Chapter 25: A Double Dash of Damn for the Weekend

Helga, with an expression on her face that could only be described as "ardent and unerring disgust", ran at a couple of romantically entwined students and pried them apart with a sweeping brush.

'Come on,' she said, as they tore apart with a disquieting schlurp, 'that's enough of that! Not in my corridor, missus. He'll only give you the Clap anyway.'

'But Miss—'

'No buts, Zachary, I know your game. You were kissing the back of your hand ten minutes ago.'

'Miss—!'

'Go on.' She jabbed a reluctant Zachary with the broom until, with a final desperate glance behind him, he disappeared quickly around the corner. Helga turned determinedly back to his kissing partner, an abashed looking fifth year, and said, 'Go on, Cynthia, or it's the broom for you. Go on!'

'But, miss—'

'No excuses!' She edged towards the hapless student, waving the broom in a threatening manner. 'I will not have those brazen displays of carnality in my corridors! I'm ashamed of you – you're meant to be a Hufflepuff, girl. Remember the way of the badger!'

'What kind of badger, miss – European, American, honey, hog, ferret or stink?'

Helga wavered for a moment, suspicious of the innocent look in Cynthia's eyes. Then she replied, 'Each is as noble as the last, Cynthia. Although you should know by now that the honey badger actually belongs to a different family from its Melinae cousins.'

'Oh yeah. If I remember correctly, it's often placed within its own subfamily category, the Mellivorinae.'

'Er…yes.'

'Although there is some debate amongst environmental scientists as to whether it should be classified as part of the broader sub-family, Mustelinae, along with martens, weasels and stoats.'

Helga stared. Cynthia stared back, with the kind of innocence that was extremely unnatural in a girl of her age.

After an uncomfortable minute or so of silence, Helga reacted in the only way she knew how and dumbly exited the scene, wondering what exactly the hell had just happened.

Of course, thought Rowena, it would be too much to hope for an ugly, withered, elderly woman. Oh no. Far too simple.

Instead, Miss Bruntt was a slim, willowy, dark-haired creature of uncertain virtue; all dark, sultry mystery and elfin cheekbones. Very tight shoes; even tighter corset.

And there she sat on the edge of Slytherin's desk, bathed in the orange candlelight like it was the most natural thing in the world! And what's more – it suited her! Candlelight suited her. Rowena knew for a fact that when her own face was cast into shadow, she was less Greek Goddess and more Cubist Movement. One of those particularly interesting ones, with the nose on the forehead and the ears on the neck.

It took Rowena less than three seconds, without knowing a thing about her, to realise that she wasn't at all enamoured with Miss Bruntt.

Her dislike increased massively as Salazar stared at her, very silently, for an uncomfortably long period of time. Miss Bruntt smiled back.

Then Rowena said: 'Ah-hem.'

Salazar quickly snapped out of it, apparently quite embarrassed. Rowena was particularly tempted to punch him. He said, 'This is – er – Sophia Bruntt, my…half-cousin?'

'Something like that,' said Sophia, cheerily. Now Rowena concentrated, there was a hint of Slytherin about her, but it was only very vague; more to do with the way she held herself than in her looks. She was less pale, for one thing, and her hair was dark brown. Her eyes matched. They were large and wide and just a little bit spooky.

Concentrating even more, Rowena noticed she was dressed in a mourning costume.

'Er…hello,' Rowena mumbled, awkwardly.

'Hello,' said Sophia, fixing her big eyes on her.

'Er,' said Salazar. 'It's, er, nice to see you again, Soph. It's been a long time.'

'A very long time.' She finished inspecting Rowena and faced him again. 'We've a lot to catch up on, my dear.'

'Yeah. I imagine.'

