Chapter Five: The Hogwarts Four-ish

No more was said between Rowena and Salazar about the cupboard incident until the end of term, although Rowena tended to erupt into sudden bursts of laughter whenever the memory re-surfaced.

'Something the matter, Ro?' Helga asked.

'Just giddy,' she lied. It was her third outburst of the evening. Helga, sat beside her in the empty common room, was beginning to grow concerned.

'Giddy?'

'About leaving school. Just a few long hours more, Helly…'

'Twelve hours, twenty-seven minutes,' she replied automatically, rocking slightly in her seat.

'Right. Everything's ready to go, Helly,' she declared, her grinning face highlighted by the orange glow of the fire, 'in twelve hours and however many minutes we'll be at our own school! You and me' - then, in a quieter voice - 'and Godric and Slytherin and Elvina Tart.'

Helga giggled. 'Do you have a portkey ready?'

'Yeah. Taking us…' she flung her arm out in front of her in a dramatic way, finishing, '…North-East, to Scotland!'

'You're pointing south, to Devon.'

'Weeing on my rainbow,' Rowena warned her, glaring. 'Stop it.'

Helga smiled. 'Sorry, Ro. I can tell you're looking forward to this.'

'Oh, I am.'

'You've been laughing for days.'

Rowena very quickly suppressed another smile, and ventured, 'Helga…what would you say if I told you I'd been forced into an uncompromising position with a semi-naked Slytherin inside a broom cupboard?'

Helga blinked.

'Only kidding.'

Helga blinked again. Unable to find a suitable response, she threw her a fleeting look and read a book determinedly.

Twelve hours and twenty-six minutes later, after a celebration ceremony that lasted several long and dreary hours, school had officially ended.

Escorted from the large oak doors with some force, pupils were left to consider all their memories of the previous seven years and, as the headmistress said, "be grateful".

Eventually, only Rowena, Helga, Godric, Elvina and Slytherin remained on the school grounds. Rowena and Helga made forced, nervous conversation while Godric stood with shoulders back and eyes fixed on the horizon, and Elvina chatted with apparent ease to Salazar, who folded his arms and harboured murderous intent.

Finally, Slytherin spoke, interrupting Elvina mid-flow: 'Ravenclaw, are we ever going to leave or just stand around here until somebody gets punched?' He gave Elvina a warning look as he said so.

Rowena had actually been waiting for someone to initiate movement for a long time, but didn't say as much. Instead she replied, 'I'm ready whenever everyone else is.' She coughed. 'I suppose.'

'Are we expected to walk there?'

'Of course not; I've got a portkey in my bag somewhere…' She rifled through her things until she reached a small leather pouch. 'Here it is.'

Salazar raised a cocky eyebrow. 'That is possibly the least impressive thing of yours I've ever seen. And I'm including your breasts on that list,' he added.

Godric promptly and politely slapped him around the head.

'Thank you,' said Rowena, curtly. She cleared her throat and delicately opened the pouch, pinching it between her index finger and thumb. The others followed suit.

'I hate your face,' Helga reminded Salazar. It was the last thing they saw before the ground beneath them vanished, the atmosphere spun around and a sharp tugging sensation caught their ribs.

After a few seconds of excruciating pain, they landed heavily on Scottish soil. Rowena fell, not at all gracefully, on her rear, a few metres from Godric, who seemed to have landed on his feet but at great expense of his knees. Salazar too was stood up, but other than a slight struggle with re-gaining his balance he appeared in perfect condition. Helga was on her back, caught under Elvina's legs, which she presently pushed away rather impatiently and scurried over to Rowena.

They found themselves collected around the base of a hill, on which stood a large, grey-stoned castle. It looked rather magnificent; vast and new, with towers and thin windows looking down on them. The incline that led up to it wasn't very steep, but covered a long distance.

'I suppose,' Helga began, uncertainly, 'I suppose this is it, Ro.'

'I suppose it is,' she agreed. Then, feeling it her duty to do so, she turned to the others and announced, 'Welcome…to Hogwarts.'

There was a strong, almost proud silence.

Salazar said: 'I hate it.'

