Chapter 10: The Only Thing Worse Than Your First Hang-Over

Rowena, with all the effort she could muster, opened her left eyelid. She saw something grey. Her right eyelid opened. It was still grey.

Several thoughts occurred to her all at once, unable to sort themselves into something approaching a rational order. Most of these thoughts involved the word "ouch", though there was some variation, such as, "ouch!" "sodding ouch!" "oh my Lord, ouch!" "oh…ouch!" and "kill me now! Ouch!"

Most ouches came from the inside of her head, which was throbbing intensely while also fluttering. She felt as if her brain had been replaced by a very loud butterfly. Some other ouches originated from her chest, currently squashed against something hard, flat and, according to her bleary eyes, grey.

There were ouches from her waist and hips, which were turned another way from the rest of her. Mentally attempting to map her body's current position, Rowena gathered her legs and hips were sideways on the hard grey thing while her upper-half was flat. Her arms…oh, she didn't have time to worry about those. Something was behind her ear…feels like a wand. Well, that was a relief. With a slight groan as her butterfly headache raged on, she rolled onto her back.

Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch…

At least some of the pain subsided. She screwed her eyes shut quickly as her brain swam through the treacle in her skull. Now her back hurt. Actually, all her bones hurt. Particularly the joints. Her hair smelt vaguely of some kind of alcoholic substance.

Oh, Merlin, she thought, miserably, if I never touch a drop of ale again…

Right, so she was hung over. That answered a lot of questions. It could have been worse; at least she wasn't dead. Though at least death would put a stop to the invisible owl pecking her head.

Step one complete: explanation found.

Step two: Where the Hell am I?

She slowly opened her eyes. Fortunately, she was not met with blinding sunlight and singing bluebirds, but a slightly damp black ceiling, which meant she was on the floor. That was a definite relief.

Which ceiling?

She turned her head to the left and right and saw more grey. Walls…walls are good. No furniture. That means I could be in an empty classroom… she raised her head slightly to look what was past her feet, immediately causing a searing pain in her neck.

Ouch. Not a classroom, but a corridor. Corridors are good. I can handle corridors. Which corridor?

Very slowly and clumsily, she ambled to her feet. It was a long process, and she found it necessary to steady herself on the damp walls around her as the floor moved up and down. The phrase "Euuuuugh" found a new place in her vocabulary.

She looked down the corridor and saw nothing but a dim light as it eventually turned right. No, thank you. She looked the other way and saw, eventually, an oak door. She froze, quickly administering the facts:

An oak door. Slightly ajar. With my left shoe keeping it from closing fully. A door at the end of a damp, underground corridor. Salazar's door!

Hundreds of potential memories flooding her brain, making her feel suddenly very sobered, Rowena squeaked in panic and, left shoe still missing, hobbled away in the other direction. The dim light looked suddenly very appealing.

Godric blinked a few times, and declared himself awake.

Overall, quite a pleasant night. Uninterrupted sleep, once the drunkards had been ushered out…well, the visiting drunkards, anyway. Slytherin and Miss Ravenclaw couldn't be shown the door, no matter how tempted he was to remove them when they ambushed him in a corridor and called him "Godders", Rowena giggling as she did so.

All the socialising had tired him out. Oh, and the fighting and struggling with burly drunken men. Despite the unsavoury fuel of the alcohol, the party appeared to have been quite a success; the guests were impressed, the castle was easily cleaned and no one was left hurt…

Helga was laid flat on her bed, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. A tiny voice in her brain said: Shut your damn eyes, Helga.

She'd stood in a corner most of the night, dumbly watching the fun and drunken fumblings take place around her. Slytherin and Rowena, clearly in no sound mind, had laughed a lot and spoken—or should that be shouted?—to most guests present, loading their arms with discarded Hogwarts ribbons and providing more and more alcohol.

Godric spent most of the night breaking up fights and being his usual charming, noble self. Bastard that he was. After about an hour of standing on her own, Helga moped away from the still raging party and off to her room, as a group of attractive teenage girls elbowed past her and in the direction of Godric determinedly.

Helga sighed and slid out of bed. She didn't understand herself, sometimes. She didn't understand anything.

Hogsboggle School of Blah-Blah and Crap. Why do I feel like a sodding babysitter?

More or less like Rowena, Salazar woke up saying:

'Ouuuuuch!' This was followed by a groan, then a headache that swelled at the sound of his voice, a sideways roll and an agonised headbutt.

