"You're crazy! Insane! You inbred, drivelling, selfish son of a rancid goat! How dare you? How dare you! You can't do this! You filthy, conniving, sordid worm! Do you have any sense of decency, you puling coward, you perverted–"
"Rowena! Your language! Don't you dare speak to your father in that manner!"
"He's not my father! That's the bloody point! Not my father, and you can't tell me what to do, you can't make me do this – you rotting corpse of a foul maggot!"
Sirval Slytherin strode forward and grabbed his step-daughter's arms, shaking her. "Silence, minx! You'll do as I say!"
"I won't!" she swore. "You can do nothing to make me! You–"
He slapped her, hard. "The Slytherin line will continue! Do you hear me? You will do as I command you!"
"I won't." The anger wasn't gone, but she spoke with absolute certainty. "You cannot make me. You have no authority over me!"
He hit her again. "You are a Slytherin and as such, you will–"
"I'm a Ravenclaw! A Ravenclaw! My father was a Ravenclaw! Mother!"
Sirval raised his hand again and his wife flinched. "Oh, please, it's – maybe – couldn't you–?"
He rounded on her. "The girl is a harpy! Refusing to change her name, defying me at every turn, associating with Mudbloods against my express orders! She deserves more than she's getting! Keep out of it!"
Rowena fought him, trying to pull her arms from his grasp. He loosed the left to cuff her sharply, but she twisted away from him. The blow landed on her face instead of her ear, and she cried out.
If his step-daughter had snivelled and whimpered, even moderately, Slytherin might have released her. Rowena, however, would never do that. She wrenched her other arm from his grasp and spat in his face.
"Minx! Slut!" He shoved her backwards and pinned her against the wall. "Listen well, you common-kissing flax-wench! You will be married in three months time, and you will do so without complaint."
"You can dress me up and drag me to the altar if you fancy spilling blood, but the only words that will leave my lips are 'I do not!'"
He knocked her almost casually about the head, making her ears ring. "Silence! You will find your future husband much less forgiving than I! Be sure you mind yourself with him, wench; he has no time for argumentative women. Button your lip once you are married, lest you be disciplined properly!"
She tried to squirm away, but he held her fast. He almost smiled; a snake's grin. "He will not hold himself in for fear of damaging your pretty face, Mistress! He has a quick temper, your betrothed!"
---
Helga slid through the door, barely opening it, and crossed the room to the bed in seconds. She sat, silently, and put her arms around her friend.
After a few minutes, Rowena rubbed angrily at her eyes and pulled away. "I hate that bastard." Helga kept her mouth shut about the swearing: life with Sirval Slytherin practically demanded it.
"Your mother didn't even want to let me in, and I know he isn't here. He's been going on about Mudbloods again?"
Rowena shuddered. "Don't use that word. I hate it."
Helga smiled. "I hear it enough from half the town. What else? You're crying."
"I know that. I… they… I have to get married." She said it in a rush, as if purging the words from her tongue.
"Oh, Rowena!"
They were silent a moment, then Helga ventured, "You know, lots of women get married. That sounds stupid, I know, don't say anything. But… Well, I know you don't want a husband, but…" She groped for words.
"But I'm spoiled and selfish and I should suffer through it and be glad I'm not as badly off as some people?"
"Rowena! No! I wasn't saying that, I didn't mean that!"
"I know you didn't. But it's true." Helga blinked. Rowena threw herself face down onto the bed.
"I could stand it," she said, muffled in the blankets, "I could. It's not getting married, it's…"
"What?"
Rowena sat up and turned away from her, staring at the floor. "I could stand anything else, I think. Maybe even an elderly husband. But…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Helga… My step-father wants…" She swallowed hard and looked up.
"I have to marry–"