Chapter 21: Up a Tree

Alright, so the week hadn't exactly gotten off to a perfect start: Saturday (and some of Sunday) had been spent in a cupboard, somewhere between all-too drunk and far-too sober; Sunday (and most of Monday) had been spent either marking essays on jam or teaching classes about jam or talking about jam or dreaming about jam.

Then Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday had been spent in a state of extreme annoyance as Rowena realised they weren't supposed to cover jam until next month, and she'd wasted at least three weeks of her life thinking about burnt fingers and strawberry seeds.

On the plus side, Heather hadn't been turning up to any of her lessons; hopefully she'd contacted a hideous wasting disease and passed away during the night. A more likely solution was that she'd merely started avoiding cookery lessons, and this was just as satisfactory in Rowena's mind.

On the minus side, Helga was attending the cookery lessons but merely hitting Rowena with an strict, angry silence. Quite rightly, she supposed.

And how exactly does one tell one's best friend that her ex-boyfriend is potentially responsible for the deaths of two students? In the world of Ravenclaw, they do the cowardly thing and just don't say anything, but bash their heads against the wall at every opportunity until an idea arrives.

So far, no luck.

On what was sort-of a plus side, Heather hadn't been spotted at the recent staff meetings. And Rowena knew, because she'd been attending in her place. So put that in your pipe and smoke it until your lungs collapse, you large-headed girl-child.

'Alright,' said Godric, to the motley crew of staff present, 'I'm sure you've been noting absences in your lessons as often as possible, but I would be extremely gratified if you could actually mark these absences down. You, for example, Professor Ravenclaw—'

Rowena looked up and saw a potential killer; Godric looked down and saw his ex-girlfriend's strongest ally.

'Oh – never mind that,' he said, with an apparent change of mind. 'Attendance isn't really very…Alright. Would anyone else like to raise an issue for discussion?'

A very small look was exchanged between the staff, and an old lady – the function of whom Rowena wasn't completely aware of – dropped her spectacles. Other than that, the room was silent.

'No one?' said Godric.

A voice from the back of the room said, 'We could talk about those deaths, if you fancy.'

Godric cleared his throat and, slightly louder, said, 'No one? Very well, we'll—'

'Are you playing hard to get?'

'—just leave it at that, then. Same time next Thursday; thank you for attending.'

With a scrape of chairs and a swish of capes, the room quickly began to filter; Godric lead the way at a jog.

Anatole Amery, appearing at Rowena's shoulder before she had time to escape, said, 'Are you alright today, Professor?'

'Er – yes, thanks,' she said, darting a very quick glance over her shoulder. As quick as it was, it didn't escape the smirk of Salazar Slytherin. And it would probably be rude to punch Anatole in the teeth and run over his unconscious body to escape, wouldn't it?

'I'm glad to hear it,' he said, none the wiser to those violent inner-thoughts she was so seriously beginning to consider. 'You look a lot better, if you don't mind me saying so, Professor.'

'Er – call me Ro. Or Rowena, or something. And, er…thank you.'

'Alright, I will. Can I walk you to your next lesson?'

'No,' she said quickly, aware that her face had just turned a funny colour and even more aware that someone at the back of the room was watching her very intently, and probably with a sneer. 'I mean – no thank you, Professor. I'm not teaching again until the evening.'

'Alright, but please call me Anatole. Or any abbreviation you prefer, really—'

'Alright, well I'd better—'

'I could walk with you to lunch, if you'd like?'

'Well, I really think that—'

And then the voice of doom said, 'No offence, Annie, but I think she's trying to get rid of you.'

Rowena screwed up her eyes very tightly. Then she did the same thing with her brain.

Anatole turned around, 'Er…I'm sorry, Professor Slytherin?'

Salazar didn't say anything; Rowena imagined there was an elevated eyebrow involved somewhere.

'Er,' said Anatole, 'I suppose, er, that Annie is an abbreviation of Anatole, yes...ha…well, Ro—'

'Yes,' said Rowena, very quickly, 'I'll see you later, Anatole. Bye-bye.'

'Oh. Er—'

'Told you,' said Salazar.

'Yes,' he said, stiffly. 'Thank you, Professor.'

'Call me Salazar. Or any abbreviation you prefer, really.'

'Erm, well—'

'Go on, shortarse. Move.'

'Bye-bye,' said Rowena again, apologetically.

'Yes,' said Anatole, 'er…see you.'

It wasn't until he was safely out of harm's way that Rowena risked opening her eyes, and another short while until she actually turned around. Then a few more seconds passed while she absorbed Slytherin's presence – against the wall with a small grin, as she suspected, with a raised brow and folded arms, as she expected – before she declared, 'That was very nasty.'

'What?' he asked, with mock-defensiveness. 'He told me I could call him Annie.'

'But there was no reason to call him shortarse.'

