Chapter 15: Fast Times at Hogwarts High

'Bollocks,' mumbled Rowena, as she followed Godric onto the stage at the front of the hall, 'bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. This is quite literally bollocks.'

'Chill your knickers, Ravenclaw,' Salazar hissed, as they took their position, 'or at least alter your choice of lexis for a while. There are children present.'

'Bottom,' she whispered weakly.

'Much better.'

They shuffled quietly into some sort of reasonable order, with Salazar sandwiched between Rowena and Helga near the back of the stage. Sixty-three pink blobs followed their every move, and Rowena couldn't help but wonder if they would forever be remembered as "Ravenclaw of the Nervous Grin", "Hufflepuff of the Awkward Shuffle" and "Slytherin of the Half-Arsed Lean".

Gryffindor of the Proud Beam stepped forwards and began to address the crowd:

'On behalf of my fellow school founders, I would like to welcome you all to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We aim—'

Over his continued speech, Salazar muttered, 'I didn't know we were calling it that.'

Rowena, feeling every bit aware of each movement she made in front of the assembly, managed to whisper back, 'What?'

'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Is that what it's called now?'

'I suppose.'

'Who chose that name?'

'I don't know,' she whispered, honestly, 'it might have been me, for all I know.'

To the collective horror of the other three founders, Salazar raised his voice and said, 'Oi, Godders. Who decided to call it Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?'

Godric froze, staring out at the sea of raised eyebrows. Rowena tightly closed her eyes, while Helga's jaw threatened to fall from its hinges. Salazar simply looked between them all, as if mystified by their reactions.

'It wasn't me, was it?' he asked.

'I don't think it was,' Rowena whispered back, weakly.

'Alright then.' He scratched the back of his head distractedly and, addressing Rowena, whispered, 'I'm just going to get a drink. Carry on without me,' and left the stage, watched by all sixty-three students and Helga, who pointed after him feebly. Rowena just stared straight ahead and fought the urge to sob.

'Er,' said Godric, 'er, although we sincerely hope you enjoy your time and experience here, there are strict rules that must be obeyed. A copy of these can be found on page thirteen of your booklets, although—'

'What are yours like?' Rowena asked the green face in her fireplace, while she gathered her hair into a vague kind of orderliness.

'Alright,' said the face in the fire, otherwise known as Helga Hufflepuff, 'a bit squeaky, though.'

'Squeaky?'

'Yeah, I think I got a big share of first years.'

'Just as well. I'm hardly the maternal sort.'

'Maternal?' Helga's face followed her around the room, eyes open wide, 'Are you accusing me of being maternal?'

Rowena shrugged. 'Maybe.'

'I am not playing mother to these horrible little creatures, Ro. I've already had one sick in my handbag.'

'Eugh. Close your eyes a second, I'm trying to get changed.'

Helga sighed and complied. 'I'll try and keep my eyes off you, Ro. I'll try not to cop a feel from the fire place, shall I?'

Rowena slipped a nightgown over her head and raised a questioning eyebrow. 'You're now giving me a headache with your rampant homophobia, Helly. Anyway, I only implied there was a distinct possibility of you being gay, not a rapist.'

'Sorry. I'm a bit tense.'

'I noticed,' she replied, giving her desk a half-hearted tidy while checking her reflection for sudden acne attacks, 'is something bothering you?'

Helga shook her head, causing embers to scatter across the rug. 'Not really. Just tired and worried.'

'Worried?' She turned her attention to the ashes, unintentionally rubbing them further into the fibres of the rug with a sweeping brush. 'Dammit. Why are you worried?'

'Well – sorry about that, Ro – you know, what with the school and everything. It seemed to be all going fine until Slytherin…well. You know what he did.'

Rowena winced. 'Yeah. I'm sure there was a perfectly logical explanation for acting like that.'

'Try the fact that he's a prick.'

'Helly!' Rowena giggled, giving up on the mess and resolving to just turn the rug over, 'Are you sure there's nothing else wrong? You're acting very strange.'

'I don't know,' she answered honestly, 'it might be because my knees are hurting. I am kneeling in front of a fire place with my neck thrust forward; it's a bit unnatural.'

'Sorry, Helly. I'll go in the fire next time.'

