Chapter Eleven: Brown

Richard was not the kind of man to be deterred by the threat of physical violence, though god knows, she'd tried. But after the third kick in the shin, Rowena was forced to accept that his flirtation was more than a mere hobby.

So she attempted Plan B:

'Helga dear, don't you have a lesson to plan?'

Helga spared her a brief glance and said, 'No, I did it ages ago.' She returned her attention to Richard and continued, 'Anyway, that's when my great uncle Ulrich stole her badger, you see…'

Rowena growled. That left her with no choice but Plan C:

'Helga dear, don't you have a penis?'

Helga choked. Quickly taking advantage of this moment of confusion, Rowena grabbed her brother by the wrist and dragged him from the room while he shouted his goodbyes.

'Farewell, Helga! Our time is cut short—'

'Shut up,' Rowena pleaded, as they exited the room.

'I look forward to learning more of your uncle Ulrich!'

'Stop it!' Once certain they were out of earshot, she released his wrist and hissed, 'While you're under my roof, you'll keep it in your trousers! Got that?'

'Ouch. Why are the staircases moving?'

She elbowed him again.

'Ouch! Yes, yes, fine, I've got it.' He grinned and added, 'She is charming though, isn't she?'

Rowena growled again. She was doing a lot of that recently. 'There's a nice little brothel in the village, if that's what you're looking for. You'll keep your greasy fingers away from Helly.'

Richard sighed. 'Yes, yes, fine.' He grinned again, and swooped in for another bone-splintering embrace. 'Just like the good old days, eh, Ro?'

'Frighteningly so,' she agreed, attempting to wriggle away. But his grasp didn't loosen and she was forced to submit, resting her head against his shoulder in a rather pathetic manner, flinching as his voice boomed into her ear:

'I've missed you terribly, you know.' Rowena didn't reply. 'I wish I'd shared the money with you.'

'Me too,' said Rowena.

'I'm sure you would've put it to a much better use.'

'Yeah. I would.'

'But I never stopped thinking about you, you know. Wherever I went.'

'What,' she muttered, voice muffled by his shoulder, 'while you were quaffing ale and having sex with all those foreign women?'

'Well…no,' he admitted, thoughtfully, 'no, I daresay I was rather forcing you from my mind at that point.' He released her from his grip, holding tightly to her shoulders and beaming at her unnerved expression. 'You've grown so tall.'

'And you smell so awful.'

He released her shoulders and sniffed his shirt experimentally. 'Do I?'

'Like you've been recently coated in goose fat.'

He sniffed again. 'Really? But that was days ago, now...'

Rowena stared.

'I wanted to slippy-slide,' he added, by means of explanation.

Do not want to know. Do not want to know. 'Have a bath,' she pleaded, 'and a shave. And eat something. And please, please, don't explain why you wanted to slippy-slide. Just—'

'That's back to the washerwoman and the whipping-stick, I'm afraid.'

'—right.' She closed her eyes. 'Right. That's great. That's just…' She sighed, and headed in the direction of Ravenclaw tower. 'That's great.'

Richard trotted obediently behind her.

0000000000000

It was sometime later that Salazar Slytherin knocked against the door of Rowena's office and, hearing no reply, continued up the stairs to her private chambers. In an act of spectacularly bad timing, he entered her room at eight thirty-five in the evening.

At eight thirty-four that evening, Richard Ravenclaw, gleaming with bathwater, stepped into a pair of freshly washed trousers while his sister tidied the bathroom in his wake, a disgusted expression on her face.

'I'm clean!' cried Richard, his grin spreading high up his face. 'I haven't been clean in ages.'

'Please tell me,' said Rowena, raising her voice to be heard from the bathroom, 'you have bathed at least once during the last eight years.'

'Oh yes.' An unseen twinkle appeared in his eyes as he added, 'In fact, while entertaining the beautiful Queen of Bauchnabel, we managed to—'

'Don't want to know!'

'Right. Sorry.' He had the good grace to look sheepish, at least. 'I forgot.'

'Well try and remember, will you? This could have a detrimental effect on my sanity.'

At which point, Salazar entered the room.