And so the conversation went on. Rowena glared at the ground, thinking, in graphic detail, how much she'd like to drag Salazar through a puddle by his stupid big nose. Don't get sad – get angry. Oh, the bloody…

Oh no, of course I get on with you, Rowena. Yes, we get on like a house on fire when we're locked in cupboards and kissing and endangering our dismal little lives. Yep, that part's fine. But once I've got you whipped up into a desperate, confused, hormonal frenzy, then it's just too complicated. It's a lot simpler with Heather.

Oh, but it doesn't have to be that way forever, Rowena. Oh, no. Are you quite alright waiting there in silence while I share reminiscence with a mysterious woman on my table? You are? Oh, terrific. Do give me a bell if you need anything.

Testicles of fury! By the light of the silvery moon, I will call upon my Gods, and I will destroy your smarmy black soul!

'I'm Rowena,' she said suddenly, interrupting their conversation mid-flow, 'headmistress. How are you enjoying the castle so far, Soph?'

'Oh, it's lovely,' said Sophia, 'really very nice. Must have cost you a fortune, poor thing—'

'How long were you thinking of staying?' From the corner of her eye Rowena could sense Salazar watching her, though she couldn't determine his expression. She didn't face him, but instead stared at Sophia with steely determination to Make A Point. Any point. Oh, she was in that sort of mood!

Sophia merely shrugged. 'Not very long, I expect. But I thought I might drop by, in passing. I called to see your parents, Sal, on my way over – I think they'd like a correspondence from you.'

'Hm,' said Salazar, 'I bet they would. How are things at home?'

And just like that, the conversation was off her once more. Lung fluff. It'd serve him damn right if she stormed out of the room right now! Oh yes – and she'd slam that door after her, and –

And he wouldn't bloody notice, of course. What was wrong with him? Either he hated her and was lying, or he didn't and was just generally crap. Or he hated her and was crap. Either way she wasn't happy, and by God she intended to make that clear:

'Why are you here?' she demanded, interrupting them once more.

'Oh,' said Sophia, 'well, since you ask—'

Salazar very quickly began to say, 'Soph, I think you'd better—'

'—I'm here to discuss my marriage.' She smiled an innocent smile. 'To Salazar.'

Helga was a God, and these amateur lovers were the sinful mortals. With a strike of her broom she'd throw a bucket of cold water over their excitable libidos, no doubt about that. She was practically a reverse Cupid, but without the nappy and the wings.

She could have wings, if she wanted. Could do anything if she wanted.

And if she came across Godric Gryffindor engaged in an act of osculation within these corridors, she'd have no qualms about dividing him from his ghoulies forthwith.

Now, her next attack: to prod, to slap, or to throw the broom as if 'twere a javelin?

She walked silently down the third floor staircase, broom held close to her chest and the look of a primal hunter in her eyes. The look said: Put me on corridor patrol duty, will you? Make me dress up specially for a party and then kick me out, will you? Tell me to fight the good fight against sex and violence, will you? Then I'll do it, and I'll do it damn well! Damn well!

There will be no survivors!

A great deal of gusto vanished as she turned the corner onto the second floor corridor: for there, slumped against a wall idly with his head drooping, was Godric Gryffindor. Suspended in the air, a few inches from his face, his wand spun slowly around as his index finger directed it, and the glowing red tip illuminated him like a spotlight.

Helga very nearly dropped her broom. Holding her breath determinedly, she took a slow step backwards…

Godric's head spun around, and his wand clattered against the floor. 'Hello?' he said. Of course; wolf ears. 'Hell – Helga?'

Helga froze. Of course he'd seen her now, and clambered to his feet. Hiding was futile. She couldn't outrun him. He wouldn't accept no for an answer. What was there to do?

As he approached, Helga swung out the broom handle and smacked him in the ribs. Godric stared.

A moment or two later, he said: 'Bloody ouch!'

Helga didn't speak. Then she hit him again, this time in the chest. Neither of them offered any reaction to her doing so, although Godric looked slightly uncomfortable. To fill in the silence, Helga hit him again – slightly harder – in the arm.

