Chapter Ten: Chicken

Helga, Rowena soon realised, was almost freakishly strong.

Strong enough to grab her impatiently by the waist, dig her fingers into her spine and wrestle her away from the door while screaming a primitive war cry, paying no heed to Rowena's unnaturally powerful kicks and somehow dragging her to the floor.

Godric, who'd been unfortunate enough to pass through the entrance hall as Rowena bit into her friend's shoulder, didn't quite know what to do with himself. Eventually he settled with, 'Er…?' but nobody heard him over Helga's scream of revenge.

'We've got – to let – him in!' she managed to cry, as Rowena grabbed the back of her dress to prevent her from doing any such thing.

Rowena replied with a squeal of, 'Nononono! Later!'

'Later?!'

'Not now! Not ready!'

'Not ready?!'

Somebody knocked at the door. Godric, stepping carefully around the girls as one pinned the other's arms down and attempted to hold her in some kind of headlock, went to answer it. He got as far as turning the door knob before both ladies screamed and barrelled into him, catching him off guard and sending him flying backwards.

This, at least, had some kind of subduing effect on them. Rowena massaged her shoulder and cried, 'Jesus Christ, Godric, are you wearing a breastplate?!'

Godric glanced down at his body in confusion, lifting up his shirt as evidence to the contrary. Muscles gleamed. Rowena stared for an uncomfortably long time.

'Right,' she said at last, as he vanished back beneath his shirt, 'yes, you'd better put those away before you…cause an injury, or something.'

Knock. Cluck.

'Eugh!' She leapt to her feet again, forcing all thoughts of muscles and man-nipples from her mind. Helga hovered over her shoulder in a way she probably believed to be encouraging.

'Come on,' she said, pushing Rowena towards the door, 'you've got to let him in – you haven't seen him in years!'

'I know!'

Helga took a deep breath and one long step backwards, leaving Rowena alone before the door. Godric, intrigued and slightly bruised, hadn't moved.

'Go on, Ro,' Helga insisted, 'it's Time.'

Rowena stared at the door. She took a deep breath. As yet another loud knock echoed throughout the hall, she raised one trembling hand to the doorknob.

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Meanwhile, Salazar Slytherin warmed his hands by placing them under his armpits, and watched with mild annoyance as Sophia Bruntt rubbed snow across her bare midriff.

'Seriously, William,' said Xavier, with a roll of his eyes, 'it wouldn't kill you to impregnate her, you know.'

'Don't call me William.'

'It suits you.'

He briefly contemplated beating his cousin across the face with a hefty branch, but decided against it. Too much energy, for one thing.

Instead, he busied himself by watching Sophia as she attempted to discover whether a cold climate could increase her fertility. It wasn't a particularly pleasant sight, but it passed the time.

Eventually he demanded, 'Don't you have anywhere to be?'

'Don't you?' Xavier countered.

'I'm soul-searching,' he informed him, 'and you're ruining it.'

'We're helping,' Sophia insisted, despite all evidence to the contrary. 'We'll search your soul for you and tweak out all the good bits – how about that?'

Salazar just muttered angrily under his breath.

He hated his family.

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There he was: Richard Ravenclaw, five years her senior, shuddering with the cold, unseen for eight years.

And there was his chicken, pecking at his ankles.

A thousand memories resurfaced in Rowena's mind, flashing before her eyes before he even had chance to smile: the smell of his burning breakfast, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, his handwriting, the way he spoke – all gone, with all their money, the moment her parents had died—

The grin broke out, high across his face, emphasising his pointed chin. Rowena immediately melted into his arms, squeezing his ribs tightly while he made a few uncomfortable attempts to remove her.

'Ah,' he gasped, as the pressure of her embrace tightened, 'yes, darling, one of those is broken, of course – ah!' He sighed in relief as she obediently tore herself away and dragged him out of the snow, slamming the door shut after them.