Helga turned around and back again, adding, 'If anyone walks into my chamber now, I don't know what they'll think I'm up to. What were we talking about?'

'Slytherin, I think.'

'Oh yes. Why did he do that?'

'I don't know, Helly. I think it's how he reacts to pressure.'

'What, humiliating us?'

'Mm. Yeah. Remember in fifth year, when Elspeth Scratt accused him of stealing her wand, and Professor Harper grabbed him by the hair and—'

'—Dragged him to the front of the hall?' Helga finished, smiling nostalgically. 'Oh, yes. That was hilarious.'

'Yes. Well, do you remember what happened afterwards?'

The smile vanished into a frown. 'Oh. Yes. He cast a spell on you to make your leg spasm every twenty seconds, didn't he?'

Rowena nodded, then laughed. 'It's all rather funny, in hindsight.'

'You weren't laughing at the time,' she reminded her, 'you were running after him with a cauldron. Very carefully, mind.'

'Anyway,' said Rowena, pulling a chair in front of the fire and making herself comfortable on it, 'it's not as if Salazar was the only thing to play up.'

'That's true. Hat nearly strangled that poor first year.'

Rowena snorted. What a memory – Godric struggling to carry the resisting Hat into the hall, while Helga accompanied him, muttering, "You can have all the ale you want, Mr Hat, just be good!"

Rowena had stood before the assembly, watched with a mixture of awe and cynicism. Every so often, she ventured, "Ha, ha?", to which very few people responded.

They placed Hat on a stool in front of the stage. Helga did the logical thing and sat on him. Then Godric declared, "As I call your names, you must make your way to the front and sit here. I will place the hat upon your head, and he will tell you as to which house you belong. I am the head of Gryffindor house; Miss Rowena the head of Ravenclaw house; Miss Helga the head of Hufflepuff house and – er – the skinny pale chap the head of Slytherin house. Got that?' he added in a low voice.

Hat said, "Mrpph."

Godric turned back to the assembly, received a list of names from an ever-anxious Rowena, and read: "Alby, Morgan!"

Morgan Alby reluctantly made her way to the front of the hall as Helga leapt hastily from the stool, encouraged by the wandering brim of Hat.

Morgan looked between the Founders and Hat in a terrified manner, and asked, "Do I have to?"

"Yes," Rowena hissed, in a state of pure, suppressed rage. Morgan obeyed. The suspiciously still hat was lowered onto her ginger head…

For a few seconds, curious silence filled the hall. Morgan breathed a sigh of relief.

Then—

"Ach! 'Tis nothing but a wee child! Ye cannae send her to this place! Run, child! Run! HA, HA!"

There was a general scuffle and shocked mumble across the rows of seats as Morgan began to scream and run around the hall frantically.

"Oh, ye Gods," Rowena mumbled, wondering what Salazar would make of the spectacle. Amidst the confusion, Godric dashed after the girl, lifting every obstacle by the arms and placing them carefully aside.

Meanwhile, Hat continued to yell, "Run, wee child! They torture puppies here! Do you want to know what they made me do to a birdie? It gouged my eyes! HA, HA!"

Helga gave in, and subsided to the floor.

"Nay sunlight! Doom! They're going to sell ye to the local ale house! ALE!"

"Oh no," Rowena whimpered.

"WHORES!"

"Oh dear…"

"WIMMIN'!"

…Back in the here and now, Rowena snorted again. 'It was quite funny, Helly. You've got to admit.'

'I think I preferred it when we concussed Hat and just told everyone to pick a Founder. I really think we should stick to that system in the future, Ro.'

'On the other hand, at least Hat seems to have learnt a lot of new words. I've got a feeling he's been talking to Salazar.'

'That wouldn't surprise me.' Helga adjusted her position again. 'Have you spoken to him recently?'

'Not since the, er, "I'm going to get a drink, carry on without me" moment.'

'I bet he's left,' Helga said, decisively.

Rowena nodded and "mm"-ed. Then she sat up as her brain caught up wit her. 'Really? Do you think?'

'I do. He's not got anything here, has he?'

