Chapter 9: No Way Back

The surface of the giant lake rippled gently in the warm, August breeze. A gentle glow of silver light highlighted each individual wave that crept towards the bank, where water met earth and left a muddy ring.

As yet, the lake was uninhabited. The frogspawn of the springtime had died, and even the beetles avoided the watery graveyard. The dark forest sprawled nearby; the broken bones of trees shining grey in the moonlight.

Deep in the forest, in a vacant clearing guarded by trees and creeping vines, something stirred. A blinking yellow eye…a flickering, pointed tongue…a smooth, uncoiling body...

For a second it remained stationary, raised head swaying blindly from side to side. Then it set off determinedly in search of pray, gathering speed as it approached the outskirts of the forest…

Rowena found herself alone, cast adrift in the dense ocean of dense locals. Their chatter and shouting rang across the hall like a chant or a jeer.

At least a quarter of the villagers present could be immediately discounted from the list of possible future employees, being a damn sight too merry for this time in the evening. That kind of thing made people uncomfortable. However, the list of people who might consider sending their children to Hogswash was pleasantly long. Some parents had even brought their offspring along with them.

This was all well and good until, with a horrible sinking feeling, Rowena realised there were several who couldn't have been more than a few months younger than her.

She stumbled her way through the crowd, offering as many hellos and curtseys as time allowed. In theory, the large stone hall should have been able to accommodate all seventy-five-ish people present with plenty of room to spare. However, the general population of the hall appeared to be dividing into large groups, each of whom congregated around one of the four giant, bubbling ale kegs.

At first, she'd tried to convince herself if was sheer coincidence that people were gathering at a central point in the room. After all, she reasoned, no one wants to stand near the walls for reasons of hygiene. Of course people were bound to split into separate groups, it was what people did.

However, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't ignore the way these groups were inching closer and closer towards the kegs, their expressions eager with anticipation. Nor could she ignore the faint clinking of tankards as they were sneakily withdrawn from their hiding places, beneath layers of capes and tunic.

From behind her, a voice in her ear said: 'Ravenclaw.'

She turned to face — of course — Salazar Slytherin. The look on his face was one of intense boredom, coupled with mild dissatisfaction.

'Could be worse,' she said, half-heartedly.

Salazar sniffed disapprovingly at her cheerfulness. 'No need to tell me, Rowena. I'm not the one looking miserable—'

'Yes you—'

'—no more than what's usual, anyway.'

Rowena sighed. 'It's not-'

'What? I can't hear you over the sound of my dying ambitions.' In this case, Salazar's dying ambitions was the sound of a huddle of five or six elderly men discussing wild boar, with a slightly drunken slur.

Taking the hint, Rowena beckoned Slytherin to follow her as she wove between the crowds forming around the ale keg and stood with him near the outskirts of the room, where the crowd was thinnest.

He surveyed her sceptically, with a new trace of amusement Rowena couldn't fathom but had no time to enquire about. 'Yes?' he prompted her.

'Mm.' She hopped around a while. 'It's not, er, looking very promising, is it? For how much it's cost us.'

Salazar tucked a lock of stray hair behind his ear and scratched his chin thoughtfully. Then, he said, 'I wouldn't say so, no.'

Rowena didn't reply, but banged her head slowly against the wall.

Compensating for her silence, in his usual bored tones, he continued, 'Then again, it's a bit early to say. At least we have people here— lured by the promise of alcohol, I'll admit— and there are plenty of potential students. Alright, perhaps no one's as bowled over and desperate to enrol their children as we'd like them to be, but you work with what you're given. What we need is a leadership figure, and I'm sure the big ginger's going to live up to his reputation…see?' On cue, Godric stepped onto the makeshift stage at the front of the Hall.

He cleared his throat. As soon as he did, a temporary hush fell upon the visitors, although it quickly built up again. Quieter, though.

In his usual booming voice, Godric announced: 'Ladies and gentleman,' (another sudden lowering of volume), 'on behalf of my fellow School founders and myself, I am pleased and honoured to welcome you all, as esteemed guests, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are sincerely grateful for your decision to join us here this evening, and hope that you will face the night with as much merriment as we shall.'

Rowena, mouth agape, shifted her gaze from the redhead on stage to Slytherin, whose jaw was similarly dropped. Her giggling alerted him to this.