Ignoring him on principle, Helga, Rowena and Godric made their way up to the castle while Elvina fussed over Slytherin. In order to escape, he quickly followed.

Now everyone had actually seen Hogwarts, and were all in one piece, the atmosphere seemed a little lighter.

'Does this fell odd to you, Ro?' Helga asked in a voice she couldn't quite fathom; it lay somewhere between genuine curiosity and utter terror.

'Not odd,' said Rowena, truthfully, 'but that's only because I don't think I've absorbed it yet.'

'It's very…'

'Big?'

'…grey.'

'Don't you like it?'

'I don't not like it,' she said, hurriedly, 'I'm just slightly surprised by the greyness. Could do with a splash of paint, maybe...something in pastel.' She wrinkled her nose. 'Lilac?'

They finished the walk in contemplative conversation. Personally, Rowena thought that a Mediterranian-style whitewash would brighten the place up, while Helga favoured a more cheerful pinkish theme - approximately, she said, the same shade Rowena's face had turned following the hike, unfit beast that she was.

The doors loomed into view. A handle dropped off.

'Ah,' said Rowena, uncertainly. She picked up the rust-gnawed knocker, and said, 'Yes...beautiful display of iron work. Locally-made, I believe.'

The others stared at her.

'Very sturdy,' she added, melting under the collective gaze. She sniffed it. 'Beautiful paintwork.'

'Shall we take a look inside?' Godric said, in a way that was less a question and more a comment on Rowena's condition.

Salazar said, 'For the love of all that is holy, yes.'

He obediently made his grand entrace, flinging the doors open with considerable force. It was something Godric tended to do with doors; apparently by accident, everywhere he went, doors were flung open. With muscles like those, timidly sidling into a room wasn't an option.

Rowena gasped upon seeing the interior. All she saw was stone. At first she had to convince herself she hadn't just walked into a rock; the stone floors spread from stone wall to stone wall, which supported a high stone ceiling. She glanced at Salazar's expression. That was stone too.

'This is very...' he began.

'Stony?' Elvina suggested, resting her head on his arm. He took a smart side-step out of her way.

'We can always decorate it,' Rowena said, in a voice probably described best as hysterical anxiety. Every one gave her a sideways glance; it seemed that this was the last thing on their mind. Still, it was the only thing she could think of, so she continued, 'Yes, we could try painting something, and then we could hang it on the wall and it will all be very pretty. Yes. A few candles here and there, and the tables of course, it'll brighten the whole place up. Yes...'

'Right,' said Slytherin, abruptly changing subject, 'this is a very charming castle and all, but where do I put my stuff?'

All eyes swivelled back to Rowena, who gave a slight groan. She rummaged through several sheets of parchment used to make notes on, and read, '"There are three towers and a dungeon suitable for permanent living accomodation. These lead to possible common rooms and dormitories for students of each school house…blah, blah…et cetera."'

'How many towers, did you say?'

'Three.'

'How many dungeons?'

'One.'

This statement was followed by a deliberate silence from the direction of Godric, Helga and Salazar.

'…Oh. That's four, isn't it?'

'No shit, Sherlock,' Salazar mumbled.

Then the conversation erupted all at once:

'Someone can sleep in the forest.'

'Really, Helga!'

'I was just saying—'

'I'm not adverse to sharing, wink wink—'

'Salazar!'

'Just saying.'

'I'll share with Sally-zar—'

'Elvina!'

'Actually forget I mentioned it-'

'Someone should leave.'

'God—what?'

Godric cleared his voice and declared — and he had a good voice for declaring, it had to be said — 'We only need four to run a school; I'm sure the combined financial input of only two investors will be enough to fund the venture for several years, if all goes well. One person could leave...' His eyes travelled down to his feet, which he shuffled uncomfortably.

There was a long pause, and then the babble broke out again.

'Helga,' Slytherin said, automatically.

'Why me?'

'Fine. Gryffindor.'

'But—!'

'Elvina? Elvina's unimportant.'

'Sally-zaaaar! I thought—'

'Oh, shut up. Ravenclaw.'

'Slytherin!'

'Dog eats dog, Ravenclaw.'