Rowena stared at him, mind straining to absorb the unfamiliar details. His eyes were the same as hers – round and blue – as were his light freckles, and the colour of his waved, messy hair. But his broad jaw and narrow chin – his height – his unfamiliar skinniness and the slope of his shoulders, here and real for the first time in so long—

'I think I'm going to swoon,' she mumbled, holding his forearms tightly.

His eyes twinkled as her smiled at her. 'Please do. It'd only increase the drama.' He looked her up and down and observed, 'I see you've grown much taller.'

'It's been eight years,' she pointed out, somehow fighting the urge to both pass out and punch him.

'Really?' He scratched his beard. 'Doesn't feel like it, does it?'

She shook her head.

'You look well.'

'You look awful.'

He grinned sheepishly, stretching out a cramp in his arm. 'Well, you know how it is – hard times, and all that.' His grin widened. 'It's so marvellous to see you.'

'You too,' she managed, although not fully convinced that she was telling the absolute truth.

Really, it was…strange. Seeing him. Him being there, in the room, looking cheerful as ever despite his run-down appearance; acting as if everything was hunky-dory. Her Richard. Her lovely, idiotic Richard.

'This is Clarence,' he said, gesturing to the unexplained chicken that flapped around her feet. 'I must admit, I didn't have the heart to eat him.'

Oh, yes, that was definitely her brother. 'Richard,' she sighed, watching the poultry with repulsion, 'chickens are always, but always, of the female gender.'

He looked at Clarence sharply. 'You never told me this.'

'Cluck.'

'Where have you been?' Rowena demanded, absorbing the full extent of his dilapidated appearance.

'Oh, where haven't I been?' he countered, assuming the tone of the great story-teller. 'I could certainly tell you some interesting trivia about the senior members of the royal family, I'll say that much.'

'What?'

'I've spied! Fought! Courted, travelled, explored! Entertained the emperors; danced with the devil; battled the rogues; been robbed at gunpoint in a Turkish brothel…ah…been mugged by a transvestite Viking, strung up from a tree by my left shoe and beaten with a little wooden club…gambled gratuitous amounts of money and clothing in an alcohol-fuelled haze…' He lowered his voice, but continued to smile. 'See where I'm going with this?'

'Oh God,' said Rowena, wincing, 'I've just remembered the reason I'm so painfully sensible.'

Richard ignored her, instead turning to Helga with a wide grin. 'Ah – Olga, isn't it?' He proceeded to open his arms and embrace her in a hug so constrictive that her feet actually left the ground. 'My, haven't you grown!'

'Er,' Helga squeaked, mid-crush, 'it's Helga, actually.'

He let go, and stared at her calculatingly for a moment or two, before suddenly remembering, 'Yes, Helga! That's it, of course. Helga Hoffle—'

'Huffle.'

'—pot.'

'Puff.'

'Ah yes. Little Helga.' He looked her briefly up and down, and corrected himself, 'Well, little-ish. Certainly more developed in the bust department, which I think suits you marvellously by the way—'

'Richard!' Rowena squeaked, as Helga's eyes shot open. 'Put the girl down!'

He obediently did so, moving nonchalantly onto a seething Godric and patting him on the back. 'I don't believe we've met, sir?'

'Er, this is Godric,' said Rowena, as Godric growled dangerously, 'Gryffindor. Pleasant chap. Er, perhaps you have people in common?'

'Gryffindor?' Richard repeated. 'Don't think I know any Gryffindors, unless you happen to have a rather well-muscled sister living in the Flemish regions?'

Godric stared in furious disbelief.

'No?' he continued, apparently unable to detect the other man's mood. 'Didn't think so. Lovely woman – small bust, long legs, could count to ten in Yiddish.'

Rowena winced again. She somehow managed to whimper, 'Right. Well, thank you for that description, Richard, we'll certainly know her if we see her.'

He gave a short laugh, turning back to a blushing Helga with a particularly amorous look in his eyes. 'Don't give her my address, whatever you do. I still have her earrings.'

She began to ask, 'Why do—?' but decided she really didn't want to know.

Oh yes.

He was back, alright.

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'Haven't you finished soul-searching yet?' Xavier demanded.

