//------------------------------// // The First Detention // Story: Solstice // by Scorpius //------------------------------// In the twenties, House Whitetail was under a great deal of scrutiny from its close allies in House Everfree. For thirty-seven years, under the leadership of Gregory Juliannos Whitetail, they had joined Everfree in rejection of the Neophyte Tradition, but upon his death[a], and the subsequent rise of Harold Noxae Whitetail to Headship[b], House Whitetail took on its first neophyte in half a century. With none of the other Houses yet ready to embrace Whitetail as allies, Harold knew that drastic action needed to be taken to restore the House to power. His own courtship of Marie Sol Starkad[c] was a carefully calculated risk… —from The Manor in the Woods: A History of House Whitetail “Good evening, Maria.” Maria took a deep, calming breath, shutting her eyes for just a moment. “Good evening, Deputy Headmaster.” Deputy Headmaster Whitetail smiled slightly, and nodded toward the three cushions that were arranged on the opposite side of his desk. “Please,” he said, “do sit down.” Maria’s heart was pounding in her chest, but her slow, deliberate breaths were keeping it in check somewhat. It was her first detention—she didn’t count that time where Harriet had gotten the whole year group in detention with Starkad—and she wasn’t at all sure what to expect. It’s only a detention. And even Dad will tell you it wasn’t your fault. Slowly, gently, she sat down on the middle cushion, though it took her quite some time before she felt comfortable enough to put her whole weight on it. “Now, Maria,” Whitetail began, levitating from a drawer some rolls of parchment and a quill, “the Headmistress has informed me that you are to serve detention for the next month, as punishment for accepting Ms. Forthnall’s Formal Duel. Personally, I believe this to be hogwash, but I have no authority over either the Headmistress or the rules of the school.” Maria frowned. Her heart wasn’t yet calm, she could still feel its pounding shaking her ribs, but it was slower now. Uncertain. “Hogwash, sir?” she asked. “I very clearly broke school rules—“ “And you did so entirely for political reasons, Maria.” Whitetail shook his head, and a dark look fell across his eyes. “Quite unlike my peers, I know exactly what it is like to be a student under political pressure. School rules are nothing when compared to loyalty to the House that has taken you in… and yet, there must be a consequence for breaking them, or so I am told. “For that reason, and that reason alone, I will be asking you to assist me with the marking of Illusion essays, because the alternative of setting you lines”—the word was spat with distaste—“is simply unthinkable. Far better that we use this time to do something productive.” And, quite unceremoniously, Maria found a small stack of parchment sitting in front of her on the desk, piled about muzzle-high. For a moment, she wasn’t quite sure what to say—then she glanced down at the top paper to read the title, and her eyes widened. “Sir?” Her lips were shaking, but she managed not to stutter. “Aren’t these fifth-year essays? I recognise the material…” At that, the Deputy Headmaster let out a mighty guffaw, shaking his head in mirth. It was the first time Maria had seen Whitetail open up, and the old unicorn finally had some energy in his eyes. “Oh, Maria,” he said, still chuckling a little to himself. “You have no idea. The very fact that you recognise the material is more than any other student in your year would have managed. Besides,” he continued, lifting an old, ringbound book from the shelves on the wall, “I was hardly going to make you mark them all off of your own knowledge of the subject.” Maria took the offered binder in her own hornglow, and for a moment amethyst met ice in midair… before Whitetail let the book go, and Maria found herself supporting its whole weight. She floated it down to her side of the desk and spread it open, gently leafing one page after another from right to left. “Sir… is this?” “My personal notes,” Whitetail said, the pride evident in his voice. “I’ve been using them to teach for goodness knows how many years. They’re tailored to the syllabus as best I can make them—see those marks?” He levitated a quill and gestured with it towards the many different kinds of asterisks that lined each side of the pages. “Those are all the places where I’ve had to change things in different years.” Maria nodded, and almost considered lifting a hoof to stroke at the pages. It was more than just an incredible piece of scholarship: it was an incredible symbol of trust. One of the first things Maria had learned at the Arcana was the general attitude of the scholars against sharing one’s notes, which were a private affair. For her to be shown, and allowed to use, a Professor’s notes was a statement—she was sure of it. “Thank you, sir,” she said, quietly. The older unicorn smiled, and nodded. “Neophytes have to stick together, Maria,” he said. “There aren’t enough of us to let anything petty get in our way. Besides, if you weren’t a neophyte, I think all the staff would be in agreement that you’re one of the most dedicated scholars to step into the Arcana in years. You work hard, Maria. We all respect you for it. “Now,” he continued a moment later, after clearing his throat, “the notes you’ll need for these essays are between the pages I’ve marked with bookmarks. I’ll just get you a copy of the mark scheme…” [a] Gregory was found dead in his own bedroom one morning by a serving-mare. The Wards of Whitetail Manor had not detected any hostile magic cast within the walls, and the autopsy report showed him to have died of natural causes—yet he was only fifty-three years of age, and all eyewitness reports suggested he was in quite good health the night before. Though the papers at the time stirred up fear of a conspiracy, the Adstra investigation into his death was dropped after a few days due to insufficient evidence that there had been any foul play. [b] Harold's rise to power was as ruthless as it was ambitious. He was a distant cousin of Gregory, single and foalless at the time, and yet it has been said that he was blessed with a tongue of shining hornglow. His speeches, rallying together the divided House in a time of crisis, were targeted and clever, carefully undermining the trust of the family and the Thaumata in each of his competitors one by one. That he survived as Head of House Whitetail for some decades was a surprise to many, and is discussed in more detail in the next chapter. [c] Though their position in recent years has become more central, a the time House Starkad was one of the staunchest supporters of the Neophyte Tradition, and treated their own neophytes with a respect that many houses, even today, would consider quite inappropriate.