'Christ's sake, will you just stop suggesting names and—'

Apparently heartbroken, Elvina wailed, 'I think Sally-zar should leave! The destitute valleys of my heart are—'

'I provided most of the funds!'

'Remove Sally-zar from the barren desert of my lust tunnel—'

'Why me? Why not Hufflepuff? She's poorest—oh, don't look at me like that, you know you are...'

'You're not even that good-looking, I was just being sympathetic—'

'But why can't we get rid of Elvina?'

'Because—'

For a moment, all were silent. Eyes travelled from Salazar to Elvina. Then back to Salazar. Then to the Portkey, which lay forgotten on the floor.

'Elvina, dear,' Slytherin said, tentatively, 'pass me that portkey, would you…?'

Several minutes later, as they stood around the great hall sincerely wishing for chairs, the image of Elvina saying "Ok, Sally-zaar," with one finger in the portkey as she picked it up was still imprinted on their conscience.

'Thank God she's gone.'

Those who had a conscience.

'It wasn't a bad thing,' Helga mumbled guiltily, glancing at the spot Elvina had vanished from.

'Probably for her own good,' Godric agreed.

Slytherin scoffed. 'Sure, Gryffindor. She really wanted booting out.'

'Shut up,' said Rowena, sternly. 'Have some respect, would you?'

The silence that followed was pensive, and would have signalled the end of the discussion if not for the fact that the Hogwarts Four were all aged around eighteen years old.

'Dibs on tower!' said Rowena, quickly.

'DIBS ON TOWER!'

'Tower! Ha! Yes!'

Rowena yawned, and blew out the flickering candle next to her bed. It had been a very long day.

She stood by the window - her window - looking out into the grounds of Hogwarts. Her Hogwarts. The height of the tower was, admittedly, making her feel rather dizzy— more so, even, than the thought of this being her new home.

Even more than the thought of teaching hundreds and hudreds of children in just a few short months.

More than the of thousands of unexplored rooms beneath her, all through the castle, draughty and expansive and dark and waiting to be filled.

More, even, than the thought of Salazar Slytherin laying down peacefully underneath her...

She choked and quickly shook her head, immediately discarding those last thoughts. 'Not like that,' she said loudly, as if adressing an invisble crowd, 'I meant the dungeons. Shush! Stop it.'

She sighed.

She went to bed.

'Get up, Ro!' Helga squeaked from the other side of Rowena's door. It had to be Helga; only she could squeak like that at eight o'clock in the morning.

'Come in,' Rowena mumbled, groggily.

There was a faint bang, which was probably Helga walking into the door, then the sound of metal on metal as she unlocked it and walked in.

'No food?'

'No, you greedy lug. Come on, Ro! We're starting work today.'

Rowena turned on her side and looked at her friend. 'Yet,' she whispered, 'the thought of breakfast is still appealing...'

'You may have some toast. But please hurry downstairs, I don't like being left in a room with Salazar for too long. It makes me uncomfortable. Twitchy. Homicidal.'

'Salazar's...not much of a morning person,' she mumbled, inexplicably finding it her duty to defend him.

'He's an inbred tool, Ro, and if you don't come downstairs right now I'll have to murder him with a ladle.'

Confident she didn't want a ladle-related death on her hands so early in the business venture, Rowena obediently made her way downstairs. The route from the tower took some navigation; between the shock of the new and the shock of the moving staircases, journeys were less about getting from one place to another and more about not getting killed. Whoever first owned Hogwarts had a questionable sense of humour.

'This just isn't funny anymore,' Rowena muttered, as the corridor shifted underfoot. 'Imagine if the place caught fire! I think this constitutes a health hazard, don't you?'

'Ignore it,' said Helga, with a shrug.

'How?'

She shrugged again, smiling happily. 'It's quite fun, once you get used to it.'

'Good grief.'

'It's the classrooms you've got to watch out for,' she added, as the staircase finally ground to a halt. 'Real pain. I got groped by a windowsill earlier.'

Rowena stared at her friend for a moment, attempting to find the logic in this statement. She gave up when her migraine kicked in. 'A windowsill groped you. That's fine. Goddammit.'

Eventually reaching the entrance hall, Rowena's spirits weren't particularly raised by the presence of Slytherin, who sat alone before the dying fire. The hand that massaged his temples implied a serious headache that she had no sympathy for.