'Bloody Gryffindor,' he muttered, quickly looking away and back to Rowena, 'can you believe the cheek of it? I don't remember agreeing to that name…'

His speech continued, thought Rowena and Salazar were the only people ignoring him. 'Come on,' said Rowena, 'don't tell me you aren't even a little bit impressed by that.'

'By what? A giant, red pillock gets himself in front of an audience and starts flattering the money out of their pockets. You expect me to be stood in open-mouthed awe and respect?'

'You had your mouth opened a minute ago,' she pointed out, ignoring his snark, 'and you looked distinctly gawpy.'

'It was the shock,' he insisted. 'It's not everyday you see a large bunch of strangers fall for one imbecilic mudblood.'

The last statement caused Rowena to freeze suddenly. The world slowed down.

Mud-what?

Oblivious to her confusion, Salazar continued, 'He must be using some sort of sonorous charm. I'm telling you, no one has a voice naturally that booming.'

Did you say mud…?

'Honestly. Bad enough he looks like a prat, he has to talk like one as well.'

You did, didn't you?

'And look at Hufflepuff, all glazed eyes and drooling. Ha, see she's not alone, though…there's an old lady over there getting very red in the face. Hm, she might be drunk, actually.'

Maybe, he…didn't…Maybe I misheard. Maybe he said…

'Hang on, a group of teenage girls swooning over Godders? That just won't do.'

I should say something…

'Yeah,' said Rowena, gulping uneasily, 'it's a bit odd, isn't it?'

Salazar shrugged. 'I'm used to seeing it, but honestly. They're as bad as Helga at disguising the fact. Might as well all be waving white handkerchiefs at him and winking suggestively.'

'I don't think many of those girls could get away with white handkerchiefs, Salazar.'

He shot her a genuinely amused glance. The corners of his mouth curled upwards slightly. 'You catty little biatch,' he said, mildly. 'Then again, you can talk. Fraternisations in broom closets all around for you, so I hear.'

She gave him a scolding tap on the arm. 'You're the one who dragged me in there.'

'Of course, you would say that.'

'Wearing a towel, of all things.'

'Alright, alright, that's quite enough detail you've preserved in that good old memory of yours.'

'Quite a small towel, as well—'

'Rowena, don't make me set the frogs on you.'

She shrugged and returned her gaze to Godric, mumbling, 'You started it.'

Godric, who now held the rapt attention of at least ninety per cent of the room, waved his wand impressively to emphasise a point he was making. Among the crowd, there was an impressed "ooh".

Quietly, to avoid disturbing the attention of the now transfixed villagers surrounding them, Rowena said: 'He's doing…rather well, isn't he?'

Salazar raised an eyebrow, but other than that didn't reply.

On stage, Godric was bringing his speech to a close, '…We can only promise that which we can deliver and, good citizens, we can promise the safety and security of your children, their happiness and joviality and, most vitally, a bright and successful future as a result of the finest quality education they will receive at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' He paused for a second, beaming proudly at himself. 'There is no way back from here, good citizens. You are welcomed to Hogwarts with open arms, under the safe, professional and experienced wings of our teaching staff...Thank you.'

For a few seconds, there was complete silence as everyone in the Hall stared at Godric, the extravagant wordsmith, admiringly. The ale was long forgotten. Every one— even Salazar, for the moment — was completely taken in.

Then the ribbons fell down.

Bugger, thought Rowena, as the soft noise of crumpling fabric and the gentle "whoosh" of air filled the hall, Bugger, bugger, bugger.

In a very matter-of-fact way, Salazar summarised: 'Bugger.'

The silence lasted seconds. The atmosphere shattered.

Someone shouted:

'Ale!'

And all hell broke lose.

The thing in the forest continued to move, streaking silently forwards and not even slowing as it dodged between trees.

The flesh gleamed in the moonlight. Every so often there could be heard the snapping of a branch or rustling of dead leaves, or the sudden movement of an owl as the thing took a snap at it.

It smelled food, doused in warm alcohol and splattered in mud as it stumbled through the wet grass. It paused, hidden behind the bare tree trunks. It was blind, but could sense someone— definitely getting on in years— as he fell, drunkenly. He swore, mumbled something and giggled.

The creature raised its head and emerged from the forest.

Seeing him, the man laughed and slurred, 'You're not real…'

There was a brief scream, then a snap. The creature returned to its place in the forest, feeling moderately better about itself.

Rowena struggled her way towards the stage, guided by the sound of Godric shouting, 'Please stop, good citizens! I'm sure there is enough ale for everyone— if it is indeed ale! Because I was told there would certainly not be any ale!'

