Chapter 14: Flashback Magic

Bathed in the cool shade of a lurching old inn, Xavier Malfoy sprawled professionally in a comfortable chair someone else had provided. He observed the intricacies of the cracked walls and the plants that spewed out of them, and decided quite certainly that having the place removed would be a sensible idea.

He smirked, for the benefit of his own health, and checked he wasn't about to freckle. A gentle breeze shuffled the branches of the trees around the village, causing a lone pigeon to say "fruffruffurffruff" until he pointed his wand towards it idly.

With style, he reclined in the chair and watched the grass hold it's breath around him. Above him, he glimpsed an owl swoop past in the direction of the houses. Unless he was very much mistaken, he'd seen the same bird make a similar trip around forty times already.

This was confirmed as the owl flew into a thatched roof and appeared to have an asthma attack before taking flight once more, back in the direction of the castle on the hill.

Hm.

Five minutes later the bird re-appeared, this time with what appeared to be a matted old sack in its talons, which it drove to the ground and began to peck furiously, not far from Xavier.

The sack said, 'Ach, I could take ye, birdie! Ye's nothing! Just needs me a sword and ye's mine, ye big hen! Ale!'

Xavier winced at the poor grammar, then again at the sound of approaching footsteps. He moved his chair back a metre or so until he was sure he couldn't be heard by—

'Ro, I don't think I'm the best person to bring along for this kind of mission—'

'It's either this or a convent, Helly. You take your pick.'

'But I'm not really good with animals—'

'As long as you're off Godric for two minutes I honestly couldn't care, Helly. Anyway, Samuel likes you. Use your natural powers of negotiation!'

'With an owl, Ro? What was it doing with that hat, anyway?'

'Lord knows. I think they were tormenting each other, and Samuel got the upper hand on account of actually having limbs.'

'Yes, but the hat has so much charisma.'

'Be quiet, scarlet lady. Here they are—'

With a raised eyebrow and a sneer, again for his benefit more than anyone else's, he watched with an air of vague amusement as Ravenclaw and the blonde girl ran in circles, threw pieces of ham, used several expletives and received bites from both the owl and the hat until they were finally coaxed apart.

'Go on,' said Rowena, waving her hands at the owl desperately, 'shoo. You've got letters to deliver.' With a final venomous look, the owl reluctantly flew back towards the castle.

Helga, holding the hat delicately by the tip as it writhed and struggled, asked, 'What are we going to do with him?'

'Let me go, ye whores!'

'Hat!' Rowena shouted, 'What've I told you about calling us whores?'

'Ale!'

She waved her hand dismissively. 'Oh, forget it. We might as well just throw him in with Finkles and let him use it as bedding.'

'Finkles?' said Helga. 'He'd be more likely to mate with it, to be honest. That's all he does these days – and no comments about like owl, like owner, before you start!'

Rowena grinned guiltily.

'Ale!'

'Shut up,' said Rowena. To Helga she said, 'He hasn't had this much exercise in ages, it'll do him good. Anyway, there's only a few more letters left for him to deliver, then tomorrow….' She paused dramatically, and declared: 'It is time.'

'Tomorrow evening is time,' Helga corrected her, 'and we still need to remind the teachers they start the day after, don't forget.'

'Oh, yeah. Well, Godric can take care of that; I have things to do.'

'Oh really? What do you need to do?'

Deep breathing exercises; speech preparation; last minute touches to my dress robes; finish designing the common room; double-checking we have everything we could possibly need in the entire castle; ensuring I can pronounce all the names of the students; check all the registers; check the accounts one last time for good luck…

Eventually she mumbled, 'Oh, bugger me, loads. I'm going to have to lure Salazar out of the dungeon at some point as well, just to make sure he's not dead. I haven't seen him all day…'

As they set off back up the hill, Helga replied, 'Thank God for small miracles.'

And Rowena said, 'Er. Yeah.'

And Xavier sneered, and wished there was someone around to see it.

00000

'Move it, Godders,' Salazar yawned, setting himself down in the seat beside his cousin. Godric grudgingly obeyed, scraping his chair across the stone floor to give Slytherin his beloved leg room. He was twelve, and Salazar Slytherin was the Enemy.

Salazar yawned again, hauled his school bag onto the aged wooden desk with a thud, and began rifling through his books.

'I don't have it,' he declared eventually.

'Oh dear,' said Godric, unsympathetically.

'Lend me yours.'

'No.'

'Why?'

'You should've brought your own.'

