21. MORE LESSONS
"Good Morning, dearie, and a happy twelfth birthday to you." Da reached across the breakfast table to hand his daughter a package. Her mother sat beside him, beaming. "Wrapped it myself. Well, your mother wrapped it first--but it was a bit too revealing for a surprise, I thought."
"Thanks, Da." She started to undo the thick twine and the rough, brown burlap.
"I got the idea from the twins. They were going on and on about how you were a Lee-bra and all, so I thought--hmm-- 'Libra' means 'scales,' so I told your mother: why don't we get you some nice new ones?"
It didn't feel like scales. Much too heavy. And the wrong shape, unless it were in a box.
"But I told him not to be so very practical," said her mother. "So we compromised. " She paused as Minerva came to an inner wrapping--a gauzy shimmering tissue, flecked with stars. It peeled away to reveal a large book. "Instead of libra, why not liber?"
Minerva read out the words on the spine of the book: Fairy Tales by Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm. They were in gold ink on red leather. She turned a page, a much thinner material than parchment, and gilt-edged as well. "It's in another language...not Gaelic..."
"Och, that is but the introduction to the original," said her father. "These Grimm brothers were German wizards and great scholars, I hear. I thought it would help with your schoolwork. You know...history of the wee folk and all."
"Minerva glanced through the Table of Contents. "Da, did you actually read any of this?"
"Aye...well...no. You see, I went to Hogsmeade, but I couldn't find anything that looked factual, but interesting too, like your mother wanted."
Ma chuckled. "I told him not to bring back another school book."
"True, but we did agree,did we not, that it should be something worthwhile...and helpful in her studies. So I Apparated to London to see what they might have in Diagon Alley. But as I was walking to the Leaky Cauldron, right next door was this Muggle bookshop. I was a bit curious...walked inside, and here was this book, big as life, right on the first shelf I came to. Luck, I call it! A wizarding manual in a Muggle shop!"
Minerva looked over at her mother. She had her hand over her mouth as if she were trying to stifle a sneeze. Minerva turned a beady eye on her father. "Da! This is no wizard's manual. It's more like a storybook."
"Is that so? Well, the shop owner assured me..."
"Stop teasing. Where did you get it?"
"No, really. It's the Jobberknoll's own truth. I did the Ministry a favor too, getting the book out of there before any of those Mundanes could get their hands on it."
"Da!"
Minerva's mother dropped her hand, revealing an ear-to-ear grin. She got up and crossed to her daughter. "You just can't fool her anymore, Jupiter." She laid a hand on Minerva's shoulder. "It is a storybook, dear, much like one I had when I was young."
"Cost a pretty sickle too. Do you know the exchange rate for Muggle money these days? Outrageous! But it'll be worth it if it helps you with your history lessons..."
But by now, Minerva and her mother had bent their heads together over the book and heard little of what he said.
"It was one of my favorite books as a child, though you might be a little old for it..."
"No, Ma," Minerva leafed through to a colored illustration of a handsome young man handing what looked like a shoe to a girl dressed in rags. "I like it. Do you think we could read it together sometime?"
~*~
After breakfast, Minerva tackled her easiest and most tiresome subject: History of Magic. Grimm's Fairy Tales couldn't help her here, no matter what Da said. She had to read a chapter at a time and report on it to Binns. The current subject was the early doings of the Wizards' Council, especially its attempts to define the differences between beasts and rational beings. Minerva wished she had Gig with her to liven up this part of study time.
She couldn't see how those medieval wizards could have been so daft, deciding that a creature was a 'being', and therefore capable of rational thought and civilized behavior, solely on the basis of whether it could talk or not. Good Grindylows! It was obvious that a beast was a creature that behaved in a beastly fashion, lawless and destructive, whether it had language or not, like Trolls and Pixies--and Erklings. But she couldn't put personal opinions in her reports. Professor Binns was not interested in independent thought. Your grade was based on the number of inches of parchment you filled, and how accurately you could paraphrase the textbook. In the real world, this would have been called plagiarism. In History of Magic, it got you an "Excellent".