Unable to bear the pain any longer, he flung out his arm and fumbled around until his hand came into contact with his wand. He pointed it at himself and, resisting all urges to scream "Avada Kedavra!" instead whispered, 'Poena desino.'

The pain quickly subsided until he was left with only a slight throbbing in his left temple, which he decided he could live with.

He sat up and was quite relieved to find himself in bed. He was only slightly disappointed to find himself alone as, when drunk, he had a notoriously lax sense of judgement, and wouldn't be at all surprised to find himself next to a hairy-backed woman and her pet bull-mastiff.

Well, initially he'd be surprised, shocked and terrified, but once the appropriate memory modifying charms had been handed out and he'd taken the longest, hottest shower of his life, he would look back and say, "Oh, actually, I'm not that surprised", possibly.

It didn't really bear thinking about.

Salazar rolled out of bed and slipped into the nearest clothing he could find. Despite the miracle cure, he still felt groggy with tiredness and a bloodstream full of alcohol. What exactly had he been up to?

He lay back in his bed and concentrated. Somewhere in his short-term memory was the sight of Gryffindor, wearing in a pink dress, flying around the room showering objects in fairy dust as they started to dance. Dear God, I hope I was hallucinating. Eugh.

Okay, onto more realistic memories…let's see…

There was alcohol, and it didn't taste very good. Oh yes, that was mine. There was dancing all around and…a tour of the castle?...Who else was there—Rowena? Lord, I didn't know she had it in her.

What else…? Something about…Godders…and…

His eyebrows knotted as he concentrated hard on retrieving the memories.

Did Rowena try to plait my hair?

He briefly checked his hair which, to his relief, was unaltered.

Something…about…pushing the guests out of the backdoor for fun…and…ribbons? Bloody ribbons…

Then…walking…somewhere…

…Under the lake?...

…Did we set someone's hat on fire?...

He frowned. As far as he could recall, by the end of the night he and Rowena were alone.

Then…

…Then…

…Then…? Then what?

He looked around him for clues. Lodged between the door and it's frame was a woman's shoe. Everything else seemed ordinary…

He glanced suddenly at the wand in his hand. Then he glanced inside the drawer by his bed where he kept his wand.

The drawer was empty. He was holding Ravenclaw's.

Salazar spluttered incoherently, and wished he was drunk again.

Rowena was jolted out of her semi-catatonic state by a knock at her office door. She snorted, sat up and quickly patted down her hair. Then she said, 'Oh god,' and ducked beneath the table.

Through the door, Salazar called, 'Ravenclaw?'

Rowena concentrated very intently on not saying anything. The wood was pleasantly cool against her skin, and there was definitely no sunlight under her desk; she could quite happily stay there for some time.

'Ravenclaw?'

'Go away!' she squeaked, pulling her knees up to her chin.

The door opened.

Salazar hesitated, scanning the office for a moment. There was a jumble of books and beakers and tapestries, but no sign of semi-intelligent life.

'Just, er, returning your shoe,' he called, nonchalantly, 'and your, er, coded phallic reference...'

Rowena said, 'What?'

Nothing was said for a moment or two. Then the sound of Salazar's footsteps as he circled the office chairs. Rowena winced. He arrived at the desk.

He said, 'Ravenclaw?'

Rowena said, 'Yes?' to his legs.

After another bizarre moment of silence, Salazar ducked down to her level. She attempted to look haughty.

He said, 'You're under a desk.'

'Yes?' she demanded, weakly. 'What of it?'

He blinked. He'd showered. Rowena hated him for that. He said, 'Er...I brought your shoe.'

'Right,' she squeaked.

'And your, erm-'

'Something about a phallus?' she said, mind spinning.

'Your wand,' he said, waving the object in front of her. 'I think you might...have...mine?'

'On my desk!' she squeaked. She was doing well for squeaking.

'Ah?' He reached up, head vanishing for a moment over the desk top. Rowena took the opportunity to curse herself silently. 'Ah, I see, got it.' He cleared his throat. He looked her up and down. He said, 'Why are you under a table, again?'

Rather than answering this, Rowena took the sensible option and yelped, 'There was no coitus!'

Salazar fell over backwards. 'I'm sorry?'

'No genitals!' she said, wide-eyed with conviction. 'I'm fairly sure they didn't make contact at any point!'