Salazar's lips curled into a tight, thin smile, and behind it lurked a thousand and one barbed insults, ready to give him a curt slap about the nose. Godric awaited them bravely, his brown eyes holding the steady gaze of Salazar's green.

Eventually, Salazar just looked away. More interesting fish in the sea, no doubt. He picked up a dry quill and began intently engraving his initials into the desk.

Godric looked around the room in genuine interest. Scattered around the place, perched on the edges of desks or sometimes properly in their seats, other twelve-year-olds talked amongst themselves while awaiting the arrival of Professor Harper, the potions master. Fumes erupted from the cupboard in the corner but went ignored, billowing out of the high tower window and tingeing the white clouds pink.

Kneeling on a desk, right by the window, was Rowena Ravenclaw. She had her arms folded in front of her, perched on the windowsill, and her head rested on her hands, bobbing out of the open window. Stood by her, feet firmly on the ground and head nowhere near the great outdoors, was Helga Hufflepuff, who caught his gaze and squeaked before quickly looking away.

What an odd girl.

'Muh,' said Slytherin.

Godric dragged his eyes away and paid attention to his cousin once more. 'Yes?'

'I'm bored.'

'You're always bored.'

'No shit, Sherlock.'

Godric looked away again. Although he and Salazar were related, this was certainly against Godric's will. All he wanted from life was to do his best and help others, defend his family and die in battle with a Viking. All Slytherin wanted was to make life as uncomfortable and unpleasant for everyone else as possible and, no doubt, live a thousand years.

A loud "OW!" from the other side of the room confirmed this theory. Salazar smirked, pushed his hair from his eyes and pretended to mind his own business.

'That wasn't very nice,' Godric informed him, angrily.

Salazar glanced at him, smirked, and looked away again.

Rowena clambered down from the desk by the window and made her way over, Helga teetering uncertainly behind her. With hands on hips, she stood in front of Salazar and glared.

Salazar edged his chair back very subtly and met her gaze, the smirk wavering for only a second. Godric looked between the two of them for a moment, before standing up and bowing at the girls.

Rowena gave him a sideways look. 'Pardon?'

Godric sat down again.

Helga had turned a fascinating shade of magenta.

'Slytherin,' Rowena growled, returning her attention to him.

He continued to smirk and folded his arms.

'Why did you throw that at Elvina? She's very simple, you know. She thought the sky was falling.'

He rocked on the back legs of his chair. 'Queen of logic, that girl, isn't she? Hell's own idiot.'

He couldn't be sure, but for half a second or so, Godric was fairly sure she smiled. In amusement. However he later decided he must have imagined this, as she then threw a potato at him.

When the lesson ended, Godric asked, 'Why did Rowena Ravenclaw throw a potato at you?'

Slytherin threw him a scolding look and explained, 'Because I threw one at her first.'

Godric nodded. 'I can imagine.'

'Huh.'

'Are you going to have lunch now?'

'Not with you I'm not.' He began to walk away in the other direction, but was prevented by Godric, who grabbed hold of his arm.

'Well,' he began, 'I—'

Slytherin attempted to shake himself lose. 'Get off, you big ponce.'

He ignored him. 'I wasn't asking you to have lunch with me.'

'Who, then?'

'I don't care who. Just as long as it's not with me.'

Salazar raised an eyebrow. 'Come again, Godders?'

'I'm moving seats in potions, as well.'

Slytherin folded his arms as he was released from his cousin's grip.

'And all the other lessons as well. I don't like you.'

The smirk returned. 'Oh, really, Godders? I hadn't guessed. And you think I'm the captain of your fan club, do you?'

'I think that I'm the only person you ever speak to or sit with, and we hate each other. Think of it this way: the only person you know in this entire school only knows you because you're his cousin, and the only reason he sits with you is because you blackmail him! What does that say about you, Slytherin?'

Salazar rolled his eyes. 'Am I supposed to be soul-searching?'

'You're supposed to realise the reason you haven't got any friends.'

'I don't want any friends.'

'Goodbye, then.'

00000

Children filed into the room, chattering quietly. Small ones first – perhaps eleven or twelve years old – accompanied by parents who looked on with misty-eyes. They filled the first row of seats, swapping chairs every so often to be with friends. They looked around the hall, mumbling and gawping at the amount of drapes and ribbons on the walls and ceiling. Rowena began to wonder if she'd gone slightly overboard.

The pupils entering the hall became older and older, and the number of parents became less and less. The chairs were filled, the drapes were ogled, the chatter rose…

Rowena and Helga stood in the shadow of the doorway as the students passed. Godric shook hands with as many as possible while handing out leaflets and welcoming them to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Salazar was no where to be seen.