'There was.' He listed them with his fingers: 'He's short. He's got an arse.'

'Oh dear.'

'Besides: no flirting between lessons. It's in Godders' handbook.'

'Oh dear,' she said again. There was a sort-of silence that wasn't really a silence, as Rowena could still hear her heart thumping.

Eventually, Salazar removed himself from the wall and said, 'Well then, I'd better be—'

'What about these deaths?'

'Deaths?' He resumed his position against the wall and shrugged. 'I don't know. What about them?'

'Well—you—' It had to be Slytherin, didn't it? No one else would accuse Godric of flirting with him during a staff meeting. 'You said we should talk about the…death issue.'

'Did I? Alright. Better close that door, then.'

Rowena obediently did so, and then cursed herself for it. She'd done as he said. She'd done it without thinking. She'd done something to make that smirk re-appear, and now she was trapped in a room with it.

'Very good,' said Salazar, his voice as patronizing as was physically possible. 'Take a seat.'

'I'll stand,' she replied, in an admittedly rather feeble display of determination. She glanced briefly around the room and, with a tiny groan, realised her exact location.

Salazar grinned. 'Ah, sweet memories. They never fixed that store cupboard, did they? You can still see where it hit the floor.'

'Neugh,' said Rowena. She wasn't entirely sure what it meant either.

'But enough of that reminiscing. Let's talk about death – it's the safest option.'

'Well,' she said, stepping away from the restored cupboard which had played prison just a few weeks before, 'I don't know much about them, but – what do you mean, "safest"?'

He grinned again. 'Least likely to result in an encounter of a passionate nature.'

'Are you quite sane?'

'I think so. I don't know. Maybe. Continue.'

'Well…two died.'

'Did they?'

'Yes – I thought you knew this?'

'Do I?' he asked, theatrically.

'Yes, you – you said so!'

'Did I? No, I don't think I did.'

'Well, you - implied it,' she insisted.

'When?'

'When you…but – what?'

'What?'

'What?'

'What?'

Rowena sat down. 'I'm very confused.'

'Yes, but you're also sat down. Good girl. Yes, two people died—'

'Huh?'

Salazar gave her a look that was sympathetic and dangerously patronizing. It seemed he was in that kind of mood. He explained, 'That was all a long, elaborate charade to trick you into sitting down, now listen: Two men died, both near Hogsmeade. And someone else died in the forest, but I don't know who he is. To conclude—'

'What?' Rowena's mind reeled. She stood up, as if the act would enlighten her, and, off Salazar's annoyed expression, sat down again.

'Something wrong, Ravenclaw?'

'I thought…I thought it was two students who'd died?'

It was Slytherin's turn to pause. His eyebrows narrowed, as if in annoyance. 'What?'

'Two students,' she repeated. 'Two students died, didn't they? I thought—'

'Who told you that?'

'Well…Heather did.'

'Heather? What, the…blonde Heather?'

'What an adorable term of affection.'

'Don't – what?' He paused again, and stared at the wall. Rowena peered at him questioningly.

'Yes?' she prompted.

After another long pause, filled by the chatter of students passing outside, Salazar rejoined the here and now to demand, 'Heather told you?'

'Yes.' The part of her brain labelled "common sense" told her not to add anything to the statement, but the part of her brain labelled "seething, bitter hatred" told her to rant on. 'Yes, she did. She confronted me about it and all sorts! In the early hours of the morning, she burst into my cupboard— office, and started smart-mouthing me when I was in frankly no fit state to respond with anything witty, although I think I might have told her she she has a big forehead which, incidentally, she does.'

Salazar's eyebrows twitched involuntarily. He stared at the wall. 'How did she know?'

'I don't know,' said Rowena, shortly; clearly, he didn't understand how much she disliked the girl. 'I think she said you told her.'

'I told her?'

'Yeah. Didn't you?'

She took his silence to mean "no". She couldn't help but feel a twang of sympathy for the flicker of dejection that crossed his face. She couldn't help the twang of anger that followed, either. Nor the gentle swoop of depression, followed by the sharp prod of annoyance. It was a general assault of emotion.

'Anyway,' she said eventually, to break the silence. Salazar straightened up and resumed his sneer, at nothing in particular. 'Are you going to tell me about these murders or not?'

'Are they murders now?'

'Well – no. Well, I don't know. Do you think…?'

Salazar shrugged. The words "GODRIC GRYFFINDOR IS A BLOOD THIRSTY KILLER WITH A BODY HAIR PROBLEM ONCE A FULL MOON" hung in the air between them. Words to that effect, anyway.

Rowena said, 'I'd better get some lunch, then.'

'Lost interest already?'

'No, but you're hardly being helpful.'

'Godders is a werewolf.'

'I know.'

Salazar cocked the other eyebrow. 'You know?'