~*~
Charms, Magical Defense, and Transfiguration were more challenging. She knew she would have to visit the school the last Friday before the holidays and demonstrate her spellwork for her 'Practicals' teachers. She figured she needed to master one spell a week to satisfy the minimum requirement. Da promised to help her learn them. She hoped he could keep his promise. He seemed rather preoccupied these days walking with Ma, scratching odd little sketches on the tablecloth, humming and smiling to himself. She confided her concern to Goodie Gudgeon.
"Ye needna wirrie your faither with nane o yer schuilwork the noo. He's got mair important things tae think on. I can teach ye whativer ye maun knaw."
Minerva got out her list of Spells To Be Memorized Before the Twentieth of December and presented it to her nurse.
"Och, that's a goodly number. We'd best start right awa."
Goodie was able to help her with the Accio charm as she was expert at this, and Minerva's Lumos and Nox only needed a bit of polishing. But Goodie hadn't used the others in years and didn't even recognize the Transparencia Charm.
"What guid will it do to be able to light up yer insides?"
"Perhaps you can use it to tell how much flour's left in the bin," said Minerva.
"I always knaw that. I'm the only one ever uses it."
~*~
Minerva was afraid she'd be left to learn most of the spells on her own, but one day when she was out in the courtyard, trying for the umpteenth time to levitate her broomstick higher than the fork of the beech tree, Aunt Donald came strolling around the side of the Keep.
"Hello, my girl, is your father in? Oho, practicing, are we?"
The broomstick fell to the ground. "Yes, Aunt Donald," said Minerva, "and my Wingardium Leviosa just doesn't have enough 'wing'."
"Or enough levity either."
"What do you mean?"
"The Leviosa relies on spontaneity for its lightness. You need to concentrate a little less, I think."
"Less?"
"Aye. The harder you try, the more it weighs the subject down."
Minerva tried, but the broomstick just lay there. It didn't even twitch. "It's hopeless. I just don't know how to 'not concentrate.'"
"All right. Failing that, it helps to have a purpose in mind."
"You mean a reason why I want the broomstick to rise?"
Donald nodded.
Minerva thought a moment. "That I can do. Say I want to put it away...under my bed." Her wand made a swishing noise as she brought it to bear on her subject. "Wingardium Leviosa." The broomstick rose swiftly and hovered on a level with the open window. "Oh that's top hole! But now, how do I get it to finish up?"
"That's where body English comes in. Just give it a nudge." Donald demonstrated a flicking motion with her wand in the direction of the window.
Minerva mimicked her. The broomstick shot through and she heard it hit the wall and clatter to the floor, presumably in the desired space. She turned to her aunt. "I don't suppose you'd have the time..."
"To help out my favorite niece with a few first-year spells?" She put her arm around Minerva's shoulders. "Of course I would. And by the way, since when did I stop being Aunt Donnie?"
~*~
"What are we doing today?" asked her mother as Minerva brought in yet another box to set in the window. Minerva loved the word 'we.' When Ma used it, it sounded more like 'wheeeeeeee!' to her ears, like the gasp of pleasure forced from her lungs whenever she accelerated into a grand loop out on the pitch. But she hid her feelings behind a sigh, (which was not fabricated—-the seed flat with its dose of moist dragon-dung was heavy) and just said, "The last of my Herbology seedlings." She stared at the flat. Agrimony, milk vetch, bee-balm, cinquefoil, dog's mercury, heartsease and hyssop completed her mini-garden.
With her 'practicals' taken care of, she was tackling her final project: packets of seeds to grow for Mami Leek. She was to keep notes on their care and behavior and collect certain of their fruits as they matured. For this she needed a sunny window, and her mother was happy to offer her own. Minerva smiled. It would be a chance for them to be together alone.