'They're, er, quite old, aren't they?' Helga mumbled, as a group of boys – perhaps seventeen years old – trudged by.

'Yeah, Helly. They'll the seventh years, I expect.'

'Oh my.'

Salazar appeared at the other side of Helga. 'Chill your knickers, Hufflepuff. You're older than them, remember?'

Helga mumbled something beneath her breath.

'What?'

Rowena translated, 'She's only just turned eighteen, actually. Me too.'

Salazar shrugged. 'Can't be helped. You're the boss around here, Hufflepuff!' A group of first years turned to look at them, and Helga turned red.

'Erm,' she managed.

'Show them what you're made of, Helga. Over there, preferably.' And with that, Salazar gave her a sharp nudge in the back, propelling her through the stream of students and by Godric's side.

Rowena looked at him. 'That wasn't very nice.'

Salazar smirked. 'Then why are you smiling?'

00000

Helga Hufflepuff was thirteen. Ideally at this age, she'd be, as her mother would phrase it, Coming into Her Own. Discovering her true identity. Realising her talents and blossoming into the individual she truly was.

During the summer holidays, she was half-hoping to undergo an astounding physical transformation, and return to school looking like a cross between a Greek Goddess and Tarty Aunt Helen. Unfortunately it was not to be; she looked the same as her twelve-year-old self, but with slightly longer hair.

Her best friend, Rowena Ravenclaw, yawned and sank further into her chair. She and Helga were sat in the hall, chatting over the feast that celebrated their return to school. The initial excited buzz had died down, and the bored realisation that nothing had changed over three months had begun to set in.

'Passusa sausage,' Rowena said, through a yawn and a stretch.

Helga complied and rubbed her eyes tiredly. 'What time is it, Ro?'

Rowena called the attention of a fifth year and repeated the question. 'Half-past eleven, Helly.'

'What, at night?'

'Unless we've slipped into a vortex, Helly.' She took a bite from the sausage, and added, 'Again.'

'That was an accident.'

'Yeah. That's what I said, and that's what I'm sticking to.'

'Yes. Ro?'

'Yes, Helly?'

Helga looked over her shoulder for signs of life, the lowered her voice to ask: 'Do you think my…er…?'

'Your what?'

She lowered her voice still further. 'Do you think my, er, mounds have become, er, hills yet?'

Rowena snorted. 'Hills!'

'Shush!'

'Sorry! Sorry…but…hills! No, I'm sorry. Erm. I don't know, Helly, they might've done.' She paused to glance down her own blouse for a second. 'Do you think my molehills are any closer to becoming mountains?'

'Ro!'

Rowena erupted into laughter once more, and Helga reluctantly joined her. Five minutes later, when the people around them looked more than a trifle disconcerted and Rowena had fallen off her chair backwards three times, they finally managed to pull themselves together.

'Ooh,' said Rowena, massaging her sides, 'my rib. Ooh…'

Helga giggled. 'People are giving you funny looks now.'

'Ah, well. Bugger it!'

Helga giggled again and Rowena grinned broadly.

'Helly,' she said, absent-mindedly chopping a cold sausage in half with a carrot, 'will you still be my best friend when we're a couple of mad old ladies who can't laugh without weeing?'

'Are you trying to confess something about your level of continence?'

They both laughed again, until Rowena fell backwards and couldn't stand up again, and then they laughed even harder.

00000

'Anyway,' said Salazar, taking a step further back into the shadows and out of view of the students, 'when was it your birthday?'

Rowena also took a step back. 'The week before last. August the fourteenth, actually.'

'Oh, really?' He leant against the wall, gaze hovering somewhere in the middle-distance. 'Why didn't I know about it?'

'I never really celebrate birthdays,' she shrugged, 'it just seems a bit pointless. One more year with nothing achieved—'

'Don't brood too much, Ravenclaw. You'll turn into me.'

'Frightening thought.'

His lips curled. It wasn't really a smile – because Slytherin never really smiled – but it was as close to a smile as he ever came. It was the physical manifestation of a half-amused mind; not quite a grin or a laugh, which would mean dropping his guard, but more genuine than a sneer.

'Anyway,' he resumed, eyes flickering to her and then away again, 'you've made some achievements this year, haven't you?'

'Have I? Yes…I suppose I have, haven't I?' She joined Salazar, staring at the clusters of students that arrived fashionably late. 'You could've mentioned that before my birthday, couldn't you? I might've had a nice party.'