As if all drawn together by an invisible hand, the "good citizens" of the great hall crashed together around the ale kegs, cheering and bellowing, elbowing each other to barge through. Resistance was futile. Not that anyone was resisting.

Rowena had watched, slightly taken aback, as Salazar's usual composed and disapproving expression was replaced by a look best described as "one who has narrowly avoided being knocked off his feet by a tankard bigger than his own head". Rowena, who was facing the onslaught, found herself suddenly turned this way and that as her arms and shoulders were pushed from opposite directions. She tottered backwards a few steps and, as Salazar's disgusted face vanished behind a sea of grinning drunkards, set off determinedly in search of higher ground.

The brief movement of a white object above the stage caught her eye: it was the Hogwarts banner as it curled up and fell from onto Godric's head, apparently offended at the scene before it. Still teetering through the celebrating crowds, she saw the fallen ribbons trampled underfoot, or else thrown in the air happily by those too young to drink. It was a ribbon massacre.

'It's time to dance!' said one black-toothed, bearded wizard, happily patting her on the head as he passed by.

'Eugh,' said Rowena.

'Ale!'

'This is a celebration!'

'Hogswash! Yes! I like it!'

'Get off my beard!'

'There's beer everywhere!'

'Ale!'

'Let's have some music!'

'More ale!'

'That's not my wand!'

'Get off my beard!'

'Raise a glass to Hogglemumph School of Ribbons and Raisins!'

'…Some more ale!'

The stage was closer. Rowena felt increasingly claustrophobic. Behind the few people barging towards her and pushing her backwards, Rowena could make out some blonde hair in a brown dress-

'OUCH!' As a boot-clad foot stamped on her foot, Rowena lost her balance. A final push sent her falling backwards, laying in an undignified heap on the floor. Somewhere ahead of her she heard Helga squeal, 'Ro! Godric, she's—'

One foot caught her in the ribs. Another stood on her hair. Between the short stabs of pain, Rowena only had time to think: I blame the ribbons, I blame it all on the ribbons-

Then one hand was suddenly wrapped around her wrist and she was being pulled upwards, stumbling, grabbed around the waist and dragged out of the crowd and onto her feet, then dropped and aching.

Regaining her breath and massaging her ribs, she began, 'Thanks, God—'

Salazar brushed himself down, one eyebrow cocked. 'God's a bit formal,' he said. 'I'll accept Salazar.'

She paused. 'Thanks, Salazar.'

He shrugged.

'Ro!' Helga squealed, appearing in front of him, 'Are you alright? Godric was about to get you but one of the ribbons attacked him, have you hurt yourself?'

Rowena ran her fingers through her now dusty hair in a vain attempt to make herself look half-decent.

'I didn't hurt myself,' she sighed, 'they hurt myself, with more efficiency than I could ever hope to manage.'

'Anything serious? Are you bruised? Are you bleeding?'

'Did you hurt her?' Godric demanded, turning suddenly to Salazar.

'Ale!'

Salazar stared at him. Rowena did too. The only person not staring was Helga, who was busy ripping a makeshift tournique out of her underskirt.

Salazar said, 'What?'

'Did you hurt her?' Godric demanded, stepping forwards.

'He didn't,' said Rowena hurridley, as Salazar retaliated with another fierce step towards him. 'Godric, really. It's OK. He just helped me up.'

Eyes narrowed.

Above the din, someone began a warbling Ode to Buttocks.

'Really,' Rowena said again, as fists were clenched, 'boys. Stop it. I'm fine.'

'Low life,' said Godric: stern, simple, matter-of-fact. Hatred pulsed between them.

An invisible orchestra of woodwind, string and percussion leapt to life in the room, cascading into a jolly, if rather out of tune, number. Salazar offered an unmistakable growl, turned on his heel and vanished through the crowd.

Godric swallowed, muscles relaxing. 'Well, I see he's…there was clearly no need for any of this, any of this at all, if only Slytherin hadn't provided the assembly with ale this would never have occurred…and you're sure you are well, Miss Ravenclaw?'

Rowena nodded silently, brushing off the bandage Helga had haphazardly applied to her arm out of sheer awkwardness.

Helga cleared her throat and said, 'Well, that was a very fine speech, Godric. Very...booming.'

