Minerva Gold and the Wand of Silver Pt. 06

A chair sat before the desk.

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

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

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

Fuck them. She wouldn't be afraid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How?" Stengrad asked. "Collar-"

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

"Intercourse? He had a penis?"

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

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

Minerva opened her mouth. "A nunner-"

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

Minerva closed her mouth, fuming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good," Minerva said, without hesitation.

"Damn it," Ravenwood grumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That made it so much worse.

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

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

"Sildanus," Stevenson said, her voice soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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