He cocked an eyebrow, but the expression soon melted into bafflement. He rolled his eye over the person who stood before him – the eyes, the hair, the skin, the stance – and, after a very long and very uncertain pause, finally ventured, 'Ravenclaw…?'

Richard brazenly extended a hand and said, 'Ah, what ho, dear boy. Have we met?'

Salazar recoiled. After an undignified pause, he again ventured, 'Ravenclaw?'

Fortunately for all concerned, Rowena chose that moment to appear from the bathroom, answering some of his questions while raising many others. Salazar looked between the two in horror.

'Ravenclaw,' he managed to say, at last, 'who is this naked man?'

Rowena's heart, lungs and intestines leapt into her throat as he spoke. 'Um,' she squeaked, not daring to move any closer to either of them, but craning her neck to see over Richard's shoulder and into Salazar's baffled eyes. 'He's not naked – he's got, um, trousers on…'

Salazar continued to stare between them. Richard looked affably back. Then he again demanded, 'Who is he?'

'Richard Ravenclaw,' Richard beamed, shaking him roughly by the hand. 'Rowena's brother. And chaperone,' he added, hintingly.

Rowena winced. 'I – I don't really think that's necessary, Richard…'

'Men are depraved sex maniacs,' he insisted, flexing what little muscle he had and remaining, resolutely, between Salazar and Rowena. 'Trust me. I should take a serious beating before I allowed a stranger to barge into your chambers.'

Rowena made a few horrified noises.

Salazar was back. He was in her room. His eyebrow was travelling with him. And he was staring at her with a similar look of horror, trapped at the door by a semi-naked drunkard who, if her ears hadn't deceived her, had just threatened to box him should he come any further.

Christ in a Norfolk wherry.

'Richard,' she said, struggling to keep her abnormally high-pitched tone sounding even remotely calm, 'this is – this is Professor Slytherin, my, er, co-founder.'

Richard released a sudden laugh, and relaxed slightly. 'Ah, thank the lord for that. I thought you were going to say he was your beloved! And then I'd have to kill you,' he added dangerously, to Salazar.

Rowena failed to suppress an awkward cry of, 'Eugh-ha!'

A very long silence ensued.

Rowena, afraid to look at Salazar – and what the hell was he doing in her room?! – stared at her brother's right shoulder blade, unable to drag her eyes that extra inch upwards and meet his gaze once more.

He thinks I'm an idiot. He thinks I'm such a little idiot.

A very long silence continued.

Richard looked between the two innocently. Finally he asked, 'Did you want something, dear boy?'

The very long silence got a little bit longer.

Then Salazar said, 'No. It doesn't matter.'

And he left.

'Oh,' said Richard, as the door closed after him. 'He seemed like a nice chap, didn't – ow!' He rubbed the back of his head and glared. 'What the hell did you do that for?'

'I could kill you, Richard, do you know that?!'

'What? Ow! I didn't do any – ow!'

And it was at this point, as Richard attempted to fend off his sister in a rather ineffective manner and Rowena attempted to headbutt her brother in a considerably more effective manner, that Salazar's face reappeared at the door. Both siblings froze.

'By the way,' he said, 'I'll be seeing you in the forth floor cleaner's cupboard at nine o'clock, as usual.' And he winked, in a rather obvious way, and left again.

The silence returned. Richard and Rowena stared, wide-eyed, at the closed door, neither noticing that they were still frozen in time, hands clamped around each other's wrists, trapped mid-headbutt.

'W-what did he say?' Richard demanded, after a while.

'Er?' said Rowena. It was all that sprung to mind.

'A cleaner's cupboard?!'

'…Er?'

He finally released her wrists, swiftly turning his back on her and dragging on a fresh shirt. 'Not on my watch, you don't!'

'Er—'

'Oh, I think not!' He opened the door dramatically, sparing himself a final glance in the mirror (naturally), before declaring, 'He'll have to get through me first, mark my words!' and departing in a melodramatic fury.

'Er,' said Rowena again, pointing weakly after him as the door slammed shut, 'but that's – that's Hat's room…'

000000000

Rowena stared at the closed door for some time after they'd left. She fumbled for a seat and fell into it. She realised she'd been holding a deep breath, and finally released it. Then she let out a very small, concentrated scream and tugged at her hair for a while.

