid on a monthly basis-"

"No, we won't be doing that," Harry said, waving his hand to cut the goblin off, turning to face Minerva. "Which do you prefer?"

Minerva was still feeling a sick tightening in her guts. She started doing math on what she could bear to sell, where she might be able to borrow the money, when Harry's question started her out of her funk. She blinked, opening her mouth, then stammered.

"T-The Milandus, but-"

"We'll take two," Harry said, smiling at the goblin, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the twenty pounds as if it was nothing. He set it on the counter and Garivanus inclined his head to him.

"Very good, sir," he said.

As the two of them stepped from the store, holding their wands in pale white boxes, tied up with string. Minerva looked down at her box, shaking her head slowly, while Harry looked faintly pleased with himself. She eyed him, and tried to place why he had done it. Was it because he wanted to slip his hand under her skirts? But as she regarded him, she decided...no. It wasn't that. He wasn't even quite pleased with himself because he impressed her. It was more that he had gotten to...do something for himself, and not have it get second guessed or countermanded. She recognized the look - but it was rather nice to see it on someone's face who hadn't just gotten his day in the sun by running roughshod over her.

She thought about asking him about his wealth. Instead, she squared her shoulders. "So, wands. What else do we need for schooling?"

"Well, we need our alchemical supplies - cauldron, alembic, fixative tower, philisopher's stone..." He said, ticking them off on his fingers. "We need the books for first years, we need our uniforms, broomsticks, we need broomsticks..."

"For flying?" Minerva asked.

"Quite!" Harry said. "Not as much use in warfare anymore. Used to be, but, no more."

Minerva chuckled. "And all of this costs money. I...wait, my mageogram said that I was related to the Schross-Sableknights! Do...do I have relations? Any money?" She looked a bit desperate. Harry's face fell.

"Ah...the Sableknights," he said. "They had a, ah, hard go of it during the War, I'm sorry to say. You may have some cousins?" He looked less than hopeful. At her expression, he added. "But, don't worry, don't worry, I can afford it all, I'm happy to pay for you." His smile was almost desperate. "I don't get to help people as often as I'd like. Uncle Villamont has certain opinions about spending good money after the bad. But you're a Schross-Sableknight!" He lifted his chin and said, as if bestowing upon her a great acumen: "Blood will out!"

Minerva tried to not let him see how that made her feel.

The next few shops made it easy enough, though, to forget that. It was easy to forget everything, in the face of what she saw. The alchemist shop was full of strange machines and contraptions, some of which burbled and bubbled behind the counters, and a kindly woman who looked as if she should have been selling candies and chocolates rather than complex machinery was happy to explain to Minerva what and how to use every single piece of alchemist tools that she was selling.

After that, they went to the clothier, where a woman who looked as if she was straight from a Greek legend stood beside a small plint for men and women to stand on for fitting and adjusting of clothes. She needed no stool nor chair, for while her upper torso was a well dressed and cheerful woman with a thick Scottish burr, her lower torso was that of a sable black horse. A nametag on her blouse read GRANGER.

As her tail switched, she measured out Minerva with a tape, clucking her tongue softly. "I do wish they'd sort you Hexies before you went off to school - it's hell on the cloth to be witched into being a proper color and cut. But, aye, I'll have your robes and hat done before the evenings out, don't you fear."

After the clothier, they went to the book seller - Oliver's Fine Books - and Minerva stepped inside with Harry, her eyes already alight. The shop was bigger than it should have been, and every inch of it was full of books. Printed books, neatly stacked and arranged, their spines gleaming with finely lettered titles promising everything from adventure to knowledge. Harry's features grew a little wan at the idea of looking through the books for everything required, but Minerva's smile was huge and gleaming. She stepped away from him, saying: "Y-You get up the books you need, I just want to look about!"

"Of course," he said. "I'll, ah, get your school books too."

Minerva barely heard him as she walked around the corner of the stacks, running her finger along books, titled things like Evocation: Fire at the Fingertips and Illusions of Helminster. She took one book down at random, opening it to see diagrams within and finely printed text. She read, whispering to herself. "The necromantic fusion of ghost and ghoul, when combined within this specific kind of a summoning circle, can create a low Astral reflection, similar to that seen in the battlefields of the Great War of Shadows - now, bearing this in mind, the reader must-"

"Well, hello there."