'Well, he's – I think – because of—' She continued to struggle with her words for a few seconds, before placing them in a rational order: 'Now we've got the success of the school practically guaranteed, I just can't think why he'd want to leave. It'd be a financial loss on his part.'

Helga nodded, reluctantly conceeding her point. 'I suppose. But there might be another reason, you know…'

'Like what?'

'Well, I don't know. Ask him.'

'I don't know where he is.'

'Don't bother, then.'

''Night, Helly.'

''Night, Ro.'

Rowena, now with a coat around her nightgown, walked calmly down the second floor corridor. If she wanted a drink, she'd make herself a drink. If she happened to come across Salazar, that was mere coincidence.

Just as it was mere coincidence she'd casually walked through every corridor in the school so far thinking that it would be a mere coincidence if she'd come across him there. Well, she may have been thirsty, but she was in no hurry.

Not that she should be in denial about wanting to speak to Salazar, of course. As a concerned and curious business partner, it was only logical that she should want to speak to him. There was really no need to make excuses for wanting to see him.

She was just really bloody thirsty, damn it all!

A door creaked, further down the corridor. She spun around, beginning, 'Sal-? Oh, er…you should be in your common room, young man.'

The young man, a sixth year from Gryffindor, grinned sheepishly. 'Sorry, madam.'

Madam? 'Miss! That's Miss!'

Young Man stumbled backwards and corrected himself, 'Sorry, Miss. Sorry, Miss Ravenclaw.'

'Thank you! Now, off to your dormitory, before I impose a curfew on the whole of Gryffindor house.' He began to scuttle away, but stopped as Rowena continued, 'I'm surprised Godric let you out.'

'He didn't,' Young Man admitted, 'I told him I had to send a letter.'

'Oh dear,' Rowena mumbled. They'd targeted his weak spot: lie detection. Sweet, naïve Godric Gryffindor and his honest, trusting personality. You'd hardly believe some of the things Helga let him do to her. ARGH! Mental trap, mental trap! Back away! Stop shaking your head like that, you silly girl!

'Are you alright, Miss?' Young Man ventured, 'You look like you're having a spasm, or something—'

'I'm fine,' she said, quickly, 'I'm fine, I'm fine. Eugh. I'm not strange,' she added quickly, although the look in his eye said he believed otherwise, 'I'm, er – part-psychic.'

It wasn't untrue. It wasn't strictly true either, but he didn't have to know that.

'Really?' he asked, awestruck. 'Are any of the other teachers?'

'No,' she beamed, 'just me. Although,' she added, seriously, 'they have all accomplished many difficult tasks in their young years, fought many impossible battles and overcome dangerous and devilish enemies with stunning bravery and wit. So be good.'

'Er, alright.'

'Actually, you'd better tell me your name so I can record it. And no "Ben Dover" or any of that business, thank you.'

'Andrew Parkinson,' he admitted glumly, 'Gryffindor house, year six.'

'Thank you, Andrew. Now scram, before I hex your eyes out.'

'Alright, Miss. Are you up late patrolling the corridors, or –'

'I'm just bloody thirsty!'

Fifteen minutes later, Rowena found herself in the not-very-Great Hall. The last of the drapes sighed, sagged and vanished with a sparkle of blue flame as the spell wore off. Now it resumed life as a big, square room.

The chairs had changed position; now they lined four narrow tables that consumed most of the space in the room. A blue cloth covered the one nearest the door; a red one opposite; a yellow almost touching the head of it, and in the corner, a green one.

And at the furthest point of the green table, sat beneath a moon-struck window, was Salazar, an alabaster streak in the shadows.

For a second or so, silence. Then he said, ''Lo, Ravenclaw,' in a cheery voice that clanged against the dramatic atmosphere.

Rowena shrugged to herself. ''Lo, Slytherin. I'm just getting a drink.'

'So I see.'

'I could've just summoned myself a drink in my chamber,' she continued, 'but I worried about spilling something. Although I could've cleaned the stain away with magic, I just felt that there is a time and a place for drinking and the hall is certainly the latter. Er.'

Salazar smirked. 'I don't know if you noticed, but I didn't pursue the subject.'

'Yeah. Course.' Oh dear. Now she felt stupid. She wavered where she stood for a while, then sat down at the Ravenclaw table.