'Slytherin,' she said, with more than a hint of suspicion, 'were you inebriated last night, by any chance?'

He shrugged in a non-committal way and mumbled, 'Fruff.'

Rowena kicked him.

'Yes, then,' he said, groggily, 'since you insist on knowing. I was out on business, one thing led to another, the universe crystallised then melted around me and as I made myself feel loved and welcomed in the arms of the alcohol, I accidentally got a bit plastered and…' he waved a lazy hand, 'thus.'

'Do you realise nothing you just said made sense? What business were you doing in an alehouse?'

'Don't see why you're so angry. I found a few suitable teachers—'

'In an alehouse?'

'For God's sake Ravenclaw, we've already established that point. Go away now, daddy's got a headache.'

Rowena threw Helga a desperate look of appeal, which was responded to with a helpless shrug. 'You smell,' Rowena pointed out, helpfully.

'Why, thank you.'

'You stink like ale and hay and some kind of hoofed mammal.'

'So you have the nasal senses of a terrier as well of the vocal range of one? Glad to hear it. Actually, I'm not, so shut up.'

As a last-ditch effort to cause some form of annoyance, Rowena kicked the leg of his chair feebly and stormed out of the room. Slytherin grimaced at the noise.

'You're just lucky she didn't notice you bought all this furniture,' Helga mumbled uncomfortably, following her friend outside.

Salazar grinned and sunk further into the newly purchased chair. No, he thought happily, I'm just lucky neither of you noticed the donkey I hid in the bathroom.

According to Hogwarts: A History: "Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff then did venture into the village of Hogsmeade, discussing most happily the events of late and spreading the word to the curious ears of the village people to much success." This was historical inaccuracy of the strongest kind.

'I'm going to kill that greasy, pointy-nosed man-bitch,' Rowena fumed, Helga suppressing giggles in exchange of a serious expression.

'It'll be alright,' she managed, striding to keep up with Rowena as she marched angrily down the hill that lead to the road.

'Pfft!'

'Pfft, Ro.'

'I think I'm going to kill him. I think I'm actually going to kill him! We've only been here one day and already he's inebriated!'

'Good job he's rich and we're desperate…'

'Yeah, I suppose,' Rowena said, slowing her pace and reverting to more of a relaxed tone. 'Oh, I love money. I hate Slytherin, but I love money. Shame he's got absolutely no wit about him and he's the most arrogant, boring and selfish—'

Helga tuned out for the duration of the rant, only tuning in again when they'd reached the outskirts of the village and Rowena concluded:

'…so hard and so regularly he'll not even be able to look at an owl without crying. Is this it?'

Helga consulted a guide book and reported, 'We're on the village outskirts; most places are about half a mile in—'

'We can send Godric in there tomorrow,' Rowena said impatiently, not wishing to encourage any suggestion of hard work, 'we'll just...test the water around this area.'

'Oh good, I'm thirsty. Is there anywhere we could…' Cringing slightly, as if the potential of the very word was enough to inflict mental anguish, she finished gingerly: 'Socialise?'

'Well this place looks, er, nice,' Rowena suggested, heading in the direction of the nearest building with Helga hot on her heels.

"Nice" was as much of an overstatement as was grammatically possible: the building was squat, grey and messy, with boarded-up windows and a door that creaked on its hinges. A warm wave of strong, musky scent filtered out into the street, tickling Rowena's nose in a way she found strongly irritating. She was on the verge of turning around and heading in another direction when a squat, grey-haired and messy woman - apparently co-ordinated with the building -appeared at the door and addressed them:

'Ye looking for something, ladies?'

Rowena glanced back to Helga, who quickly looked away for fear of being consulted, then as fluently as ever replied, 'Er, we were sort of looking around for, er, somewhere to, you know, have a drink and things.'

'"Things?" the woman repeated, eyeing her up suspiciously, 'What things would they be? Come ye to riot, to burn, to cause wicked mischief and anguish for a weak old gang? We don't have any of those things here! Are they the kind of things ye seek?'

'Er, no. I meant like a biscuit or something.'