'Er - right?' he said, struggling upright. 'I'm - yes, right. OK.'

'It takes forty minutes for me to get my dress off!'

'I believe you!'

They stared at each other for a moment.

Then Rowena squeaked, 'Leave now!'

'Right!'

As the door slammed shut after him, Rowena banged her head against the table leg. Loudly.

Several weeks after the party, when tensions had just about simmered down to normal, a large barn owl arrived. After politely crapping on Godric's vacant seat, it deposited a sealed envelope on his breakfast and flew away.

Rowena and Helga exchanged confused glances. Gingerly reaching across the table, Rowena opened it and read aloud:

Dear Hogswart School Founders,

I write to congratulate you on the success of your recent banquet. Impressed by what I saw, my wife and I have decided we would very much like for our darling son, Arthur, to attend your wonderful school as of September. Enclosed are his details for enrolment.

Yours,

Cedric Root

The small slip of paper attached gave a list of personal details, including age, hobbies and useful allergies. By the time the two girls had finished reading, a dozen new owls had appeared in various spots around the room, happily relieving themselves.

'This is wonderful!' Helga squealed, after a stunned silence.

'If that's what floats your kayak, Hufflepuff,' Salazar mumbled through a yawn as he entered the hall, 'I've got nothing against it. It's going to be a nightmare to clean out of the rugs, though.'

'Not the bird doings,' Helga hastily explained, 'I mean the letters.'

'Why? What is it?'

Rowena smiled and leapt to her feet, regaining the power of speech. 'Letters! From parents! Saying they want to send their filthy little children to our school! Isn't it great, Sally?'

Salazar raised a cynical eyebrow and replied, 'I don't know whether I'm more annoyed about you calling me Sally or your squeaky, optimistic voice at eight o'clock in the morning.'

'Wheee!' said Rowena happily, ceasing up the letters and dispersing the owls with a jolly skip. Her dream! Realised! Everything taking shape! Things working perfectly! What did he mean, squeaky? Joy! Ooh…headache…too early for skipping.

Re-entering the hall to find owl excrement on his chair and Rowena prancing around the room joyously with a hand to her temple while Salazar and Helga looked on, in Helga's case smiling and in Salazar's case wondering if he was hallucinating, Godric was understandably rather stunned.

'Is, er, everything quite all right, Miss Rowena?'

'Godric! Great news! It's working! Look, read the letters! Wheee! Oh God…aspirin! Wheee!'

With this final "wheee!" of delight, Rowena skipped from the room and remained smiling all day, occasionally cackling with joy.

To her further delight, they continued to receive at least five owls per day for the rest of the week. Rowena made time to count the letters daily over breakfast in the great hall, Salazar watching her with an expression of silent amusement.

'…thirty-seven,' said Rowena, happily.

'Thirty-seven?' said Salazar, lost.

'…plus twenty-four.'

'…Equals sixty-one.'

'Does it?'

'Seven plus four plus twenty plus thirty.'

'…Alright, I believe you. Wow! Sixty-one students, can you believe it? I wonder if we'll get to one hundred?'

To Rowena's slight disappointment, the two further letters they received that morning were the last they would receive that year.

'Oh well,' she said, cheerily, 'that's still sixty-three more than I expected. I wish these owls didn't leave such a mess,' she added, placing the letters in their allotted piles.

'What are they for?' Salazar asked, leaning back casually in his chair and gesturing to the aforementioned piles.

'I've sorted the letters into groups: first years, second years, third years and so on, up to seventh year.'

'I didn't know we'd be teaching seventh year.'

'Of course we are, why wouldn't we be?'

'We were seventh year, just a couple of months ago.'

'Well in that case we're experienced. Look, nine students in seventh year! Five in sixth, thirteen in fifth, ten in fourth, eleven in third, eight in second and seven in first.'

Salazar quickly worked out her calculations on his fingers, possibly in an attempt to prove her math skills wrong.

'Don't bother,' she said, warningly, 'I've checked and double checked.'

'Hm,' said Salazar, grudgingly. Then, as she began her third re-read of the letters that morning, he asked in an off-hand manner, 'Rowena, do you have any idea where Hufflepuff is?'

'Helga?' Rowena said, distractedly, 'She's probably in the library or something.'

'What about Godders?'

'Who?'

'Gryffindor.'