Hat's cupboard. At nine o'clock. Which was about five minutes away.

And – and the wink.

Well, obviously he didn't mean it. Obviously. Because he knew Richard was there, and he knew Richard could see him. He was, obviously, trying to lure Richard away from her.

But why was he trying to lure Richard away from her?!

Calm calm calm. Don't hyperventilate, now.

Oh…but what did he want? Had she accidentally signalled SOS with her eyelids? Was he about to corner him in the corridor and take him out with a cosh? Because that wouldn't be good! He'd tell Granny Agnes on her!

Calm calm calm, woman! That would be one of the least likely outcomes of their meeting. He probably just wanted to talk to her. He wanted to talk about…important…things…

Oh, who are you kidding?! He wants to talk to you about the kissing! He wants to take you down with a hypodermic syringe and tell you to stop bothering him! You're an idiot and you should be locked up for public safety, or forced to parade through the streets with a bell around you neck so people know you're approaching and can duck for cover down side-streets before you have chance to defile their eyebrows!

CALM!

He wanted her to do something. To go somewhere. To talk about something. Did he really want her to be outside Hat's cupboard in three-and-a-half minutes? Or should she wait here, or hide in the bathroom?

She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to see him ever again. Because if he wasn't as destroyed and tormented as she was, she was just a stupid girl with an enthusiastic crush who should've got over it by now, goddammit, and it hurt…

It was nine o'clock. She cursed herself, and every fibre of her being, and closed her eyes and blasphemed. Then she slowly made her way downstairs.

000000000

At exactly nine o'clock, Richard Ravenclaw barged purposely into the fourth floor cleaner's cupboard and shouted, 'I'll rip your ears off if you try anything!' while his brain added, Unless you're a dwarf, a vampire, a lady or, you know, a big fellow with muscles and biceps and things.

He had chance to glimpse overturned furniture, broken mops and empty ale pitchers, and some anatomically incorrect graffiti scrawled across the back wall. The instantly familiar odour of home-brewed alcohol and dust swamped his nostrils. Then the door slammed shut behind him, plunging him into unfamiliar darkness.

He paused to consider his situation. So far, it wasn't great.

Then a rough, scorched voice from the shadows asked, 'Do ye be a whore?' and things became a great deal worse.

'Ah,' said Richard pensively, extending a careful hand to scratch his freshly shaven jaw. 'I do believe I've been had.' He offered a friendly hand to the shadows and said, 'What ho, my good man. I'm Richard Ravenclaw, the estranged brother of—'

He didn't get much further, because the thing he'd first taken to be an empty potato sack leapt from the shadows and clamped its mouth around his fingers. Richard screeched and fell over.

So far, not at all good.

000000000

Rowena held her breath. The fifth floor beckoned. Hastily tussling her hair, pinching her cheeks and colouring her lips (not that she was making any effort at all), she released a cool, steadying breath, turned the corner, and…

Bugger.

Nothing.

She frowned, folding her arms huffily. Every corridor she travelled took a little more nerve to approach, and if she didn't find Salazar soon she was fairly sure she'd suffer a mental collapse.

Right then; fourth floor. Here I bloody-well-come…

It was here, as she began her descent down the stone staircase, that the voice of her subconscious piped up: Just what the hell are you doing here, woman? You're just going to humiliate yourself again! Save yourself the pain and go back to bed. You've got marking to catch up on.

Rowena paused, her foot hovering above the penultimate step. She glanced behind her to the inviting emptiness she'd left behind. She took a step back—

Whoa there, woman! Don't turn back now!

- What? But you just told me to!

Are you insane? You've come this far! And I don't mean geographically – I mean, look at you and Salazar.

- Yeah, exactly. Look at me kissing his bloody eyebrow.

And he didn't take too much offence at that, did he?

- He was speechless!

You kissed his eyebrow! What did you expect, a twenty-minute dissertation?

- Well…no, but—

What have you got to lose?

- Er, my dignity, sense of self-respect, the happy delusion that Salazar could ever like me, my personal happiness, my—

Alright, calm down, Jesus. Look: just think about Salazar for a minute. I mean, really think about him. Right?

