Minerva Gold and the Wand of Silver Pt. 08

"And what?" Harry asked, grinning. "You're two years younger and in another House."

"I can still challenge him to a duel," Minerva said, smirking. "And I'll win too."

Harry snorted. "What class do you have next? History, come along." He started and she followed after. As she followed, Minerva spat out what she had been chewing on for some time now.

"This feels like secondary school," Minerva said. "I feel like I'm fourteen again, except in Eton." Her voice was bitter at the thought of that; she felt suspiciously like she was among the next generation of Tories to clutter up the government.

"Oh, this used to be a secondary school," Harry said, scratching at his chin with one finger. He was a handsome boy. Minerva forced herself to admit it, watching that finger slip along his cheek. She tried to imagine kissing his cheek. Hell, she tried to imagine kissing his lips. The image didn't form. It didn't want to form at all. She scowled at herself, while Harry continued. "Started at... 14 when my Uncle was in, I think? They had to bring it up."

"Why?"

"The wands, you see. Back in the day, with hand-crafting and all, you had to give a child their first wand at age eleven - it'd take them a decade to tease any power out of it. Now they run perfect wands off a lathe and if you give it to an eleven year old, they'll just blow their house up."

Minerva nodded.

"They raised the age of admittance slowly over the end of last century to match legislation, but..." Harry shrugged. "I guess much of the structure stayed the same. I imagine it'll get more complex as we go; they just want everyone on the same page to start, especially nowadays with Sleeperborn and foreign students and the like..."

Minerva nodded again - and they strode into history class together. The air was chill and cool, damp with moisture, and cobwebs cluttered the corners of the room. It felt as if the chamber itself had been abandoned for years. It smelled musty. But despite the clear age, it was full of students who were chatting cheerfully. At her look, Harry whispered in her ear.

"It's Professor Fairbrook-Leed's penumbra. Being a ghost, you know?"

Minerva snapped her fingers. "Ah, yes, of course." She had actually read about this. Ghosts infused any chamber they...lived was the wrong term. Existed in? Stayed. Whatever room they stayed in for a long time was shaped by their very nature. A wrathful poltergeist could make a room feel gloomy and threatening, and produce splinters in smooth wood, rusting nails and corroding roofs to make them fall in at the most inopportune moment. Meanwhile, a melancholic child ghost might induce an unnatural amount of rainfall in the surrounding area, or make a chamber cold and drafty despite the best efforts of carpenters and fireplaces.

Professor Alison Fairbrook-Leeds, it seemed, was a ghost that longed after past grandeur. The room may have smelled musty, but the cobwebs were rather fetching, in a macabre and gothic kind of way.

Minerva spotted Selene sitting near the front of the class, with a seat beside her. She took a seat next to the Wainscove girl with a smile and Selene nodded to her.

"Hello," she said. "Say, you're part of House Sildanis, is it true that they have an orgy room beneath the lake?"

"Good heavens, no," Minerva exclaimed.

"Oh, disappointing."

The wall before them rippled. A pale arm swept through it, emerging from the brickwork like smoke, then reached down, lifting up a piece of chalk as more of Professor Fairbrook-Leeds entered into the room, her white on white body glittering like a phantasm straight from the silver screen. The surreality of her was arresting and as Minerva gaped at her, the ghostly woman smiled at the class.

"Welcome to history, first years," she crooned. "Who is ready to learn?"

Professor Fairbrook-Leeds began with the earliest days of wizarding occupation in England - the Roman hermeticists, driven from the mainland of the Empire by the death of their secret ally in the imperial government, the Emperor Caligula, rushed to furthest reaches of the most distant backwater, unwittingly setting the stage for centuries of British wizarding dominance by their bringing the spellworking and spellcasting of the Romans to the British Isles.

There were familiar beats from secondary school, but much of it was still new to her; old habits reasserted themselves as Minerva took studious notes and reminders to cross-reference with her textbook. At the very least Professor Fairbrook-Leeds wasn't a boring instructor.

As she double-checked her notes in a quiet lull, she noticed how often things would circle around to wizards conning or ensorcelling the new rulers to ensure a place of privilege for their private little world. She wondered how many famous historical figures had known about them, how many were being secretly charmed and controlled by wizards, how many were collaborators... just how much did wizards control?

Then it occurred to her, in a flash, that after hearing years of accusations to the effect, she somehow actually was now being initiated into a society of rich and powerful people who secretly controlled the world from behind the scenes. The thought was so absurd she had to cover up the laughing fit with a cough, tears staining her notes as she ducked partway behind her desk.

"Miss Schoss-Sableknight?"

Minerva rubbed at her eyes hastily and sniffed. "Y-Yes, Professor?" she asked, sitting up as she did so.

"Are you quite all right?" Professor Fairbrook-Leeds asked.

"I, ah, got a bit of dust in my eye," Minerva said, quickly.