Salazar shrugged. 'I finished a couple of hours ago; I'm just waiting for you to get bored. Or freeze to death,' he added, wistfully.

'You've finished?' Sophia looked up in all eagerness, abandoning her anatomically correct snowman and gluing herself to Salazar. 'What are you going to do? What's your plan?'

'My plan,' he announced, raising his chin, 'is to create a foolproof plan.'

This was met by mutually dissatisfied stares. 'Your plan is to create a plan?' Xavier echoed, disbelievingly.

'Yes.'

'Regarding what, pray tell? The acceptance of the role of fate in your petty life, or—?'

'The other thing,' Salazar finished, smugly.

Sophia growled and returned to her snowman. Xavier sighed. 'So glad you have your priorities in order,' he muttered, bitterly. 'I'd hate to think you were ignoring the ancient magic that governs your every movement in exchange for hugs and snuggles with your favourite Ravenclaw.'

Salazar recoiled slightly. "Hugs and snuggles" were not words that one liked to associate with Xavier Malfoy. Or Salazar Slytherin. Or, for that matter, Rowena Ravenclaw. It sounded too…eugh.

But instead of attempting to verbalise this, he just muttered, 'Piss off.'

'You disgust me.'

'Find a hobby.'

'Oh, but you're our hobby, William,' said Xavier, with a false smile, 'you, and everything about you.' His smile faded to a scowl as he withdrew his wand and growled, 'Now keep soul-searching, or I'll blast your knackers off.'

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Salazar still isn't back.

Salazar still isn't back.

Richard keeps ogling Helga.

Salazar still isn't back.

I can't force the image of Godric's masculine nipples from my fragile little mind.

And Salazar still isn't back.

Salazar still isn't back.

Salazar still isn't back.

Nipples.

As the words circled Rowena's mind without relief, she found it increasingly difficult to absorb new and importantinformation, like My brother is here, and he's lost all our money, and Helga's looking increasingly nervous at those looks he keeps giving her.

They were in the Great Hall. Several students had made amateur attempts to spy on them, but to no avail: each time a face appeared at the window, Helga threw something at it.

Godric had exited the situation as rapidly as propriety allowed, Richard's enthusiastic tales of ale and wenches overwhelming his genteel sensibilities. Fortunately enough, he'd soon been replaced by Anatole, who was vaguely curious as to why Helga and Rowena had been involved in an all-out brawl in front of at least three passing students, and soon fell into casual patter with Helga while Rowena listened to her brother:

'I spent about three months in the swamplands,' he continued, speaking, as ever, through a wide grin, 'which was rather pleasant until the novelty wore off. Then a group of natives took me as their spirit guide and forced me to walk around with a pierced belly-button and perform all their religious ceremonies, which I daresay was an amusing experience…'

She hadn't really expected this. She'd expected him to ride in on a horse, having eaten, drank and wenched himself to a happy oblivion, if he even returned at all. She had not expected one thousand and one tales of high-times in foreign climbs, most of which ended with either, "and they now worship my name on a Tuesday, isn't that delightful?" or, "I just pulled up my trousers and hopped out of the window before the bugger had chance to shoot me".

And Salazar still isn't back.

'That's…delightful, Richard,' she said with raised eyebrows, as he yet again concluded that a small, hitherto undiscovered country had been named after him. 'You've done very well for yourself. I think.'

He beamed at her proudly, the thin line of his smile stretching across his emaciated face. 'And you work at a school!'

'I own the school,' she corrected him, for the fifth time that night.

'Oh yes. And Helga,' he said, craning his neck to see over her shoulder, 'she's grown charming, hasn't she?'

Rowena groaned, a disgusted expression crossing her face. 'Eugh, Richard! She's my best friend, for Christ's sake.'

'She must have only been ten or so, the last time I saw her,' he continued, evidently ignoring her. 'Who's she talking to?'

'Anatole. He's a vampire.'

'Ah.' He wavered uncertainly for a moment. 'Ought I to save her?'

'I don't think that'll be necessary.'

'No act of heroism?'