Minerva fussed with the flats on the stone window ledge and moved them around until they were just so. How lucky that the castle walls were over three feet thick. She could fit two rows of flats in the sunny space on the sill and still have room for the appurtenances of their care: instruction sheets, extra fertilizer, mini-trowel and rake. Oh yes, and a watering can. Aguamenti was a fifth-year charm.
Her mother surveyed the tiny farm. "Hmm, let's see if I remember my Herbology. 'Leaves of three'…must be Cannabis. Your teacher is from the States, right?"
"She's from Trinidad, but she's traveled a lot. See, here's bloodroot. It's also called a puccoon. It was used by the Algonkian Indians as a dye and an afro...afro-disease-ee-ack. That means it protects against Nundu breath, doesn't it?"
"Mmm--something like that. I don't see belladonna or foxglove or sumac either. Don't they have them in the Caribbean?"
"Mami Leek doesn't believe in giving first years poisons to work with. She says it's just tempting them to try them out on their enemies"
"Oh, I'd worry more about the older children using them. Their sense of vengeance is so much better developed. And they have so much more to revenge."
"What do you mean?"
"You still have the four Houses, don't you?" Minerva nodded. "Well, I could tell you some stories about the things students do to each other in the name of House loyalty."
"Oh. Did Da tell you? I'm in Gryffindor."
"No, he didn't. He was in Ravenclaw, do you know? As I was."
"Yes." Minerva felt suddenly shy. "That's how you first met."
"Yes, in spite of all the prejudice against Muggle-borns, and your father the purest of the pure. It's a little like a fairy tale, isn't it?"
"I should hope not, Mama! Some of the Grimms' stories are--well--grim."
Yes, there is violence in them. There nearly always is when there are wrongs to be righted. But my personal favorites are those with an improbably happy ending. Like Cinderella. Poor young girl, her birthright stolen by her wicked stepmother, meets and marries the man of her dreams, the handsome prince. And they live happily ever after."
"Like with you and Da." Ma smiled at this and Minerva giggled. "Did you have a wicked stepmother?"
"No, my parents were both very good to me."
"And Da was...your prince."
"Nae, he was a great, swaggering, clumsy oaf!"
Minerva turned toward the new voice. It was her father who spoke, framed in the doorway. Ma laughed, a tinkly sound. She held out her hand. Da strode forward, took it, and gave it a lingering kiss.
"And what are my two fine ladies up to today? Talking ancient history, are we?"
Minerva giggled again.
"Catching up," said Ma. "Don't you know we 'fine ladies' have to have some time together. It's been so long…" There was a little catch in Ma's voice. She looked like she'd like to stroke her daughter's face, but the words and the look were enough for Minerva. She didn't begrudge Da the interruption. There would be plenty of time for 'girl talk'. A world of time.
~*~
In the middle of pleasant conversations, mostly trading stories about life at school, Minerva's mother would sometimes pause and stare out the window, a slight frown line creasing her brow. The pauses got longer and longer each time. Minerva always bit her tongue and waited her out, but finally after a week, she had to ask: "Ma, is something wrong?"
"Never in life, my dear, I just…there's something I want to share with you, but I wonder if you're…"
"Ready...to bear it?"
Her mother's mouth formed a small O. She blew on her tea, sipped it, drew back as if it burned her lips. "Yes, I think you are. All right." She opened the drawer of her nightstand. Her hands trembled slightly as she removed a piece of paper from it. It looked like a news clipping. "Read it," she said.
Minerva unfolded it, smoothed it out on her knee. It was a news article and had a headline:
WIZENGAMOT REJECTS CASE OF SUSPECTED PATRICIDE
Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head Joseph Longbottom announced today that although there has been speculation in the Press of foul play in the death of William Wallace of Bridge of Tilt, Perthshire, he will not bring charges against the deceased's daughter, Iphigenia "Iffie" Wallace McGonagall. Judicial experts speculate that the reasons for Longbottom's reluctance stem from the fact that William Wallace was a Muggle and his case rightly belongs in the Mundane courts, even though the chief suspect is Wallace's own daughter, who is a witch. Muggle medical officers have labelled Wallace's death heart failure, brought about in part by injuries suffered in the war. Wallace served in the British infantry in Belgium and France and suffered breathing problems from exposure to poisonous gas.
