Chapter 2

The early morning brought with it glinty light over the horizon and the sounds of people waking for their morning shifts and returning from their evening ones – and woke Minerva Golding from her sleep with her hand almost numb from how tightly she had clenched her fist. She lifted her head and whispered with reverent quiet as she looked down at what she held.

The wand.

The magogram.

The...

Everything.

She had managed to get to sleep only after what felt like an eternity of sitting and staring and thinking, her eyelids dragged down by the crushing weight of her workday. Now, despite not having any work to go too, she felt the pressure of the oncoming day like a freight train bearing down on her. She lifted the wand that she still held, and formed the magic words, her tongue fumbling, her heart thudding.

“Kemb Awer Foda.”

Flick. Flick. Point.

The wand point glowed and the little table she had to herself suddenly had an apple on it – perfect and green and ripe. She picked it up, slowly, and whispered to herself. “It’s real.” The harsh light of the sun shining through the window was enough proof for that. The faint clink and clatter she could hear through the thin door of her bedsit made her heart skip a beat. Petunia. She came to her feet, shrugged on her gown, and then opened the sit, before she had even brushed her hair or tried to clean her teeth. She saw Petunia shuffling from her room, her crutch under one arm. She had the determined expression she normally did when she was getting ready to go about town.

“Oh, hey Minerva,” she said. “Good morning. Sleep w-ah!” Her voice turned into a yelp as Minerva took her hand and tugged her into the tiny room.

“Sit! Sit!” Minerva said, throwing the door shut with a soft clack. Petunia looked at her quizzically.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Watch,” Minerva said, holding up the wand.

“What’s that?” Petunia looked confused. “A ... something from your job? They make tools, right?”

“It’s ... oh, I’ll just show you,” Minerva said. She turned to the table, then lifted the wand. “Kemb Awer Foda!” Flick, flick, point.

Nothing.

The wand didn’t glow. It did grow hot against her palm, though, and a jolt of pain shot up her arm. Minerva bit her lip to keep from crying out in alarm.

Petunia looked even more bemused. “Was that ... Yiddish?” she asked.

Minerva looked down at the wand, her hand tightening on the grip. She looked at it the same way a soldier would have looked if his rifle had refused to work while storming a trench. “It should have worked,” she said, examining the wand. “I...” She looked back at Petunia, then wondered if she should even bother trying to explain everything she had seen last night, everything she had done. She reached out, taking the apple on the table, then held it to Petunia. “This is an apple, right?” She asked, her voice hesitant – a sudden, sneaking worry that she had gone completely mad creeping into her.

Petunia was looking worried now. “Yes, Minerva, this is an apple,” she said, taking it. “When did you get this? And where have you been keeping it?” She glanced about herself in the tiny bedsit.

“Well, uh, I got it for you!” Minerva said, nodding. “You deserve something sweet.”

“It looks like one of those queer green apples from Australia,” Petunia said, eyeing it. “But, yes, thank you.” She bit into it, and chewed, nodding slowly, her eyes closing as she chewed slower and slower. “Mm!” She wiped daintily at her lips – a gesture that made Minerva look quite closely to watch those delicate fingers slip along her chin, scooping up luscious juice. It made Minerva’s heart race and her skin tingle for some inexplicable reason. Maybe casting magic left her feeling ... tingly? The thought scattered as Petunia announced. “This is delicious! Thank you so much, Minerva.”

“I’m glad,” Minerva said. Silence hung between her and Petunia for a moment longer, before Petunia started to get to her feet.

“Well, I have to get to my duties,” she said. “Remember, idle hands are the devil’s playthings, Minerva!” she bit into the apple one handed as she started off and Minerva let her go, shaking her head slowly as she watched.

There was only one way to learn why the wand hadn’t worked – to learn if she had gone mad or not.

She had to get to the intersection of Tottenham and Gower.

Minerva took the Underground; normally, she’d have gone from from Whitechapel station to Tottenham Court Road station, but the line Circle Line was under renovations that seemed to be dragging on forever. Instead, she walked all the way to Hammersmith, then emerged at the brand new and sparklingly beautiful Gower Station. Emerging onto the road, she asked a newsboy who was stacking up the sheets for the day’s sales where the intersection with Tottenham was. He looked at her with intense condescension for someone who couldn’t have been more than twelve. “You’re the second to ask me that today and I’ll say what I said last time: There ain’t one! Want the Daily Mail?”