'Oh, he's…somewhere.'

'Have you any idea what day it is?'

'Hm, does it matter?'

'Rowena?'

'What?'

'Have you noticed the sudden abundance of furnishings, text books, desks and equipment present in the castle?'

'Hm? Come again?'

'Thought not.'

Rowena still didn't look up to see Salazar's smug grin, but it was there.

That night, at precisely 11.55 pm:

Helga knocked tentatively on the door to Rowena's chamber.

'Ro?' she called, 'Ro, are you there?'

Receiving no reply, she tried the door handle and found it unlocked. She pushed the door ajar slightly and looked inside.

On her vacant bed, Rowena's bedclothes lay on the blankets. Her shoes were missing, as was the cape she usually hung on the back of her door.

'Ro?' she tried again, though the room was clearly empty. 'Rowena?'

She pulled the cape she was using as a makeshift dressing gown further around her shoulders and withdrew her wand from a pocket. 'Lumos,' she whispered. The tip of the wand obediently illuminated the path down from Rowena's room.

Helga trawled the corridors, checking vacant classrooms as she walked. Finally she found herself outside the great hall, still with no sign of her friend.

Something in the hall, however, moved.

Acting on instinct, she hissed, 'Expelliarmus!' in the direction of the movement. She heard a short gasp, followed by a thud and cry of "oof!" that sounded all-too familiar…

'Godric! Oh Lord, I'm so sorry!' she dashed into the room to find Godric, looking slightly stunned, ambling to his feet.

'That's—er—quite alright, Helga, you just appear to have…ouch.'

'Very, very sorry,' she said again.

'Quite alright,' looking at her cape, he asked, 'are you going out somewhere?'

'What, me, no? N-no, I'm just wearing this, I don't have anything on underneath—' halting mid-sentence, skin turning a startling shade of red as she realised her mistake, she hastily corrected herself, 'I mean, I'm not wearing clothes to go anywhere in, just my nightclothes. I mean, I say "just", but they're actually quite abundant!'

'Er, oh,' said Godric, 'that's erm, very, er, what are you doing awake at this time?'

'I was looking for Rowena!' she squeaked, and proceeded to focus very carefully on not doing so for the rest of her sentence. 'I thought I heard her walking about a couple of times, and I've just checked her room and it looks as if she's gone somewhere.'

'Oh, really?'

'Yes…what are you doing here?'

'I had a headache and came in search of a glass of water,' he explained, in the same wooden, yet somehow friendly, tones he used during the day, though they were now slightly quieter and groggier than usual.

Helga noticed something about him, and commented on it: 'You're, er, wearing your daytime clothes…'

'Yes. What of it?'

'Just that, er, most people don't. At night.'

'I thought I'd change on the off-chance I ran into someone,' he mumbled, unconvincingly.

'Oh,' said Helga, while cursing herself for mentioning it in the first place.

'Also, I thought I heard Slytherin moving around,' he admitted.

'Oh. Hold on—Rowena and Slytherin? That can't be right, can it?'

Godric's honest forehead crumpled in deep thought. 'I'm sure they wouldn't go any where together, would they?'

Helga shook her head. The shake rapidly became a nod. 'You know, I think they would. Nowadays.'

He looked very puzzled. 'How strange. It's rather an improper pairing, isn't it? Rowena is far superior to Slytherin.'

The feeling in Helga's stomach suddenly tightened. 'Oh,' she managed, after a stunned spell, 'yes, she is.'

'Rowena,' he continued, 'happens to be a most excellent thinker, and the success of Hogwarts so far is owed largely to her. Slytherin, on the other hand, is pure scum.'

Shit, said Helga's brain, suddenly jolting. Shit. No.

'I've grown to admire Miss Ravenclaw,' he continued, happily, 'far beyond what I ever expected.'

'Yes,' Helga eventually forced herself, hoarsly. 'Yeah. Ro's brilliant. She's very - she's very pretty, too.'

'No she isn't,' Godric said quickly. Helga's eyebrows shot up. 'Er—I mean, she's very fair, I'm sure, but I—my admiration for her determination is nothing—I mean I…don't like…her…um…I, er…someone…else.'

Helga's eyes were open rather wide. She may have been quite naive and self-effacing, but she wasn't that naive and self-effacing. She said, '…Oh?'

They shared a shy smile, for the time being forgetting all about Rowena and Salazar.