"That does happen around here - my apologies, class," Professor Fairbrook-Leeds said, smiling warmly. Then she looked back at Minerva, her eyes narrowing slightly as Minreva felt her lips trying to creep up into a nearly manic grin. The giggles were coming. Fortunately, she was saved at that moment as a black spider the size of a shilling crawled across a Harrieretta girl's knuckles. Her shriek distracted everyone and allowed Minerva to cough out the last bits of her laugh. As the girl was calmed down, Selene smiled at her gently.

"I also found the tale of the druids being immolated quite amusing too," she said.

But that left, afterwards, a single class of the day alternated between days for reasons that remained obscure to Minerva. One monday, wednesday and friday, the final class of the day would be broom flying. On Tuesday and Thursday, she would be taking her basic Runes course. And so, she came out to the field in the outskirts of Hexgramatica with other students. Many of them were carrying their brooms on their shoulders, but she saw Gina jogging towards her, robes fluttering, her smile massive and cheery.

"Oh this is going to be famous," she said, her eyes gleaming, while Minerva felt her own stomach do a slow loop in her belly. The teacher from broomfliers wasn't one she had seen at the dinner table, nor one who had been at the inquisition. Instead, they were a tall, lean man with a blue colored uniform with a cape that looked rather like somebody had taken a double exposure of a military uniform and a Hexgramatica robe. He had a wand at his hip that was half again as long as a normal wand, and his chin had a cleft in it sliced by some kind of war wound. His grin was cocky and he had a military cap, which he had perched at a jaunty angle.

"Hello my lovelies - Captain C.C DuVaule-Cordwine, his majesty's Royal Air Force, wizarding branch," he said. "I've been dispatched to this fine school for the education of his majesty's next generation of magisters to make sure that the lot of you are prepared for flying in an age of prop planes and machine guns." He paused, eying the girls in the group, then nodded again. "That means all of you."

Minerva wondered when she had gotten drafted. Captain Cordwine, though, snapped his fingers. "Those of you who have your brooms pocketed, get them out, get them out, get them out." He started to pace forward, backwards, while a few other students brought out brooms from pockets and purses. Wands flicked and the words Kemb Micelnes So echoed. Minerva squared her shoulders. Moment of truth. She reached into her pocket...and horror thrilled through her.

Her 'broom' wasn't there.

She started to pat every pocket she could. She looked left and right, while Gina gave her a nervous glance. "What's wrong?" she whispered as Captain Cordwine ambled by, humming a cheerful ditty. He paused at her.

"You're Minerva Schross-Sableknight, eh?" he asked. "One of my mate flew with a cousin of yours. Fine fellow, shame about Jerry. Where's your broom?"

"Uh, I, uh," Minerva stammered, panicking. Then she saw, impossibly, that her broom was floating behind the Captain's head, hovering right above his shoulder. It remained small and it waggled itself from side to side cheerfully. The Captain looked rather perplexed at her expression, then turned - but as he turned, her broom skewed through the air, keeping itself behind his head. Other students saw. Some started to chuckle.

"What the bloody-" Captain Cordwine muttered, then spun around once more - and the desk remained floating before his face. It waggled itself, then popped and snapped open its shelves and side compartments in a rattling clatter that went up and down the register, like it was a percussive slide flue. "What off Earth is this thing?"

"That would be my broom, come!" Minerva said, pointing down at her feet, glaring at the thing. It turned to face her, then flittered forward, floating right at her hip level. She sighed, then touched it with the tip of her wand. "Kemb Micelnes So..." She whispered. The desk grew and grew and grew, until she found that it had positioned itself so that its seat scooped her up and off the ground. Now the guffaws and giggles were harder to keep down - some students pointed, others whispered, and one barked out a peal of laughter so fierce and mean that Minerva wanted to challenge him to a duel right that moment.

"Well, I'll be unprintable," Captain Cordwine whispered. "You made your own broom! Out of a desk!"

"I, uh, the Schross-Sableknight fortunes aren't exactly at their height," Minerva admitted, while the Captain walked around her broom several times, laughing as he did so. He leaned in close, palm rubbing along the side, examining it closely. Minerva saw a drawer scooting in slightly, as if it was preparing to spring out and strike his shins. She froze, terror jolting through her.

"This is bloody fine work!" Captain Cordwine said. "I wish we'd thought of something like during the war - we could put two, four maxims on this!"

The drawer relaxed and the side panels unfolded and flapped as the desk made a clinking chime noise by waggling each of its latches at once.

"A bit more lively than most brooms," Captain Cordwine said, rubbing his jaw. "What finishing word did you lay on it? I thought that kind of craftwork wasn't covered till year two."

Minerva smiled, shyly. "Family secret," she said.

"Ah, of course," Cordwine said, then patted the side of the desk with such affection that Minerva felt herself growing affectionate for him in turn. "Why don't you put yourself through your paces first." He pointed with his finger. "I've arranged a simple flying obstacle course for you lot, just to see where you're at; we get all sorts these days. Don't you worry about falling off, by the by, this little darling has a range of two miles." He pulled out his wand, which did less to comfort Minerva than he might have expected.