Minerva made a face, shaking her head. She started to walk down Gower, and found the first intersection – but it wasn’t to Tottenham. What it was, though, was a road that, itself, intersected with Tottenham. Finding Tottenham and looking up and down it in the hustle and the bustle of London pedestrians, she saw the problem.

Tottenham and Gower were parallel streets. She didn’t see any sign of them intersecting; they both just ended into the same streets which in no way could be called intersections with each other. She frowned and started to walk along Tottenham, looking at the walls and the windows of shops that she passed. She was so focused, in fact, that she barely noticed the boy until she ran smack dab into him and the two of them went sprawling in front of a women’s boutique shop. She hit the ground on her side, while the boy collapsed onto his back, and both of their belongings went scattering – her purse, his jacket (which he had slung over his arm due to the rather stifling heat) and some odds and ends from their pockets.

Minerva, her heart thudding with terror, saw that her wand had rolled out among the belongings. The boy, rangy and lanky with limbs that looked like they still hadn’t quite recovered from the growth spurts of puberty, rubbed at his head with his hands. “Sorry,” he said. “I was completely caught up-”

He yelped as he saw Minerva snatching up her wand.

“That’s mine,” he said, hurriedly, and reached out for the wand – at the same time that Minerva saw another wand, just like it, sitting next to his shoe. Minerva gaped at him. He reached for the wand, but she shook her head and pointed.

“There, there,” she said, and he saw the other wand. Snatching it up, he and she stood, both of them flushed and panting and trembling like racehorses.

The boy himself continued the impression of storklike height when he stood – and the impression of fitting badly in his clothing and his body only grew more intense. He hunched slightly and looked furtive and suspicious. This wasn’t helped by the fact he had a rather serious scar – it looked like an old burn wound that wrapped around the outer edge of his left cheek, only imperfectly concealed by hair he had let grow far too long and unkempt for a proper youth. His hair was dark, his eyes were green, and he smiled, weakly. “Yes, really...” He looked like he was braced for a flurry of...

Of what?

Minerva squared her shoulders. She held out her hand, woman’s fashion. “Minerva Golding,” she said. “If I’ve guessed right, I’ve been accepted into the Hexagramatica, just like you.”

The boy’s expression became even more confused. He opened his mouth, closed it. Then blurted out: “You don’t ... recognize me?” he asked.

“Should I? I only just got a telegram yesterday, I know little else,” Minerva said, nodding. “I ... I had no idea magic even existed until then.” She admitted that with a nervous smile.

“Oh!” The boy said. “Oh! I’m Harry! Harry ... I’m Harry!”

He looked, for reasons that escaped her, absolutely delighted.

“Well, Harry,” Minerva said, noticing the lack of a surname there. “Have you been a, uh, a wizard for long?”

“What sort of question is that?” he asked, seeming quite confused by the notion he could be anything but. “I live with my uncle, Mr. Vilamont. But this is the first year I’ve gotten the letter invitation to Hexagramatica – it’s an extremely prestigious school.” He cut himself off before he said any more. “Come, you want to see Old Fleet Market.” He smiled, gesturing her to follow after him. She followed eagerly, and the crowd parted ways for him – she wasn’t sure if it was because he was a man or because of the scar. They came to a small gray wall between a cafe and a bookshop, and there, Harry turned to flash her a wry little grim.

“We call it Impossible Intersection,” he said, pulling his wand, then tapping onto the largest stone in the wall – twice. The stone glowed faintly and then the whole wall unfolded itself like it was a clever machine rather than unmoving stone. The bricks collapsed inwards and away, and revealed a widening gap between the buildings, which broke apart the further away from the entrance it got – widening outwards to reveal ... impossibly blue sky. Stones floated like they were bubbles in glass ornaments, but they floated above a vast blue that belonged above the clouds, not between two buildings. Harry took Minerva’s hand, guiding her through the door and onto the stones, his feet stepping between them casually as they stepped beyond the buildings...

And...

And well.

“Impossible undersells it, I think,” Minerva whispered as she stood stalk still on a stone that floated before a vast, puffy white cloud – and emerging from that cloud was an inverted rectangular structure of interlocking stairways and buttresses and other flights of architectural fancy. Walking along those pathways – their heads and feet completely glued to the stone, no matter how much it flaunted the sense of up and down that Minerva had thought was sure and certain her whole life, were men and women in fine coats, smoking jackets, flowing robes and fine dresses. They went into shops that had shingles that were impossible to read because they were upside down or perpendicular to the ground, and they laughed and spoke to one another on empty landings that were just as likely to be upside down as right side up. From the upper edges of the impossible building, she could see people flying away on broomsticks, soaring off into the sky.
Creaking stone warned her that the door behind her was closing – and when Minerva turned, she saw that the stone she stood on was completely alone, floating next to the cloud without any sign that there had been buildings, streets, London herself behind her.