- Er…ok.

Now, how do you feel?

- I refuse to answer that question.

Happy, right?

- Well…mainly, yes. Mainly happy. Ridiculously happy, actually…and warm and giddy and close to him and safe and—

Ok, now you're embarrassing yourself.

- Oh – sorry. But, I mean, I don't just feel happy – I mean, there's so much I don't trust about him! Why can't I remember the end of the party? Who's Cray? Why was Heather so afraid of him? Why is it easier with Heather? Why did –

Shut up! Stop thinking. Stop worrying. You're happy. What are you afraid of – actually getting something you want?

- Er…no. That's back to my dignity, sense of self-respect, the happy delusion that Salazar could ever like me, my personal happiness, my—

Shut up.

- You're doing a pretty shit job of being my conscience, I must say.

You're the one having conversations with yourself on an empty staircase.

- Point being?

Are you going to take the final step?

- Ooh, I like it. Very symbolic. "Final step", indeed—

No, I just mean that the staircase is starting to move.

- Oh, buggery.

Rowena jumped, crash-landing on the floor with a distinct lack of grace.

And Salazar helped her to her feet again.

000000

'Ah, Hat,' Richard near-sobbed, giddy with delight as he pulled the cork from an ancient green bottle. 'Hat, you're my best friend in the world!'

'Ach,' said Hat, uncertainly. He shuffled a short distance away from the big Jessie with poufy hair, privately convinced that he was far too drunk for the small amount of alcohol he'd actually consumed. 'S'alright, pal.'

'Brown wine!' Richard continued, cradling the open bottle like a newborn child. 'The elusive brown wine! Hat, the last time I drank brown wine I went blind for a week!'

'Aye?'

'Aye! I'm fairly sure it's been milked from the teats of Satan himself!'

'Aye?' said Hat, with renewed interest. He shuffled slightly towards his new drinking buddy. 'I havenae drank this ale!'

Richard looked at Hat sternly, covering the open neck of the bottle as if covering its delicate ears. 'This isn't ale, dear boy – this is wine! Brown wine!'

'Ach! Wine is for wimmin'!'

'Oh yes,' he agreed, unconvincingly. 'Yes, it's certainly a woman's drink. You wouldn't like it at all.' He raised it to his nose and took a long, savouring sniff, before breaking out in a series of coughs and splutters that almost knocked him backwards. 'Ah! It's burning my eyeballs already! Beautiful!'

'Ach…can I have a sniff – ?'

'No, you wouldn't like it.'

'Pish!'

'It's best I just take this from you, if you'd be kind enough to open the door—'

'Pish, ye pouf! ALE!' Hat launched himself at his chest with force, brim sucking desperately at the bottle in his hands.

The scream released by Richard Ravenclaw as the mysterious brown wine was knocked from his grip, splintering against the floor and partly disintegrating the flagstones, was haunting to say the least. But the sight of him dropping to his hands and knees, desperately licking the alcohol while whimpering in pain at its strength, was plain ludicrous. And it was this scene upon which Helga Hufflepuff stumbled, and this position that Richard accordingly snapped out of. Quickly.

'Ah, Helga!' he beamed, assuming a bright grin despite the watering of his eyeballs. 'I was hoping to see you again!'

Helga stared. On the long list of things she hadn't expected to see upon opening Hat's cupboard, near the top was Richard Ravenclaw orgasmically licking the floor. She tried to say "er?", but found herself physically unable.

Richard coughed slightly, and attempted to subtly climb to his feet. 'Funny seeing you here…'

'Is it?' she managed to ask, weakly.

'I, ah, believe you've met my friend Hat?'

Helga's eyes darted between the two of them, paying particular heed to Hat as he, too, sucked at the floor. 'Er.'

Very discreetly, Richard began to brush himself down. 'I suppose you're, ah, wondering what I'm doing here...'

'It – it had crossed my mind.'

'…but that's another story for another day! What ho?'

'Er…' She shrugged helplessly. 'Alright?'

Grinning politely, Richard managed to manoeuvre himself around Helga's stunned frame, shooting a final forlorn glance at the vanishing brown substance rapidly disappearing into Hat. Helga just continued to stare at him, frozen in disbelief. He tactfully cleared his throat.