At precisely 11.30 pm that night:

Salazar finished pulling on his cape and adjusted his hair. Ah, vanity. Familiar, friendly vanity. That was one thing, at least, that hadn't changed since entering this Godforsaken castle.

Now, as for the other trademarks of a Slytherin: sneakiness, stealth, secrecy, the ability to move undetected—

'Hello, Salazar.'

Holy hippogriff!

Salazar walked into a table in shock. Rowena smirked and waved.

'Wotcher, Ravenclaw,' he replied, grudgingly.

She was sat on a lone chair by the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, looking decidedly superior. This was definitely getting in the way of his escape attempt.

'Going somewhere, Sally?'

'No, I was just going to see how warm it was outside. Lovely, isn't it? I'll have an excuse to work on my tan. Now bugger off.'

'Not likely. I may be living in a temporary state of euphoria, but I have noticed the sudden large amount of furniture in here.'

'Oh, really?' he asked, eyebrow raised in his usual cocky way. 'When did you notice, exactly?

Some of her smugness vanished. 'Er…well, when you pointed it out, actually. But that doesn't alter the fact that I'm very suspicious of you and where the hell you've been getting it all from.'

'…Furniture shop?' he suggested, quite limply.

'And I suppose you got the magic textbooks, potions, portraits and all the other random, enchanted hogwash from the furniture shop, too?'

'Isn't hogwash the name of the castle?'

'Answer the question.'

Salazar sighed and threw his arms up in defeat. 'Fine, fine! If you must know, there's a…place I buy them from.'

'A place?'

'It's a…' he sighed, unsure how to explain without giving her a bad impression, 'well, have you ever been to an auction?'

'An auction? Once or twice, yeah. Is it an auction?'

'Well, it's like an auction.'

Rowena stood up and stared at him suspiciously. 'Where do the similarities end?'

'Well, in this auction, if two people want to bid for the same thing they go outside and settle their differences by killing each other.'

'What?'

'Oh, come on Rowena, there's nothing sorts a problem out like a good old fight to the death.'

'What?'

'I mean, it's not like they both die, that's not quite the point. Only the weakest one.'

'What?'

'Huh, except that time in January when they both died at the exact same time, rigid fingers still locked around their enemies purple, swollen necks, bulbous eyes glaring with pure hatred.'

'What?'

'That was actually quite funny, because the enchanted suit of armour eloped with the second man's wife—'

'Salazar, stop it! I don't want to hear this! I'm shocked at you!'

Salazar looked quite confused. '"Shocked"?'

'Well…alright, mildly surprised.' She sighed. 'Really, Sally, it sounds…icky. I thought you were a proud, arrogant Slytherin; shouldn't you be above all of this?'

'Oh, I never fight,' he said, 'no, I just go for the bidding.' He grinned. 'Wholesome. That's my middle name.'

'Is that where you're going now?'

'Yes it is, and I have to be there before twelve o'clock so please stand aside.'

Rowena took a deep breath and declared, 'I'm coming with you.'

'You are certainly not!'

'Yes I am. If you're going, I'm going too, and there's no way you can stop me. I'll not let go of your ponytail, if I have to.'

Salazar sighed. 'Ok, two points we have to clarify: first of all, it isn't safe for you to come. Women are very second-class there…and I mean very second class; you'd probably be sold as a servant of some kind. Not only that, but the place is swarming with both wizards and muggles who are fully trained, experienced criminals and would probably murder you at the first opportunity. Not only that, but the things they sell there are bloody dangerous! Dark magic! It really isn't safe!' With a slight sniff of disapproval, he added, 'Secondly, it's not a ponytail. It's a manly ponytail. More of a...horsetail. Or a stallion tail.'

Rowena rolled her eyes and said, 'In response to your excellent points, I reply: firstly, I don't care, I'm coming whether you like it or not, and secondly: get over yourself, it's a ponytail.'

'No.'

'No to the first point or the second?'

'Both. I'm trying to help you, god save me.'

'I know,' she replied, voice slightly quieter than she intended. 'And it's not that I don't trust you.'

'Then what is it?'

'I'm highly suspicious of you,' she said, 'there's a clear and marked difference.'

Salazar looked away and sighed. 'Fine, you can come. Just don't…do…anything!'

'Wheee.'

'Including that.'

'Sorry.'

'Dozy cow.'