'I thank you, Miss Hufflepuff, though I can only claim responsibility for-'

What he could claim responsibility for, Rowena didn't find out. She vanished quietly from the stage, secure in the knowledge neither of the other two would notice her absence for at least five minutes. Now that everyone had acquired their ale, the floor of the great hall was considerably calmer. The crowd was more spread out and stood stationary, talking loudly over the music which some people danced to, though it was difficult to find any rhythm in it.

Sat by the back wall on a long table, brooding silently, was Salazar. He stared moodily at the floor with a jar of ale in his hand. Rowena took a seat next to him.

'Hello,' she said after a pause, loudly enough to be heard over the sound of the party but quiet enough for it not to be inappropriate.

After a further pause, Salazar sighed, looked up and replied, 'Hello.'

Rowena, like Salazar, looked straight ahead at the guests, many of whom appeared to be in a lot of pain. Apparently, not many of the present company were trained dancers.

'You look ridiculous,' he said, mildly. 'Like you've been dragged through twelve hedges and sat on by a flaming arsehole.'

'I don't care,' Rowena replied, honestly, 'and anyway, so do you. And you're not the one who narrowly avoided getting trampled to death.'

'That's true.' Salazar took a drink from his ale mug as a nearby wizard accidentally turned his own foot into a pig. Minor mayhem ensued.

'Hm,' said Rowena. Then: 'What was all that about, eh?' She coughed uneasily. 'Very testosteroney.'

'Yeah.'

'Nearly enough to get a girl pregnant.'

'Yeah.'

'Or grow a beard or something-'

'Shut up, will you?'

'Right.' She shuffled in her seat for a moment. 'Can I have a drink?'

Salazar handed her a fresh one - apparantly his cup was of the self-replenishing variety - and she took an experimental sip. It tasted like burnt iron and sugar beet. She wrinkled her nose and took a healthy swig.

The man with a pig on his foot managed to transfigure the pig into a teapot.

'You know you're in a bad mood,' Salazar said, through a sigh, 'when you can watch a man transfigure his foot into a teapot and not laugh.'

Rowena sighed. 'This is it, isn't it, Salazar? Our only chance to make this work.'

'Yeah. It's going rather well.'

'If "rather well" means I get stood on, the decorations abandon us, you and Godric have a sexual tension fight and a man grows a teapot-leg then yes, it's going wonderfully.'

'I think I know where you went wrong with the ribbons.'

'Well that's not really important.'

'I think you used someone else's wand.'

'Like I said, that's not really important.'

'Just a point for future reference.'

Rowena took a sideways look at Salazar and immediately wished she hadn't. For the first time, she was looking upon a very different Salazar Slytherin with a completely foreign look about him. His shoulders sagged and his eyes were vacant.

'It might have been Helga's wand, now I think about it,' she mumbled.

'Don't be nice Ravenclaw, for god's sake,' he muttered, desperately. 'Things must be getting really grim when you start being civil.'

'I'm always civil!'

'Did you genuinely just use the phrase "sexual tension fight"?'

'I didn't say I wasn't a pervert,' she said, holding her head up defensively.

Salazar took another drink. 'Grim. Anyway, I really don't think we're doing that badly, all things considered.'

'What do you mean?'

'Tonight, the party. The guests will leave with a blurred memory and overall feeling of a great time and a terrible headache, and by September I'm sure they'll be begging us to take their money away from them.'

'If you say so, Salazar.'

'Trust me.'

'What about Godric?'

He shrugged. 'I don't care. Neither should you.'

'But—'

'I swear to god, if you ask us to kiss and make up I will have you publicly executed. You're not bad, you know,' he added, snatching back the cup and taking a deep swig, 'not really.'

'Oh,' said Rowena, uncomfortably. 'Thanks?'

'Well, you're not as stupid as you look, at any rate.'

'Right.'

'I still hate you.'

'Good.' She felt herself, against all expectations, blushing. 'I hate you too. But - you're not so bad either, really.'

Salazar laughed quietly and passed her back the ale. 'Grim. Very grim.'

'Shut up.'

Rowena took a few moments to consider the conversation between Salazar and Godric, though the fine details were slipping through her memory like water in her hand. Low life…why low life? What had Salazar ever done to warrant such suspicion, such venom? There was nothing so terrible, as far as she could remember…nothing more then general name-calling and getting people into trouble, and generally being a pain in the neck. Nothing more than childhood pranks.

But then, the mutter of mudblood...

'Drink up,' said Salazar, gesturing to the cup in Rowena's hand, 'you'll forget about it all tomorrow.'

Rowena doubted it very much. But she drank up anyway.

What happened afterwards…she wasn't really sure.