Minerva settled into her seat. "All right, broom," she said, and the name made the desk shiver - it seemed to be fine being called a broomstick, even if it was a writing desk. She smiled. "What does a raven call a writing desk anyway..." She shook her head. "Lets go!"

Her broom shot up into the air hard enough to crush her into the seat. Wind whipped past her face, her lips peeling back slightly as she felt her vision start to go gray. She soared up and up away from Hexgramatica, and towards the clear, clear sky overhead. She saw the first of the 'obstacles' that he had thrown up: It was a pair of fluttering red flags that floated up in the air. Several more floated off in the distance - none of them much higher or lower than the other. Minerva smiled slightly as her broom rocketed her towards the first two. She cleared it easily, then swerved left, the ground banking beneath her. The whole desk rattled as she looked down at the forest...and realized how very high up she was.

She gripped the armrests harder.

The next two flags fluttered ahead of her and she banked through it. "Nice and easy, nice and easy," she whispered under her breath. "Nice and easy..." She banked again, then again, then again, and then, as she came to the last two red flags, she realized she had been taken in a grand loop. She saw the class cheering her on as she flew down, Gina laughing and clapping. She flew down and saw...not all the cheers seemed to be entirely genuine, as at least one wag called out.

"You didn't fall from the sky, congratulations!"

"For that, you're up next!" Captain Cordwin snapped, pointing his finger at the boy who had called out. He looked entirely unperturbed - swinging onto his broom, which let out a soft hum. He shot off at incredible speeds, kicking up a wave of dust behind him. Gina stuck her tongue out after him.

"Prig," she said. "So, you won't win any speed contests in that thing, but you handled amazing! And it looked bloody comfortable."

"It was!" Minerva said, laughing. "It really was." She petted her desk's top. The desk wriggled happily under her.

Once everyone had run the course - and Captain Cordwine didn't need to use that wand of his - he nodded, grinned, and said: "All right, we have a whole crop of prodigies, it seems. No one fell off, no one crashed, no one lost their lunch..." He rubbed his palms together. "Lets see if we can fix that, eh!" his eyes gleamed with a malicious light.

Minerva and Gina both gulped.

***

Minerva groaned into her pillow, while Bellatrix shook her head. "I hear they've been sending RAF wizards for the past three years, my brothers said it was just beastly. I can't believe they're expecting girls to ride brooms like this - we're not going to go fight the..." She paused. "The...the huns, I guess?"

Minerva rolled onto her back with a sigh. "I suppose," she said. Then she frowned. "Is that a letter?"

Bellatrix smiled, holding up the scroll she had before her. "Yes, my mother writes me every day, it's ever so nice." She looked down at it, clicking her tongue. "Oh, that's my silly Aunt Phydria - she's let herself run out of phitler."

"Philter?" Minerva asked.

"O-Oh, you know. Phitler of Love?" Bellatrix asked.

"Why does she need that?" Minerva asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, right, you're Sleeperborn," Bellatrix said, nodding. "Well, you'll need to know this if you want to be a part of our society, I suppose." She sighed, then rolled her shoulders. "When two are married and they don't feel the warmth one should, this is where Phitlers of Love come in. A drink a day, week, or month, or even just once! It's all it takes, bringing some passion back, reinforcing what bonds there are, it's all quite sweet!" She smiled. "My aunt needs one every week. But it keeps her and Uncle Tyranix together quite nicely."

Minerva opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn't sure if that was lovely or dreadful; it was both, but surely better than the alternative.

"Does Uncle Tyranix need any?" she asked.

"Well, most men don't usually have to drink a Phitler, of course," Bellatrix said, then sighed with such passion that hearts practically beaded in her eyes. "But Uncle Tyranix did! He had to drink but once philter on their wedding day and never needed another. He so adores Aunt Phydria - I do hope she gets a new philter before any awkwardness begins. They're such a sweet couple most of the time."

"I hope so too," Minerva said, quietly.

And the splinter in her mind flared once more, like she had just brushed her finger against the grain and dragged it through her flesh. She bit her lower lip and thought of Harry. She though of Katrine. Her cheeks heated at where her mind went. The images that it called to mind. In her mind, she could see Kat's grin. She could see her golden eyes. She could feel her fingers, teasing along her collar. Sliding down to her buttons. She tried to imagine Harry tugging her blouse open - but as if she was ravaging her mind and not just her body, Katrina Wolf remained stubbornly above her in her mind.

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?

The voice of Professor Tweed during her interrogation echoed inside of her mind.

The mental image of Katrine closed her mouth around Minerva's nipple and sucked. The pressure, the warmth, the feeling of her was so intensely real that Minerva had to bite her lip hard to not moan. She sat up, shaking her head - and almost heard Kat's mocking chuckle in her mind.

Her fingers tugged at her collar. She tried to not touch herself, lest she let out a desperate, needy moan.

"Magic can fix anything," she assured herself.

Why did the idea, which had been quite sweet, suddenly seem so sour?