'No you wouldn't. It'd have been you and Hufflepuff, sat in an empty ale house staring vacantly at the ground, holding a half-inflated balloon in one hand and a home-made piece of cake in the other, humming Happy Birthday under your breath until Hufflepuff went off for a romp with lover-boy. Then you'd have to find yourself a maidservant and give each other massages, wearing nothing but—'

'Oi,' Rowena interjected, a warning finger raised, 'drop it, Barbara.'

'—your favourite pair of shoes,' he finished.

'I told you to stop talking.'

'I did. There was more to come, but there are children present.' His lips curled, and the look almost met his eyes.

Thinking aloud, Rowena said, 'I only have two pairs of shoes.'

'Really? Which ones are your favourite?'

'I'm certainly not going to fuel those thoughts, Slytherin. You'll go blind.'

00000

Slytherin narrowed his fourteen-year-old eyes in concentration. He rubbed his skull forcefully with a clean, pale hand, and grabbed at a fistful of black hair in annoyance. Mudbloods, he thought, mudbloods are…

Finally, he lowered his quill to parchment and, in a rush of inspiration, scrawled:

10) - Finally, mudbloods are filthy because they threaten the chances of pureblood survival. If mudbloods were to continue to breed, they would eventually out-live pureblood families, and would be left with only muggles to procreate with. This would mean the magic race running out, and—

'Slytherin?'

Salazar wheeled around, covering the letter with a school book. He stood up.

Rowena Ravenclaw squinted at him across the room, dressed in something that appeared to be a white sack. Half of her face was illuminated by the orange glow of the fire, which revealed her to be squinting at him, uncomprehendingly.

'Yes?' he demanded. 'What do you want?'

She appeared to come to her senses. 'Nothing,' she snapped, before quickly rubbing her cheek with the sleeve of the sack. She'd been crying, then? 'I thought I'd left my bag in here, that's all.'

'What, so you thought you'd have a look at half past one in the morning?'

'I thought I might as well, since I was awake, yes!'

'Well?' he demanded. 'Where did you leave it?'

'I can find it myself thanks, testicle-head.'

He didn't bother replying to her childish insult. If it was up to him, he wouldn't have to bother with her at all. The way she sashayed around in the sack they liked to call a "regulation nightdress" was annoying. The way she spoke was annoying. The way she laughed like whatever she had to laugh at was completely hilarious was annoying. He'd go so far as to say that Rowena Ravenclaw was, in fact, very annoying.

'No need to just stand there and stare, Slytherin,' she snapped, fumbling through the darkness at the other side of the common room, 'if you were a real gentleman you'd offer to help me, at least.'

He leant against his writing desk and folded his arms. 'You just said you could find it yourself.'

'Yes, but if I knew you were going to retaliate with idiotic staring I'd have said differently!'

'Staring, Ravenclaw?' He smiled. 'Don't flatter yourself. You're hardly worth the visual exertion.'

'Shut up.'

He smirked triumphantly, although she had her back to him. The statement was very much a lie, actually; beneath the nightgown, Rowena was clearly very much lumps and bumps and probably many other euphemisms ending with "umps". That was just like her, wasn't it? Using her female wiles to ruin his favourite insults.

'Found it yet?' he demanded.

'Oh, just ignore me! Get on with what you're doing and spare me your irritating voice, will you?'

'You're presence is distracting, as ever.'

'Then you'd better help me look, hadn't you?'

Reluctantly, he nudged a nearby chair with his foot and announced, 'It's not under here.'

'Oh, that's so very useful,' she said, witheringly, 'thanks a bunch.'

'Actually, it might be.'

'Is it?'

'I don't know.'

'Are you going to check?'

'Is Lady Summers heterosexual?'

Rowena stood to attention. 'Isn't she?'

He grinned smugly. 'Wouldn't you like to know?'

Rowena blinked a few times and mumbled, 'Gosh, I should've known. She always seems a bit too hands-on when it comes to adjusting uniform, now I think about it…'

'It's not under here,' Slytherin repeated, bringing her back to her senses.

'Oh.' She made her way across the common room, the glow of the fire turning her temporarily orange, until she reached the place Salazar was stood. He discreetly pushed the book further over the letter with his fingertips while Rowena searched the area.

'It's here,' she declared at last, reaching under a chair for it. When she stood up again she met his eyes and frowned. 'Slytherin, have you been crying?'