The voice, unfamiliar and contralto, jerked Minerva's head up. Then recognition hit as she saw the blond brute of a girl she had run into before. "Oh you," Minerva said, frowning at the woman's blue and orange tie. Hideous colors. Just hideous.

"Oh you?" The woman pressed her palm to her chest, right above her breasts. She grinned, showing off particularly sharp canines. "This is not my name, but considering you are the one who has given it to me, I may just be accepting it." The way the woman put her English together, her blond hair, her arrogance, all of it clicked together in Minerva's head at the same time. Minerva scowled at her, then went back to reading the completely bizarre necromantic tract.

"Aww, not even a smile?" the blond asked, reaching out and closing Minerva's book by pushing the cover shut.

"Don't you have a someone else to bother?" Minerva snapped.

"I haven't found one as of yet, no," the blond girl said. She was standing even closer and Minerva found it hard to not think about how close she was. It was a strange mixture of electric danger and...excitement. She wasn't a man, so it wasn't as if Minerva was afraid of being beaten or...worse. But she was still intensely away of every part of the other woman - where her arm hung, where her hand rested, the way she had her off hand's finger crooked through the collar of her suit jacket, which hung over her shoulder, her hat, jaunty and angled and shading those bright, bright blue eyes. Except they weren't blue. As Minerva looked into them, they seemed to be gold instead. "Can I at least be getting a name to call you by, beautiful?"

"Minerva," Minerva said, keeping her tone cooler than her face.

"Minerva," the blond girl said, slowly, tasting the name with eminent relish. She gestured to herself with her free hand, forcing Minerva to note how tall she was. How strong. "Katarina Wolf. By you can be calling me Oh You as long as you want, Minerva."

Minerva's face flushed.

"You are...too much!" she exclaimed.

"That's what most people are saying about me," Katarina said, her eyes sparkling. They were blue again - the color shift so sudden and so obvious and so hard to spot...it had to have happened between Minerva's blinks. "Though, I would like to know your surname. It will make it easier for me to find you, once we are at the school for wizardry. I would hate to be losing you among the crowds."

Minerva's stomach felt so fluttery and she felt so nervous and...she couldn't say why she didn't say something hotter and fiercer to this blond German. So, she lifted her chin, and she did what any sensible Jew would do, if they didn't want to blister someone's ears with a cutting remark. "I'm Minerva... Granger."

Kat's grin grew, ironically, wolfish. "That is not your name."

"I-It is," Minerva said.

"Your heart races. Your pupils, they dilate..." Kat's eyes were gold again. Minerva never felt so intently observed before. It made her heart skip a beat. Her breath catch. "People do this when they are lying."

Minerva thrust the book back into the shelf. Her hand was shaking. Her cheeks flushed. "Golding," she whispered.

"Ahhh," Kat said, narrowing her eyes.

"Going to make a stink about it?" Minerva snapped, jerking her head around - and she felt oddly hurt. Her voice had a catch in it, a nasty and inexplicable barb in her throat. "Hmm? Go and tell all your friends at the BUF that you met a stinking Jew?" She threw the words at the blond woman, feeling more and more like running away with every second.

Kat scowled.

"You think I would be here?! I. Am. Not. A. Nazi," she said, the word bitten out between each snarl. She took a step closer, then planted her palm to the right of Minerva's head, hemming her in against the shelves. She was so close that Minerva's entire body buzzed with adrenaline. "The Nazis killed my father. They burned down my home. They stole my country and they killed my future and I will one day rip Adolph Hitler's throat out with my fucking teeth."

Minerva stared, eyes wide, up into those golden eyes. Between blinks, they were blue again and Kat stepped back, hastily. Chagrined. She gave a half bow, snatched up her dropped suit jacket, and said: "My apologies, Miss Golding. I...sometimes forget myself."

"Oh," Minerva said.