'Yeah. Helga told me.'

'Damn.'

'Sorry.'

'That was the only weapon in my armoury, as well.' In response to her look of confusion, he explained, 'I've been hanging that over his head for years.'

'Years? Really?'

'Ever since he was a puppy.' Much to Rowena's increasing confusion, he chuckled. 'Godders,' he said, 'is a Doggers.' He laughed again.

Rowena rolled her eyes. 'Dear lord. At least we've moved on from "Ravensnore".'

'That was a classic.'

'How much time do you devote to thinking these names up?'

'It's the last thing I think about before I go to sleep.'

'While you're suspended upside down from the ceiling in a cocoon of your own flesh?'

'Yep.'

'Do you love Heather?'

'What?'

He stared at Rowena while she burned a funny pink colour and stared at the floor. A parade of people chanting "shit!" marched repeatedly through her mind, waving banners and placards of pictures of excrement.

Then nobody moved. And there was silence. The question still hung, unanswered, in the air, and Rowena just sort of shrugged.

Then Salazar said, 'Well, I've told you everything I know. When are you teaching again?'

'Er,' said Rowena, in a small voice, 'evening.'

'Ok. Well. Bye, then.'

'Yeah,' said Rowena, as the door closed after him. 'Yeah.'

Then she bashed her head against the wall.

In an ideal world, Godric Gryffindor would have better things to do with his Thursdays than brood.

In an ideal world, he wouldn't turn into a dog once a month and chase his own arse, but that's life for you.

When someone knocked at his door he flinched, and fought the urge to growl and bark. Instead he took a deep breath and said, 'Yes?'

'Professor, can I borrow your sword?'

He glanced at the sword that glinted serenely in the corner of his office. 'What are you going to use it for?'

'Stabbing Henry.'

'No.' It was a very commanding No. It was the kind of No people responded to – generally on a battlefield, but sometimes in a common room. Either way, sharp objects were usually involved.

'Alright,' said the Henry-stabber. And because the No was the kind that demanded respect, he added, 'Sorry.'

'Now run along a learn a moral lesson.'

The Henry-stabber did, at speed.

So…perhaps he was a murderer. He'd definitely found meat in his mouth once or twice, and it didn't taste like chicken. Of course, it wasn't his fault really – he could tell himself it wasn't his fault very easily, that was fine. It was when he started believing it that he needed to worry, because who knew what he could get away with if he really believed it.

It wasn't Slytherin's fault, either. Not really. Well, actually, it was. But that was no excuse to hunt him down and murder him, he supposed – regardless of all he'd done, and what a great justice he'd be doing to the world, and—

No, but it wasn't his fault. It wasn't.

And it wasn't Helga's fault. God he'd messed up then, hadn't he? In all fairness to himself, she had confronted him with the possibility that she might be giving birth to a litter of…what? Half-human, hairy defects? But then, in all fairness to her, it was probably the kind of thing he should have mentioned before any sexual transaction occurred.

He threw a cleanly-picked chicken bone at the fireplace and heaved a heavy sigh. If there was no divine purpose to his life, he'd be mightily annoyed.

Rowena's head hit a lot of walls during her walk from the abandoned classroom-cum-staffroom-cum-place of ritual humiliation. She received one or two quizzical glances, but it was hardly anything she was going to worry about: with enough beatings, her skull would become thick and durable, saving her a small fortune in helmets, and oh shut up.

She reached the great outdoors and changed her target to trees. The birds were upset, but no one else seemed to mind. Then she sat down heavily in her usual position at the edge of the lake and sighed.

'What an idiotic boob,' she mumbled.

'I agree.'

'Thanks.' A few seconds later, her eyes widened with shock and she leapt to her feet, stumbling towards the lake without so much as a backwards glance at her previous spot.

Very slowly, casting her eye around for signs of life, she walked back to the wood's outskirts and ventured, 'Hello?'

'Hello,' said a voice from above, with mock-sincerity.

'What the hell are you doing up there?'

'Why do you ask?'

'Because…because you're up a tree!'

Xavier Malfoy – of all people – smiled. He was sprawled comfortably across the limb of a willow tree with a Cheshire Cat smile, golden hair delicately ruffled in a way that was meant to denote healthy athleticism and disregard for personal appearance, but actually denoted a careful and calculated placement of hair to achieve this effect.

He flicked a strand of hair from his eyes and said, 'And how are you today?'

Rowena blinked, taken by the oddity of the situation. Had she hit her head too hard? Was this a worrying visual hallucination? Or was Xavier Malfoy, the man last seen goading Salazar into a rigged fight to the death, really up a tree?

'Erm…I'm fine, thank you.'

'It's a bit chilly. Shouldn't you be wearing a shawl or something?'

'I…appreciate the concern, er…' She blinked again, waiting for him to vanish. 'I actually lost my shawl a couple of days ago, er…'

'Oh dear. No clue?'