Salazar raised an eyebrow. 'Far enough away, Ravenclaw?'

'W-well,' she stammered, without quite knowing why, 'I just thought that this was more appropriate but I could always move I suppose if you wanted me to not that I need you to tell me where I'll sit but now you mention it I should probably sit at your table shouldn't I?' Breathe, you stupid girl, breathe!

Salazar shrugged, calmly as ever. 'If you wish, Rowena.'

…And there it was. Do you feel happy now, you idiot girl? You've proven yourself stupid, and he's taken down that annoying lexical barrier. "Rowena". You've proven yourself a "Rowena". Maybe if you catch sticks for him, he'll promote you to a "Ro".

Oh, just sit down and stop thinking, will you? You're annoying yourself.

Rowena listened to the voice in her head, and made herself reasonably comfortable in the seat opposite him.

'Well, I know why you're here,' he said. Rowena began to say, "I'm just thirsty!", but he continued: 'Come to murder me, I suppose?'

'Murder you?' she repeated, her mind reeling. Had he committed any murder-worthy offences recently? 'Oh, right - the drink thing. Yeah. Mm. Bad.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Are you alright, Ravenclaw?'

'Erm. Yes. I mean – Andrew Parkinson just called me "madam",' she mumbled (it's not really a lie! It's not really the truth, but that doesn't matter!), 'It's sent me slightly mad.'

'Ah, right. Surrounded by young children all day…' he gave an exaggerated shudder. 'At least some of them are practically our age.'

'Nine of them,' Rowena said, the memory resurfacing, 'six girls, three boys.'

'Those three boys are going to be happy.'

'True. How many do you have?'

'In Slytherin house?' He pronounced the name delicately, like someone scooping up something unpleasant from the pavement. 'Three. All girls, all close friends. I think I can still hear the giggling. And you?'

'Two girls,' she said, squinting to remember them, 'I don't think they knew each other.'

'Two with Hufflepuff and two with Godders, then?'

'As far as I can recall. Helga got two boys, I think.'

'Right.' He closed his eyes and folded his arms behind his head, leaning back in his chair. Rowena wasn't entirely sure how to take this.

'You, er, got the blonde one, didn't you?' she probed.

Slytherin shrugged, his eyes still closed. 'Which one?'

'The one I said was very pretty.'

'Oh yes. I believe your exact words were "Bloody hell, I didn't think people like her existed".'

'Alright, alright, well-remembered. Who is she?'

'Who, the blonde girl? Heather something, I think.'

'What's she like?'

'Do you want me to organise a get-together for the two of you, or something?'

'No! I'm just curious. I bet she's horrible.'

He shrugged again. 'Doesn't seem that bad, to be honest.'

Rowena's leg twitched. For a second, she felt a fifth year again – under the hex of Salazar's leg-spasm stunt. Alas, no.

'Really?'

Again he shrugged. 'Haven't really spoken to her, but yeah. I haven't really spoken to any of them yet.'

'I know she was raising her eyebrow an awful lot during the assembly,' Rowena said honestly, 'and I think she made a few sarcastic comments at us.'

'Is that so? Perfect Slytherin material.' He took a drink of his water and sat back, rocking on the back legs of his chair. 'I'm bored.'

Rowena stared at her hands. Is that so? Perfect Slytherin material. Why did she feel so suddenly dispirited? And behind that feeling was an even stronger feeling of annoyance, covering that vague pang of…of...something.

A very curious pang of something.

She stood up. 'Well, you should be bored. You must have done all those interesting things earlier while you humiliated us.' Slytherin looked up and cocked his head to one side. Rowena continued, 'I don't know about you, Slytherin, but the rest of us are trying to run a successful business and realise our dreams – we're not all playing a petty game of - of revenge and popularity!'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Forgive me, Ravenclaw, but—'

'You just need to grow up!'

Ten minutes later, she met Andrew Parkinson on the fourth floor corridor and gave him a good shove.

Knock.

Rowena pulled the bed sheets further over her head and kept her eyes determinedly closed.

Knock.

'I don't feel well,' she said, 'go away.'

'Oh,' said Helga, timidly. 'Um...OK. It's me, though. Helga.'