'Alright,' said Godric slowly, 'I suppose I deserve that.'

'No,' Helga replied, 'if I was dealing out what you deserved, you'd be a twitching, whimpering heap on the floor with a broom handle up your arse.'

'Er. That's fair.'

'Possibly coming out of your ear.'

'Very fair.'

'Skewering your brain in three places and splintering into your eyeballs.'

'I completely agree.'

'And I'd be jumping up and down on your cadaver singing "I Know Someone With A Face Like A Potato, Face Like A Potato, Doo-Ra-Doo-Ra-Ay".'

At this, Godric frowned. 'A potato? That's a bit harsh.'

She hit him again, catching a different rib.

Godric said, 'That's really beginning to sting.'

'It's meant to. It's not a massage.'

'I see. Some kind of slow, brutal murder, perhaps?'

'Very slow. Very brutal.'

'I see.'

'You won't even know it's happening until one day you look to see that I've skewered you with a mop.'

'I miss you.'

'Yes. I miss you, too.'

'And I'm sorry – I'm really very sorry, for everything.'

Her eyes dropped. So did the broom. 'Yes,' she said, sadly, 'I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry, Godric.' There was an uncertain pause, then Godric took a step towards her. Helga took a step back. 'I'm sorry, Godric,' she said again, 'but no.'

'No—?'

'No.'

'Never—?'

'Probably.'

He stared at her dumbly, his expression unreadable. After a long, reluctant while, he retreated quietly down the corridor and vanished from sight.

Helga picked up the broom and set off in the opposite direction. The next kissing couple, she decided, would be butchered.

Salazar closed his eyes, his face scrunched up as if expecting an explosion. Rowena didn't look at him, but stared at a smiling Sophia in utter disbelief.

'Marriage,' Sophia repeated, 'that is alright, isn't it?'

Alright? 'I…' began Rowena, although no coherent words followed.

After an unreasonable amount of time, Salazar said: 'Er…well. Ro—'

'Don't!' Rowena managed to shout. Her brain continued: ever call me Ro for as long as you live, you insipid little man-whore!

'Ro, it's not what—'

'Really!'

'—I mean, we're not actually—'

'Really!'

'—I think there's been a bit of a—'

'Really! Really! Has there really!' She attempted to out-stare Salazar, but he met her gaze unflinchingly. Eventually she released a depressed sigh and said, weakly, 'Really? This is ridiculous, Salazar...'

'Oh,' said Sophia, as some kind of realisation dawned, 'you two aren't together, are you?' Neither of them replied. She continued, 'Because I can understand how this might be a bit of a problem. Oh dear. Sal, had I better—?'

'No,' said Salazar, turning to her briefly, 'I'll do it. Hang on. Ro?'

Rowena followed him wordlessly into the corridor and awaited explanation. He closed the door after her, but seemed in no hurry to address the issue at hand. After an awkward pause he said, 'Lovely day, isn't it?'

Rowena glowered.

'Ah. No. Don't use the death eyes.'

She growled. 'Sally, tell me what's 've got wives and girlfriends popping up all over the damn place.' She sighed. 'Why do these horrifically attractive women keep falling in love with you?'

Salazar shrugged. 'What can I say? Moths to a flame.'

'I just feel so—'

'Horny?'

'—homicidal.'

'Ah,' he said uncomfortably, 'well. The thing is: Sophia isn't in love with me at all, and it's very much vice versa. She's just a sort of...friend.'

'You don't have any friends.'

'Charming of you to point out,' he said, with a slight grumble. 'She's a half-cousin, then, or something similar – granddaughter of my great-uncle.'

'Second cousin,' Rowena translated.

'That what it is? Well, we're not married.'

Rowena breathed a mental sigh of relief. She determinedly ignored it. 'Are you sure? Because she seems to think you are.'

'Well, we're not. I'm sure I'd remember that.' He lapsed into a guilty silence, unable to meet her gaze.