'Don't be stupid,' he snapped, refraining from wiping his eyes as this would only confirm the fact, 'it's sweat, you idiot.'

'Oh, really? You sweat from your eyes, do you?'

'Have you done here, Ravenclaw?'

'Mercifully, yes. Goodnight,' she added, apparently by habit.

Once the footsteps had died away, and the faint creak of a bed could be heard from the girl's dormitory, Slytherin picked up his pen and continued to write:

-lead the world into ruin.

The words on the paper showed up on the back of his left hand in rich crimson, scarring his skin for a matter of seconds before fading without a trace. He winced as his eyes began to water, and caught a muffled sob. Deep breaths…

Your loving son,

Salazar.

He sighed with relief, quietly. The words on the paper dissolved, and almost immediately his reply re-appeared.

He skimmed through his luke-warm praise and regards: You remain loyal to your word...We admire your dedication...Grammar is poor…We hope for your health…

And at the bottom of the page was the obligatory reminder: This was your choosing, Salazar, and nothing can be done for it. Your mother and I never wished it upon you; remember this always.

Regards,

Lord and Lady Slytherin.

Salazar tore up the message and thought that free will was constantly over-rated.

00000

'There are too many students,' Rowena mumbled, frowning, 'I'm never going to remember them all.'

'Only sixty-three,' Salazar replied.

'Sixty-three what?'

'Sixty-three students. You counted them all, remember?'

'Oh…yes. Well, I'm sure I've seen more than sixty-three students coming into the hall.'

'You're imagining it.'

'No I'm not.'

'Yes you are. It's hysterical anxiety.'

'Is it?'

'Yes. Your pupils have dilated and everything.'

'Have they?'

His lips curled at her naivety. 'If you believe anything I say, Ravenclaw, there's certainly something wrong with you.'

'Oh.' As an afterthought, she added, 'Shut up,' but without much conviction.

In silence, they observed the students: Godric and Helga struggled to greet a young boy with large eyes, who wandered by wordlessly towards a seat. Behind him, a petite girl with bunches and glasses chatted to a tall blonde girl, who nodded vacantly. A stocky boy with greasy hair and his curly-haired friend seemed more interested in the girls walking behind them than the actual castle, and almost sent Helga flying when they walked into her.

Rowena took the time to examine the object of their attention, and couldn't help but mimic their gawping faces. 'Bloody hell,' she muttered, 'really, bloody hell.'

'Hm?' said Salazar.

Rowena pointed wordlessly at the girls that followed. One was slightly blob-nosed, with ginger hair and dramatic cheekbones. The other…

'I didn't think people like her existed,' Rowena mumbled.

Salazar raised an eyebrow. 'I've seen better faces.'

'Oh, yes,' she said, sarcastically, 'that's really where you were looking. Her face.'

'I was! Although I've seen better things below the neckline as well.'

'Salazar!'

'What?' He grinned smugly, and added, 'I thought you'd take it as a compliment.'

She elbowed him violently, but still turned that damn shade of bright red.

00000

Rowena Ravenclaw had a boyfriend. Rowena Ravenclaw had a boyfriend. Rowena Ravenclaw had…a boyfriend!

Alright, so technically she'd only exchanged twelve words with him in the two days he'd been her boyfriend, but the fact of the matter was that she had one. So stick that up your snout, Elspeth Scratt!

Good old, er, what's-his-face, Christopher Woodvine. They'd met in their astronomy class, and it was more or less love at first sight. He'd said, 'Can I borrow your quill?' and she'd said, 'Why, what do you need it for?' He said, 'I just need to write my name on this, I won't be two minutes.' And she grumbled, 'Fine. If you lose it you have to get me a new one, though.' He sighed, 'Yeah, yeah, alright.'

Ah, yes.

There was always the possibility she was getting slightly carried away, but if that was the case, Helga was to blame. Not only did she offer regular updates of what he was up to – he was in Helga's common room, alas – but she demanded an accurate and descriptive account of what kissing was like.

'I don't know,' Rowena said thoughtfully, while chewing her way through breakfast, 'I didn't really think about it.'

A group of acquaintances from Helga's school house – and Christopher fanciers, no doubt – gathered around in search of information.

'It was kind of…' she thought back to the experience, and finished, 'wet.'

'Wet in a good way?' asked a Christopher fancier.

'Wet in a wet way,' she replied. She was beginning to wonder why she didn't take notes. 'It was, er…it was all very brief.'

'How so?'

'Well, er—'

'Did you kiss him or did he kiss you?'

'Er—'

'What did his spit taste like?'