'She'd punch you in the face.'

He exhaled in relief. 'Thank god. He may be short, but I've had enough bad experiences with dwarves to trigger nasty flashbacks.' He shuddered. 'Powerful thighs, you know.'

Not for the first time that day, Rowena decided she didn't want to know.

He continued to stare over her shoulder, and observed, 'Beautiful hair, hasn't she?'

'Richard, I swear to god I will have you sterilised.'

He looked away, slightly injured. 'Why?'

'You're unnerving the girl!'

'Don't be silly. She's staring at me.'

'Yes, with a rising look of panic in her eyes. I mean it, Richard – you don't just gallivant into my castle and sex up the first woman you lay eyes on.'

'I never got the hang of gallivanting,' he murmured, thoughtfully. 'Tried it once in a Turkish brothel, but we all know how that evening turned out.'

'Are you even listening to me?' she demanded.

'Yes? Yes, yes.' He tore his eyes away from Helga once more, and back into hers. 'No sexing, promise.' He grinned, and pulled her into an unexpected, powerful hug while her arms flailed around madly. 'It's so marvellous to see you again, Ro. Just like when we were kids – you always telling me off, always covering up my mistakes…'

'Iddybaddu,' Rowena rasped in response, because Richard was holding rather tightly.

'I'm certainly glad that one of us matured, anyway. All grown up! Living in a castle! In…Scotland, of all places!'

'Cabbee!'

'What was that?'

'Can't – breathe!'

'Ah! I see.' He quickly let go of her, and watched with mild amusement as she wheezed her breath back. 'Just like the old days, eh, Ro?'

Once confident she could feel her pulse again, Rowena straightened up and replied, 'Well, sort of – I am slightly older now.'

He sobered up for the first time since entering the castle to reply, 'Yes, Ro. Which is why I shall devote my time to defending your honour against any number of lecherous men wishing to compromise your purity.' After a pause, he added, 'As long as they're not dwarves. Then you're on your own.'

Rowena took the time to imagine Richard challenging a bemused Salazar to a round of fisticuffs, "thou libidinous villain!", before quickly pretending she didn't as it made her brain hurt.

Eventually she decided to go with, 'Er, thanks. That's very nice of you.'

'You do have your purity, don't you?'

'Richard!'

'I'm just checking!' he cried, throwing his arms up defensively. 'I don't want my sister flinging her chastity into the streets for every rapscallion that comes along.' He lowered his voice to add, 'What about Helga – how's her purity doing nowadays?'

'Long sinceabandoned.'

He grinned. 'Excellent.'

Rowena couldn't look more disgusted if Godric hopped into the room with his foot sticky-taped to his groin.

'And what about you?' she demanded, as a long-ago memory stirred. 'What the hell happened to Prunella?'

'Who?'

'Prunella? Your wife?'

'Ah. Yes,' he said, slightly uncomfortably, 'good old Pru. Yes, she's in Normandy, I believe.'

'Where's Normandy?'

'France.'

'What's she doing in France?'

'Half of Normandy,' he admitted, weakly. As Rowena stared naively, he explained, 'She left me. Ran into the warm embrace of another man's thighs.'

Rowena winced. 'Oh. I'm sorry.'

He shrugged it off. 'Well, we had been married over two months. Can't expect to keep a girl chained down forever…ha-ha?' he suggested, uncertainly.

'Ha-ha,' Rowena agreed, sympathetically. 'It, er, obviously wasn't meant to be.'

He shrugged again. 'I'm young; I'm twenty-three. I've got at least a good ten years left before I catch the plague or die of an embarrassing illness. But a man does get lonely.' He sighed, but perked up again as he added, 'That's why I bought Clarence, you see?'

Rowena wrinkled her nose. 'Please tell me honestly, Richard: did you have sex with that chicken?'

'Don't be disgusting.'

'Sorry.'

'We made love.'

Pause.

'That was a joke,' he added, hurriedly.

'Ohdeargodmyeyes…'

'Calm down,' he demanded, shaking her shoulders, 'Clarence isn't that sort of chicken!'