'But…?' she prompted.

'But,' said Salazar, 'I might have, er…' He paused, lips twitching silently as he planned his words. Apparently reaching a satisfying conclusion, he said, 'She might have – that is, we might be – er…betrothed. Yeah, that's it. Betrothed.' He flashed a winning smile and added, 'That's all.'

In a cupboard, a hat was singing:

"Oooh, I'd rather be a big Jessie, ach!

Than tickle a witch's tooth,

I'd rather…whores!...ah…messy,

Ale! ALE! Ra-da-da…ROOF!

IIIIIIIII'D rather kiss a camel (camel!),

I'd rather wimmin' do!

I…ach, I've got it wrong now! Whassit? Ah…Jesse,

And…WHORES! ALE! WOMEN! Whassit? Piss off!"

In a cupboard, her face leaning wearily into her palm, Heather Bettany began to regret ever entering this business arrangement.

Betrothed. Oh, charming. Betrothed. Damn, damn and a double dash of damn for the weekend.

Not that she should worry, of course. No, Sophia was quite clear about that:

'You see, dear, I've never been remotely attracted to Salazar in my life—'

'I'm stood right here,' said Salazar, ego more than a tad bruised.

'—Yes, there you are – but the Slytherin family are terribly enthusiastic when it comes to incest. Very keen to keep it in the family. "It" being Salazar, and "the family" being my vagina.'

'Yes, thank you,' said Rowena, 'I get the picture.'

'I've always been promised Salazar from an early age – before he was born, in fact – and unless I bear his children I don't get a dip in the family fortune. I was married to somebody else but—' she gestured to her dress of mourning, '—as you can see, he's recently met with a nasty end.'

'So did your last husband,' said Salazar. 'Perhaps we should be more suspicious about that.'

'And he was so very rich,' sighed Sophia, speaking over him, 'and he's left me nothing. Now the list of eligible bachelors is beginning to grow quite thin and, quite frankly, I find no problem in marrying Sal, consummating the marriage and leaving to France for fifty years or so, if that's what it takes to get a bit of cash.'

Rowena's jaw dropped slightly. Salazar regarded this with amusement, and said, 'You've got to admit, it's a sound plan.'

Rowena's jaw dropped further, but this time she managed to come to her senses and shut it before Salazar looked at her again. Eventually she said, 'Oh. Well. Er. That sounds…lovely.'

'I thought so,' said Sophia. It was hard to tell if she was being sarcastic, but Rowena suspected she wasn't. Then, as if the last five minutes hadn't occurred, she said, 'Your mother's English is really coming along.'

'Is it?' said Salazar, uninterestedly. 'Glad to hear it.'

'She was chatting a way like a natural. Still pulls that strange face when she tries a verb, though.'

'Terrible.'

'She kept asking if you'd cut your hair—'

'What?' Rowena interrupted. 'What, are we just…are you getting married now? Having - having babies?'

'Of course,' said Sophia.

Salazar just laughed and slipped into a seat next to Rowena. 'Course we're not. Don't be stupid.'

'We are,' Sophia insisted. Her voice trembled. 'Salazar, I need babies.'

'It's not happening, Soph.'

'It is.'

'It isn't.'

'It is!'

'No, it isn't.'

'But it is—'

Ye Gods, thought Rowena, it's never going to end. 'Look,' she said, as the intellectual debate continued, 'you can't get married if one of you doesn't consent, and you definitely can't procreate.'

'But he does consent,' said Sophia, forcefully, 'don't you, Salazar?'

He laughed again.

'You do!'

'I don't.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake,' Rowena mumbled.

'Really,' said Salazar, 'I don't. I refuse to marry you.'

Sophia's nostrils flared. Her big, spooky eyes quivered. 'Are you - refusing my hand?'

