#mrs pentstemmon

[spoondrifts]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

born of the question "could sophie's magic gifts potentially extend to talking life into corpses, and would that make her a necromancer?" with an added 14k words of falling in love with that wizard you accidentally raised from the dead that almost has a plot and also a really cool magic battle at the end

[bellaroles]

I finally get it. Lady Danbury reminds me of Mrs Pentstemmon. The Elegance, the regal bearing, but most of all, the gold-topped cane.

[thatfoolsophie]

word count: 1000 summary: once, the witch of the waste and mrs. pentstemmon were girls. they did not grow old together.

i. doubt thou the stars are fire It was a clear night after a blustering autumn storm. The stiff wind that had parted the clouds now ran through the grass and shook down stars from the sky like fruit from heavy-laden branches. Agatha Pentstemmon and Desdemona Brenner did not hold hands as they watched stars fall. Agatha was acutely aware that between grand gestures, Desdemona’s hand kept alighting in the grass, bird-like, inches from her own. “I’m going to catch a star,” Desdemona said. “One day.”

“Desdemona,” Agatha said, watching the dark horizon and not, determinedly not, Desdemona’s hand in the grass beside hers. She could have said That isn’t possible. She could have said By the time a star falls, it’s too late. She could have said You know it as well as I do. It would have been no use; Desdemona did not believe in the impossible. “Agatha,” Desdemona mimicked. Up leapt her hand once more, painted nails glinting dark as she pointed. “I’ll catch one for you too.” Agatha did not want a falling star. But she could listen to her talk for hours under skies like these. In spite of herself, and her empty hands, she asked, “And what would we do with our stars?” Desdemona hesitated only long enough to draw Agatha’s gaze, then flashed a ferocious smile. “Swallow them whole.” A clever girl, but a little wild, their teachers said of her. They were wrong. She was incandescent. Agatha’s chest felt split open, wordless wishes spilling out like the pearls of a pomegranate. That was when she knew that she shouldn’t love her as she did. That was when she knew how a star felt as it fell.

ii. doubt thou the sun doth move The candle by Agatha’s desk guttered as Desdemona blew in. “It worked, you brilliant creature,” she said. The winter wind that gusted in after her put high color in her cheeks and sent her dark hair flying like lightning. The room was suddenly full of her. “What are you talking about?” asked Agatha. “Your treatise. About old magics, about blood and passion and stars.” The memory stung. Agatha spent ten years distilling magic to its simplest rules, trying to understand its heart. She had written a volume on her findings; it was met with only laughter. Brilliant was not what others called it. “That was nonsense. It was just theory.” “It was right,” said Desdemona. “I didn’t understand. The first magic is fire. It’s this,” she said, and kissed Agatha with burning lips. Everything uncertain was seared to ashes. One of Agatha’s hands grasped for the edge of her desk, knocking into her inkwell; the other had found the curve of Desdemona’s jaw, her feverish cheek. Agatha pulled away breathless. “You did it. You caught a star.” She could sense it now: new magic pulsing through her, or perhaps it was the pounding of her own blood. “And now the world is ours,” Desdemona said.

iii. doubt truth to be a liar It was spring, and the eastern sky was golden. Desdemona only ever came by night. Maybe that was why it had taken so long for Agatha to notice the hardness of her eyes. There was disdain in the arch of her eyebrows as Agatha described the young enchanter she taught. “How much longer are you going to go on with this?” she asked. Agatha’s jaw tightened. “I want to teach.” “No, you don’t,” Desdemona said impatiently. “You’re too clever to be stuck here. You could do anything, you could–” “Be like you,” Agatha guessed. Desdemona stilled. Every time, it was the same silent request; go and catch a falling star. You’ll see. You’ll see. You’ll understand what I’ve become. But unease had taken root in her chest. “They say you’re burning the prairies, terrorizing towns, cutting down anyone who stands before you. They say you’ve killed.” “But you don’t believe that,” she said. “I don’t want to believe it,” Agatha said. In her heart, she pleaded, Tell me it’s not true. If you tell me I’ll believe you. Make everything simple again. Morning shadows melted from the garden where they sat; the gentle breeze smelled of jasmine and Desdemona. As silence bloomed and withered, Agatha exhaled, allowing herself one more moment of softness. Over the years she had developed a reputation of her own: fierce, formidable, brilliant. She felt none of these now. But she straightened like her spine was steel, and said, “You shouldn’t come back.”

iv. but never doubt I love Agatha Pentstemmon had known death dogged her for some time now; she didn’t think she would recognize the tread. It had been decades, and still the sound of her footsteps was as familiar as her own heartbeat. She would know her by night. She would know her blind. “Desdemona,” Mrs Pentstemmon said, rising slowly in the sweltering summer heat. The Witch of the Waste’s lip curled. “You’ve grown old.” She still looked the same. Same hard eyes, same dark hair, same clever hands. She cared as little for the passage of time as the concept of impossibility. “You made a contract with a fire demon,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “It was that star you caught, wasn’t it?” “Who told you?” Her gaze sharpened. “Howl. You’ve seen him.” Her tone was hungry, and hateful. It wasn’t Desdemona’s voice. Agatha looked pityingly at the thing that wore the face of the woman she’d loved. I wish I had gotten to mourn you. The Witch of the Waste would not grieve for her. “I know you’ve seen him,” she hissed, flames licking her fingers. “Tell me where he is.” To her own surprise and the Witch’s, Mrs. Pentstemmon laughed. As if she would betray her student. As if she was so easily cowed. As if she would give an inch to this cruel creature. “Over my dead body,” Mrs. Pentstemmon said. It seemed fitting that it all would end in fire. With a flash of magnesium-white, she fell.

(names invented by @born-to-strange-sights :))

[thatfoolsophie]

hmctober day 6: mrs pentstemmon

I love her scene,,, she intimidates sophie, orders howl around, and figures out what's going on in a second but plays along. the witch of the waste, who scares every other character half to death, comes demanding information and mrs pentstemmon says As If

[the-heir-of-terrasen]

Howl conjured another wad of handkerchiefs and glowered at Sophie over them out of he eyes that were now red-rimmed and watery. Then she stood up. "I feel ill," he announced. "I'm going to bed, where I may die." He tottered piteously to the stairs. "Bury me beside Mrs Pentstemmon," he as he went up them to bed.

Howl Pendragon  -  Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

[the-heir-of-terrasen]

"It seems as if those of high ability cannot resist some extra, dangerous stroke of cleverness, which results in a fatal flaw and begins a slow decline to evil.

Mrs Pentstemmon -  Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

[the-heir-of-terrasen]

Mrs Pentstemmon gave him a look which told Sophie she had been a teacher at least as fierce as Miss Angorian. "I am talking to your mother," she said. "I daresay she is as proud of you as I am. We are two old ladies who both had a hand in forming you. You are, one might say, our joint creation." "Don't you think I did any of me myself, then?" Howl asked. "Put in just a few touches of my own?" "A few, and those are not altogether to my liking,"

Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

[northernshe-wolf]

Howl’s Moving Castle: live action movie

Mrs Pentstemmon

She is an extremely powerful sorceress who lives in Kingsbury. For many years, she has tutored apprenticing wizards and witches, and has taught some of the most powerful. Wizard Howl was her last apprentice, who left halfway through his tutelage and never returned to complete it. She is quite old and quite regal, giving off a more royal air than the King of Ingary himself.

Portrayed by - Maggie Smith