'Eugh!'

'Did you bang noses?'

'No. Er. I don't know, I just sort of blinked and when I opened my eyes again, his face was swooping in like a hormonal eagle. It was all very traumatic,' she added, taking another bite of her breakfast.

A Christopher fancier wrinkled her nose. 'Traumatic?'

Rowena thought she wasn't handling this situation as well as she could have done. 'Er, yes. Then he sort of…pouted.'

'Pouted?'

'Yes. Then he put his pout on my cheek.'

The Christopher-fanciers exchanged glances. 'On your cheek?'

'Yep.'

'For how long?'

'About two seconds.'

A stunned silence went around the group. Finally one repeated, 'Two seconds? Is that all?'

'Er…should it have been longer?'

The Christopher fanciers muttered and left. Rowena shrugged and finished her breakfast.

Now Rowena, in all her sixteen-year-old glory, sat alone in the common room, drawing smiley faces in the margins of her charms essay. Every so often someone would pass through, on their way to the dormitory or bathroom and then back again, but Rowena paid them little attention. Today, she was using her lunch hour very wisely.

The bubblehead charm, she wrote, is very nice if you want to go swimming. She re-read the sentence, frowned and crossed it out.

'Hello, Rowena,' said a vaguely-familiar voice. She looked up to see Christopher Woodvine entering the common room, and very nearly had a spasm.

'Oh, hello Christopher,' she said, sliding up the chair so he could sit next to her, 'er, lovely day isn't it?'

He fell into the seat. She didn't want to mention it, but he was resting on her hair and it was rather painful. Oh, the sweet agony she suffered for love.

'Slytherin,' he said, staring intensely into her eyes in a manner she thought was a trifle unnecessary.

'Slytherin?' she repeated, determined to stare back just as intensely.

'Does he bother you at all, Rowena?'

'Slytherin?' she said again. 'Well, he annoys me, yes.'

'Is he your enemy?'

'Enemy?' Note to self: Stop repeating random words questioningly, regardless of how strange they are. It's not attractive. 'I wouldn't say that, no. He just…irritates me occasionally.'

'He's a vile man.'

'Vile?' Stop it! 'How so?'

'Do you know what he said to me, not ten minutes ago?'

'Dazzle me.'

'When he overheard that you were my girlfriend, he stared at me for a while.'

'Oh?'

'Then he said, "You're going out with Ravenclaw?"'

'Yes?'

'"Why?"'

'Oh.'

'And I replied that I found you attractive.'

'Ooh.'

'To which he said, "Ravenclaw?"'

Rowena had run out of reactions, so she just nodded for him to continue.

'He said, "If that's your idea of a good time". And I said, "What do you mean by that?"'

'Yes?'

'And he said, "Well, I suppose she doesn't throw potatoes at you", so I demanded to know if this was a euphemism, and he said, "Are you suggesting I'm accusing her of prostitution?" I said, "Yes I am!" and he thought for a while and said, "Alright then, that's a good one actually".'

Rowena blinked once or twice, then gave a short laugh. Christopher stared at her.

'Do you realise,' he asked, 'he accused you of being less than reputable?'

She pulled herself together. 'Yes, yes. That's actually quite nasty.'

'As your boyfriend, I feel I should exact some kind of punishment on your behalf.'

Rowena laughed again. 'Oh, yes? How?'

Unfortunately, Slytherin chose that moment to enter the common room. Before either he or Rowena had time to establish who the other person even was, Christopher had leapt from his seat, met Salazar midway and punched him squarely about the jaw. Rowena shrieked.

As he fell, Slytherin managed to throw his fist upwards and catch Christopher's nose. Rowena shrieked again. Somewhere in the process of falling, they'd managed to catch each other by the shoulders, and now rolled around on the floor, pummelling each other's faces. Rowena shrieked again, but refrained from jumping in to stop them.

'Look, give up, will you!' she shouted, over the thuds and insults. 'It's really rather unnecessary! Look – don't bleed there! Give up! Stop it! I'm gay!'

The fighting ceased immediately. Rowena found herself subjected to two disbelieving gazes. Feeling rather embarrassed, she mumbled, 'Well, not really, obviously. That was just to stop you fighting.'

Taking the hint, Slytherin scrambled to his feet and, nursing his jaw and bloody lip, made a hasty exit.

Rowena called after him, 'Are you alright?', but wasn't sure why she did so.

From the floor, Christopher said, 'I'm not.'

Rowena said, 'Oh, diddums,' and stormed off.