Silence hung between the two of them. Kat let out a little heh. "I will be taking my leave now, as I am afraid I've made a beast of myself." She gave Minerva a little bow and started to leave again, her hand going to her hat to adjust it on her head. Minerva wanted to call out after her. Instead, she remained still, her back pressed to the shelf, her heart racing in her breast. She put her hand on her chest, and felt the fluttering.

***

If Harry noticed Minerva's abstraction after the bookshop, he didn't remark on it. Loaded down now with bags and parcels, Minerva felt like she was about to collapse under the weight of it until Harry, looking a mite nervous, flicked his wand and muttered a quiet: "Wicht Subtrahe So." He touched his new wand to the side of the bag and suddenly, it seemed to weight nothing at all. As he stood and smiled at Minerva, Minerva heard his stomach growl loudly. Harry's palm went to his stomach and he made a bit of a face. "Oh, it's been a while and I've cast some spells..." He gestured. "Come, the Stirred Coffee is the best cafe in the Fleet Market."

"Does casting magic make you hungry?" Minerva asked.

Harry looked at her as if she had just asked if the sky was blue - he managed to bring his expression around to a more helpful one, but before he could speak, Minerva shook her head. "No, no, I see, it's something that...I'll just need to get used to not knowing what children know."

"If it makes you feel better, you won't be the only Mundane at the place with distant relations to the magical world," Harry said, clearly trying to be comforting. "It's a bit of a scramble, according to my uncle."

Minerva nodded back to him as they came to the Stirred Coffee. The sign out front was a large cup with a mouse clinging to what appeared to be the stirring spoon, caught mid-motion, legs flung outwards. It was such a comical sign that it brightened Minerva's mood considerably as she and Harry entered into the cafe itself, to find it bustling. Harry hurried over to the corner, his head ducked down and turned aside, and Minerva perforce followed after him. They found a table that wasn't occupied and Minerva took a moment to take in everyone in the cafe. There were men and women in fashionable suits and dresses, there were goblins who were pounding down coffee as if the bean was going to be made illegal, there were stranger creatures too: Glittering sparkling motes of light that seemed to have human shapes within them, a headless statue made of carved granite that was somehow contriving to read the Morning Star, the socialist paper that had taken over since the Weekly Worker and the Worker's Life had gone down during the Depression.

"Is there a waitress or-" Minerva started, then yelped as a mouse sprang onto the table. She lifted her hand, to smack the mouse, only to stop herself as she saw the mouse had a tiny chef's hat on its cute little head. The mouse squeaked at her and she...her brow furrowed as she cocked her head to the side. The mouse squeaked again and Minerva found herself saying: "Harry, I understand the mouse!"

The mouse actually shook its tiny paw at her. Harry chuckled.

"Of course you can," he said, while the mouse squeaked its question again.

"Oh, uh, coffee, with sugar and cream, and a pastrami sandwich, if you have it?"

The mouse squeaked again - then scampered off. Harry, who was sitting with his scar facing the wall, smiled warmly at Minerva. "So, ah, as I was saying, you're not going to be the only Mundane. And you're bright, and have a great heritage to draw on. Magic ran really strong through the Schross-Sableknights." He patted her hand as it rested on the table - and before she could respond, the mice squeaked and came back, swarming with half a dozen of their comrades. Their massed movements carried with it a plate with a sandwich and a coffee on it, setting it down before Minerva - and before she could pay for it, Harry laid down the money on the table and it was whisked away from the table by the swarm of mice.

Minerva shook her head and gave Harry a thin lipped smile. "I want to succeed on my own merits, though," she said. "Not because my grandfather, who I've never met, was some old wizarding noble."

"Of course!" Harry said. "And I'm sure you will show your quality!"

"...um...excuse me...are you...are you Harry Perry? The Harry Perry?"

The voice was breathless. Excited. Harry and Minerva turned, him with a soft groan, and her with curious confusion that she was sure was going to become awfully familiar to her. The girl who had approached them was beautiful with long tresses of dark brown hair, pale skin, lightly spread with freckles, her eyes a warm green. She was dressed in a sleek set of robes that were open around a simple blouse and skirts, giving her a layered, flowing fashion, and her hood had been cast back, fully exposing her features. She looked at Harry with her eyes shining.