'Yeah – I'm refusing your hand.' He laughed again, and shook his head. 'This is fun. I've never refused anyone's hand before; I might make a hobby out of it—'

'Oh, it's a joke to you!' Sophia screamed, leaping suddenly to her feet. Rowena recoiled, but Salazar remained still. 'What about the money?'

'Marry somebody else.'

'I've done that! I've married them all!' Her voice snapped. The realisation suddenly dawned on Rowena that there was something not-quite-right about Sophia Bruntt. 'I'm fed up of them, Salazar! Just give me a baby!'

He shrugged. 'Sorry.'

'Why are you doing this?' she whimpered, her tone now pleading as she sank back into her seat. 'You always said—'

'I never said.'

'But we're friends! You said! Grandfather said!'

'He's dead, Soph.' He shook his head. 'We don't have to listen to him anymore.'

'I want my baby, Salazar! I want-' She stopped abruptly, her expression suddenly calm. She cocked her head and looked between Salazar and Rowena curiously. Those big eyes rolled over Rowena.

'No,' said Salazar, sternly.

Sophia's expression was sombre. 'Oh no,' she said, slowly, 'Salazar, you haven't—'

'No,' he said again.

'Oh, William. You're a very - you're a very naughty boy, William.' She giggled. It was childlike and unnerving. 'He's not going to like this one bit, William!'

'He's dead!' Salazar roared, and Rowena flinched. 'He's been dead for nearly a decade! I don't have to do what he says anymore!'

'What's your name?' Sophia asked gently, addressing Rowena. She was wide-eyed and half-grinning.

'Er,' she said, 'Rowena. Ravenclaw.'

Sophia rose to her feet, and stood over Salazar like a ghost. Her eyebrows narrowed and her lips were tight as she prodded him in the chest and said, 'You can't ignore it, William. You can't get away from it, William. You agreed, William. You agreed-'

'My name's not William,' he snapped, staring back at her, 'and you're insane.'

'Should I go?' Rowena asked, weakly.

'No,' said Salazar, but Sophia had already begun to speak over him:

'And he shall war! And his war shall kill! And he shall love! And his—'

Then Salazar hissed.

And Sophia hissed back.

At first, Rowena thought they were cursing each other, but the sounds were all wrong: the air filled with sharp, venomous, furious whispers. The noises didn't last for long; he soon grabbed her wrist and held her still, and both parties fell silent.

Sophia's breathing came in short, furious gasps. She didn't take her eyes off him.

Uncertainly, Rowena began to say, 'Salazar—'

Sophia's hand sprung from her side and scored a sharp scratch across his face. He let go of her wrist, and she vanished.

All was quiet. Rowena, staring at the space she'd left in disbelief, said, '...Sally?'

A few seconds elapsed. Still with his back to her, Salazar didn't move for quite some time. When he finally did turn around, she was startled to see his expression was completely normal, with half a smile across his face and a smooth, relaxed expression in his eyes. The only detail that belied his false demeanour was the untidy, bloody line that ran across his cheek.

'Now,' he said evenly, 'what were we talking about?'

Helga prowled the first floor corridor, broom at her shoulder and murderous intent in her gaze. She turned a corner –

'ZACHARY! You put that girl down this instant!'

'Jesus Christ—!'

'It's been a BAD DAY'

'Um,' said Rowena, feebly, 'I don't really remember.'

The prophecy…?

'Strange interruptions you get around here, aren't they?'

'Yeah. Er…Salazar?'

I don't. I refuse to marry you.

'Yeah?'

'Er…nothing.'

'Don't suppose you understood much of that,' said Salazar, a touch uncomfortably, 'I mean, what she was saying towards the end.'

And he shall war, and his war shall kill…

'No…no, I didn't – I didn't really hear her.'

And he shall love –

'Ah – that's good. She just speaks a load of crap anyway.'

'Er, Sally?'

And he shall love—

'Yeah?'

- and his love shall kill…

'I feel a bit sick.'

'Oh.' He dabbed the blood on his cheek. 'Terrific.'