'Now Helga, dear, I wonder if you could do me a couple of favours?'

Helga was silent for a few seconds, before realising he'd addressed her and snapping out of it. 'Er…ok. What?'

'Fantastic.' He closed the cupboard door behind them, unable to tolerate the sound of Hat's contended slurping. 'First of all, could you be an angel and never, ever repeat what you just saw – especially to a certain young Ravenclaw we have in common? Ah-ha…'

Helga shrugged. 'Ok.'

'Secondly, could you do your very best to forget these said events?'

She shrugged again, smiling slightly. 'I'll try.'

'And – and thirdly,' he said, taking a slightly shaky step towards her and clasping her hands in his. 'Thirdly, could you be an absolute dear and tell me the origin of that…delightful brown wine?'

Helga's brow wrinkled in confusion. 'That? That's Brown Badger, 908.' Richard stared uncomprehendingly. She explained, 'My parents own the most unsuccessful vineyard in England – it's a Hufflepuff export. Why?'

Richard fell to his knees once more, retaining his hold on her hands to plead, 'Darling, marry me – I've got a nine-inch tongue and I can breathe through my ears!'

000000

'I didn't fall over,' Rowena insists, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.

'Course not,' Salazar dutifully agrees.

'It was an entirely planned procedure from first to last, and I consider it a great success.'

'Right. So when you were on the floor, swearing to high heaven on the subject of those bastard moving staircases, you were in fact…?'

'Merely reflecting aloud.'

'I see.'

Slight pause. It's not entirely uncomfortable. Neither of them are really looking at each other, but that's ok because they both seem to have lost the ability to do so. Nothing weird about that, oh no.

Rowena clears her throat. Salazar does the same. The action seems to be a non-verbal way of saying, Yes, there's certainly nothing strange about the way we're stood at opposite sides of the corridor, deliberately avoiding both eye contact and the Kiss that Dare Not Speak its Name. Nope. Not at all.

And Rowena releases a long breath as a way of filling the silence, while silently wondering why her head is spinning, eyes are burning, mouth is dry, throat is swollen, stomach is churning, legs are buzzing and arms are in direct mutiny against her, being, as they are, desperate to reach out and grab him and just hold on to him, though she doesn't know why and to what purpose. She just really wants to be attached to him for a while.

'Well,' says Salazar, after a further period of silence.

Rowena agrees, 'Yeah.'

'Yeah.'

'Mm.'

Rowena mentally slams her head against the wall, many times. She forces the words from her mouth: 'So…did you want to talk to me, or something?'

'Er, yeah,' says Salazar, uncertainly. 'Er…go in there.' He points to the empty classroom nearby, momentarily wincing at his choice of vocabulary. But Rowena doesn't really notice, instead choosing to wipe the sweat from her hands before reaching for the door handle and stumbling inside. Salazar follows. They're far too accustomed to private conversations in empty classrooms, and the outcome is seldom promising.

'Right,' says Salazar once they're inside, attempting to sober up. 'Er…I thought we should talk, or something.'

'Right,' Rowena agrees, nodding stupidly as if he's said something more substantial. She refrains from asking "about what?", because the mere thought makes her want to vomit. As he turns his back on her, she quickly adjusts her hair (again) and takes a nervous step backwards.

'Right. Right…well — shit, are you ok?!'

Rowena can only squeak pitifully as the world slips away from her; she steps nervously backwards, stands on the hem of her dress and, with thundering inevitability, hits the ground backwards.

And neither of them move.

Rowena, laid flat on her back and staring at the ceiling, just closes her eyes. After a while she manages to whimper, 'No…'

She doesn't look at Salazar as he stands over her, but silently extends a feeble hand towards him in hope of being helped to her feet. The move goes ignored. Instead, Salazar sighs, sits on the floor beside her and, calculating each move, lies on his back. Silence returns, though Rowena can hear something thudding against her ribcage.

Salazar says, 'Aren't you going to look at me?'

'Wasn't planning to, no.'

'Fine.' He joins her, staring blindly at the ceiling. 'Then let's talk.'