"Ahem, yes, I-"

"Oh Mr. Perry, I have ever so wanted to meet you - I heard that you were going to Hexgramatica, and, well, I...oh, my name is Charlene Cindercarus-Colette, and, oh, my father is such a fan of your uncle, and everything he's trying to do. You are the son of, well, the adoptive son of a great hero, and...oh! May I sit here?" She asked, taking a seat and Harry's hand in the same motion. Minerva had seen this kind of dance before - it was the mode that women would throw themselves at men, and men would demurely turn them down. But she had never seen a man more unhappy to have a woman throw herself at him before. Harry looked as if someone had shot his horse in front of him.

"Mr. Vilimont is, ah, always glad to hear he has such, um, supporters," Harry said.

"You didn't mention any of this," Minerva said, sounding amused. The girl looked at her and then arched an eyebrow.

"And who are you?" she asked, primly.

"This is Minerva Schross-Sableknight," Harry said. "She's the great-granddaughter of Maximillian Sableknight, I'll have you know, and a highly accomplished wizard in her own rights. She's coming with me, with us, to Hexgramatica this year."

"Ah," Charlene said, but if anything, her distaste for Minerva seemed to have become more razor focused and narrow. She gave her a sweet, barbed smile, and said: "You look as if you've been living with the Sleepers for a fortnight, my dear. That fashion is so dreadfully drear."

Minerva arched an eyebrow. She supposed asking what a Sleeper (she had heard the capital S at the front of that) would only get Charlene more eager to dig in the barbs. She had never been the best at witty repartee, so she simply said: "Since we're all going to be wearing school uniforms, I haven't been overly concerned about my fashion."

Harry coughed. "Well, uh, Charlene, have you finished your shopping?"

"I just have - and, I'll have you know, I've already gotten my uniform in Glintfaire colors - I'm sure I'll be sorted there during the Trial Temporalus. Do you have a house in mind, Minnie? Do not say Sildanis, they have been such bores ever since the 20s."

Minerva considered her options - she wanted, so very badly, to ask what the hell the Trial Temporalus was. But the last thing she wanted was for Charlene to say something cutting about her being an ignorant mundane. So, she thought of what she knew...and realized the decision was remarkably easy.

"I was thinking Harrierette," Minerva said.

"Oh they're even worse! Always so political," Charlene said. "Always going on and on and on and on about that silly little thing in Russia. Something...Union or something." She waved her hand.

Minerva blinked at her, slowly. "...the Soviet Union?" she asked, not entirely sure if Charlene was having her on or not. How could someone be so utterly sheltered that they hadn't heard of the greatest political upset since the French Revolution - the fall of the Tsars, the rise of the Soviets. Their Man of Steel, Stalin was in London, his interview with H.G Wells had been printed just a few weeks before! Charlene, who had gotten a cup of coffee from the swarming mice, nodded and tipped sugar into it daintily, then stirred with a silver spoon.

"Yes, that thing," she said, casually dismissing it. "It's so dreadfully dull."

"My uncle is quite interested in the Soviets, actually," Harry said, dryly.

"Oh," Charlene said, her sails quite damped by that. "W-Whatever does he have to say about it? I for one think it's vitally important. The future of the world may hinge on it, after all, so many mundanes...and there was such worker strife during that little, uh, what did they call it?"

"The Great Depression," Minerva said, and she managed to make her voice just as barbed and sweet as Charlene had used on her. Charlene's cheeks got two tiny high spots of pink as Harry let himself smile.

"Yes, that," Charlene said.

"Well, I personally think if the Russians can get communism to work in this world, then it's all for the good. The Mundanes have, well, they've been more good to the wizarding world than I think a lot of people think," Harry said. "We use their trains, their telegrams, their radios, their penicillin and their vaccinations. I've spoken with healers, and they say that a spell that can do what a vaccination can do would take the greatest of their willworkers, and we can get it now for free because of mundane cleverness."