'Well – I think it probably got tidied away by the cleaners.'

'Ah yes; the most logical conclusion is often the correct one.'

'Ye-es. Yes. Er. Yes. Am I disturbing you at all?'

'No, not at all. Do sit down.'

'Erm – I – no, thanks. Are you…? No.' The day was strange. 'Do you want me for something?'

The eyebrows cocked suggestively, and a sudden mischievous smile appeared on his lips. 'Do you want me for something?'

Then Rowena realised that nothing from her own imagination could be quite so perverse.

'Get out of that tree this instant, you horrible little man, before I drag you out! Five, four, three, two—!'

He landed on the floor – unfortunately unharmed – and began to calmly wipe the dust from his clothes to cover the indignity of his action.

Rowena seethed. This was the man who'd started it all! The downfall of the empire, the ruin of all possible civility between her and Slytherin! The one who'd – who'd – well, frankly he was a bastard, and not the kind of man you want to find up a tree!

'What were you doing up there?' she demanded, taking a step towards him.

This time he didn't react, but merely looked her up and down with a long, judgemental sweeping motion. 'I like to make an entrance.'

'Yes, but up a tree? That's – that's no place for humans!'

Malfoy looked smug.

'I mean,' she continued, desperately, 'how long were you up there?'

'Long enough to see down your blouse.'

This time he did react, and scampered behind the tree just in time to avoid a severe beating. Rowena was really in that kind of mood.

'Alright, alright!' he shouted, from the other side of the willow. 'I'll stop! I have some information for you!'

She stood still, and glared at the tree impatiently. 'Go on.'

'Alright.' He peered out from behind the trunk and, seeing that she'd ceased her murderous rampage, stepped out into the light. He brushed his sleeves down again. 'Jesus Christ,' he muttered. 'What's gotten into you today?'

'The urge to kill. Now talk.'

'I can't help but notice,' he said, agitation clear in his voice, 'that your demeanour has changed somewhat since I last saw you.'

He was right. Rowena wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. 'Well done. Now tell me something I don't know.'

'Those children that died,' he said, casually taking a seat on what was usually Rowena's bench, 'one of them was a mudblood.'

'What?'

'Mudblood,' he repeated. 'Mudblood, mudblood, filthy little mudblood. Fantastic word; rolls straight off the tongue.'

'My best friend's a half-blood,' Rowena hissed, taking a step towards him.

Malfoy didn't flinch, but looked slightly pensive and said, 'Oh yes, I haven't seen much of her recently.'

'What?'

'I'd hate to think you were incapable of maintaining a solid friendship.'

Rowena was fairly sure she growled. 'Get back to the students.'

'What? Oh, that's it.'

'That's it?'

'Yep. One of them was a mudblood. Filthy, inbred mudblood.'

'Although your accusation of inbreeding is clearly flawed to begin with, I'm going to give you five seconds to make that statement relevant before I insert something somewhere painful.'

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Oh, are you now?", but spoke quickly as if to say, "Bollocks, you really are": 'Mudblood – only one of them was a mudblood. Only one. The other one was pure as you like, and a real shame to the pureblood community – oh and there's been another death you don't know about, in fact they're happening all over the place.'

Rowena folded her arms and stared at him levelly. 'Are you telling the truth?'

'Cross my icy black heart.'

'And that's all you know?'

'Well…' The all-knowing smile returned. 'I do know one more thing.'

'What?'

'Gryffindor,' he said calmly, 'is a werewolf.'

'Oh – I know.'

His eyebrows dropped. 'You know?'

'Yes, I know,' she said, impatiently. 'Everybody knows.'

'Oh.' The smile wavered, but then quickly returned as he said, 'You didn't know about the students though, did you?'

'Hm. Only one of them is half-blood?' she repeated, attempting to see the relevance of the statement.

'Was half-blood,' he said, with too much of a smile. 'I believe he's now a no-blood.'

Rowena looked down at her feet and said, 'I'm saying this once, Malfoy, and I'm saying it very slowly so you can understand me: If you ever make that joke again in my presence, I will slowly separate all your joints from your flesh, starting with your little toes and working upwards towards the thighs, then the fingers, then the ears. And then I will push them all individually up your most private orifice until I hit a lung. Understand?'

Malfoy laughed. Then he realised that, with the aid of magic, all of what she'd just threatened was perfectly possible. 'Understood.'

'Now bugger off.'

'Yes, well – if you ever need me—'

'Go.'

'Right.' With a final twitch of the eyebrow, he turned on his heel and strutted into the forest like a woodland pimp, until the blonde bob of his hair vanished between the trees.

Rowena sat down and stared at the lake. Once she was sure there was no one in earshot, she said, 'Eugh. That was disgusting.'

Orifice, indeed.