Harry stepped onto the cloud, and helped her up. She found standing on a cloud felt remarkably like standing on a sidewalk.
“This is amazing,” Minerva whispered.

“I suppose you could say that,” Harry replied.

“Ahem!”

The voice caused both of them to start and turn.

Standing behind them – having appeared, it seemed, from thin air was the strangest man that Minerva had ever seen in her life. Then she blinked and realized ... it wasn’t a man. It was a woman. A woman dressed in a suit, tie, undershirt, pants and a belt, though the suit jacket was currently off and slung casually over one shoulder. She wore a fashionably modern fedora hat, and had it tucked back a bit to show off her incredibly long platinum blond hair. She had bright blue eyes and looked as if she could have picked up and broken Harry in half over her knees – her shoulders were broad enough that they were distracting, and her biceps were ... impressive and ... Minerva flushed as the woman gave her and Harry a cool and disinterested stare.

She hated this woman, quite a lot.

“We’re just getting out of your way,” She said, stepping aside.

“Very good,” the woman said, her accent somewhere between Midland and ... German, if Minerva didn’t miss her guess. “I’d not want to cause a traffic snarl here.” She walked past Harry, shoulder checking him casually, then turned back and flashed Minerva a warm, inviting smile that made Minerva feel as if the woman hadn’t even noticed how she had brushed past Harry. “Though, I suspect you could cause one anywhere you go, beautiful.” She winked at Minerva, with such brazen cheek that Minerva almost fainted dead away right then and there.

“Why!” Minerva exclaimed and the woman laughed, then sauntered off. Minerva spluttered like a tea-kettle and finally got out. “Do you know her?”

“No,” Harry said, rubbing her shoulder. “But she was wearing House Sildanis colours – the blue and orange on her tie.”

“House?” Minerva’s nose wrinkled. “Like ... a noble house?”

“School house,” Harry said, his grin a bit sheepish. “A bit of a hoary old tradition, but Hexgramatica loves its traditions.” He started to tick them off on his fingers. “House Glintfaire, Sildanis, Ravelorexu, Harrierette and Wainscove.”

“You can’t be serious,” Minerva said.

“Deadly seriously, my dear,” Harry said, his voice shifting subtly to make it clear he was making fun of someone. “These fine houses have been molding British wizards since before the Turks took Constantinople, I’ll have you know.” His stern expression broke into a little smile and Minerva giggled despite herself. At her giggle, Harry continued. “Each was founded by a famous wizard back in the day, who had been taught at Hexgramatica and made a bit of a name for themselves. Gerald Glintfaire found the chalice of Christ ... or, at least, some chalice, we’re not entirely sure...” He started towards the Fleet Market as he spoke, stepping along the cloud like it was a normal sidewalk. Minerva found herself taking hedging, hesitant footsteps, half sure she would plunge through the cloud at any moment.

“Some chalice, yes...” she replied skeptically.

“Well, it certainty did something magic before it broke,” Harry said, dryly. “Xanthippe Sildanis ran the South Seas Company into the faewild and founded the colony of New Birmingham, which is still where we get most of our faewoven cotton...”

“The South Seas Company, like, the East India Company?” Minerva asked.

“Kind of!” Harry said, smiling at her as they came to the first of the stairs that led up to Fleet Street. He casually stepped from cloud to stair – and swung around so that he was perpendicular to Minerva. She felt giddy, watching him walk upwards, away from her and into the snarling mass of bizarre architecture. He turned back, then seemed to realize what was taking her so long. His smile was warm. “Don’t worry, you won’t fall.”

Minerva squared her shoulders. “Okay.” She lifted her foot, then set it down. She twirled her arms with a yelp as the world seemed to spin about her. She took a few staggering steps forward and was caught by Harry before she tumbled down (up?) the stairs. He smiled at her and she stood hurriedly on her own two feet.