Once her mind felt slightly less sullied, she pushed his hands away and decided that a rapid change of conversation was in order: 'How did you get here, anyway? How did you find me?'

'Oh, it was easy,' he said, with uncharacteristic modesty. 'I just jumped out of the longboat in a hand-fashioned kayak, disguised as an onboard prostitute; sailed for about a month in the wrong direction before jumping aboard a passing merchant ship and fighting off the advances of fourteen deckhands who hadn't seen a woman in a very long time; eventually abandoned ship when France loomed into view and smuggled myself into the country disguised as a coy young seamstress boy—'

'Skip to the end?' Rowena suggested, hopefully.

'—hitch-hiked, smuggled and walked across the country until I reached Granny Agnes' house; was promptly beaten with a stuffed mammal of some kind but managed to read through her letters; an amusing misadventure involving a whipping-stick and a lonely washerwoman later and here I am!'

Rowena winced. 'Whipping-stick?'

'All very amusing,' he assured her. 'Anyway, I passed out in a field a few weeks ago, and ended up here.'

'Oh? How'd that happen?'

'Don't know; don't care.' He grinned again. 'More wine?'

'Er…ok.' She summoned him a glass of the weakest alcohol she could manage, knowing that his taste buds were probably too numb to notice the difference anymore. 'What happened to your wand?'

He shrugged. 'I've been living as a muggle for years. I probably traded it for something.'

'Prostitutes,' Rowena mumbled.

'Not necessarily prostitutes.' He swallowed his beverage in one long gulp, and released a contented sigh of relief before adding, 'Don't get the wrong idea about me, Ro – most of the time we just chatted and played cards.'

'Really?'

'Most of the time.' He grinned as Helga, watching him with a kind of alarmed fascination, sidled up to them cautiously. 'What ho.'

'What ho,' Helga agreed, with absolutely no idea of what she way saying. 'It's, er, nice to see you again, Richard.'

'And it's very nice to see you again, Helg — ow!' He rubbed his shoulder, giving Rowena a particularly injured look, and demanded, 'What? I wasn't sexing!'

Rowena elbowed him again for good measure. 'You were undressing her with your eyes!'

'Was not!'

Helga ventured, 'Er?'

'You were,' Rowena insisted, aiming for his injured rib, 'and we'll have no more of it, thank you very much!'

Richard was, reluctantly, subdued. Helga again ventured, 'Er?'

With his eyes obediently fixed on his shoes to avoid accidentally undressing anything with anything else, he said, 'Then I enquire after your health.'

'Er…I've got a bit of a cramp in my leg,' Helga offered, uncertainly.

'Ah? How awful. Is it causing you any great deal of discomfort?'

'Er—'

Rowena tuned out. As soon as she did so, the phrase Salazar isn't back yet stormed angrily through her mind, so she tuned back in.

Thirty seconds later, unable to tolerate any more in-depth, subtext-heavy discussions about muscular contractions, she drifted over to Anatole, who watched the pair with a look of fascinated horror.

'Seems like a…charming man, your brother,' he observed, with grudging honesty.

Rowena nodded. 'Yeah. Charming, for an inheritance-grabbing drunkard.'

'You can't hold that against him – he was only fifteen when your parents died, with no sense of responsibility and deeply upset by the whole thing.'

'How the hell do you know that?'

'Er, Helga told me,' he admitted, shamefacedly, 'along with a detailed, step-by-step analysis of your past relationship and early home life, and suggestions of how this will effect your future together as siblings.'

Rowena winced. 'Jesus. What did she conclude?'

'No idea. She got distracted every time he looked at her.'

They simultaneously recoiled in disgust as Richard, gaze still firmly on his feet, said something amusing enough to prompt a giggle from Helga.

'Did you hear that?' Rowena demanded. 'A giggle. This can only end badly.'

'Don't you trust—?'

'No.'

'Oh. Right.' He looked her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time, and asked, 'Where's Professor Slytherin?'

And Rowena, for no reason at all, punched him.

It was just that kind of day.