'Oh, aye, biscuits we have.'

'Mm.'

'Well, well, in with ye, women!'

'Er, alright. Come on, Helly.'

The women gave them a final suspicious look with her enormous right eyeball before vanishing inside.

'I don't think we should—' Helga began uncertainly.

'We should,' said Rowena, definitely. She couldn't help but imagine how disappointing it would be to die at the hands of a woman who was clearly a mad tramp.

And anything Slytherin can do, I can certainly do better…

They shuffled uncomfortably inside, where the musk hit them stronger in the face. Their first impression of the place was of grandeur and opulence, though this was quickly undermined by the ragged details: the red fabric that donned the chairs and windows was faded and torn at the seams, the furniture was actually made of other pieces of furniture and the dim light that illuminated the place was only to disguise the shoddiness of the interior, rather than create any sense of ambience.

'Ooh, lawks,' said the bug-eyed woman, who had appeared again behind the bar opposite the entrance. 'Take a seat, ladies. My hips ain't what they once was.'

They obediently sat and mumbled a request for some water, Helga unintentionally adding "not poison". The woman obliged, and all was silent.

'Ro,' Helga whispered, a short time later, 'where the hell are we?'

Rowena whispered back, 'I think it's an alehouse.' She briefly surveyed the room again, and added, 'Note the lingering stench of poverty and violence.'

'Oh Lordy. Can we go, please?'

'Um…' Anything you can do, I can do much, much better! 'Well, we'll give it a couple more minutes, shall we? This could be a grand opportunity in disguise.' She briefly studied the room, examining each dark nook and dirty crevice for anyone who looked to be even vaguely affiliated with the teaching profession. She found none. What she did find was several sleeping women and, beside, under or on top of them, several sleeping men. One of was wearing dungarees. Very…small ones, at that.

'Ro?' said Helga, nervously.

'Let's get the hell out, shall we?'

'Yes!' In perfect unison they slid out of their seats and shuffled towards the door. Sweet, odourless daylight beckoned for a few precious seconds until—

'Ooh, Satan's nipple clamps,' said a raw female voice.

Still in terrified unison, Rowena and Helga turned to the speaker. She was tall and rake-like, with heavy eyes and dressed in a way that few people would permit in civilised society.

'What – pardon?' said Rowena.

The women-who-wore-not-very-much said, 'Surprised you two haven't been burnt at the stake three times over.'

She blinked. She could almost feel the words flying over her head. 'Pardon?'

'Bad enough being witches, but when you mount the broomstick with the other leg as well people really start to get angry. Do you eat lentils?'

'Er…what?'

'Never mind, no one will find out if you don't tell them.'

'Er…yes.'

'Quiet day, isn't it?'

'Er…possibly.'

'Haven't had a customer in all morning, I thought I could get a bit of extra shut-eye. Can I get you anything?'

'Er…no thanks.'

'Suit yourself. How about your little friend?'

Rowena turned to Helga, who managed to shut her eyes and whisper, 'Clothes.'

'That's a no as well is it?' She rubbed her heavily made-up eyes, seemingly annoyed. 'Fine, fine; you should have mentioned that to Mrs Winthrop though, looks like I got out of bed for nothing.'

'Er…sorry,' said Rowena, because real words had eluded her about thirty seconds ago.

'It's all right; just give me a shout if you want anything. Ooh, Merlin's handcuffs, here are some gentlemen!' She barged past a very confused Helga and Rowena to greet a gang of perhaps five or six bearded men, calling out, 'Send in the re-enforcements, Mrs Winthrop!' as she did. Rowena and Helga twitched slightly.

After the "gentlemen" had taken their seats by the bar, attended to by about eight women of all varieties, Helga managed to speak.

'She was a very odd…waitress.'

'Yeah.'

'What did she say about Merlin, Ro?'

'Erm…sounded like handcuffs, Helly.'

'What did she mean by that, then?'

Rowena twitched again. 'No idea, Helly.'

'And…and…what did she mean about…mounting brooms, Ro?'

'Not a clue, Helly.'

'And lentils?'

Honestly this time, Rowena replied: 'I have not got one solitary idea, Helly.'