“You get used to it,” he said. “Now, ah, where was I? Right! Xanthippe Sildanis, then there was Jean-Claude Ravelorexu, he created the mathematics proofs for the preservation of caloric exchange.” At her look, he expounded. “Basically, uh, when you cast a spell? He proved where and how the energy itself transfers from place to place. Quite a discovery, he was apparently working with Sir Issac Newton at the time.”

“I thought you said the houses were all around since the days of the Byzantine Empire,” Minerva said, her brow knitting.

“Well, the first ones were, Glintfaire and Wainscove,” Harry explained. “Bernard Wainscove slew the worst dragon in all of England.”

“And who founded Harrierette?” Minerva asked.

“Ah, that would be Gilda Harrierette,” Harry said, smiling a bit fondly.

“And what did she do?” Minerva asked.

“She single handedly blew her way into the last of the magi slave ports on the African coast, reduced every last soul-snipping blackguard there into ash and golden bones, shattered their chains, overturned the Grimoria Ex Mortificatoria into the fire, and rounded it off by baking the poor blighters they had soul-stolen there tea and scones.” Harry looked a bit wistful. “I always rather liked her.”

“So, these Houses, how seriously does everyone take it? It’s not like there are duels, right?” Minerva asked. At Harry’s expression of wry chagrin, she felt her own expression curdling. “It’s not like there are duels, right, Harry?”

“Well, not to the death,” he said. “Not anymore.”

Minerva’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wainscove and Harrierette both still have a bit of a rivalry going on, since Wainscove had some holdings in the West African trade at time,” Harry said. “And the Sildanis has never gotten along with anyone, doubly so not after the War.” At her cocked head, he shook his own and threw up his hands. “I’m sorry, there’s just, ever so much to get through and you haven’t heard the half of it. Besides, no one will challenge a new first year to a duel. Hopefully.” He gestured to the first store that they had been walking towards before she could ask or say anything more. “We’re here! We need a set of wands.”

“I got a wand,” Minerva said, reaching into her purse. She withdrew the wand but saw that it looked as if it was beginning to crumble into dust. Her mouth opened in appalled shock as the metal blew away into tiny shavings. “What the-”

“Lolipan didn’t make a name for himself letting people keep test wands,” Harry said, his voice dry, as he reached out and opened the door, then ushered her into a shop with a shingle overhead that read out Lolipan’s Fine Wands, with a logo of crossed wands, one bursting with a single spark, and the other with what seemed to be a flower that was already blooming. The shop didn’t look like a tailors shop or a specialist store where one might get a fine piece of toolwork done – it looked like a retailer that bought in bulk. Wands hung from the walls in neat rows, with names stenciled beneath them, and boxes were arranged behind the counter, ready to be taken down. The man behind the counter was both neatly dressed ... and decidedly inhuman. His skin was green and mottled with splashes of brown and black, one mottled splash over his left eye. His ears were long and came to ragged points. His hair curled. His nose was aquiline – Roman, some would call it – and his eyes were the most arresting gold.

“Are you Lolipan?” Minerva asked, stepping forward.

“No, ma’am,” the man said, his voice reedy and thin. “My name is Garivanus, how may I assist you and-” For a moment, his mask of servile imperturbability slipped as he saw Harry. “-and the good Lord here?”

Harry leaned in. His voice was hushed. “Lolipan owns the franchise, there are shops like this in every major city in England.”

Minerva’s face heated. She harrumphed and then tried to sound as polite as she could. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Garivanus. How much would it be for a wand?”

“That depends on what kind of a wand young miss wishes,” Garivanus said. “We have a full suite of wands – some for home defense, some for labor, some specialized towards various kinds of evocational arts.” He gestured to the wall of wands.

“Uh...” Minerva looked to Harry for some help. He nodded, then took a step forward.

“Good Goblin,” he said, his voice polite. “We’re interested in a set of wands for student work. Flexible, tough, unlikely to break, easy to carry from place to place.”

“Well, for that, you’d best be served by the Heludo or the Milandus,” Garivanus said, stepping off a small shelf that Minerva had not even realized he had been standing on, then emerging from around the counter, revealing he came up to her belly and no more. He walked to the wall of wands, then whisked down a pair of wands – while he was short, his arms were quite long. He held out the first on his palm and Minerva saw that it was matte black, with a brown handle and a white point on the tip that seemed to almost glow. “The Heludo has a straight grip, with a core of refined unicorn hair, a pressed metal jacket for sturdiness, and a guide-tip for aide in control for fine motions. The paint glows in the dark, you see.”

“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-”