'Yes,' said Rowena, 'I know. Sorry. I just - I really don't feel well.'

'Oh. OK.' She hovered by the door for a moment. 'I just thought I'd tell you it was ten o'clock. In the morning.'

'Yeah.'

'I mean, there aren't going to be any lessons today or anything, but it might look good if you at least put in an appearance some time before noon. And the teachers are coming around this evening...'

'OK,' she said, 'OK, I'll be down later. Yeah.'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Nope.'

'OK. Well...I'm here if you need me.'

'Yeah. Thanks, Hel. Bye.'

'OK. Bye-bye.'

Rowena tried to sleep.

She soon gave up.

She emerged from her blankets, caught sight of her reflection, and sighed. It didn't look good. She smoothed down her hair and slapped the life into her face, but it didn't make much of a difference.

What was this hideous thing she was feeling?

It was...it was new, certainly. It was the most alien emotion she'd ever experienced. Although perhaps "emotion" wasn't the right word; emotions she'd always associated with the head. This was a purely physical feeling. It landed in her chest that night at the auction, and had been burrowing deeper and deeper ever since.

It wasn't a nice feeling. It wasn't anything like love. It was heavy and dark and cumbersome. It filled her up. The feeling overwhelmed her when she thought about him too much.

Yes...him. It was his bloody fault. He was making her feel sick. How was he doing that? What spell was he using?

It was a very dark feeling. Frustration and resentment and jealousy and hatred and guilt and all the rest of it. Not enough to make her miserable, but enough to trouble her.

It didn't feel like love. She'd known love - how she felt about her friends and family and silly schooltime crushes. This was...this was the opposite of love. Not hatred; more like love's mirror image. All the dark dregs of it.

She sighed. She got out of bed, splashed her face with cold water, and suppressed the feeling. Whenever she thought about it, the questions all rushed in, and they were too strange and difficult to untangle. No: keep washing face. Maybe eat a biscuit. Read a book, or something.

She got changed. She sat on the end of her bed. She made a noise like a deflating balloon.

Her stomach rumbled.

'Food,' she said aloud, 'breakfast. Right. Let's get on with it.'

As she opened the door, the noise came again:

Knock.

Salazar stood there, fist still raised, interrupted mid-knock. He said, 'Oh. That was quick.'

Rowena blinked a couple of times. She felt curiously as if the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. 'I was - er - just about to go for breakfast.'

'Ah, right.'

The sick feeling flooded back. The words tumbled from her mouth: 'Sorry I snapped at you last night I was just feeling a bit weird but never mind just forget about it.' She coughed. 'I mean, sorry, alright?'

'It's fine,' he said, not looking at her. He was still stood there uncertainly, at the top of the staircase, not crossing the threshold into her room. He wavered for a moment. 'Don't worry about it.'

Rowena's stomach growled.

Salazar said, 'What was that?'

'Nothing,' she squeaked.

'Sounded like thunder-'

'Wasn't. Never mind. Hungry. Shush.' She felt herself blushing, and winced at the realisation. 'Never mind. Look, what do you want?'

'Want?' he repeated, uncertainly. He looked her briefly up and down, took half a step backwards and very nearly lost his footing on the stairs. 'Nothing,' he said, eventually, 'just - nothing. Hufflepuff said you were feeling ill.'

She nodded. 'A little bit.'

'Right. Well, get better, then.' His position on the stairs put them at an equal height. He stepped forward to amend this, but then he was suddenly far too close to her and he turned away and said, 'Forget it, I'm-'

'Sal-'

He turned back as she stepped forwards, as at that close distance their mouth just seemed to magnetise, unstoppably, together. Rowena felt his shoulders tense, and the slow, soft clashing of their lips, and for just a few short seconds she felt absolutely nothing else.

They separated. The world came crashing back down again.

'Right,' said Salazar. He cleared his throat. 'Right. There we are, then. OK.' He opened and closed his mouth for a moment. He began to raise a hand, then dropped it. 'I'll - be off, then.'

'Right,' said Rowena, unmoving.

She watched him vanish around the spiral staircase, and stood perfectly still under his footsteps had echoed away.

She raised one hand to her lips, experimentally.

She said, 'Oh...bugger.'