'Oh.' They remained stationary for a minute or so, both too terrified and fascinated to make a bolt for the exit. After a while, Helga said, 'Ro, there appears to be a scene of copulation occurring in the corner, over there. Obviously it doesn't really concern me, but I feel I should either run away or intervene before they injure themselves.'

'I—I think we should run away, Helly.'

'What's that man—?'

'Quick, Helly!' They scurried out of the door, and kept on scurrying until they were safely out of hearing distance from the strange, unusual and frankly disturbing place.

Helga shook her head disbelievingly. 'Was that an alehouse, Ro? Is that what alehouses are like?'

'It was indecent, that's what it was!'

'Alehouses are disgusting!'

'I don't think it was an alehouse, Helly! It was a brothel! In our quaint little village! I feel like I should write a letter or lead a crusade or—'

'What's a brothel?'

After a slightly embarrassed pause, Rowena told her.

'Why?'

After another embarrassed pause, Rowena told her.

'But—?'

Before she could even ask, Rowena told her.

'…Eugh.'

The adventures of the day weren't referenced again until the following morning, when Rowena woke to find a man stood at the foot of her bed, leafing through her books.

'Bastard,' she said.

'Pardon?' said Salazar.

'Word association.' Realising the significance of what he was doing and where he was doing it, she demanded, 'Can I help you at all?'

He didn't reply, other than to give her a slow amused look then resume reading her things. Self-consciously remembering the state she usually woke up in, she patted down her hair and adjusted her nightdress, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and checked for sudden skin flare-ups. All seemed well.

Brimming with confidence, she demanded, 'Slytherin, there's a word for people who invite themselves into a women's bedrooms in the morning.'

'What's that?'

'Creepy…Slytherin man,' she improvised, weakly.

'Ooh. Sharp.'

'Get lost.'

Salazar set the book down and sat on the edge of her bed, which she accordingly shuffled further up.

'Alright,' he said, 'now tell me the word for someone who wanders into a brothel at ten o'clock on a lovely summer morning, Ravenclaw.'

'Lost?' she suggested, weakly.

'A likely story.'

'Please, please, please don't take your thought train any further down that track.'

'What track would that be?' he asked, innocently.

'The track that leads to the town of Sexual Metaphor; population: Slytherin.'

He grinned, apparently pleased with himself. Rowena rolled her eyes and pulled her bed sheets up further, before demanding, 'What do you want?'

'The pleasure of your company, of course…ha, no. You have a letter.'

Rowena waited patiently for him to present her with this miracle of communication, and frowned as he did nothing of the sort; remaining, as he did, sat on her bed.

'Well?' she demanded, eventually.

He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a disturbing memory. 'I didn't really fancy touching it, to be honest.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Really, Slytherin – so disgusted by the thought of anyone trying to correspond with me that you couldn't even stand to touch a letter?'

'That,' he agreed, 'and the fact that it was attached to a clearly deceased owl in the throes of rigor mortis.'

Rowena winced. 'Oh.'

'How a dead owl managed to fly through an open window and settle on the nearest table, I'm honestly without a clue.'

Rowena continued to wince. 'She probably threw it.'

'"She"?'

'Er…did the letter contain only the words "to Rowena" and a liberal amount of saliva?'

'I didn't examine it that closely, to be honest,' he said, eyebrows rising.

'Did it smell strongly of home-made liquor?'

'Yes.'

'Ah.' She rubbed her eyes in annoyance. 'Yes, that'll be Granny Agnes.'

'Oh,' he said, straightening up in interest, 'the insane one?'

'Yes,' she mumbled, reluctantly.

'The one who collects stuffed herons?'

'Yes…'

'And hides them in the high boughs of trees?'

'Yes…'

'And licks them?'

'Yes,' she snapped, annoyed that so much of her grandmother's personal life was in circulation amongst her enemies. 'Yes, that Granny Agnes.' She sniffed and added, 'We can't help who we're related to.'

Salazar was, to his credit, silent for a moment or two. Then he thoughtfully said, 'You've got that right,' and stood up to leave. Pausing by the door, he added, 'By the way, your nightdress is slightly transparent,' and left.

Rowena sunk back under her blankets and blasphemed.