Less sympathetic observers point out that the suspect's husband is a wealthy and influential Perthshire landowner, and that she is herself a comely young witch. Moreover, she is in the family way, which is bound to generate sympathy and make it difficult to get a conviction.
A mediwitch who examined the deceased at the scene gave it as her opinion that the death was due to a Killing Spell of some sort. A Prior Incantato done on Madam McGonagall's wand, however, shows that the last spell performed was obstructed in some way and no conclusions as to its identity could be drawn.
Healer Valentine Golden, who has made a study of Muggle mental disease, agreed that a story Madam McGonagall told about seeing her father turn into a monster is consistent with a condition known as paranoid schizophrenia. She was found unconscious next to the body and has only fragmented memories of the incident. Golden said this approximates a trance-like state called catatonia which schizophrenics sometimes experience after a deeply shocking event. He went on to say that Muggle-born witches and wizards sometimes retain a susceptibility to Mundane ailments. That the body was identified positively by Gladys Wallace, the victim's wife, and the fact that there was no evidence of Transfiguration on the body, leads investigators to believe that the daughter either suffered some kind of delusion and lashed out in self-defence or that an innocuous spell she meant to cast went horribly wrong and the sense of being responsible for her father's death threw her into the catatonic state.
Madam McGonagall has been in a state of mental distress since the incident, and her husband has blocked all attempts to interview her. One close relative, who asked not to be named, gave out that "Iffie has always been a bit peculiar and stand-offish." This person went on to say that although Miss Wallace, as she was then, was warmly welcomed into the McGonagall clan, she insisted on having her wedding at her Muggle parents' home with a minimum of witnesses, citing her father's illness as an excuse. "She had something to hide even then," said the source.
Madam McGonagall has been relegated to the custody of her husband, Jupiter McGonagall, Lord of Connghaill Keep in Perthshire, while the couple awaits the birth of their first child.
Minerva reread the last words aloud. "'…their first child'...is...was that me?"
Her mother smiled wanly. "Yes, my dearie."
"Goodie said...you had a lot of trouble...when I was born."
"Oh, that...the birthing pains. They only lasted a short while. For me, you were the sun at the end of a fortnight of rain."
"This thing they say you did. Do you remember anything about what happened?"
"Very little. It's been so long, and I think the cures and nostrums I've been exposed to have dulled my memories...for better or worse. Sometimes I read those words over and I don't recognize who it is they're talking about. Who was that woman? Who am I?" She stared at her daughter with real anguish for a few seconds, then sighed and hung her head.
"You're my mother," said Minerva simply. "Nothing else but that matters."
"And that I'll never forget." And she drew her daughter to her and clasped her fiercely.
Minerva pulled back and looked at her mother. She could see no trace of the despair in the eyes, only regret. She thought it was safe to ask a difficult question. She had penetrated Ma's defenses this far, and might never have another chance. "What's it like, Ma? Your illness, I mean."
"Mostly I hear voices. In my head. One voice in particular. It's insistent, cajoling, and very logical."
"What does it say?"
"Sad things, hateful things. It makes me want to..."
"Kill yourself?"
"Only once did it bring me to that. Before, I always managed to resist."
"It must have been so hard."
Ma gave a little laugh. "Not so, my dearie. Whenever the feelings were strongest in me, I'd do one of two things: I'd watch you sleeping or playing in the yard or...I'd dance."
"Dance?"
"Yes, dancing has always given me strength, even in the lowest times."
Except for once, thought Minerva, remembering what Goodie had told her about Ma clinging to her as a baby and dancing towards the hearth fire. Sometimes, she guessed, the cures didn't work. But she didn't say this. She wanted Ma to remember only the triumphs.
Childhood's End by spiderwort
Chapter Notes: What's home-schooling like for a young witch?